Baron of Bad (Lords of Scandal 5)

Rather than be insulted, that made her smile. “Is it working?”

“Perhaps,” he answered. He searched her face. “What happens when you succeed?”

His question confused her. Wasn’t it obvious? They’d marry. She’d stay tucked by his side. Forever. “We’ll be together.”

He narrowed his gaze even as he shifted away. “What then? I won’t tie you to me to have you hate me later.” Then he stepped away and, retreating across the room, slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Bad knew what she was doing. Hell, he even understood why. He’d resisted her thus far but a woman like Grace was used to getting her way. He’d made himself a challenge and she’d accepted.

He needed to be sensible for the both of them. If he allowed her to coerce him into taking her then they’d both be well and truly stuck. Hell, maybe they were already. But right now, there was a chance. Once he bedded her, there was none.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. In fact, he wanted her in the worst way. His whole body ached from need. But he didn’t want a wife who hated him. Who looked at him and saw the filthy boy who’d slept in doorways. The man who would never quite fit in with polite society. How would she feel when he used the wrong fork at a dinner party, uttered the wrong words to their host? He’d borne looks of disdain his entire life and he couldn’t stand the thought of her disgust. Everyone else’s he could bear but not hers.

Pacing the room, he watched the rain and fought with himself. She was his for the taking. Every minute, he considered opening the door again and making her his. How would she taste? He already knew how she felt pressed against him. The memory made him ache.

But then he’d return to his senses. Even if they married, he could be a gentleman now. Somehow, that mattered. As though he could prove to her he was worthy.

After ringing for a servant, he ordered food brought to his room. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the connecting door. “I’ve ordered dinner. Are your clothes dry?”

There was a pause. “Mostly,” she finally answered.

“Do you need help dressing?” He tightened his fingers on the doorknob. Part of him hoped she said yes while another dreaded the idea of touching her again. He thought back to yesterday. His first intuition had been correct. Every time he grazed her flesh with his fingers, he drew further into Grace’s web. There was little chance he’d escape.

The thought made his head fall against the door. It was already too late. He cared for her and no matter what happened, he was likely to get hurt.

“No. I’ll be all right,” she replied.

Dinner arrived twenty minutes later and he set the tray on the writing desk. The connecting door swung open and Grace walked into his room. He was in trouble. She’d put on her dress but nothing underneath. Her feet were bare; he remembered the slender curve of her calves and ankles. She obviously wasn’t wearing a corset, and her natural shape left him near breathless. And her hair. Dear God, it was dry and hanging down her back in shimmering golden waves. She must have undone the strands to help them dry. “Smells delicious.” She stopped leaning over the tray and inhaling a big whiff. “Travelling has made me quite hungry.”

He was hungry too. But not for the stew. “It smells passable and you should have on your stockings and shoes. These floors must be freezing.”

She shook her head. “These fireplaces do a marvelous job of heating the rooms. The floors are quite warm.” She gave him a glowing smile. “Shall we eat?”

He narrowed his gaze as he nodded. When she smiled like that, she looked near angelic. He went into her room and retrieved her chair so that they might both sit and when he returned, he found her already ladling out his stew. She was bent over the desk as she worked and his hand ached to run over the curve of her backside.

He closed his eyes as he set the chair down with a decided thud.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she sat in the other chair and he followed suit.

She picked up a spoon, delicately balancing the utensil in her hand.

“How do you do that? How do you hold a spoon as though it were a part of your hand?”

She blinked at him, turning her head to the side. Then without a word, she set her spoon down again and stood, padding over the floor in her bare feet. “My mother subjected me to years of decorum lessons followed by finishing school. If either my mother or my instructor, Madame LaVeau, saw me now, they’d drop into a dead faint.”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’m turning you into an urchin too.”

She let out a tinkling laugh and then grasped his hand in her own. Sliding his fingers open she curled the middle and pointer finger back together, resting the spoon in his grasp. “Just like that.”

He stared at the spoon. It looked ridiculous in his massive hand. “How do you actually eat?”

She pressed her lips together. “It will take practice,” she murmured close to his ear. “But I’ve every confidence you can master it. I’ve seen you fire a pistol. You’ve exceptionally dexterous hands.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood as her breath whispered across Bad’s skin. He’d like to show her another way his hands were quite skilled. But before he could formulate a more appropriate response, she crossed back to her spot and picked up her own utensil. “Shall we?”

He gave a nod. At first, he watched her, then he attempted to use the spoon in the awkward position she’d placed it in his hand. He grimaced. He looked like a fool. Worse yet, there were a thousand instances when he noticed that he did not behave as the other lords did. And she’d see them too just as she’d seen this one.