He almost smiled, but his lips froze when she scooped her thick mass of curls into a tail and tied it back with the dangling scarlet ribbon. Turning half to the side, she straightened her cloak and the pale blue frock she wore underneath. Her movements were clumsy and hurried, her cheeks tinted a honey color. She was obviously uncomfortable under his gaze and scrutiny.
But Ethan didn’t look away. His attraction to her surprised him. She wasn’t at all the sort of woman he typically found himself drawn to. She was barely old enough to be called a woman. He didn’t think she could be much over eighteen.
He preferred women who were closer to his own age of thirty—confident, worldly women. Women who understood that a kiss or an invitation to his bedchamber meant nothing but a few hours’ diversion. Women who met his heated glance with sultry looks of their own. Women who knew how to entice a man, lure him into their embraces, and use him as he intended to use them. Women he could easily walk away from.
Ethan glanced at the girl’s fumbling fingers. She was nothing like those women. Not yet, anyway.
But give her time. An image of Victoria flickered in his mind.
“If you’re through with your toilette...” It was as much a growl as a statement.
She paused and gave him an icy glare from beneath her thick lashes. “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry, my lord. My father isn’t even at home.”
“I’ll wait.”
Finally, she took a deep breath. “Very well. The sooner we start, the sooner it will be over.”
“You sound as though you’re to be marched before a firing squad.” He ran his gaze over her. Her hair was still tousled and windblown, but she’d managed to contain it and straighten her clothing.
“Firing squad?” She gave him a mysterious look. “Hmm. I’ve never thought of her that way.”
“What does that mean?”
She arched a brow. “Oh, you’ll see.”
He waited, expecting more of an explanation, but she gestured toward the estate instead. At least they were finally moving again. He clucked his tongue to encourage Destrehan.
“The image of a spider is usually the first one that comes to me,” he heard her say after they’d walked a yard or so. “Something hungry and venomous. A black widow.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder, and she gave him a small enigmatic smile. The biting question on his tongue died. He noticed her mouth looked just as full, just as ripe when she smiled.
ETHAN NEVER SAW THEweb, didn’t even realize he’d been caught, held fast in its silky, glittering strands.
“Cara! My darling, darling Francesca!Mia figlia preziosa!” A tall, slim woman with a cap of short platinum curls seized upon the girl as soon as the majordomo shut the door behind them. It clanked like the door to a prison cell.
“Mamma,” the girl choked out. The force of the woman’s embrace was such that the girl stumbled backward, and Ethan barely had time to step aside in order to avoid a collision.
“Mia figlia!” Her mother, who from her horrendous accent was obviouslynotItalian, pulled back, grasping her daughter’s shoulders. The woman’s voice echoed through the gray-and-white marble entrance hall, bouncing off the busts and marble statues lining the walls. “Impossible!” She bodily turned her small daughter by the shoulders. “Look at you.Dov’è stato? I have beensoworried.”
“You have?” The girl blinked. “Why?”
But Ethan doubted the woman heard her daughter’s breathy reply. The lady’s dark blue eyes, sharp as fangs, sunk into him.
“And—mamma mia—can this be—? Is this gallantgentiluomoLord Winterbourne?” She released her daughter and gave a deep curtsy. “An honor, your lordship.” She spread her dun-colored skirts, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
Over her mother’s bowed form, the girl struggled to refrain from rolling her eyes.
“Lord Winterbourne,” she continued, when her mother had risen. “Lady Brigham. My mother.” The last was said with a sigh. The woman offered her hand to Ethan.
He shook off his daze, took her hand, and kissed the woman’s gloved knuckles. “A pleasure to renew your acquaintance, Lady Brigham.”
“Non, Signore. The pleasure is all mine.”
Ethan stepped back, and Lady Brigham appeared to study him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. She pressed one finger to her lip with slow, exaggerated taps then held it there and narrowed her eyes. “And what, pray tell, is your business in Hampshire, my lord?”
Ethan was only too familiar with the woman’s tone of voice. It oozed matrimonial insinuation. Lady Brigham raised her eyebrows and looked sidelong at her daughter. Miss Dashing appeared to have shrunk six inches.
“I’m visiting my brother at Grayson Park.”
