He moved forward and touched her face with expensively gloved fingers. Her mouth snapped shut at his sheer nerve and proximity as supple leather slid over her skin. Eyes the oddest shade of blue examined her critically. Bluish-green, like an exotic orchid. She shook her head to stop their mesmerizing effect and pulled her cheek from his touch.
"Classic beauty, fine features, but afraid of her own passion," he said, showing himself even more of an ass by talking to himself, cataloging her assets as if she were a broodmare. "How disappointing. And tantalizing, of course. I hadn‟t realized scullery maids could be so intriguing."
She didn‟t know which segment of his assessment insulted her more. She swallowed her immediate reply, refusing to play his game.
Full lips pulled across straight white teeth. "And here I was hoping that you‟d beg me so prettily once again."
She pulled an escaped bit of hair back under her bonnet, and kept her lips pressed tightly together.
"Is that spirit you are vainly trying to suppress?" His eyes were heavy—lazy and satisfied. "I don‟t know whether to be pleased at the immediate progress or irritated that my new game has been cut short."
"I seriously doubt you can handle my unsuppressed spirit," she said, a little viciously, irritated and unnerved by the whole encounter. The hair escaped again with her head shake.
"I seriously doubt that," he mocked. His head cocked to the side, and one lock of rich brown hair slid farther over his eye—unlike hers, though, she was sure the gesture was calculated. Hair too long, brilliant eyes too full of shadows.
"You are trying much too hard to be restrained. It‟s in every line, from your severe hair knot tucked in that awful bonnet that cannot quite keep that one piece of hair in place, to the abbey-worthy scullery dress that barely fits you. And then there is your abominable drawing. The less said about that, the better."
Her chin jutted. "I dress the way I please. And why am I bothering to respond to you?"
"Because underneath all of that prim severity, there is passion tethered and waiting, and you want it released." Another slow, lazy smile. "I can see it in the pulse at your throat, in the flush on your cheeks."
She could feel her cheeks heat further even as she shook her head.
"No? Women are such contrary creatures at times. I‟m simply reading your body‟s reaction." He leaned closer, and her heart skipped ahead three beats. He smiled in satisfaction. "Your reactions show promise. Your sketch does not."
"And what would you know of it?" She leaned away from him, looking him over from toe to tip with as much disdain as she could muster over a racing heart and burning cheeks.
"I need not be a master of the brush to recognize a shocking suffocation of emotion." His head rolled around his neck, as if he was casually rotating out the kinks. The motion stopped so that he was looking at her from under long lashes. "Though I can be your master, should you need that?"
"I do not ."
"It seems as if you need something to incite you."
"I‟m perfectly capable of—of inciting myself—"
He smiled wickedly.
"—as well as being intelligently cautious." Why in all that was holy was she defending herself like a caught novice? She tried to ignore the answer wrapped in her body‟s thrum, the heavy beat of her heart.
"Cautious? You didn‟t know until I said something that you weren‟t alone.
The groom who accompanied you is napping soundly on his perch. What‟s the use of caution if there is no one around to dupe? You could have been out here inciting yourself and no one would have known." He smiled lazily. "Except me, of course. And I do have to tell you that would be a sight for which I‟d pay the ticket price."
Her jaw dropped.
He leaned closer, too near for comfort, looking at the next paper on her stack—an earlier version of the scene. "Maybe you should try something more ladylike, that you could wave off as simply pretty. A lovely accessory." He looked up at her with those eyes. "Many ladies get by on simply being one themselves."
Too near. Too near, her senses screamed.
She leaned away from him, swallowing, trying not to let too much of her skittishness show. "I‟ll have you know that sketching landscapes is perfectly ladylike. Have you never been to a parlor, sir?"
He was still so close that she could see the small creases in his brow as one lifted. "I try to stay away from activities that are so dreadfully boring."
"I daresay that you have a hard time being alone then."
"A dreadful time. Alas, I often must amuse myself."
He leaned back and stretched his legs, perfectly tailored trousers whispering across slate. "Let‟s see what you try for your next barely passable sketch."
"Sir, if you were a gentleman, you would hide on parts unknown."
He bent one knee, a booted foot dislodging bits of gravel as it scraped up. "But who said I was a gentleman?"
She didn‟t even know his name, and at this point she was unlikely to ask. The answer to his question was obvious.
She decided to ignore him and began sketching again, using the previous outline she had drawn.
A rip of material, and her new effort joined its brother.
"No, put a little passion into it."
She had no idea what the man was talking about. Daft, hateful, motherless rat.
She grabbed a new piece of paper and had barely finished a new outline of the house, before long fingers removed it from her lap. The sound of paper hitting leaves thudded in her ears.
She bit her lip to keep tears of frustration at bay over the wasted time, the wasted work, the wasted goodwill she would have received from the earl.
She rose. "You and the earl can go to the devil."
"Oh, come now, don‟t lump me in with Cheevers." He mock-shuddered, and she hated him for it.
"Little difference is there. Bullying those you see as inferior. Lording over those in your power. Being petty just because you can."
His eyes shuttered, but she didn‟t care. She turned and strode in the direction of the carriage.
Three steps later a body was in front of her, a hand at her elbow.
"In my power, are you?"
"Is that what you absorbed from my speech? Pity that your brain seems little more than a snail‟s."
"In two hours it will be dusk," the too-handsome demon said, eyes still shuttered, body too large in front of her as he pressed forward, backing her up with his proximity. "The light will be gone and you will be without your sketch."
The backs of her legs hit the bench. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, refusing to be intimidated even as her heart thumped in her chest. "I suppose I will."
"The earl will be displeased."
"Most likely. But I don‟t let the earl‟s displeasure overrun my will, and neither will I let yours."
His eyes narrowed on hers. "You are lying. The earl‟s displeasure is a keen thing to you." She pressed her lips together. "You will lose your position."
"Perhaps. If you recognize such, what will it take for you to leave me be? For you to let me sketch the house and leave?"
Something shifted in his expression. "Oh, I‟m not sure you are willing to pay the price."
She focused on the falling sun, the heavy shadows. "Perhaps I‟m not, but what is it?"
"What if I demand you naked here, splayed on your back, arching against me as I drive into you?"
One edge of his mouth lifted in a hot smile that matched entirely with the look in his sarcastic eyes.
Not the type of smile that gentlemen wore.
Her mouth dropped open. "N-no. I don‟t think that is at all what I had in mind."
"No? Perhaps a meeting for tea?
A drive through the park?
Surely a maid doesn‟t expect to be courted?"