Velvet Embrace (6 page)

He trapped her gaze as he slowly walked toward her. When he stood before her, Brie stared up at him, hypnotized. She was keenly aware of his proximity, of what his nearness was doing to her, yet it wasn't the raw hunger she could feel in him that shocked her. It was the primitive, entirely feminine response of
her own
body. A tingling, treacherous heat was snaking along her skin and gathering in places that, until now, she had hardly known existed.

He was regarding her intently, his gray eyes holding a strange glow as one of his dark brows rose slightly in question. He reached down to touch her cheek,
then
languidly trailed an index finger down her throat.

Brie jumped as if she had been scalded, suddenly realizing what his quizzical look meant. He was asking permission to seduce her! Obviously he considered her merely an object of pleasure, a diversion for his boredom.

His boldness infuriated her as much as the traitorous sensations he was arousing in her. Drawing back abruptly, she glared up at him. "I am
not
part of the accommodations, my lord!" she ground out through her teeth.

He stared down at her for such a long moment that Brie's heart began to thud. Not daring to move, she held her breath, waiting. Just as she began to worry if she would have to defend herself from a physical assault, Dominic stepped back, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. "Pity," he remarked. "By the looks of it we'll be here together for some time."

Casually, he turned and picked up the decanter, then crossed to the door. He opened it before glancing back over his shoulder at her. "You really should lock this,
chérie
," he said, his voice once more holding a note of mockery. "You never know who might intrude." He left then, closing the door before Brie could manage to find her tongue.

She stared after him speechlessly, wanting to throw something. Why Stanton affected her so strongly, though, she couldn't imagine. There had been no reason to feel such fury at his suggestion. She had had propositions before, both honorable and not so honorable, and normally she was amused, sometimes even flattered. So why had she felt that intense anger toward Stanton? He had only acted as most red- blooded men would in such circumstances. He was the kind of man who used women only for pleasure.

Of course she didn't want to be used in such a manner. But why had she been unable to crush that odd tremor of excitement that had originated in the pit of her stomach? She had felt her body responding to him, to the blatant desire in his eyes, and for an instant, she had been conscious of an odd yearning deep inside her. She had wanted him to take her in his arms . . . and yet she had also been aware of a niggling sense of panic. She had been afraid of what would befall her if he did.
Quite afraid.

Suddenly coming to her senses, Brie got up and locked the door, then let out her breath as she leaned back against the panel. It was becoming obvious that strange things happened to her equilibrium when that arrogant, cynical man was near her. She didn't know if she could handle any more such confrontations with him. One thing was certain, though. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Most certainly she wouldn't.

Brie woke at dawn the next morning, feeling listless and bleary eyed. She stumbled out of bed and shivered as her bare feet hit the icy floor. The room was freezing. Her breath turned to little clouds of steam in the frigid air, while the goose bumps on her arms resembled small mountains. In the water pitcher there was even a layer of ice that had to be chipped away before she could wash.

Hurriedly, she poured water into the basin and splashed her face. Gritting her teeth against the shock, she decided that she actually envied the Dawson boys. They wouldn't have to wash with ice water, for the male servants' dormitory had an enormous stove that kept the place cozy and warm.

She made use of the few toilet articles she had,
then
ran a brush through her tangled russet curls. When she had tied the heavy mass back with a ribbon, she donned the same plain dress she had worn the day before. The empire-
waisted
gown was one of her oldest and wasn't at all stylish, but it was made of serviceable brown kerseymere and kept her warm. And the gown did mold nicely to her slender figure and complement the apricot color of her complexion, Brie thought, surveying her appearance in the cheval glass.

After pulling on her stockings and worn leather half-boots, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. Unable to see anything for the frost, she rubbed a circle on the pane,
then
stared out with dismay at the wintry landscape. The entire world was blanketed in a thick layer of white. It was no longer snowing, but the sky looked bleak and she could see great mounds of snow piled haphazardly against the house. Directly below the window, resembling moldy lumps of
flour,
were some odd clumps that she knew were rhododendron bushes. The line of oaks in the distance looked like a troop of decrepit old men with long gray beards, while the drive to the Lodge was unrecognizable.

Brie groaned as she viewed the frozen scene. The roads would be impassable and none of the staff would report to work. It also meant that the plans she had made the previous day would have to be altered drastically. She would have to find Patrick at once and decide what to do—but first she had to check on his grandparents.

Brie made her way upstairs, expecting Mattie and Homer's room to be as cold as hers had been. She was quite surprised, therefore, to find a fire burning cheerily in the grate. Mattie was still asleep but Homer was awake, buried beneath the blankets of the truckle bed. It seemed Mattie hadn't passed an easy night.

"She had a hard time of it, Miss Brie," Homer said in response to Brie's questions.
"Been
wheezin
' something fierce.
I
be
right worried about her. The
medicine don't
seem to be
helpin
'."

Although Brie was no expert, she could tell Mattie was getting worse. Her worn cheeks were flushed with fever, while her breathing was shallow and labored. Brie pressed her lips together, angry that Homer hadn't called her. But she realized it wouldn't do any good to scold him now. "I'll get some water to sponge her forehead," she said, disapproval creeping in her tone.

Homer sniffed and held his handkerchief up to his red nose. "I don't know, Miss Brie. We've already done
t'once
. His lordship said
t'would
be
better for Mattie to sleep now."

"His lordship?"
For the first time Brie noticed the basin and cloth beside the bed, and they puzzled her. She hadn't forgotten the man who had burst into her bedchamber the previous night, uninvited; she had even dreamed about Stanton. But she found it hard to believe that he would put himself out for an old, sick woman he had never seen before. "Do you mean Lord Stanton?" Brie asked. "He was
here?"

Homer's answer was interrupted by a fit of coughing, but he managed to nod, which caused Brie's blue-green eyes to widen in amazement.

"And did he stoke the fire?" she asked skeptically.

"No,
t'was
Sheldon."

Brie was incredulous. To say that Sheldon Dawson was lazy would be like calling last night's blizzard a sprinkling of snowflakes. He never did any real work unless he was absolutely forced to. Even Patrick, who had the patience of an ox, had been known to give his brother a cuff on the chin when he grew tired of shouldering Sheldon's load. Surely Homer was mistaken. "Well, perhaps I could bring you some breakfast," she offered.

Homer shook his head. "Lord Stanton promised to see to it," he said, blowing loudly into his handkerchief.

Brie was conscious of a surge of resentment. Homer made the man sound like an angel of mercy. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

"Don't think so, Miss Brie. Thank
ye
, though."

Trying to hide her pique, she cast a glance at the sleeping Mattie. "Very well, then. Try to get some rest, Homer. I'll be up to check again in a little while—subject to his lordship's approval, of course."

The house was deserted, Brie discovered after a search of the ground floor rooms. A good fire was going on the kitchen hearth, though, indicating that someone had been busy, and a large caldron of water was slowly heating over the coals. The oven, too, was already warm.

Since Patrick was nowhere in sight, Brie went to fetch her
cloak from the hall closet, determined to brave the cold in order to find him. She was tying the strings of her cloak when she heard a door slam. Glancing down the hall, she saw Stanton beside the door. He had obviously just entered the house for the collar of his greatcoat was turned up and he was stamping snow from his boots. She noticed at once that the growth on his chin was more pronounced than the previous evening, a sign that he hadn't found time to shave yet this morning. There was also a grim expression on his handsome face that wasn't at all pleasant. In fact, he appeared to be in a foul humor.

Brie decided she would be wise to avoid him if she could. "Good morning," she murmured, trying to slip past his tall form. She didn't get far; Dominic's hand shot out to catch her by the arm. Brie looked up at him, startled.

His gray eyes held hers for a moment before his gaze swept down her body, taking note of her cloak. "Where do you think you are going?"

Brie stiffened at his curt tone. "The stables, if you must know."

"I don't advise it. The snow is too deep."

Brie stared pointedly down at the gloved hand holding her arm. "Thank you for your concern, but I believe I can manage."

He didn't release her arm, nor did he beg her pardon for his boldness. If anything, his tone became more abrupt. "I expect you to wait until someone shovels a path."

Brie felt a spark of anger ignite in her breast. Stanton was speaking to her as if he were disciplining a disobedient puppy. "I should like to see Patrick," she told him through tight lips.

"Perhaps, but I doubt he wants to see you just now. He's feeling quite a lot of pain."

Brie gasped, her eyes flying to Stanton's. "Why? What have you done to him?"

Dominic's mouth curled at the corner. "I served him to a pack of wolves this morning for breakfast, didn't I tell you? I'm surprised you didn't hear the howling."

His dulcet tones dripped sarcasm, making Brie wince, but her concern was for Patrick, not
herself
. "Is Patrick truly hurt?" she asked, her eyes anxiously searching Dominic's face.

Giving a sigh, he released her arm. "The boy slipped on some ice and split his knee open. Jacques is sewing the wound now. I came back to the house to get some laudanum. Do you know where any can be found?"

For a moment Brie could only stare at him in dismay. "Mattie should have some," she responded finally. "She keeps a medicine chest in the upstairs pantry."

She turned and reached for the door handle, but Dominic gripped her arm again.
"Just a moment.
Perhaps you didn't understand me, but you aren't going outside."

"I
beg
your pardon," Brie said icily. "Release me at once, if you please."

"I don't please. I told you to remain here and I mean to be obeyed. I've had about all I can stand of this slipshod household so early in the morning. First my right leader turns up lame because that half-wit in the stables leaves a pitchfork in his stall, and now Patrick—"

He never completed his sentence. Brie jerked her arm away and gave Dominic a look of such fury that he momentarily forgot his own anger.

Brie did have some rationale for losing her temper. She was worried about Mattie and the news of Patrick's injury had greatly alarmed her. Besides that, she had had very little sleep the night before, all because of Lord Stanton. His presence in the house made
her own
situation untenable. She couldn't stay, yet she couldn't leave now that Patrick was hurt. She also resented Stanton's arrogant assumption of authority. The way he stood there, issuing orders and demanding to be obeyed, galled her. But to cap his sins, he had spoken derisively about a boy who was unable to defend himself. At eleven, Seth Dawson was the youngest of Homer's grandsons, but he had the mental capacity of only a five-year-old. He had a sweet nature, though, and Brie had always been protective of him. She flew to his defense like a mother tigress.