Stranger in My Arms(33)

The air in the washhouse was humid, steam rising from huge iron vats that had been filled with soaking linens. She supposed she should be glad of having returned to her duties as mistress of the household.

She had always experienced a fair amount of satisfaction in keeping Hawksworth Hall properly organized and efficiently managed. However, it seemed that her enjoyment in housekeeping and estate management had begun to pall.

Before “widowhood,” she had always been too busy being the lady of the manor to notice much outside the borders of the estate. Now the time spent at the orphanage seemed far more important than anything she could accomplish here.

The strings of the apron slipped from Lara’s fingers, and she fumbled for them. Someone approached her from behind. Before she could turn around, she felt warm masculine fingers tangle briefly with hers. She went still, her chest reverberating with the thudding of her heart.

Until her dying day, she would recognize the touch of those hands.

Hawksworth tied the apron around her waist with meticulous care. Lara could feel the faint, hot puffs of his breath stirring in her hair.

Although he didn’t pull her against him, she sensed the towering height and strength of the body behind hers.

‘What are you doing here?” she asked weakly.

“I live here,” he informed her, his voice like a stroke of velvet down her spine.

“You know that I meant the washhouse. You’ve never set foot in this building before today.”

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” Out of the corner of her eye Lara saw two maids pause uncertainly at the doorway as they saw that the master of the household was there. “You may come in, girls,” she said loudly, beckoning to them to return to their chores, but they giggled and disappeared, evidently deciding that she needed a few moments alone with Hawksworth.

“You should have given me time to prepare myself,” Lara protested as her husband turned her to face him. She was disheveled and red-faced, her hair straggling around her moist cheeks, her body swathed in a huge apron. “I would have at least changed my gown and brushed my…” Her voice died away as she stared at him.

Hawksworth was astonishingly handsome, his dark eyes dancing with cinnamon lights, his sun-shot brown hair brushed neatly back from his face. He wore perfectly tailored clothes that displayed-no, flaunted-the power of his body. The snug-fitting beige pantaloons lovingly followed every muscular line of his legs, and emphasized his masculine endowments in a way that brought scarlet heat to Lara’s cheeks. A blindingly white shirt and cravat, elegantly patterned waistcoat, and crisp dark blue coat completed the ensemble. The exotic dark hue of his skin only made him more striking. Lara had no doubt that the mere sight of him would make any number of women swoon.

In fact, her own insides were twisting in agitation.

It definitely had to do with the way he looked at her-not a nice, respectful gaze, but the kind of look she imagined a man would give a prostitute. How was it that he could make her feel as if she were standing na**d before him, when she was covered in layers of confining clothes and an apron the size of a tent?

“Did you have a pleasant stay in London?” she asked, trying to gather her wits.

“Not especially.” His hands tightened at her waist as she tried to pull back. “It was productive, however.”

“My time here was also productive,” she said.

“There are some things I must discuss with you later.”

“Tell me now.” Hawksworth slid an arm around her and began to pull her from the washhouse.

“I must help with the laundering-” “Let the servants take care of it.”

He descended the two steps leading to the pathway that connected the building to the main house.

“I would rather talk to you at supper,” Lara said, pausing at the top of the steps, so that their faces were level. “After you’ve had a few glasses of wine.”

Hawksworth laughed and reached for her, making her gasp as he lifted her off her feet and swung her easily to the ground. “Bad news, is it?”

“Not bad,” she said, unable to take her gaze from his wide, expressive mouth. “I would like to make some rather significant changes around here, and you may not approve.”

“Changes.” His white teeth gleamed as he smiled sardonically. “Well, I’m always open to bargaining.”

“I have nothing to bargain with.”

Hawksworth stopped before they reached the house, drawing her into a secluded nook of the hedges bordering the kitchen garden. The air was fragrant with herbs and sun-warmed flowers. “For what you have, sweet wife, I would lay the world at your feet.”

Realizing his intentions, Lara tried to twist away, only to find herself caught securely against him. His torso was as hard as iron, muscles protruding through the layers of clothing that separated them.

And low against her abdomen and belly, the hot, leaping pressure of masculine flesh, instantly roused by her nearness. “My lord,” she gasped, “Hunter don’t you dare-” “You’re not as shocked as you pretend.

You’re a married woman, after all.”

“I haven’t been for a long time.” She pushed in vain at his chest.

“Release me at once!”

He grinned, and his embrace only tightened. “Kiss me first.”

“Why should I?” she returned frostily.