Читать книгу Marrying Miss Monkton - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 9

The following morning when Maria awoke, the sight of Charles standing half-naked at the wash stand, his shirt thrown over a chair and his trousers unfastened at the waist and falling slightly low over his hips, was almost too much for her virgin eyes to bear. The vision of his tall, lithe, wide-shouldered form with sculpted muscles as he hummed a military march, bathed in the golden glow of early morning sunlight, would be for ever branded on her brain.

Shoving back the covers, she knelt on the bed and stared at him. Never having seen the naked male form before, she stared in virginal innocence, thinking he was one of those rare men who looked like a Roman statue. Up close, in broad daylight, his maleness, the power, the strength of his body, seemed even more pronounced. Armed with shaving dish and razor, a towel round his neck and lather on his face, he continued to shave.

Curious, never having seen a man shave before, as she watched him she felt an unfamiliar sensation—a melting sensation that somehow made breathing difficult and made her heart race. He did seem to have a way with him, and she could not fault any woman for falling under his spell, for she found to her amazement that her heart was not so detached as she might have imagined it to be. As handsome as he was, she could imagine that he had grown quite adept at swaying young women from the paths their parents had urged them to follow.

Catching her eyes in the mirror, Charles paused and grinned, his eyes glowing in the warm light of day. ‘So, you are awake at last. Good morning, Maria.’

‘Good morning,’ she murmured, trying to shake off the effects of his winning smile. Unexpectedly she found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness.

Charles saw that her face was a mirror of lovely confusion, and, taking pity on her innocence, he fastened his trousers and quietly said, ‘Have you never seen a man shave before?’

‘No—of course I haven’t—not even my father, and Henry—’ She stopped what she had been about to say, that she had been very young when her betrothed had gone away and it had never entered her head to find out how and when he shaved.

Charles paused to look at her, the razor in mid-air. ‘Ah, your betrothed. I wondered how long it would be before you brought him into the conversation. How did you manage to allow yourself to become betrothed to Colonel Winston?’

His remark seemed to discomfit her and, as if stalling for time in which to compose an answer, she wriggled into a sitting position and drew her long legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, perching her chin upon her knees and raising her brilliant green eyes to his in the mirror. Sitting like that, Charles thought she looked incredibly desirable—a delightful nymph with long curly hair. Her pose allowed him a view of small feet and trim ankles. From there, his gaze ranged upwards with equal admiration.

‘Was that question too difficult for you?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘It was—impertinent.’

Her reply was accompanied by such a well-bred, reproving look that Charles chuckled in spite of himself. ‘You’re quite right,’ he admitted, grinning at the delightful young woman who dared to lecture him on his shortcomings. ‘But I would still like to know the answer.’

‘And I do not choose to discuss it. It is most unchivalrous of you to badger me about matters which are of a most private nature—not to mention excruciatingly embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing for whom?’ Charles asked, ignoring her jibe. ‘For you, or for Winston?’

‘I am embarrassed—to find myself in such intimate surroundings with a near-naked man. I dread to think what Henry would have to say—not forgetting my aunt.’

Charles’s sudden grin was wicked. ‘I can well imagine what a dreadful experience this must be for you, Maria. But fear not. It will be our secret. Colonel Winston will never know.’

‘I hope not. Look at me. I’m not even dressed.’

‘I have been looking—all night,’ he averred with a broad grin, and was forced to marvel at how comfortable he felt with her in such an intimate situation. Two days ago, he would never have imagined such simple, yet totally gratifying pleasure.

Maria’s face flamed. Beneath the consuming heat of his eyes as they ranged slowly over her, she felt thoroughly divested of what few garments she had on. The sight of those bare shoulders and broad, furred chest made her feel most uneasy. Unable to continue watching him perform such an intimate task, totally shaken and thoroughly amazed by what she was experiencing, to hide the crimson tide that swept over her face, clutching her precarious modesty close, she climbed out of bed and turned away. No longer facing him, she missed the smile that widened his lips.

Charles could not resist a glance over his shoulder. Maria stood facing the door, resolutely refusing to look at him. His eyes coursed down the fine curves of her stiff back, from the slim erect column of her neck to the beckoning roundness of her hips. Putting down his razor and wiping the soap from his face with the towel, he turned towards her.

‘I’m almost done. As soon as I’ve finished my ablutions I shall give you your privacy to perform your own and to dress. We’ll leave as soon as we’ve had breakfast.’

When Maria turned to face him he was already thrusting his arms into his shirt. His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner, until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. Never had she felt such burning heat or such quickening fires in the depths of her being as she did just then.

Moving to stand close to her, noticing a thick coil of hair resting in the curve of her neck, Charles stretched out a hand and rubbed the tress admiringly between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You have lovely hair, Maria,’ he murmured huskily.

Maria realised her insides were melting as they were prone to do when he touched her in some manner. His eyes shifted from beneath a fringe of jet lashes to meet hers, which were softly shining, and for what seemed an eternity in the heartbeat of a moment, their gazes gently mingled. If ever she had wondered what it would be like to be drawn out of herself, to be absorbed into someone else, she found herself experiencing that now. Never had she known such intense, consuming emotions that filled her very being with what she could only assume was desire.

Lowering her gaze from his openly admiring regard, she was strangely thrilled by it, but also confused. He should not be looking at her like this, not when she was betrothed to the man who trusted him implicitly to behave with honour and decency to his future wife.

‘I would like to get dressed now,’ she whispered, aware of the slight tremor in her voice.

For a moment Charles stood on the threshold of something life changing as he struggled with an overwhelming desire to toss her on to the bed and make love to her. As much as he yearned to caress her silken flesh and make her groan with longing, he knew it would be a dastardly thing to do in the light of her being betrothed to another and that she had placed her trust in him.

Yet she seemed so vulnerable, so trusting, so willing…

It might have been the hardest thing he had ever done, but he drew back, denying himself the solace he craved. ‘Do you have any idea what a temptation you have been to me throughout this long night, Maria? I want to touch you, but I shall exert every measure of restraint I am capable of rallying in an effort to quell the instincts of desire that goad me. I must leave. Get dressed.’

Looking embarrassed, Maria hurriedly gathered her clothes and slipped behind the screen. Charles had gone when she emerged fully dressed. She was relieved, for it gave her a moment to gather her scattered wits. Were he to contrive such assaults on her senses, it might well mean the collapse of her resistance and her ultimate downfall. She tried to feel abused and angered, but thinking of the feelings he had stirred inside her, she felt something more akin to—what?

It was nothing but curiosity, she vowed. She had merely had a taste of something she wanted to taste more fully. It was nothing but what any woman would want, and in her state of undress she would seriously test that rogue’s ardour. There had been no contact between them—only their eyes, which had been a simple contact, but the memory of it lingered far too long for her to be able to discount its effect on her.

Frustrated, she swilled her face with cold water. What manner of man was Charles Osbourne, who had crept into her mind and taken root? She was beginning to think he had entered her life with the express purpose of stealing her heart and perhaps even her soul.

Going in search of him, at the bottom of the stairs she paused, experiencing a feeling of alarm on seeing the man who had accosted her on her arrival going outside. Sober now, he threw her a sullen look, but made no attempt to approach her. The cut on his lip and blackened eye told its own story—Charles had obviously fought well in defence of his assumed wife’s honour.

Charles was waiting for her, his expression impassive, and yet there was a knowing gleam in his eyes when they settled on her that made Maria avert her gaze. There were others in the room eating breakfast before setting off on their journey.