Captain Briggs’s jaw tightened, then relaxed. She hoped it was a sign he was resigned to her decision.
“Then I must know more about your brother.”
She took a deep breath. “You should have asked me about him on our ride to Holywell.” It was a verbal gibe, for she was quite aware he had been in no mood to talk during their ride from Sweethope Cottage.
His expression darkened, but he made no retort. Nor did his eyes dip below her neck this time. Most improperly, she found herself wishing he would take notice of her again.
But he was a perfect gentleman. Well, she amended, as perfect as a gentleman could be who’d broached a lady’s bedchamber when the house was all abed. And perhaps he was not as affected by her appearance as she’d been by his.
He wore the same clean clothes he’d had on at supper, a white shirt, dark green waistcoat, and black jacket. He looked altogether too dashing—and too dangerous—for her peace of mind.
Christina noticed his hands, sun-darkened and large, relaxed at his sides, and could not help but wonder about their touch. Would he be a skilled lover—unlike Edward, who’d never taken any care with her, leaving her feeling frustrated and wishing for something more?
“You realize you should not be here.”
“You do not seem overly troubled by my presence.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He didn’t even take notice of the glittering jewels lying on the bed.
Christina forced herself to stay perfectly still, but she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “What do you want to know about my brother?”
“Where was he last seen?”
“In a public house with his friend, Lieutenant James Norris.”
“Someone questioned Norris?”
Briggs smelled of shaving soap—crisp and clean. And there was the hint of a cleft in his angular chin. “Lieutenant Norris and Lang were good friends. He was given leave to come and see my father when Lang . . . after the explosion.”
“It was Norris who identified Lang’s body?”
She nodded and noticed his gaze flash to her hair. How she wished she’d kept her long, wavy locks. Perhaps then it would have been a more admiring glance.
But he lifted one hand and touched a wayward curl at the side of her face, and she lost track of his question.
Apparently, so did he. “Whatever possessed you to do this?”
She felt a wave of defeat, aware that she looked absurd. “I know I shouldn’t have—”
“On the contrary, Lady Fairhaven. It’s outstanding.”
C hristina’s hair was far more than outstanding. Gavin’s fingers itched to do more than just touch one of those audacious curls, and her nearness trumped his frustration at not being able to take her to Windermere right away.
He knew it had been a mistake to come into her bedchamber, especially after he saw her wearing the thin, gossamer gown. It was like a second skin, baring just enough feminine flesh to whet his appetite, its shadows hinting at the lush curves beneath.
He should have turned right around and left her bedroom, except that he could not help but touch one of the shining black locks that curled at her temple. It was incredibly soft, its scent teasing him to bury his face in it.
And more.
God, he was a fool.
“Was Norris caught in the explosion, too?” He lowered his hand and turned his attention from the sweet line of her jaw in order to focus on his questions.
She took a breath that sounded shaky to his ears. He had to give her credit for not screeching and summoning a footman to toss him out.
“No. The lieutenant said he and Lang went together to pick up their mail,” she said as she returned to her dressing table and sat down. The pale green banyan did not afford him the same alluring view as before, but he appreciated the elegant line of her back and the sweet spot just below her short curls. He thought it would taste just as—
“Then they stopped in a dockside tavern to celebrate passing their lieutenant’s
“Then I must know more about your brother.”
She took a deep breath. “You should have asked me about him on our ride to Holywell.” It was a verbal gibe, for she was quite aware he had been in no mood to talk during their ride from Sweethope Cottage.
His expression darkened, but he made no retort. Nor did his eyes dip below her neck this time. Most improperly, she found herself wishing he would take notice of her again.
But he was a perfect gentleman. Well, she amended, as perfect as a gentleman could be who’d broached a lady’s bedchamber when the house was all abed. And perhaps he was not as affected by her appearance as she’d been by his.
He wore the same clean clothes he’d had on at supper, a white shirt, dark green waistcoat, and black jacket. He looked altogether too dashing—and too dangerous—for her peace of mind.
Christina noticed his hands, sun-darkened and large, relaxed at his sides, and could not help but wonder about their touch. Would he be a skilled lover—unlike Edward, who’d never taken any care with her, leaving her feeling frustrated and wishing for something more?
“You realize you should not be here.”
“You do not seem overly troubled by my presence.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He didn’t even take notice of the glittering jewels lying on the bed.
Christina forced herself to stay perfectly still, but she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “What do you want to know about my brother?”
“Where was he last seen?”
“In a public house with his friend, Lieutenant James Norris.”
“Someone questioned Norris?”
Briggs smelled of shaving soap—crisp and clean. And there was the hint of a cleft in his angular chin. “Lieutenant Norris and Lang were good friends. He was given leave to come and see my father when Lang . . . after the explosion.”
“It was Norris who identified Lang’s body?”
She nodded and noticed his gaze flash to her hair. How she wished she’d kept her long, wavy locks. Perhaps then it would have been a more admiring glance.
But he lifted one hand and touched a wayward curl at the side of her face, and she lost track of his question.
Apparently, so did he. “Whatever possessed you to do this?”
She felt a wave of defeat, aware that she looked absurd. “I know I shouldn’t have—”
“On the contrary, Lady Fairhaven. It’s outstanding.”
C hristina’s hair was far more than outstanding. Gavin’s fingers itched to do more than just touch one of those audacious curls, and her nearness trumped his frustration at not being able to take her to Windermere right away.
He knew it had been a mistake to come into her bedchamber, especially after he saw her wearing the thin, gossamer gown. It was like a second skin, baring just enough feminine flesh to whet his appetite, its shadows hinting at the lush curves beneath.
He should have turned right around and left her bedroom, except that he could not help but touch one of the shining black locks that curled at her temple. It was incredibly soft, its scent teasing him to bury his face in it.
And more.
God, he was a fool.
“Was Norris caught in the explosion, too?” He lowered his hand and turned his attention from the sweet line of her jaw in order to focus on his questions.
She took a breath that sounded shaky to his ears. He had to give her credit for not screeching and summoning a footman to toss him out.
“No. The lieutenant said he and Lang went together to pick up their mail,” she said as she returned to her dressing table and sat down. The pale green banyan did not afford him the same alluring view as before, but he appreciated the elegant line of her back and the sweet spot just below her short curls. He thought it would taste just as—
“Then they stopped in a dockside tavern to celebrate passing their lieutenant’s
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