stop squirming.”
Uselessly she pushed him. “Then let me go.”
“No.” He caught her more securely and back-stepped her into the library.
The thick darkness was confoundedly suggestive. He was overwhelmingly conscious of the curve of her waist and the brush of her breasts against his chest. The soft, urgent rasp of her breathing indicated fear, but sounded disconcertingly like sexual excitement. Hell, he could even smell her. Her intentions might be murky, but she smelled of freshly cut meadows and soap. If she was a burglar, she was a dashed clean one.
As he kicked the door shut behind him, she released a soft yelp and made a more vigorous attempt to break free. “I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead.” He dropped his candle to the carpet and reached behind him to turn the key in the lock. When he rode up to the house, he’d been mutton-headed with weariness. This riddle of a female in his library stirred him to full alertness.
“You’ve locked us in,” she said accusingly. “Who are you?”
A snort of laughter escaped him. She was a direct wench. This encounter became more bizarre by the second. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in the saddle and he was dreaming. If not for the living woman under his hand, he might almost believe it. “More to the point, who are you? And what are you doing in my library after midnight?”
A bristling silence descended. “Your library?”
“Yes.” Unerringly he approached the high windows and flung back the curtains. Moonlight flooded the room. He turned to inspect the woman, but she lurked in the shadows by the door and he discerned little, apart from her slenderness and unnaturally upright posture. Her hands twined nervously at her waist.
She piqued his curiosity. A welcome change from the bitter dissatisfaction that had dogged him this last year. Using the tinderbox, he lit the branch of candles on the table under the window.
Briefly Leath caught his reflection in the glass, outlined in gold light. Large, looming. If he’d made the girl nervous in the dark, she’d be terrified now that she saw him. He didn’t look like a welcoming, easy sort of man. Recent trials had added sternness to a face not blessed with charm at the best of times.
Slowly, he turned. And his heart slammed to stillness.
His mysterious lady was a beauty.
Ignoring the way her lips tightened with resentment, he raised the candles to inspect her. A plain gray dress with white linen collar. Silvery blond hair drawn severely away from her face. No trace of curl or ribbon to soften the austerity. Her face was austere too, as perfectly carved as an angel on a cathedral doorway. High forehead; long slender nose; slanted cheekbones; pointed chin. Assertive brows darker than her hair above widely spaced eyes that regarded him with impressive steadiness. Few men could withstand the Marquess of Leath’s intense stare, yet this girl didn’t even blink.
Her mouth provided the only hint in that pure, calm face that she was more than a beautiful marble statue. Her mouth was … marvelous.
Full. Lush. Sweetly pink.
He was so big that most women seemed tiny in comparison, but the repressed energy radiating from her made her appear taller than average. His eyes lingered on the delightfully rounded bosom beneath her demure bodice.
Her gaze turned frosty and despite the uncertain light, he saw a flush on those high cheekbones. Good God, whoever she was, she had spirit. He reduced most young ladies to blushing silence. This girl—and she was little more, mid-twenties at the most—might blush, but she was far from intimidated.
When she bloody well should be.
The childishness of that last reflection had his lips twitching. He’d feared months of boredom ahead, but his return started in a most intriguing fashion. If he’d known this odd, fascinating creature waited in Yorkshire, he might have visited more often, instead of burying his head in parliamentary business in London.
“Just what are you up to?” he asked softly, placing the candles on a table and stepping closer.
Ah, she wasn’t totally foolhardy. She retreated toward the door, eyes widening. He wished he could see their precise color. The light simply wasn’t good enough. “You’re trying to frighten me.”
“Perhaps I’m seeking a little respect,” he said smoothly.
She curtsied, but he could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. “Your lordship.”
He folded his arms and surveyed her under lowered brows. “So you know I’m Leath.”
“You said it’s your library. And her ladyship has a portrait in her room. I recognized you when you lit the candles.”
The world toadied to his wealth and influence, but the spark in this girl’s eyes looked like hostility. A challenge sizzled between them. Or perhaps the beginnings of attraction.
“At last a straight answer,” he said wryly. “Now can you bring yourself to tell me who you are?”
“Will you let me go if I do?”
Her audacity stole his breath. Nobody defied him or denied him or bargained with him. Most people tripped over themselves to do his bidding before he’d even worked out what his bidding was. “We’ll see.”
Her eyes narrowed, confirming his impression that she didn’t like him. He wondered why. “You have a reputation for keeping your hands off the housemaids, my lord.”
“What in Hades?” Her meaning smashed through his burgeoning interest. “Are you saying that you’re a … housemaid?”
A fleeting smile tilted her lips. His wayward heart jolted at the promise of other, more generous smiles. “Yes.”
“You don’t look like a blasted housemaid.” Nor did she speak like any housemaid he’d ever known. She sounded like a lady.
“You … you caught me at a disadvantage.”
“I’ll say I did.”
He waited for some retort, but her expression turned blank. For the first time, to his disappointment, she looked like a servant. Although this sudden docility meant that he might discover why she was in his library. Housemaids started work early and generally didn’t have the energy to run around after bedtime. “What’s your name?”
She dipped into another curtsy. He could have told her she overdid the meekness, but he held his peace.
“Trim, my lord.”
Trim? He couldn’t argue with that. “Trim what?”
He thought she might smile again, but she’d leashed her rebellious spirit as tightly as she tied back her hair. He wasn’t a man who experienced profound and sudden sexual urges. But he’d give this girl every sparkling diamond in the family vault if she’d take down her hair. If she let him touch it, he’d throw in the damned house as well.
“Nell Trim, sir.”
“Helen or Eleanor?”
“Eleanor.”
