Page 31 of How the Earl Entices

A lie. She knew how powerful the Spalding title had become, how protective his family was of it. What would stop him from changing his mind and deciding that helping her posed too great a risk to his reputation? Being a notorious rake with wild ways was one thing; helping a dead woman was something completely different. Even now the thought of it made her tremble as she lifted her chemise over her head and off, leaving her momentarily naked. And less than four feet behind him.

She said as she snatched up her night rail, “King George or a chimney sweep…as long as you keep your word.”

“I’m a gentleman,” he reminded her, a touch of pique in his voice.

“Like I said,” she repeated pointedly, having had first-hand experience with his sort, “as long as you keep your word.”

He chuckled.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father.” She pulled on her night rail and tugged it into place. “The earl was a good man.”

He stiffened. “You knew my father?”

His surprise caught her off-guard. She continued, careful not to let slip too much information, “I met him a few times in London, at various events. He was always kind to me.” She hesitated before adding, “And always very proud of you, Ross.”

“Was he?”

The tone of his drawl pricked at her. She’d meant her comment to reassure, yet he seemed anything but that. “Very much so. He was always bragging about you, about how brave you were in fighting the French.”

“Then thank God he didn’t live to see me now,” he murmured, half to himself.

The way he said that sparked her sympathy for him. He might be a rake and some kind of petty criminal, but his father’s opinion of him had always meant a great deal to him. She shuddered to think what low opinion he now held of himself to say such a thing.

In order to lighten the suddenly serious conversation, she pressed teasingly, “You mean because he’d wonder why you didn’t ride off with the chickens when you had the chance? After all, in for a penny, in for a peck.”

He gave a grim laugh at the absurdity of that. “Actually, he’d wonder why I’d turned my back while a beautiful woman was removing her clothes.”

She twisted her mouth in aggravation at that wholly exaggerated compliment and looked down at her night rail. The formless, frumpy white thing covered her from neck to wrists to toes like a billowing tent.Perfect.There was nothing beautiful about her in this, and no worry about what he’d think of her body, because as long as she was wearing this there was no chance of him seeing any of it.

“All right.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m dressed now.”

He turned around, and Grace busied herself with gathering up her clothes, pretending not to notice the way he raked his gaze over her. Yet that look made her tremble. He’d gazed at her the same way once before, that night twelve years ago at the masquerade when she’d descended the stairs into the ballroom. As if he couldn’t quite fathom that someone like her existed. Even after all these years, she remembered the intensity of him that night. It had frightened her then, yet excited her, too, in a way she would never admit.

That same feeling now began to creep up from her toes.

He removed his jacket and hung it over her cape on the same nail, then began to unbutton his waistcoat.

“Stop!” She put up a hand. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing.” He shrugged out of the waistcoat and tossed it over the end of the bed. With that, the old feeling he stirred inside her turned into a low tingle. “You don’t expect me to sleep fully clothed.”

“Of course not.”

Actually, she’d expected exactly that, and the thought of him removing his clothes made the tingle grow stronger. She’d seen him without them before, and he’d been breathtaking, even lying unconscious on her bed. God only knew the damage that magnificent body could do with both of them fully conscious.

She nervously gestured at the growing pile of clothes as he unwrapped his neckcloth. “Would you like me to turn around?”

“Absolutely not.” His eyes pinned hers as he untucked his shirt and let it hang loose around his waist, as if daring her to keep looking.

Her belly heated at his brazen audacity. The devil deserved to have her turn her back on him. But she didn’t. Nor did she look away, continuing to watch shamelessly as he stripped off his shirt and bared himself from the waist up. From the gleam in his eyes, he was enjoying it.

“After all,” he taunted, his hands going to the fall of his breeches, “what kind of marriage would ours be if my wife couldn’t stand to watch me undress?”

“A typical society marriage,” she answered, a bit too breathlessly.

He laughed, undermined in his attempt to goad her, and he dropped his hands to his sides, leaving on that last piece of clothing. Given that the borrowed breeches were a bit too small, though, not much was left to her imagination. Even now her fingers itched to touch him as they remembered what it felt like to run over the smooth, hard planes of his chest, once again bare to her eyes.

God help her.He stood far too close. Her eyes darted to the bed, and she nearly groaned. He was about to come even closer.