Bride for a Night(56)

Slipping the small piece of jewelry in one pocket of her dressing gown and a sealed letter in the other pocket, she headed back into the hallway and toward the nearest staircase with an air of purpose.

She continued her swift pace ever downward, sweeping past the curious guards until she reached the cellars and the soldier who stood directly before the locked door.

Summoning her most charming smile, Sophia gestured toward the blanket in her hand and assured the wary guard that Jacques had sent her to make certain their guest was made comfortable. The man hesitated, then with a faint shrug he turned the key in the lock and pulled open the heavy oak door.

Sophia stepped past him, waiting for the door to be shut behind her before moving into the shadowed room, her breath squeezed from her lungs as the tall gentleman lifted his graceful form off the narrow cot and prowled toward her.

Even for a woman jaded by a lifetime of men, Sophia had to admit this one was a magnificent specimen.

In the torchlight his hair shimmered like the finest gold, and his perfectly chiseled features looked more fitted for an angel than a mere man. But for all his astonishing beauty, Sophia felt a chill of premonition inching down her spine.

Unlike most of the nobles she had entertained over the years, the Earl of Ashcombe was no primping dandy, nor was he a debauched lecher. Non. This gentleman was a sleek, dangerous predator who regarded her with a cold, silver gaze that seemed to pierce through her hard-earned defenses.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Jacques might be a ghastly host, but he does possess an exquisite taste in guards.” He ran a blatant gaze down the length of her body. “Or are you here in the guise of a maid?”

She tossed aside the blanket, offering him the famed smile that had seduced men, from chimney sweeps to royalty.

“How can you be so certain I am not a genuine maid?” she said huskily.

His eyes narrowed, but thankfully he seemed as susceptible as every other gentleman to her allure, and stepping forward, he captured her hands in a light grip.

“Few servants can afford a gown made of pure silk. And these hands…” His thumb brushed her inner wrist with a touch that spoke of his vast experience in pleasing women. “Soft and smooth. They have never known hard labor.”

“While your hands are finely crafted like those of an artist and yet, strong enough for a warrior. An enticing combination.” Her throaty words were cut off as she found herself being roughly shoved against the brick wall of the cellar, her captor using his large body to restrain her instinctive attempt to escape. Sophia froze, her lips twisting with the rueful acceptance that it was Ashcombe who had lured her into a false sense of security rather than the other way around. She did not know whether to be insulted or impressed. “My lord. Should we not at least be introduced before you attempt such intimacies?” she quipped.

His expression was set in cruel lines. “Does Jacques think me a fool?”

“Actually he refers to you as the black plague.”

“Tell me why he sent you.”

Sophia shivered beneath the impact of his icy gaze. Up close the Earl of Ashcombe was even more intimidating than at a distance.

She felt very much as if she had poked a sleeping lion, and now she was about to suffer the consequences.

“He does not know I am here,” she responded.

His jaw tightened. “I have no patience for such tedious games.”

With an effort, Sophia stiffened her spine and forced a teasing smile to her lips. This was too important to lose her courage now.

“I assure you, my lord, my games are never tedious.”