Velvet Embrace Read online

  His eyes swept over her slowly, taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance. "So this is what Julian finds so appealing about the place," he said in a biting drawl.

  His voice was pleasantly masculine, even if it did hold more than a hint of mockery. And it was a human voice. Which meant it was no specter who had invaded her bedchamber. Brie's knees went weak with relief. She groped for the little table beside the chaise longue, leaning against it for support as she let out her breath in a rush. "God's teeth, but you frightened me!" she accused, glaring at him. Her heart was still beating furiously, and she put a hand to her throat, drawing in deep gulps of air as she tried to calm her racing pulse.

  The stranger made no reply, but stepped forward into the light, giving Brie the opportunity to see his features more clearly. Dark, sardonic, masculine, was her initial impression. Terribly masculine. He was a striking man. Too dark to be handsome in the classical sense, but certainly arresting. She could tell now that his eyes were gray, a chilly, penetrating gray. They were surveying her quite intently. In fact, he was subjecting her to a thorough—and thoroughly insulting— inspection.

  Feeling color steal into her cheeks, Brie stiffened. She knew she must present a sight, with her feet bare and her unbound auburn hair flowing loosely down her back. She felt completely vulnerable, dressed in nothing but Julian's robe—and that was being stripped away by the stranger's insolent gaze. Brie's chin came up as she gave him a reproving frown.

  Her quelling look didn't faze him. His blatant perusal continued to glide along her slender body, making every inch of her skin feel as if it were burning. A tremor ran up her spine when the stranger's gaze lingered on the swell of her heaving breasts, and Brie flushed with embarrassment. Snatching up the blanket, she wrapped it around her shoulders. "Don't you believe in knocking?" she asked irritably, still feeling foolish for reacting the way she had. He had startled her badly, but there had been no reason to shriek, for heaven's sake! And she had sworn, too. Definitely not the behavior of a well-bred lady.

  The stranger slowly raised his gaze to her face. His gray eyes studied her a moment longer, then his mouth twisted sardonically. "I did knock," he observed in a dry tone, "but no one responded. I had to pry open a window in the kitchen."

  "You broke into the house?"

  "It wouldn't have been necessary, had someone answered the door. Why the devil didn't you?"

  He sounded impatient, as if he were in an extremely ill humor. Brie was unused to strangers taking that particular tone with her, however, and she didn't care for it at all. "Obviously I didn't hear," she retorted. "Not that I would have allowed you to come in. I don't know who you are."

  "I'm Stanton," he replied curtly, as if that explained anything. He strode into the room, peeling off his gloves as he went. Brie took a nervous step backward, but the stranger didn't seem to notice. He tossed the leather gloves on the table, along with his hat, and went to stand before the hearth. Blowing on his chilled fingers, he held them out to the fire.

  Brie eyed him with amazement. He had burst into her bedroom, and now, without permission, was making himself at home. "Stanton, who?" she asked perversely.

  He flashed her a sharp glance. "I beg your pardon," he said, his voice again holding that faint hint of mockery. "Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Dominic Serrault, Lord Stanton. Sixth Earl of Stanton, to be precise."

  Brie gave a start. She had heard of Lord Stanton before. In fact she had heard some very unsavory rumors in London connected with him. Something about a duel and a man being killed. Brie had no idea how much of it was truth, but she could easily believe the man standing before her was someone to be wary of. He looked dangerous with his heavy, slashing black brows and waving ebony hair. His cheeks were faintly flushed with cold, but beneath the color, his skin was darkly bronzed. The faint shadow of a rising beard made him appear even darker. He probably had a temper as black as his looks, Brie concluded. She began to feel intensely uneasy, being here alone with him.

  He had caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes, though. Watching the changing expressions on her lovely face, he wondered at its cause. But perhaps Julian had mentioned his name, Dominic mused. Pointedly, he raised an eyebrow. "And you are . . . ?" he prompted.

  "Brie—" she started to reply, then thought better of it and clamped her lips together. It would be foolish to give him her name to bandy about in the London clubs. He had only to mention that he had found her here alone and she would have a scandal on her hands in an instant. It wasn't merely her own reputation Brie was concerned about, but that of her training stables. It had taken her years to earn the trust of her clients, for so many of them considered it beneath their dignity to work with a woman. She couldn't jeopardize all she had strived for. And she would have to be careful not to mention the name of her home. If Lord Stanton knew anything at all about horses, he would have heard of Greenwood. She would have to get rid of him at once, before he had a chance to ask any embarrassing questions.

  He was waiting for her response. "Brie?" he repeated quizzically. "Just . . . Brie?" When she nodded, he regarded her silently for another moment. Then, almost indifferently, he turned back to the fire.

  His presumptuousness astonished Brie, yet she couldn't help studying him as he stood warming his hands. He was tall and broad-shouldered, although she suspected his heavy greatcoat added breadth to his frame. His aristocratic features were unmistakably stamped with cynicism, but they were finely carved. He had a high forehead and a narrow, straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils. His chiseled lips were wide but a little on the thin side, and his firm chin had a slight cleft in the center. In profile, his high cheekbones were quite pronounced. He was quite attractive, Brie decided, if one liked dark, sardonic-looking men.

  "Where is everyone, anyway?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "The lad in the stables told me the caretakers live here."

  Brie hesitated. She preferred not to admit the only other people in the house were old and ill. "Mattie and Homer are . . . occupied at the moment, but perhaps I can help you."

  Dominic's gaze swung back to Brie, and his eyes narrowed as he again caught himself staring at the vivid picture she made. The dancing firelight turned her silken hair to shimmering flame, while the sapphire brocade of the robe she wore brought out the blue in her eyes. Seeing that the blanket had slipped off her shoulders, giving him a tantalizing view of creamy skin, Dominic felt a tightening in his loins. He wondered who she could be. Such delicate beauty didn't belong to a serving maid, nor did her educated speech.

  "You can't possibly be a servant," he said flatly.

  Brie's long lashes came down, veiling her thoughts. "I am a friend of Julian's," was all she dared reply.

  "A close friend?"

  "You might say that."

  Her answer was unsatisfactory, but Dominic didn't press the issue. He would eventually find out what he wanted to know— specifically, what her relationship was to Denviile. The obvious conclusion was that she was Julian's mistress. Dominic was conscious of a distinct twinge of envy. "Is there no one else about?" he said, forcing his thoughts back to the problem at hand.

  "The rest of the servants have left for the day," Brie answered with reluctance. "I gave them permission to go home when the storm grew worse."

  One of his black brows lifted appreciably. "You gave them permission?"

  She flushed at his tone. "Julian left me in charge," she prevaricated.

  "And he neglected to tell you I was expected."

  Realizing that Lord Stanton must have been invited to the Lodge, Brie stared at him in dismay. "Surely you don't mean to stay here?"

  The corner of Dominic's mouth quirked. "I sure as hell am not going back out in the storm. Even if I were willing, my grays have had enough punishment for one evening. Besides, my coachman wouldn't stand for it. Jacques can be the very devil when he is denied his comforts."

  Brie bit her lip, wondering what she should do. Stanton didn't look quite s
o . . . dangerous when he wasn't frowning. His harsh features softened a little, while his gray eyes appeared less chilling. And the snow on his greatcoat was melting, sending little curls of steam wisping about his dark head, somehow making him appear younger, even a little vulnerable. Brie felt oddly drawn to him. A damp lock of ebony hair had fallen forward onto his brow, and absurdly she wanted to smooth it back into place.

  Realizing what she was thinking, Brie mentally shook herself. "There is a comfortable inn in the village," she suggested hopefully.

  When an amused smile spread slowly across his lips, showing white, even teeth, Brie felt her breath catch. His smile was that of a fallen angel, devastatingly sweet with just a hint of devilry. It affected her all the way to her toes, creating a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach that was completely foreign to her. Staring at him, Brie hardly registered his next words, let alone the tolerant, condescending tone he adopted.

  "My dear . . . Brie, if that is what you wish to be called, I intend to stay right where I am. My arrival is a few days early, but Denviile did ask me here, I assure you. I wasn't proposing to stay here in your bedroom, if that is what concerns you. Although I wouldn't turn down an invitation . . ." Dominic's voice trailed off suggestively, but when Brie merely continued to gape at him, he sighed in resignation. "Just direct me to a room and I will manage for myself."

  Making an attempt to regain her equilibrium, Brie swallowed hard. "At th-the end of the hall," she stammered. "The one on the right. There should be kindling in the box," she added as an afterthought, "but if you want water to wash with, I'm afraid you will have to get it from the kitchen."

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I've survived worse conditions. Although Jacques is probably receiving better treatment in the stables. At least he was offered a hot cider to take away the chill."

  Hearing the pointed inflection in his voice, Brie glanced suspiciously at Lord Stanton. His expression was enigmatic, but there was a glimmer in his gray eyes that made her wonder if she were being teased. She felt vaguely ashamed, though, that he should have to remind her of her duties as hostess. Certainly no guest at Greenwood was ever treated in such a shabby manner. "I could make you something warm to drink," she offered belatedly.

  His mocking glance slid down her body to encompass her bare feet. "You aren't exactly dressed to go traipsing about the house. Just tell me where Julian keeps his brandy and I'll be grateful."

  "In . . . in the library, the cabinet next to the desk."

  "I can find it," Dominic said, flashing her another melting smile. When Brie shivered in response, he lifted a dark brow and gave her a look of reproach. "You should be in bed," he remarked provokingly. "You must be chilled." Before she could even think of a reply, he had picked up his hat and gloves and walked from the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

  Brie let out her breath in a rush as she sat down heavily on the chaise longue. Whatever was she to do? For that matter, what could she do? She could order him to leave the house, but she very much doubted he would go. Perhaps Patrick and his brothers could throw him out? Brie shook her head. Lord Stanton was obviously not a man to cross, and he was probably accustomed to violence. He might actually harm the Dawson boys if it came to a confrontation. Besides, he was Julian's invited guest. She had no right to turn him away.

  Brie sighed as she realized she had no choice, at least for tonight. She would have to let him stay at the Lodge. But it was rapidly becoming obvious she would have to leave. Very well, she would go home first thing in the morning. She didn't want to leave Mattie and Homer to fend for themselves when they were sick, but Patrick was capable of taking care of his grandparents for a few days. She would see to it that the doctor came daily to check on the Dawsons, though. And perhaps Lord Stanton would grow bored without any of his friends to keep him company. Perhaps he would even return to London, or wherever he had come from.

  Indeed, she hoped so. She had little regard for London lords, for the ones she knew rarely took their responsibilities seriously, caring only for drinking and gaming and wenching. It was doubtful that Lord Stanton was any more admirable, Brie thought, recalling the way he had looked at her. With his title and striking good looks, he had at least two of the prerequisites for a first-class rakehell. He probably moved in circles where debauchery was a way of life.

  Brie frowned, remembering her strange reaction to him. Yet she didn't trust his melting smile, no matter how attractive it was. Six years before, when she was seventeen, she had fallen in love with a man whose engaging smile had hidden his true designs. She had even agreed to elope with him, since her father had not approved of the match. Only by sheer chance had she discovered her suitor's intent before it was too late. It had been humiliating to learn he wanted her only for her fortune—and frightening. He had physically attacked her, attempting to force her submission. She would never forget that horrible night. Since then she had been extremely wary of men and their motives, if not actually afraid of them. Physical contact with a man still sometimes disturbed her.

  But Stanton seemed to be a gentleman. Except for those first few moments, he had been polite enough. Nor had he given her any reason to fear him. Still, she was nervous about sleeping in the same house with him. Not that she could sleep now. She had never been more wide awake in her life.

  Determinedly, Brie lit the reading lamp and bent to pick up her novel. She had to have something to keep her thoughts occupied. Otherwise, she would spend the entire night wondering where Stanton was and what he was doing.

  When a short while later a brief knock sounded on her door, Brie regarded the portal uncertainly. It had to be Stanton, but he would never believe she was asleep. "Yes?" she called out hesitantly. Somehow she wasn't surprised when he opened the door and strolled into the room, carrying a glass of brandy and a half-full decanter.

  He had a hard, graceful body, Brie could see now that he no longer wore his greatcoat. His shoulders were broad and well- developed, while his waist and hips were rather slim. He was dressed expensively. An elegant coat of dark green superfine molded snugly to his lithe frame, while buff leather breeches hugged his long legs like a second skin, accentuating his muscular thighs before disappearing into knee-high top boots. He had loosened his neckcloth a little, Brie noticed, and the snowy linen looked startlingly white against his dark complexion.

  He deposited the decanter on the table beside her. "Your room is warmer," he said offhandedly. "I trust you don't mind if I stay here until mine loses the chill."

  Brie rather suspected it wouldn't matter if she did mind, but she wasn't even given an opportunity to reply. She watched incredulously as Stanton claimed the armchair near the hearth. He settled himself comfortably, stretching one long leg out before him as he brought his glass to his lips.

  Brie's eyes narrowed as he sat there leisurely sipping his brandy. The audacity of the man was beginning to wear on her nerves. "Why don't you make yourself at home, my lord?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm. "Are you sure there isn't anything else you require?"

  Meeting her flashing gaze, Dominic raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I could use some help removing my boots. Would you like to volunteer?"

  Brie's glance automatically moved down his buckskin- covered legs to his boots. The supple black leather was still wet and mud spattered. "No," Brie answered firmly. "Most definitely I would not."

  He chuckled, and Brie was amazed at how his gray eyes softened with laughter. His features, too, lost that hard, cynical expression when he relaxed. "What kind of name is Brie?" he asked, surprising her. "I don't believe I have heard it before."

  The question caught her unprepared. "I don't care for my real name, Gabrielle," she explained. "Brie is a shortened version."

  Dominic nodded thoughtfully. "Somehow it fits."

  It did fit, he thought, regarding her over the rim of his glass. There was a natural freshness about her that spoke of spring breezes. Yet her coloring belonged to fall—rich, warm, vibrant
. Her hair was long and thick, with a few tousled curls framing her face, and the russet shade contrasted enchantingly with her apricot complexion. He was reminded of the red maples he had seen in America during an Indian summer. . . . Where the hell had Denviile found her?

  "I find it odd that Julian never mentioned you before," Dominic said casually. "Where is Julian, by the way? I expected him to be here."

  "He is still in London, I imagine." That was all the information Brie intended to divulge. There was no reason to tell the arrogant Lord Stanton just why Julian was still in the city. It was none of his business, after all.

  "Perhaps he decided to wait out the storm," Dominic commented, taking another sip of brandy.

  Brie met his gaze deliberately. "That is indeed possible. Some people are sensible enough not to travel in a blizzard."

  Dominic's eyes glimmered with something other than amusement. "You have a very sharp tongue, chérie. I wonder that Denviile tolerates it."

  Brie flushed and lowered her gaze. She frequently spoke her mind too freely, but she had no call to be rude. Yet, Lord Stanton's remark had been just as cutting. It was clear that he thought she was here at Julian's invitation—and she could hardly set him straight without revealing who she really was. It was irritating, though, having to bite her tongue when she would have liked to tell Stanton to go to the devil. Lord, but this situation was becoming more complicated by the minute.

  Dominic's reflections were running along different lines. He had a much more pleasurable occupation in mind than exchanging sharp words with Brie. She looked utterly enticing, he thought, sitting there curled on the chaise longue. That absurdly large dressing gown had fallen open at the neck, revealing a smooth, creamy throat and hinting at womanly curves. How very much he wanted to explore the hidden delights of her slender body. His gaze went to the bearskin rug before the hearth. He could easily imagine her lying there naked, her glorious hair spread beneath them like a carpet of liquid fire. And he would have her there soon, Dominic promised himself. Unless Julian had a prior claim. . . .