Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

W hen Meliah first set out on this escapade, she hadn't realized how dangerous this man could be. She thought she was immune to his charms, that her dreams would remind her of what was at stake should she allow herself to be overcome.

But nothing in her wildest dreams could have prepared her for the swirl of heat that started in her stomach and slowly spread throughout her limbs. Her head spun, and she had to cling to his shoulders in order to withstand the sensation of falling.

This wasn't just desire she was facing. This was dangerous territory, and she was starting to slip down this perilous slope entirely too quick—and easy.

Gathering her strength, Meliah pushed against him. Her breathing was rapid, her heartbeat the same, but she set her jaw and made sure that he knew she was serious when she said, "I think you need to return to your side of the carriage, my lord."

He dropped his hands into his lap and offered a lopsided grin before he moved back to where he'd been. "Forgive me. I was just testing your fortitude."

"Now that you have, I suggest you retain a respectful distance henceforth."

"Of course, Miss Newton." She clenched her fists when his grin broadened and he flashed a devastating smile. "Your every wish is my command."

Refusing to be pulled back into that devilish magnetism, Meliah turned her attention outside. Although it was dark, staring into oblivion was better than continuing to face off with this dastardly villain. The only reason she remained was because he was the single thing standing between fulfilling her dreams and a life filled with toil.

Squaring her shoulders, Meliah kept her focus distant, until the gentle sway of the carriage started to lull her into a false sense of security. Feeling her lids grow heavy, she startled herself awake. She thought it was a bump in the road, but then she realized that they'd stopped. A glance out the window showed that the night sky was starting to give way to the dawn. Feeling a moment of panic that she must have dozed for a few hours rather than a few minutes, she reached for the door handle, only to have it opened from the other side.

"Where are we?" she demanded of the cretin standing there.

The earl waved his silver headed cane toward the large manor house behind him. "My father's hunting box north of London." He offered that same, heart stopping smile. "It's quite secluded, I assure you. We won't be disturbed while you conduct your… interview."

She narrowed her gaze and reluctantly took his hand so he could help her alight. "Does everything have to be some sort of innuendo?"

"I wouldn't be much of a rake if not."

She couldn't argue with that sort of logic, so she kept any further thoughts to herself for the moment as he led her up the stone steps. "Alas, we won't be completely secluded, unfortunately," he murmured in an aside to her. "There is the cook and the housekeeper who shall check on us randomly during the day. Lucky for you, I know where we can go where they won't find us."

A shiver trailed up her spine, and although Meliah wanted to say it was revulsion, she would be lying to herself. This man had a way of making her body respond even if her mind was screaming at her to deny the sensations.

Meliah took note of the large white columns as they entered the house, and then the black and white marble floor at her feet. She stopped and looked up at the large, crystal chandelier, and felt her mouth fall slack at the sight of the sprawling, carpeted staircase that led to the upper floors. Two hallways led back to more rooms as paintings and tapestries lined the wooden beamed walls.

She had never beheld such splendor before, and likely wouldn't again. It would be so easy to imagine that she had fallen into some sort of fairytale, but soon enough, reality intruded to remind her that she was merely passing through these doors temporarily.

"I'll show you to your chamber."

Lord Belmont put his hand at the small of her back and guided her up the stairs. Their shoes made hardly any sound on the plush covering until they had reached the second floor, where they were greeted with another crisp, marble floor. This one was white and appeared both cold and inviting all at once.

When the earl opened a door halfway down the hall on the right, he moved aside so she could enter first. A lump immediately formed in her throat, because the large four-poster bed in the middle of the massive room looked much more inviting than her straw tick mattress back on Brick Lane above her parent's weaver shop.

A cozy fire was burning in the grate with more coal and wood sitting off to the side. A large wardrobe, dressing table and privacy screen made up the rest of the space. Tears stung her eyes at the knowledge that this was the closest she would ever come to living in such extravagant surroundings. Unless she succeeded with her plan and became the notable writer that she'd always hoped to be.

"Miss Newton?"

His voice was soft and she had to blink away the emotion that also threatened to clog her voice. "Yes?"

He regarded her steadily, more than she felt comfortable with. "I asked if the accommodations were to your liking."

"Quite," she returned, with a brief nod.

"Very well. I'll see if I can find something else for you to wear." He glanced at the bed, which now seemed larger than life with Lord Belmont standing right beside her. "Make yourself at home. I shall return shortly."

As Elwood shut the door to Miss Newton's bedchamber, a frown creased his brow. For someone who acted as though she were part of the gentry, both in manners and speech, she had appeared rather overwhelmed by the opulence around her. Of course, these surroundings were nothing compared to his townhouse, and more notably his father's estate.

It made him wonder if she might be hiding some secrets of her own, and that bothered him more than it should. However, they had a few days in which to learn about each other, and he intended to do just that. For every question he answered, he intended to learn something about the lady.

Thus decided, he headed for the room at the far end of the hall. Although his mother hadn't been at the hunting box in some years, she often kept some clothes here for emergency use in case her trunks were disrupted on the journey from London. Thankfully he had recalled that small detail, as entertaining a guest was the only thing that Elwood hadn't prepared for in advance.

He gathered a nightdress, robe, and a day gown out of the wardrobe that he hadn't recalled his mother wearing before. She had entirely too many clothes, in his opinion, and it was a good thing, because he didn't really want to think about removing anything from Miss Newton's delectable body and knowing that they had graced his mother's figure first.

When he returned to her room, he offered a brief knock before he entered. He was surprised to see her standing in front of one of the floor length windows and looking out over the grounds.

She didn't move when he entered, but jumped slightly and turned when the door shut behind him. He held up the material before he laid the articles over a nearby chair. "These may not fit perfectly, but they should suffice until I can procure you something from the local seamstress."

She walked over to inspect the clothes and he watched as she rubbed the delicate lace between her thumb and forefinger. "Thank you."

As she dropped her hand, she fell silent, as if unsure of what to do next. In truth, she appeared almost shy as she stared at the floor. What had happened to that confidant woman who had accosted him just hours earlier?

He moved to stand in front of her, and when her eyes lifted, he was glad to see a definite spark was in those emerald depths. He reached out to cup her cheek and although she didn't melt into his touch, he was glad to see that she didn't refuse him. "Are you happy, Miss Newton?"

She blinked. "I… I don't…"

He took pity on her. "I know it was an unexpected query. I was just curious as to your answer." When she didn't seem capable of speaking again, he chuckled. "Since you are determined to ferret out the facts of that blasted article, I shall offer a simple truth about me." He paused, wondering why he had thought to tell her anything at all, but he found the words spilling forth. "I'm not happy. My parents are ridiculously so, and I believe my brothers are content, but for me—" He shrugged. "Happiness is an emotion that continues to elude me."

"How can you say that?" she whispered. "You are standing in the midst of all of this—" She waved her hand to encompass the room. "And you can actually claim you aren't grateful?"

"Gratitude and happiness are not the same thing," he pointed out. "I'm talking about this." He took her hand and placed it on his chest, directly over his heart. "This organ that beats so steadily to ensure that I survive has never actually made me feel alive ." Standing so close to her, he could feel her every breath as it fanned his chin. "Passion— lust —that is the one thing that has come close to offering me the sole means of escape from my staid existence." He lowered his head, until their lips were inches apart. "So I ask again—are you happy, Meliah?"

He could almost see the thoughts rushing through her mind. Finally, she said, "Writing. Writing makes me happy."

"Is that all?" he whispered.

She visibly swallowed. "That's all I know."

He leaned down and murmured in her ear. "Would you like to know more, sweet Meliah?"

She opened her mouth, closed it. "I should like the respectable distance that I asked for, my lord."

Disappointment mixed with respect coursed through him as he took a step back, released all contact between them. "Then I shall leave you to get settled, but I must insist that you join me for breakfast in the morning room."

He started to leave, but she stopped him with a query. "Where is that?"

His lips twitched with amusement, but he carefully concealed it before he glanced back over his shoulder. "You're a resourceful woman. I'm sure you will figure it out."

The moment he was gone, Meliah grasped the bedpost before she sank onto the mattress. She swallowed hard, because she wasn't sure how she might manage to survive being under the same roof with Lord Belmont and resist his rakish demeanor. Already, she was a flurry of nerves and she had merely shared a single carriage ride with him!

She set her head in her hands with a groan, allowing herself this moment of weakness, and then she got to her feet. She would have to rethink her approach to the earl if she intended to keep her virtue intact and gain the information she needed to impress upon society that she was the next Brazen Belle. He certainly wasn't making it easy to prove he was other than the rake she'd claimed in her article.

Pacing about the room, she paused when she gained a look at the dressing table mirror. Her eyes widened when she caught her appearance. Her reflection showed a woman who looked as innocent as any other. She had believed the pink dress she'd gotten from Samantha was perfectly suitable. But she had to wonder if perhaps it was too much. It certainly made her look like a sheep standing before the dangerous wolf.

She immediately walked over to the gowns he'd selected for her and hoped it was something that might make a better impression, to prove to Lord Belmont, and to herself, that she was the resourceful lady she claimed to be—that she intended to be.

Unfortunately, it was still quite simple, a sprigged muslin with violet flowers embroidered on it. It was the nicest things she'd ever donned, other than the pink dress. Then again, for someone who toiled for a living, muslin was not generally a garment that might be found in her wardrobe.

Careful to remove her current gown so that she might return it to Samantha unhindered, she folded it as neatly as possible and set it on the chair, before she donned the other dress. She turned to the right and then the left to check her appearance. It was slightly big on her, but it was clean and a slight improvement to the pink.

Sitting at the dressing table, she started to rummage around in the drawers, hoping to find something other than the few toiletries on display. While she wasn't expecting to find jewels, she hoped for some perfume, or enhancements that would turn her into a coquette. When she came up empty handed, she set her elbow on the top of the table in discouragement. Without any cosmetics, she was forced to pinch her cheeks to gain some color. She untied her hair and brushed it until the long strands crackled. Pulling it back up into a knot at the nape of her neck, she had no choice but to re-pin it in a simple fashion. Again, it wasn't as though she'd had a reason to try anything different with her hair before.

She eyed herself critically in the mirror and then decided that, without the assistance of a ladies' maid, her current appearance would have to do.

She lifted her chin and decided that most of her cunning would have to rely upon her mannerisms. She already knew that the earl was a consummate rake. If "The Belle" hadn't decided to write about him, it would have been apparent from the first moment they had met that Lord Belmont was in a class of his own. It was evident in the way he walked with that debonair attitude, or the way he swung his cane with an air of confidence. But those eyes… those devilish, blue eyes that beckoned her, that enticed her to travel down the path of sin, were the most dangerous.

Very well then .

No further eye contact. It should be simple enough.

Gathering her courage, Meliah opened the door and made her way downstairs. She paused at the bottom of the staircase, thinking that she ought to smell some sort of food being laid out, but when there was nothing immediate to give away the direction she needed to be going, Meliah turned to the left and headed down the hall.

She peeked in the doors that were open, because he surely wouldn't expect her to check every door. However, she wasn't above investigating every inch of this house in due time. There was likely some sort of clue to his past that would reveal the earl's true nature.

When she heard the sound of clinking glass, Meliah walked into a comfortable room that was filled with brilliant sunshine. But it was the man in the midst of it all who captured her attention. The earl had changed, not into formal attire, but rather dressed down in a clean white shirt and buff trousers. Without the extra accessories of a cravat and waistcoat, he invoked a terribly intimate setting in the bright light of morning. She was particularly drawn to the strong column of his throat and the exposed part of his upper chest. When their eyes met, he dared to wink at her, because he likely knew what his disheveled appearance was doing to her peace of mind.

So much for forgoing any eye contact…

The man truly was a master in his art.

It was going to take all of her fortitude to withstand him, and not give in to temptation.