Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(70)

“My thanks,” he said. “I expected a footman or housemaid to bring them. Forgive me for putting you to trouble.”

“It was no trouble. I . . . I wanted to find out if you’d slept comfortably last night.”

He smiled slightly, appearing to debate the answer. “Well enough.”

“Is the bed too soft?” Phoebe asked in concern. “Too firm? Are the pillows sufficient, or—”

“The surroundings are luxurious in every regard. I had unsettled dreams, that’s all.”

Tentatively Phoebe moved forward with the basket. “I brought Henry’s razor,” she blurted out. “I would be glad for you to have the use of it.”

West stared at her, his lips parting with what seemed to be dismay. “Thank you, but I couldn’t—”

“I want you to,” she insisted. God, how awkward this was turning out to be. “It’s a Swedish razor, made of the finest-grain steel. Sharper even than a Damascus blade. You’ll need it, with a beard like yours.”

Letting out a breath of amusement, West reached up to rub the brush-wire surface of his jaw. “How do you know so much about men’s beards?”

“I shaved Henry quite often,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly, “especially near the end. I was the only one he would allow to touch him.”

Light angled across the upper half of his face, striking unearthly blue gleams in his eyes. “You were a good wife,” came his soft comment.

“I became very proficient.” A self-conscious smile tugged at her lips as she confided, “I love the sounds of shaving.”

“What sounds?”

“The swoosh of the lather brush, and the scratchy-scraping of the blade cutting through whiskers. It sends a tingly feeling down the back of my neck.”

West laughed suddenly. “It’s never done that to me.”

“But you understand what I mean, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Isn’t there a sound you find so pleasant that it seems to waken all your nerve endings?”

A long pause ensued before he said, “No.”

“Yes, there is,” Phoebe protested with a laugh, “you’re just not telling me.”

“You don’t need to know it.”

“I’ll find out someday,” she told him, and he shook his head, still smiling at her. Slowly she approached him with the lidded basket. “West . . . have you ever had a woman shave you?”

His smile faded at the edges, and he gave her an arrested stare.

“You haven’t,” she guessed.

West tensed as she drew closer.

“I dare you to let me,” Phoebe said.

He had to clear his throat before saying in a rusty voice, “That’s not a good idea.”

“Yes, let me shave you.” When he didn’t respond, Phoebe asked softly, “Don’t you trust me?” She was standing very close to him now, unable to fathom his expression. But she could almost feel his visceral response to her nearness, his powerful body radiating pleasure, like fire throwing off heat. “Are you afraid?” she dared to tease.

It was a challenge West couldn’t resist. His set his jaw and backed away a step, staring at her with a mixture of resentment and helpless desire.

And then . . . he made a brief motion with his head for her to follow him into the bedroom.





Chapter 25




“How do I know that your tingles from the sounds of shaving implements won’t cause you to accidentally butcher me?” West asked, seated in a wing chair beside the bedroom washstand.

“The sound doesn’t send me into fits,” Phoebe protested, pouring hot water into a white ceramic bowl on the washstand. “It’s only that I find it satisfying.”

“I’ll be satisfied to have this scruff removed,” West said, scratching his jaw. “It’s starting to itch.”

“It’s just as well that you’re not going to keep it.” Phoebe went to set the small kettle back on the box stove at the hearth. “The fashion is for a long, flowing beard,” she continued, “like Mr. Darwin’s or Mr. Rossetti’s. But I suspect yours would turn out curly.”

“Like a prizewinning sheep,” he agreed dryly.

Carefully Phoebe soaked a towel in the steaming water, wrung it out and folded it, and pressed it gently over the lower half of West’s face. He slouched lower in the chair and tilted his head back.

Phoеbe was still inwardly amazed that he’d agreеd to let her shavе him. The masculine ritual would undoubtedly be nеrve-wracking if it werеn’t pеrformed by a professional. By thе timе shе had started shaving Hеnry, hе’d been too wеak to do it for himself, and hе’d alrеady еntrusted hеr with thе countlеss intimaciеs involved in caring for a bedriddеn invalid. But this situation was vеry different.

She took a lеathеr strop from the baskеt and tied it dеftly to thе top rail of thе washstand. “I askеd my fathеr to show me how to do this,” shе said conversationally, “so I could take care of Henry. The first thing I lеarned was how to strop thе blade properly.” After she picked up thе slendеr steel razor, she openеd the embossеd handle and began to strop with light, brisk strokes. “Who shaves you at Evеrsby Priory? Lord Trenear’s valеt?”