Excerpt Chapter 2

 Darien Hawkesworth stood with his back to the huge doors.  Looking about the beautiful room, he realized he’d forgotten how welcoming the place was.  The last time he was here, the day of his wedding, he’d been so angry he wouldn’t have noticed if the place had been on fire.

The sunbeams played on the crystals, giving the room an enchanted look.  He saw someone in the floor and moved forward, his footsteps muffled by the thick rug.  At first glance he’d thought it to be a young boy.  Tan breeches and white shirt were not the usual attire for a maid.  But then she raised herself and sat back on her heels while she dunked the brush in the pail of water.  With the back of her left hand she pushed a stray curl from her face and resumed her position on her hands and knees, scrubbing fiercely. 

Darien stopped abruptly at the edge of the rug as she’d sat back.  He was shocked.  All that glorious hair pinned up, well, most of it was pinned up anyway, could not belong to any boy.  He’d watched as she’d pushed the lock of hair from her face and he followed the line of her body.  No.  Those curves, that tiny little waist - they do not belong to a boy, he thought to himself as he began moving slowly forward.  He watched the sway of that perfectly shaped little bottom.  How could I have mistaken that for a boy?

He stopped again when he was just a few feet away from her and waited to see if she would realize she was no longer alone.  Still he watched the sway of her bottom, back and forth.  Damn.  He wanted her and he hadn’t even seen her face yet!  She continued her scrubbing, ignoring his presence until he couldn’t stand it any more.  Her perfect little bottom swaying back and forth like that was driving him mad.  His pants were getting tighter.  Slowly he circled to her side.  Still he couldn’t see her face.  Several of those magnificent golden-red curls had fallen forward to hide all but a hint of her profile.  Again his eyes followed the line of her body.  The sun shining through the windows filtered through the fabric of her white shirt revealing the shape of the unbound breasts beneath it.  He could just see the shadowed outline of the side of one of them, round and full.  And was that the tip of her nipple there?  Sweet Mother!  He had to see her face.

Stifling a groan of discomfort as his pants had impossibly grown even tighter; he cleared his throat to get her attention.  Startled, she looked up quickly, her eyes wide and a soft “Oh” escaped her lips.

Beautiful. An angel. Her cheeks were flushed from her exertions and several ringlets had fallen to frame her face.  Those eyes.  Green.  And those lips.  Her lips were full and cherry red and shaped by that little “Oh” she had whispered, they were just begging to be kissed. 

Angelina was shocked to see him.  He was as tall as she remembered, but his shoulders seemed wider, stronger.  His hair was a bit longer and the wavy little half curls hung just to the edge of his collar almost brushing those broad shoulders.  Though his eyes were still stormy gray, they did not hold the scornful glare of her memories.  His eyes held a much different message this time and she was suddenly very uncomfortable with this man towering above her. 

“My lord,” she said softly as she stood.  Too late she realized that she still had the brush in her hand and she turned slightly to drop it with a splash into the pail.  Darien watched as the water splattered her breeches and she wiped her hand on her hip.  Angelina looked at him curiously when she realized his attention was on her hand instead of her face. 

“My lord, you did not send word that you were coming,” she said soft and low.  She was quite unsettled to have been taken by surprise.  Damn him. 

“You know who I am then?”  His astonishment was evident.

“Of course, Lord Fennimore.  You have not changed that much since last I saw you,” she replied, just a bit miffed that he did not think she would recognize her own husband.

He raised his brow and moved a little closer to her.  “I am sorry.”  His grin could only be described as wicked.  “I do not recall a woman like you being here before.”

His voice was a deep baritone, much deeper than she remembered, but then he’d never really spoken to her.  She only remembered bits and pieces of him reciting his vows through gritted teeth.  “My lord?”  Was he teasing her? He didn’t remember a woman… “Oh!  I suppose I was much younger then,” she said looking away shyly as color rose to her cheeks.  I never blush, damn it.  I must not let him do this to me.  He is only a man, after all.  And Angelina certainly knew how to handle men.  Straightening her shoulders she returned her gaze to his face and looked him squarely in the eye.

“Indeed.”  His expression softened and he smiled at her.  “I brought this for your mistress,” he said as he brought his left hand forward.  In it he held a beautiful porcelain doll she noticed for the first time.

“My…mistress?”

“The little countess.”  He chuckled. 

The countess?  The countess?  He really does not recognize me!  “I see,” she replied when she realized he waiting for a response.

“Do you know where she is?” he asked softly and moved even closer.

“I… well, that is…” she heard herself stammer.  He was too close. He stood only about a foot away from her and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“What’s the matter, pet?  Cat got your tongue?” he asked, chuckling again.  She frowned at him.  “Do all of the servants here wear breeches?” he asked as he boldly raked her top to bottom then returned his gaze to her face.

“No,” she said flatly and stiffened, his brazen assessment irritating her.  He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and softly inquired, “Are they all as beautiful as you?”

Beautiful?  What?  He’d done it again.  Blushing for the second time, she stepped back and looked at the floor.  “You think me beautiful, my lord?”  Whose voice was this?  It could not be her own.  She sounded like a squeaky little mouse.

At this his usual chuckle became a full laugh.  He reached up to finger one of the curls at the side of her face and returned, “Hair the color of a sunset, eyes as green as the finest emeralds… Surely you have been told so before.”

“Not by you, my lord.”  There it was again.  That little squeak.  She had to get control of herself.  Why was her heart fluttering so?

To anyone listening, her response likely sounded coquettish and playful, but Angelina was truly dumbfounded.  Her insecurities had mounted these past few years; always wondering why her husband did not want her.  He stepped forward again, closing the space she had put between them.  His hand released the curl, he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.  When she didn’t look up at him, he moved his index finger under her chin and lifted her face to him.  She was trapped by his gaze.

Her breath caught and a feeling of panic assailed her.  What is wrong with me?  How can he steal my voice with a look?  How can he stop my breathing with a touch?  She wondered.  I must get control of myself.  She scolded herself again.

Leaning forward until she could feel his breath on her face, he whispered, “Share my bed tonight.”