Velvet Embrace by Nicole Jordan Page A

from the one who had frightened her that morning with his cold anger, for there was a hint of gentleness beneath the cynicism that hadn't been present before. He was wearing the same dark green coat he had worn the previous night, although he no longer had on a neckcloth . His white cambric shirt was open at the neck, revealing a strong, brown throat. That, and the fact that his black hair was a little tousled, lent him an informality that was rather appealing, Brie thought. Even the stubble on his jaw didn't detract from his rakish good looks. A fallen angel, indeed. That suggestion of lost sweetness made a woman ache to take him in her arms and hold him. Not that she would ever do such a thing. But he fascinated her, all the same.
    Brie found herself trying to guess his age. Something over thirty, she decided, wondering how had he spent those years. His deft movements suggested that at least he knew what he was doing with a skillet—and soon the appetizing aroma of bacon frying confirmed it.
    The delicious smells made Brie realize how hungry she was, but she was content to wait. The kitchen radiated an intimate atmosphere that was cozy, warm, and welcoming. Brie smiled to herself, realizing she was actually enjoying working silently beside Stanton. How could anyone enjoy cutting up carrots?
    Their intimacy was soon interrupted. First Ezra Dawson, the second youngest Dawson grandson, delivered a basket of eggs from the hen house. Then a moment later, the kitchen door swung open to admit a short, dark, heavy-set man.
    He entered quietly without knocking, and his sudden appearance startled Brie, making her jump. His reaction to her was even stronger. When he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her as if confronting a ghost.
    Brie stared back—although she hardly noted his black eyes or his olive complexion or the fact that he was dressed in rough, workman's clothes. Her gaze was fixed on the body of the young deer he had slung over his shoulders. Seeing that it was little more than a fawn, Brie was dismayed. With the heavy snow the animal must have come close to the house in search of food, and then this brute had killed it.
    The man recollected himself first. Tearing his gaze from Brie, he nodded to Dominic who was watching them both curiously. Then he carried the deer to the corner behind the door and let the stiff carcass tumble to the floor. "Now we will have roast venison," he said, straightening.
    His accent was heavy, French by the sound of it, but Brie wasn't concerned with his manner of speech. His callousness had made her furious. She was half inclined to bring charges against him for poaching on Julian's land. "How could you?" she demanded of the brawny Frenchman. "That helpless animal was unable to defend itself."
    Bewildered, he looked to his employer. Dominic's expression remained bland, but there was an unmistakable glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Jacques, this is Brie," he remarked in a dry tone.
    Jacques eyed Brie warily. She was holding a paring knife in her hand, and at the moment, looked angry enough to use it. When she hesitated, he touched his cap respectfully to her.
    Dominic found himself struggling to repress a smile as he watched the two of them square off like fighting gamecocks. Brie was beautiful when she flew into a passion; her eyes turned a smoky, smoldering green, while her cheeks flushed with vibrant color. But Jacques' expression was comical. The man looked shocked to find himself facing such a lovely spitfire. Dominic could sympathize, for he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the beauty's vixenish temper. Fortunately, Brie hadn't had a knife when she had raged at him earlier that morning. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he might be missing some vital parts now if she had.
    Deciding that he had better rescue his coachman, Dominic inclined his head toward the door. "You'll find the Dawsons on the third floor," he told Jacques. "First room on the