doesn’t complete the new one in time?”
“Yes.”
“My lady.” Josie withdrew.
Kathryn reached up swiftly to pull out the jeweled comb and countless hairpins keeping her coiffure firmly in place. How on earth Rosalind managed to make passionate love without disturbing so much as a curl, she simply didn’t know. Unless, of course, hairdressing was one of Alice’s many accomplishments. Yes, on reflection, it probably was.
She picked up a tortoiseshell-backed hairbrush and began to draw it gently through the long golden curls to which she was so unaccustomed. Her own bobbed style was so much easier to manage, she thought a little wistfully, but when she looked in the dressing table mirror and saw the sort of hair many Hollywood stars would kill for, the wistfulness evaporated. Maybe she should think of growing her real hair as long as this. She continued to study her new self, taking in the pale but beautiful face, and the enchanting wide green gaze. “Kathryn Vansomeren, you’ve become quite an eyeful,” she murmured.
The clock in the bedroom behind her struck two, and she put the hairbrush down and got up. It was now or never. She went to the folding doors, but then her nerve began to fail her. What if she couldn’t pull this off? What if the real plot went a way she didn’t like? Maybe there was a mistress her subconscious hadn’t remembered! No, that couldn’t be so, or Alice wouldn’t have promised what she did.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. Alice might have promised, but it all depended on Kathryn Vansomeren, who suddenly wasn’t quite as confident as she needed to be. During her fling with Harry, he’d done all the seducing, but now it was her turn. Playing the seductress was something she’d only thought about, a fantasy she’d toyed with in the hours of quiet frustration when Richard slept beside her. Was she really capable of putting those secret ideas into practice? Could she go through these doors now and use virtually untested erotic wiles successfully upon a man like Sir Dane Marchwood?
Her dwindling courage began to ebb away fast, but then she remembered the electrifying effect Dane had upon her. With him she knew the fantasy could become reality. Her resolve swept back again and she drew the doors aside to walk through.
Chapter Seven
The apartment beyond was in darkness, except for the moonlight in the bedroom, where she saw him standing naked by the open window looking out at the night. If he knew she was there, he gave no intimation.
Her gaze lingered upon him, taking in the perfection of his broad shoulders, slender waist, tight buttocks, and well-shaped muscular thighs. It was the sort of body that would look as good in modern designer jeans as in the best tailoring from Regency Bond Street, and he was the sort of man who’d been irresistible to women since time began. Dark, dangerous, devastating Sir Dane Marchwood.
She wanted to say his name, but although her lips moved, no sound came out. Then she knew he was aware of her presence, for he spoke without turning. “I believe you’ve made a mistake, madam, for this is my apartment, not yours.”
“It’s no mistake.”
“Then you come to me as a lamb to the sacrifice, to allay my suspicions.” He turned at last, and the moonlight caught a golden chain and pendant around his neck.
Now she saw all of him, the contemptuous twist of his lips, the dark hair on his chest and loins, and his potent masculinity, soft and slumbering now, but when aroused ... A powerful excitement began to flow through her, quickening her pulse and heartbeats, and tightening her breasts so her nipples stood out. She was conscious of a dull ache deep within, the ache of desire. How had she never realized just how erotically susceptible she was? Every sense was alive to him, the blood flowing warm and eager through her veins. There was no modesty in the way she felt. She wanted to be one with him, to feel that magnificent virility thrust
“Yes.”
“My lady.” Josie withdrew.
Kathryn reached up swiftly to pull out the jeweled comb and countless hairpins keeping her coiffure firmly in place. How on earth Rosalind managed to make passionate love without disturbing so much as a curl, she simply didn’t know. Unless, of course, hairdressing was one of Alice’s many accomplishments. Yes, on reflection, it probably was.
She picked up a tortoiseshell-backed hairbrush and began to draw it gently through the long golden curls to which she was so unaccustomed. Her own bobbed style was so much easier to manage, she thought a little wistfully, but when she looked in the dressing table mirror and saw the sort of hair many Hollywood stars would kill for, the wistfulness evaporated. Maybe she should think of growing her real hair as long as this. She continued to study her new self, taking in the pale but beautiful face, and the enchanting wide green gaze. “Kathryn Vansomeren, you’ve become quite an eyeful,” she murmured.
The clock in the bedroom behind her struck two, and she put the hairbrush down and got up. It was now or never. She went to the folding doors, but then her nerve began to fail her. What if she couldn’t pull this off? What if the real plot went a way she didn’t like? Maybe there was a mistress her subconscious hadn’t remembered! No, that couldn’t be so, or Alice wouldn’t have promised what she did.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. Alice might have promised, but it all depended on Kathryn Vansomeren, who suddenly wasn’t quite as confident as she needed to be. During her fling with Harry, he’d done all the seducing, but now it was her turn. Playing the seductress was something she’d only thought about, a fantasy she’d toyed with in the hours of quiet frustration when Richard slept beside her. Was she really capable of putting those secret ideas into practice? Could she go through these doors now and use virtually untested erotic wiles successfully upon a man like Sir Dane Marchwood?
Her dwindling courage began to ebb away fast, but then she remembered the electrifying effect Dane had upon her. With him she knew the fantasy could become reality. Her resolve swept back again and she drew the doors aside to walk through.
Chapter Seven
The apartment beyond was in darkness, except for the moonlight in the bedroom, where she saw him standing naked by the open window looking out at the night. If he knew she was there, he gave no intimation.
Her gaze lingered upon him, taking in the perfection of his broad shoulders, slender waist, tight buttocks, and well-shaped muscular thighs. It was the sort of body that would look as good in modern designer jeans as in the best tailoring from Regency Bond Street, and he was the sort of man who’d been irresistible to women since time began. Dark, dangerous, devastating Sir Dane Marchwood.
She wanted to say his name, but although her lips moved, no sound came out. Then she knew he was aware of her presence, for he spoke without turning. “I believe you’ve made a mistake, madam, for this is my apartment, not yours.”
“It’s no mistake.”
“Then you come to me as a lamb to the sacrifice, to allay my suspicions.” He turned at last, and the moonlight caught a golden chain and pendant around his neck.
Now she saw all of him, the contemptuous twist of his lips, the dark hair on his chest and loins, and his potent masculinity, soft and slumbering now, but when aroused ... A powerful excitement began to flow through her, quickening her pulse and heartbeats, and tightening her breasts so her nipples stood out. She was conscious of a dull ache deep within, the ache of desire. How had she never realized just how erotically susceptible she was? Every sense was alive to him, the blood flowing warm and eager through her veins. There was no modesty in the way she felt. She wanted to be one with him, to feel that magnificent virility thrust
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