by Tanya Wilde
“My apologies,” she murmured.
Her voice was so soft that he barely heard her. With some satisfaction he noted her cheeks were flushed, though she did not meet his eyes.
“No harm, no foul,” he muttered and settled back, his breathing not quite steady yet.
She clasped and unclasped her hands in a fidgety manner, and Brahm sighed. He felt like an ass. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, but devil take it, the sensations she provoked alarmed him.
How long until their next stop? An hour, perhaps?
Tonight he would procure two rooms, and they would act as damn siblings. He held onto that thought like a man whose very life depended on that promise.
“So that there is no confusion on the matter, Holly, we are to be brother and sister at the next inn.”
“We still look nothing alike,” she said.
He scoffed. Of that, he cared not one bit. For all anyone knew, she resembled her mother and he their father, a plausible explanation should the need to explain arise.
Just a few more miles to go.
“May I rest my legs on your seat? I’m afraid they have gone quite numb.”
Dangerous as hell.
That was how he would now describe Holly Middleton, this entire scene, and this whole journey.
It was rare, at least since his sister married, that Brahm experienced the sensation of pure helplessness. But here he was, powerless, unable to force a refusal past his lips. Instead he merely watched as she lifted her legs and rested her feet beside him.
The action bunched up her skirts to reveal a pair of purple satin slippers, much too posh for the country. However, the slippers were but a passing notice once his eyes fell on the pale creamy flesh of her ankles.
Brahm swallowed and did the only thing that was in his power to do. He glanced away.
Why the hell were ankles so seductive? That tiny glimpse of flesh awakened all sorts of desires. Like removing her slippers and kissing his way up to her calf and even further than that . . .
He cast another sidelong glance at her creamy flesh, and this time he could not hide it—he groaned.
The tortured sound drew her attention to him. “Are you all right?”
Her question was innocent enough, as expected from any virtuous young miss who would not suspect how wicked his thoughts were running. He felt like a wolf in a sheep den, only the little lamb did not suspect him of being anything worse than perhaps a muzzled dog.
The image reminded him of how eagerly Holly had accepted his assistance and how even her sisters had been relieved at his aid. Did none of them possess even the slightest concern that he may very well be a lecherous hound?
Brahm was on the cusp of exploding with anger and frustration. Did she honestly possess no clue of her effect on him?
“None of you have any damn sense,” he muttered darkly.
Her head whipped his way. “Excuse me?”
“You and your sisters have no sense. Did it never occur to you that I might be depraved and black-hearted?”
“Why ever would you say such a thing?”
Brahm cast a scowl her way. “You believe me righteous, completely uncorrupted?”
“I consider you a man of honor, Brahm.”
His heart caught on those words.
“Why do you ask, in any case? Are you depraved and black-hearted?”
“No, but you have shown no sense, simply accepting my aid when I offered it. Your sisters held no protestations either. I could easily have been a ravisher of virgins, yet you all just assumed I was irreproachable.”
“You do make a good point. However, you listed my family connections earlier, so you would prove to be quite foolish if your assistance was merely a pretense meant to cover wicked intentions.”
“Smart chit,” he muttered, unable to contain his smile when she shot him a sly grin.
Ah, yes.
Dangerous. Dangerous as hell.
Chapter 10
True to his word, Brahm introduced them as siblings when they arrived at the next inn and requested two separate rooms. Holly wasn’t concerned about the temporary separation, suspecting she had applied her budding craft of ingenious flirtation rather well. And if his strained expression had not provided a significant clue, the fact that he was avoiding her at present would have done it.
Brahm had sent his apologies that he would not join her for dinner, so Holly opted to sup in her chambers. But unable to remain holed up in the tiny space for long, she had then gone off to explore the inn.
As one would not quite expect from such an establishment, the furnishings were ancient, and some were covered in dust. A faint musty scent hung in the air, a woody almond-like odor. It was the smell of aging traditions and old books. But there was a certain warmth to the environment, a snugness that Holly had not found in many other places. This particular inn was also in possession of a cozy and homely library. It was not as grand as one would expect from a posh residence, but the books were familiar and reminded Holly of home. So she curled up on a sofa and settled in with her thoughts.
She had assumed that she’d succeeded in making Brahm aware of her. Now she must find a way to tempt him. However, coy smiles and batting eyelashes were out of the question, not if she did not wish for him to suspect her intentions and run in the opposite direction.
Subtlety, Holly believed, was the best way to win Brahm over. So how to tempt him if not with the usual tricks? How to entice him into action—into a kiss?
Perhaps she ought to include words of seduction into her speech. It would require sharp wit above all, but if done delicately it might work.
Then again, it might not.
She was still mulling that over when a shadow hovered in the doorway, followed by a slender figure. A maid poked her head through the door. “My lady, y’re bath has been drawn.”
Her bath? Holly hadn’t ordered one, though relaxing in a hot tub did sound marvelous. With a slight shrug, she stood. Brahm must have ordered it for her, anticipating her needs.
Holly did not waste any time. Upon entering her chamber, she headed straight for the privacy screen and slipped out of her dress. Embroidered muslin pooled at her feet, and she stepped over the finely woven fabric.
Left only in her chemise, Holly caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Also belonging to Lady Josephine, this chemise must be, without question, one of Madam De La Frey’s creations. The material was virtually imperceptible from her skin and her breasts—and other delicate parts—which were visible through the translucent cloth.
It was beautiful, though.
Holly was slipping out of the airy garment when, over her shoulder, she noticed something odd. She paused.
Where was her tub filled with magical steamy water?
Her eyes swept the room with bewilderment as she whirled in a circle.
The maid had informed her, had even gone in search of her. So how was her bath not here? Then it dawned on her—they must have sent her bath to Brahm’s chamber, or rather, her brother’s chamber, instead of hers.
Drat.
She huffed out an irritated breath. Now she would need to wait for another one to be drawn up.
Unless . . .
Her eyes flicked to the connecting door that separated their bedchambers. Her brows knit together in thought. She recalled spotting Brahm out of her window earlier as he left for the stables with purposeful strides. It had been just as her supper arrived, not even an hour ago.
Her eyes traveled over the door in mild contemplation, intrigued by the idea of being naked in his room.
A delicious shiver feathered down her spine.
She spared another glance at the connecting doors, this time her lips quirking upward. Could she slip into his room, bathe, and slip out again, leaving only the used lukewarm water as evidence to spark his imagination? Could she do it?
Yes.
Holly snatched up a towel and tiptoed to the door separating the chambers, resting her ear on the surface
to listen for sounds of his presence, just in case. She clapped her hands together in excitement when no sound reached her ears.
Splendid!
Testing the doorknob, Holly was thrilled to find it unlocked. She snuck into the room before she lost her courage, closing the door with a gentle thud and leaning her forehead against the hard surface for good measure. This must be the most scandalous thing she had ever done in her life. Or third scandalous thing. Depending on how you ranked jilting a duke and driving across the country in the company of a marquis without a chaperone.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled the overwhelming fragrance of Brahm, the woody scent of sandalwood and fresh soap.
Wait, soap?
“Miss Middleton?”
Holly jumped as the force of those two words slammed into her like a brick wall, propelling her around in shock. The sight that met Holly startled her so much that the towel slipped from her fingers.
He raised himself from the tub, out of habit, she supposed, water sloshing over the edge of the tub and pooling over the floor.
Mother Mary!
Her eyes dropped to his torso, noting the hard ridges of muscle coated with droplets of water.
She rested her hand on the door for balance.
He opened his mouth, or at least she thought he did, likely to demand she leave, but, as she had, froze when his eyes fell on her revealing garment.
Sweet, merciful heavens!
That was the thought that came to mind upon lowering her gaze to find a nest of curls encircling a curious part of his anatomy, just as hard as the rest of him.
Holly swallowed.
BRAHM HAD INTENDED to go for a ride, had gotten as far as saddling his horse, even, before realizing he had forgotten his pocket watch—an item he could not leave without. He became so immersed in his surroundings when he rode that time fell away. And as he was currently guardian to London’s most troublesome Middleton, well, that might not be the wisest course of action. This was especially true when he recalled the way the countrymen ogled her as if she were a morsel ripe for the picking.
Perhaps he ought to have gotten on his horse and forgotten about time. No Holly Middleton out there. No innocent touches and wide-eyed looks. None of the powerful responses she invoked from him—a deep, relentless, and ever-present hunger.
But he had returned to his room for his pocket watch, like a good little guardian, and had found a steaming tub of water waiting for him—and he was certain it was his room, given that his watch was right there on the bedside table. He’d glanced around the unoccupied area, wondering what a bath was doing there.
When no one appeared to explain the bath, he thought that perhaps Miss Middleton had ordered him one. Skeptical, Brahm had stared at it dubiously for a moment. Did women do that? Order baths for men?
What he needed was bloody distance, not this, this consideration. Cold water would be better suited to cool this unwelcome fever that rose in the wake of the temptation she presented. But the tub looked damn inviting. It would be such a shame let good hot water go to waste.
So, horse riding forgotten, he had shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, made quick work of his boots and breeches, and sunk into the bath of steamy water. A sigh of pleasure on his lips as the warm liquid soaked into his skin.
At last, he thought, just as the door suddenly cracked open and a small figure slipped into his room.
What the hell?
At first, his brain convinced him it was a maid, but the small figure wore a much too indecent item of dress. So flimsy, in fact, that the soft outline of her backside beckoned his eyes to fix solely on that spot.
With supreme effort, Brahm tore his gaze away from that delightful little behind so his eyes could roam up her elegant spine before landing on the back of her head and the short brownish hair that indicated her identity.
“Miss Middleton?” he nearly bellowed in his shock.
She spun around in fright and gasped, the towel clutched in her hand dropping to the floor. In reaction to her alarm, and without complete thought, Brahm rose from his bath but froze when crystal blue eyes locked with his.
Brahm’s entire body awakened with lust. Raw. Primal. Vehement. His gaze dropped, taking in the length of her with renewed interest—and, thanks to his lapse in judgment, he was completely unconcealed.
His eyes shot back up to hers, finding her gaping at his nakedness. He watched in fascination as a flush crept up from her collarbone to tinge her cheeks in crimson.
Time passed as they stood appraising each other, sensibility slow to return. Much too bloody slow. So when it did arrive, it dawned as swift as an arrow.
Brahm dropped back down into the tub, water spattering everywhere. Instantaneously, Holly snatched up the towel and clutched it to her bosom.
He waited, his breathing shallow, for her to say something or to flee the chamber, sure he must have frightened her maidenly sensibilities with the evidence of his desire.
She surprised him, however, when she demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
Her voice snapped through the room, carrying no hint of hysterics at all.
Brahm felt himself scowl. “Should I not be directing that question at you?”
She pointed to the tub. “That is my bath!”
“As I am the sole occupant of this room, I beg to differ.”
“It must have been sent to your chamber by mistake.”
“Then I suggest you order another one, because as you can quite see, this one is already occupied.”
Her hands moved to her hips, showcasing the delicate outline of her breasts.
Brahm’s lips pulled downward in displeasure. “What the hell are you wearing?”
She gasped and lifted the towel once more to her bosom.
He wanted to rant and rave at the fact that she had obliterated the overly naïve, delicate image to which he had so desperately clung to avoid facing his own desire. She was his charge, for Christ’s sake.
Frankly, the word delicate could no longer be used in the same breath as Holly Middleton. No delicate, innocent miss who saw a man fully naked and aroused would go on to point out that he had stolen her bath.
And that was trouble. Big trouble. She may be small, but Holly possessed the wicked curves of a woman—and now he was less wary of them.
“If you did not wish for me to wear such garments,” she snapped back with a glower of her own, “you should not have packed them!”
Brahm clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t really packed anything but rather had snatched up whatever items he could find and tossed them into a suitcase. Should he have inspected every item? He was a man. A chemise was supposed to be a chemise. Not that translucent thing.
“And never mind what I’m wearing. You were supposed to be out riding,” she continued, accusingly.
“I was!” Brahm snapped back. “But I forgot my watch.”
“So you decided to steal my bath?”
Christ, did she have to look so glorious, all flustered and furious like that?
“I did not steal anything. It was in my room.”
“Did you order it?”
Women and their bloody logic. “Since you are so damn adamant over the bath, you damn well know I did not order it.”
That seemed to give her pause. “Neither did I,” she murmured after a moment. “It appears the maid must have made an error, then. I had assumed that you had ordered it for me.”
And Brahm had presumed the same of her. He heaved a heavy sigh, his body tightening in awareness of her proximity, reminding him once again of the improperness of their situation.
“Miss Middleton,” he began, because really, there was only so much improper he could manage at a time, “Please return to your chamber.”
Her eyes flashed with challenge. “Not without my bath. I demand it back.”
Bloody absurd.
“Woman! You try a saint!”
Brahm pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering his patience.
&n
bsp; She opened her mouth to respond, but their argument was interrupted by a firm knock. They both paused, their heads whipping to the door.
“Is everything all right, sir?” It was the concerned voice of the innkeeper.
“Yes!” Brahm boomed.
“No!” Holly snapped.
Anger exploded in Brahm’s chest as Holly marched to the door, towel clutched to her bosom, giving him ample view of her derriere.
“Don’t you dare open that door, Holly!” he growled, but she ignored him and yanked it open to find the proprietor standing there with a worried frown.
“You delivered my bath to this cretin’s room!” she declared without preamble.
The innkeeper blinked down at her, his gaze dropping to her scantily dressed figure before gulping down air.
Fury flared in Brahm’s gut. “You did not even order a bath,” he snapped, shooting the man a warning look.
The innkeeper took a step back.
“Well, there is a bath here, isn’t there?”
“Holly!” Brahm growled from the bath, ready to take her over his knee. The bloody woman possessed no sense of propriety.
“Er, yes, miss. Your brother’s bath was meant for another guest, but I’m sure we can, er, send up another one for you.”
“No need. I shall take this bath. I just need you to remove my brother so that I can bathe in peace.”
More bloody absurdness.
“This is my room!” Brahm growled.
The innkeeper peered into the room once again and, upon locking eyes with Brahm’s thunderous gaze, decided not to take part in whatever quarrel existed between the siblings and retreated with a hasty excuse of seeing to other guests.
Holly flung the door shut and arched a brow at Brahm’s murderous look.
“Fine,” he snapped, sensing this battle to be fruitless.
He rose from the bath, unashamed and furious, shooting her a triumphant glance when he heard her suck in a deep breath. If Holly Middleton wanted to act without modesty, he would damn well too.
She spun around, leaving him to jerk on his breeches, and when he finished, he marched past her to the connecting door. Holly wanted to bath in his space? Then he will recline in her bed.
