Bold Seduction (3 page)

After spying a door on the opposite wall, she opened it. Connecting rooms. Perfect. She would stay here. Or maybe not. Many numerous cracks in the plaster were visible on the ceiling and walls while the faded pink paint showed stains and little maintenance. Dust motes floated in the air, and the stagnant smell proved the room was closed up for some time. Considering her limited options, it would have to do. The bed was a good size and appeared to be comfortable enough for her purposes. Phil pulled off the quilt, and a cloud of dust caused her to cough. Not much else in the room, a small dresser, an oil lamp sitting on a bedside table. The area was sparse, no decoration, pictures, or personal touches of any kind. No wardrobe either, but a least there were a couple of hooks to hang her gowns on. Phil fluffed the pillows while her mind tried to sort her scrambled thoughts. First, what to do for supper? It would have to be cold plates as exhaustion forbade her to attempt anything else.

As for her planned seduction of the hirsute professor, stubborn pride would not allow her to give up and hide in this grimy chamber for a week regardless of his disheveled appearance and physical impediment.

There was more than one way to skin a cat.

* * * *

Phil glanced around the kitchen and frowned. Where to begin? Too late to embark on any cleaning, but she did find a wooden crate in which she placed the dirty crockery and pots. She kicked it aside.

The cupboards held numerous dishes, all mismatched and several cracked and chipped in the bargain. Selecting a couple of plates, Phil wiped them clean. Opening a few of the packages, she smiled at the contents. At least his lordship did not scrimp on the food. Obviously, the old biddy housekeeper never bothered with baking as there were several loaves of fresh bread along with rolls and little frosted cakes. Fine cuts of beef and fresh vegetables. Perhaps she could make a stew tomorrow. A wheel of cheese, fresh chicken, a small basket of apples and…
oh.
Fresh grapes. A rare delicacy. The temptation too great to ignore, she popped a couple in her mouth, and the juicy explosion caused her to moan with pleasure.

A swift exploration turned up a larder with a root cellar directly underneath it. She climbed down the couple of stairs and quickly surveyed its contents. Good thing the area was cold enough. The professor lived too far away for ice delivery she surmised. On shelves sat jars of preserves, and a smoked ham hung in the corner. At least the housekeeper did not allow this area to become overly filthy. Phil nodded in approval. Most of the food could be kept down here.

First order of business--supper. Phil closed the root cellar door, and a puff of dust rose up at the impact, causing her to choke.
God Almighty.
She walked back into the kitchen, found a tray, and began to lay dishes and food upon it.

* * * *

Soon after Miss McGrattan left his study, Spence took the dogs for a long walk, and on returning, filled their bowls with water. Thank God Miss McGrattan offered to see to the cooking. Spence had not a clue as to how to go about it. During his solitude, he learned to look after himself to an extent, but cooking remained a puzzle. Besides, the time taken to prepare meals would be better spent on research.

What caused his housekeeper to “do a runner” as Miss McGrattan stated? The old woman at least brought trays of food to him on a steady basis. He paid her well enough for what little she did accomplish. Now he would have to go to the bother of trying to hire someone else.

Before he returned to his study, he managed a quick glimpse in his bedroom mirror. No wonder Miss McGrattan compared him to a disheveled fur trapper; he looked rather unkempt. He did try to shave at least every few weeks, but became engrossed in his research of late he had let the personal grooming slide, except for washing. Before striding back to his study, he at least ran a brush through his hair.

Spence glanced at the clock as a soft knock sounded at the door. Miss McGrattan poked her head in.

“Follow me, Professor, if you want to eat. What about your beasts?” She pointed to the dogs curled up by the fire.

“I will see to them after the meal.” He stood. Justinian also began to rise. “Stay, lad.” The dog settled by the fire. Spence followed her to the dining room. He could not remember the last time he’d stepped foot in it.

“No time to light the fire, but if you will see to your study and bedroom, I will make sure the fires are lit here, the kitchen, and the room I’m staying in. I assume you have a supply of firewood. Sit, Professor. It’s not much I am afraid, fresh bread, cheese, cold ham, tomatoes, and fruit.” She sat opposite him. “I thought a beef stew would hit the spot for tomorrow’s main meal. Does that meet with your approval?”

He was not used to someone chattering at him. His ordered mind found it hard to keep up with the conversation. A dull ached throbbed in his head. Spence helped himself to a bit of the food.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” she continued. “I found a nice bottle of claret in your larder if you would pour. Bloody hell, the state of your kitchen! Have you ever been down there? I don’t recommend it.” She bit into a piece of cheese. “Utter chaos and filth. I shall attempt to tidy the area tomorrow as I cannot cook in such disarray. Do tell, Professor, what research has you cloistered away like a monk in an abbey?”

He filled their glasses. “I am researching the cultural, philosophical, and bureaucratic changes that took place immediately after the fall of the Western Roman Empire.” He took a sip, then continued. “And how the changes affected the Eastern Roman Empire, better known as the Byzantine, until its fall to the Ottomans in the fifteenth century.”

At last, he found a way to silence her. She stared at him as if he had sprouted an extra head.

“I believe your eyes have glazed over, Miss McGrattan.” Spence cut his ham and popped a portion in his mouth.

She gave him a pert smile. “Indeed. I know nothing about which you speak and am not ashamed to admit it. I do enjoy reading, but stay with the popular novels of the day. History is extremely tedious. I mean, nothing can be done to change it. The people are dead and gone. Why rehash it all?”

A deliberate burn of annoyance rolled through Spence. His emotions hadn’t been stirred up to this extent in quite some time. “There is much to be learned from history, Miss McGrattan, or lest we be doomed to repeat it. Indeed, I see marked economic similarities between our present empire and the Byzantine Empire. I do not expect
you
to know, care, or understand.” Keeping the irritation out of his voice proved to be difficult. The edge in his tone lingered in the air.

She dropped her fork on the plate and narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean, sir? That I am an ignorant, stupid whore without a brain in her head? That I know nothing of the world except how to fuck?”

The word “fuck” caused his insides to dip and roll as a wave of lust clutched him tight, hardening his shaft.
Good God. Did not expect that reaction.
Her angry countenance and the grim taut line of her lips showed how insulted she was, but the moisture that gathered on her long lashes proved Spence also hurt her feelings. Regret filled him, quieting his irritation.

He laid his fork on the table, leaned forward, and tented his fingers. In a calm voice he said, “Please, accept my apology. I do not think you stupid. I’m a little sensitive about my research as many have dismissed its importance. It is my whole life. I suppose one could say it consumes me. I have forgotten how to behave in company. Forgive me.”

She blinked, as if in surprise, then glanced down at her plate. “I guess I’m sensitive about my education or lack thereof. It was not my fault it got cut short--regardless, it is of no import. I accept your apology, and I did not mean to insult your life’s work.”

They continued the meal in silence, the awkwardness hanging between them as a living, breathing thing. His arousal abated, but every time he cast clandestine glances at her, it roared back to life. Philomena McGrattan was a lovely creature. Even with her hair untidy and her tea colored eyes weary from her journey, she cut a fine figure. He frowned and turned his attention back to his meal. He behaved as a moon-eyed calf for God’s sake.

“I thought after the meal I would offer my skills to you.”

Spence choked on a piece of tomato, reaching for the claret to wash it down.

“I meant my skills in men’s grooming. I give a marvelous shave.” She winked at him and gave him a sly smile that curled his toes with unexpected pleasure.

Good God, where did that reaction come from? This could prove to be one of the longest weeks of my life.

After the professor fed his hulking beasts, he found her in the connecting room.

“Why have you taken this one? There are seven others on this floor,” he questioned, clearly uncomfortable with her being in close proximity.

Good.
Phil followed him through the door into his room and motioned for him to sit. “It contained the least dust, and that is not saying much. Please remove your waistcoat.” He did and placed it on the back of the chair. “Professor Hornsby, I will require you to hold a basin in front of you for the clippings and such. I need to whack at your beard before attempting a shave.” She laid a towel around his neck, and in doing so, caught a whiff of his sandalwood soap. The spicy, masculine scent appealed to her.

Despite his haughty manner, his apology at supper surprised her with its depth of sincerity. Though the subject matter bored her to tears, she imagined she would happily sit and listen to him talk about any subject. His voice aroused her. She could imagine him on the stage, the audience in complete rapture over his oration. His voice was liquid sex and molten heat with the smoothness of a fine whiskey. Yes, he could look as wild and unruly as he liked as long as he kept chatting.

When he had walked into the dining room for the meal, she was shocked at his great height. He stood more than a few inches above six feet. Her breath caught, then she grinned when he strode into the room upright, his spine ramrod straight. All comparisons to the crippled Richard the III left her mind. Though slender, his shoulders were broad, and even through the ill-fitting wool trousers and linen shirt she sensed there would not be much softness in the flesh to be found. Strange, considering he spent his time sitting at a desk.

Curiosity lay behind her offer to shave him. She wanted to see what manner of countenance resided underneath the facial hair and glasses. Speaking of which--she pulled the spectacles from his face and placed them on the nearby table.

“Do you need to wear these all the time?”

He blinked as if focusing his vision. “No, mainly for close-up work. I keep them on out of habit or else I would misplace them and forget where they were.”

How adorable, an absent-minded professor, he…His intense gaze made her still. His
eyes
were beautiful. They possessed a shade of blue used in paintings of a summer sky or a turbulent ocean. She could not help but lean closer and make a study of them. Flecks of amber were evident in the iris, and a ring of navy blue surrounded the pupil. Stunning. Realizing she stared, Phil grabbed the basin and thrust it into his hands.

Perhaps she should trim his hair first. Thanks to her reaction to his gorgeous sapphire-colored eyes, she could not hold a razor steady. Instead, she tunneled her hands into his mop of hair. The locks were thick and soft with many shades of brown and gold. It would be a mortal sin to cut it too short. Did she hear a slight moan come from his lordship? No, she imagined it.

Pulling back his hair off his face, she bit on her lower lip to keep from smiling. The man’s large ears stuck out noticeably.
Yes, I should keep the hair long enough to cover those jug handles.
She reached for the scissors and snipped off the chunk of hair she held in her other hand.

“What are you doing?” he cried. She tossed the hank of hair in the basin he held.

“Giving you a trim, your lordship. You have to admit you need one.”

She worked quickly, cutting layers of various lengths ending at about his jawline. As she trimmed away the excess, his hair fell into attractive waves that framed his face. Without the owl glasses and the wild hair, he looked a good deal neater, but more to do.

“Sit still, your lordship. I will start on your mountain man beard next.”

“Do not call me that,” he murmured.

“What, a mountain man or a lord? You are a lord, aren’t you?” she asked as she snipped.

“By way of birth. It is not a title I earned or inherited. It’s a courtesy because I happen to be the son of a duke. Ridiculous.”

“You prefer professor because you did earn that, correct? I’ll wager to guess you attended only the finest universities, studied hard, and graduated at the top of your class. I admire that. Professor it is, then.”

“No, I did not graduate at the top of my class.”

She snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“At times, I found it all quite tedious. My professors never asked the important questions of history.”

“Important questions?”

“Yes. Such as ‘why’?”

My. His statement could be construed as arrogant, but no tone of superiority tinged his voice. He spoke matter-of-factly.

Phil trimmed the beard as close to his face as she dare. Now to shave him. Picking up the razor, she ran her thumb along the blade. Sharp.

“I’m curious, Professor. Why go to all the bloody trouble of caring for your shaving implements, but not take the extra step of removing your facial hair?” She soaped up his face.

“I have a certain way of doing things. I like my personal belongings to be arranged in a certain way. I go about my tasks with a definite approach.” Was that tension in his voice? Interesting.

“The fact that I’m handling your possessions makes you uncomfortable, correct? Why did you agree to the shave?”

He did not answer right away. Phil moved behind him and leaned his head back against her chest. His scent invaded her nostrils again, and the fact he made contact with her breasts caused another one of those rolls of heat to move through her with a swift blast. His chiseled profile filled her gaze as his lips parted and a husky moan escaped them.