Delilah Marvelle - Forever a Lord

Wrapped from shoulder to toe in a clinging, gold silk robe whose train splayed down part of the stair, Lady Mary Elizabeth Weston reminded Imogene of a Roman princess lounging about a palace. All the woman needed were the grapes. Sour grapes.

“That is my wife,” Henry grumbled almost inaudibly from within the coat. “And though she and I aren’t on the best of terms, I will mind you not to comment on her breasts, either.”

“No worry in that,” came the stage-whispered response. “They’re not as impressive.”

Imogene stifled a disbelieving laugh against her pressed hand. Now that was funny.

The tall, broad back belonging to this “Coleman” appeared in view at the bottom of the staircase. “Let me help you up.” Taking Henry’s arm and draping it over his midsection, he guided him up the stairs. “Go slow.”

Imogene could practically hear her brother wincing as he staggered up each step.

Mary bustled down the stairs, trying to grab Henry’s other arm. “I am never letting you go to another boxing exhibition again. ’Tis a waste of whatever is left of your face. A true gentleman would never watch such filth, let alone participate in it.”

Henry yanked his arm away from hers. “Yes, you know all about real gentlemen, don’t you, Mary?”

She sputtered, following Henry up the remaining stairs. “How can you treat me like this?” She waved toward Coleman. “Bringing in some vagrant from off the street to see me in my robe!”

“He isn’t a vagrant. And unlike Banbury, he isn’t here to see you,” Henry coolly obliged. “He was assisting me home, given my condition.”

When they had reached the landing, Henry grabbed Coleman’s shoulder, the coat swaying lopsided over his head. “My driver will take you wherever you need to go.”

“Uh…no,” Coleman provided. “The ride over was daunting enough. I’ll walk. Now go. Get some rest. And call in a doctor, will you? You may have to get that eye lanced.”

Imogene’s lips parted. Lanced?

Henry pointed at him. “My offer still stands. Think about it until I see you at Cardinal’s next week.”

“I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”

“Good. See you then.”

Cardinal’s? That was one of the milling coves Henry frequented in the hopes of finding— Her eyes widened. Her brother had found a boxer. Upon her soul. This was their boxer! The man who was going to change their lives.

When Henry and his wife’s frantic, pitchy voice disappeared farther into the house and silence drummed, Imogene intently watched as this Coleman jogged down the remaining stairs.

His long-legged stride echoed as he strode through the foyer. To her astonishment, he didn’t head for the entrance door. But toward…her.

Her damp robe still clung to every inch of her skin, making her feel like a seal at the menagerie about to get its first visitor.

He veered toward the space of the darkened corner she was tucked into.

She must have been breathing too hard.

He paused before her in the fuzzy darkness. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” The crisp scent of fresh air tinged with the smell of leather drifted toward her, the faint outline of those broad shoulders lingering close. Long, wet hair framed his shadowed face. “How are you?”

Her mouth went dry. She’d never heard a male voice dip like that before. Not in a way that made her stomach dip along with it. It was like he wanted something from her.

“Is there a reason you’re standing in the darkness alone?” he inquired. “Were you waiting for me?”

It sounded like he was hoping she was.

Imogene stared up in the direction of that deep voice and tried to decide if he intimidated her or not. His voice was incredibly debonair and didn’t match his gruff appearance.

He hesitated. “I can hardly hear you breathing. Is everything all right?”

She trembled against the increasing cold that pinched her skin and knew it was time to go before she made an idiot out of herself. Quickly rounding the man, she leaned away to ensure she didn’t brush up against him and only hoped he wouldn’t follow her up to her room.

He sidestepped and blocked her from leaving. “Wait.” He removed his great coat from long, muscled arms, exposing the frayed linen shirt beneath. “Come here.”

Her breath hitched as she scrambled back and bumped into the wall behind her. “What are you—”

“You’re soaked and you’re cold. Now come here.” He yanked her forward with a firm hand.

She froze.

He draped his coat around her. “There.” Large calloused fingers bumped her throat as he positioned and adjusted the coat into place around her. “Warm up.”

The soothing warmth of his coat, which his body had heated well, sank into her moist skin. The rough wool nestled around her body smelled like musty leather and smoky wood from a blazing fire that mingled with the scent of coal and the ocean. She had no doubt it smelled of all the places he had been to and seen.

Large hands stilled at the collar of the coat he had been adjusting around her throat. His hold tightened on the wool and he leaned in. “You smell good.”

Her pulse danced against his fingertips, which still clung to the coat. She probably did smell good. She had stupidly spilled perfume on her robe earlier that night.

“Do you have a name?” His tone was patient. “Weston called you Gene. Is that your name?”

Her breaths now came in jagged takes. Why did everything about this man make her panic and melt at the same time? It wasn’t right.

His hands fell away. “How is a man supposed to get anywhere with a woman who doesn’t talk?” He shifted toward her. “Do I scare you?”

She lowered her gaze to her hands. “No. Though I…I was a bit unnerved by what you said to me outside. It was uncalled-for.”

He paused, his voice unexpectedly softening. “I’m afraid I’m a bit rough when it comes to women. I’m not accustomed to small talk. And if I’m ever feeling amorous I usually tie them up.”

She glanced up, astounded, and met his shadowed gaze. It was like he said everything that was in his head. She had never met a man who did that before. “You…tie women up?” she rasped in disbelief. “What do you mean by that?”

He stiffly stepped back. “I’ve clearly said too much.” He sounded agitated. “I should go.”

He probably thought she was judging him. And she couldn’t have that. Not when he was about to change her life and Henry’s.

She grabbed his biceps, yanking him back and held him in place. “No. Stay. We probably should get to know each other.”

He stilled, the muscle beneath his clothing hardening beneath her fingers. “Know each other?” His chest rose and fell in deep takes as he intently held her gaze in the soft shadows. “You mean you want to take this upstairs, to bed?” A slow smile spread across his lips. “Did my talk of tying you up intrigue you?”

She quickly retrieved her hand, fully aware of his pulsing warmth and gawked up at him. “Uh…no, that wasn’t what I was… I…I was merely…” She winced and tried not to panic lest it bring her stutter on. In truth, she was surprised it hadn’t reared its head yet, being in the vicinity of this daunting man. “Are you a boxer?”

He paused. “I am. Yes.” He appeared incredibly surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

It was like meeting one of those shirtless men inside Mr. P. Egan’s book, which Henry kept in the study. The boxing book she had been reading ever since Henry had commenced looking for a pugilist for them to invest in. Her heart pounded knowing that gritty world of swinging fists, which was only permitted to men by men, was standing before her. “Are you any good at it?”