Baron of Bad (Lords of Scandal 5)

But he paid her embarrassment no mind as he tugged the sleeves from her arms and then, shimmied the fabric over her hips. When he stood up, he reached for her corset strings.

Her heart, which was racing in her chest, stopped at the thought of him removing such a delicate garment. “I can do it myself.” She held a hand to his chest to stop his movements but her fingers came into contact with rippling muscle. Somehow that might have been even worse.

“Very well.” He took a step back to give her room and pressed his back to the door. Somehow that was even worse. He was near enough to touch her and could watch her every movement as though she were undressing for him.

She huffed a little breath, attempting to cover her reaction. Yes, she was out of sorts, but Grace was also warming in several places. “Close your eyes.”

He quirked a brow and then dutifully covered his face with his hands.

Quickly, she undid the strings and dropped the garment on top of the dress. She did her best to pick up the clothes and drape them on the end of the bed before she dove under the blankets. “You can open your eyes again.”

She snapped hers closed so that she didn’t have to see whatever he was about to do. But her ears were perked to attention and she listened as he shrugged off his coat.

One eye peeked open and she watched as the muscles in his shoulders rippled as he worked the knot in his cravat. Finally coming undone, he added the garment to her pile of clothes and then undid the top of his shirt.

He crossed over to stand by the window. “Go ahead and sleep Grace, I’ll get some rest later.”

“Later?” she asked, partially sitting up. “When? Where?” She looked about the room. There was very little space to sleep.

He gave her a glance over his shoulder. “On the floor.”

“The floor?” She sat up gripping the covers to her chest. That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “We’ll switch in the middle of the night so that you can have the bed. You can’t sleep on the floor.”

He turned back to her. “I’ve slept in far worse places.” Then he hesitated. “But thank you for your concern. It’s a most unexpected treat.”

She dropped the blankets and narrowed her gaze. Never had a thank you sounded more like an insult and her skin bristled with irritation. “Unexpected? Basic human kindness is unexpected from me?”

“Grace, I didn’t mean it like that.” He held up his hands. “You’re not exactly known for thinking—”

“I’m not known for thinking?” Her voice hitched higher with every word. Did he know how insulting that was? “One of us isn’t thinking right now, only that person is not me.” She’d scrambled to her knees on the bed, her hands on her hips.

“You’re not going to storm out of the room and get kidnapped again, are you?” he scoffed, clearly pointing out a time she hadn’t really thought her actions through. “Or demand that all of us go shopping when known criminals have been chasing us? You know that I’ve been shot. Jack was shot. Because you needed ribbon.”

Shame and irritation burned down her throat. “I’m to blame for Countess Abernath and her lackeys targeting us?”

“Well,” he paused. “No, I suppose not. But a shopping trip under the circumstances was ridiculous.”

His chin rose in triumph and hers dropped in defeat. He had her there. She’d been trapped in the house for weeks and she’d just wanted a little trip out. And she’d wanted to be beautiful. Because a lord with a crooked nose was escorting her to balls and…. She nearly gasped. She’d wanted to impress him. She was supposed to be finding a suitable husband. Not a rakehell. “Sit down and take off your pants.”

“I beg your pardon?” Even in the dim light of the single candle, Grace would swear that his face paled.

“You heard me. Pants down. Sit.” And she pointed at the bed.

* * *

He wasn’t sure where this conversation had gone wrong, but from the moment it had started, he’d felt as though he was on a runaway carriage with no reins. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d rather face Crusher again then Grace.

First, because he’d never had the right words when it came to highborn ladies. They wanted flowery declarations and he’d always been more of a doer, a fighter rather than a poet. Second, because he just couldn’t keep up with her. She knelt on the bed, the candle behind her making her chemise see-through so that he could see the curve of her hips, the spread of her legs, the ample shape of her bosom. He swallowed again. And after arguing, now she wanted him to take his pants off. It very nearly resembled a recurring fantasy he had, only he was relatively sure that the woman in his dreams wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the one before him. “Grace, I don’t think removing our clothing is a wise choice.”

She huffed a breath that told him he’d said the wrong thing again. “I need to check your wound. I’ve been remiss by not looking at it sooner.” Then she pointed down to the bed. “Sit.”

The wound was fine and furthermore, removing his pants was an awful idea, but he couldn’t disobey her. As though he were powerless to deny her demands he reached for the falls of his breeches and pulled down the garment a few inches to take the single step to the bed. He pulled the pants down to just below the wound and sat on the bed, trying to keep the color of his face from turning a bright shade of red. He wasn’t certain but he thought he failed.

He’d lost count of how many women had seen him with his pants down but none of them were Lady Grace Chase. “I’ve had deeper scratches.”

She frowned as she looked at his skin, then she reached out and touched his outer thigh, her gentle fingers testing the flesh.

His eyes squeezed closed. Lord help him, but he wanted to tumble that woman into his arms and kiss her senseless.