Oh, he was a devil.
Brooks cleared his throat from behind them. “She’s right. Your hair is too long.”
Without breaking eye contact with Grace, Ian issued an order. “Fetch the shears, Brooks.”
Brooks hesitated. “You sure?”
“Very.”
Brooks nodded and departed.
“You want Brooks to cut your hair? Or don’t tell me that you mean to cut it yourself?” Grace asked.
“No. I mean for you to cut it,” he said.
Her defiance slipped. Her gaze returned to the dark hair that had reminded her of a raiding pirate the first moment she’d seen him on the gaming floor of the Raven Club. “Me? But I’ve never performed such a task. Not even for my young brother.”
“So? How difficult can it be?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I could accidently shear you like a sheep.”
“I’ll take my chances. You aren’t scared, are you?”
He was challenging her. She knew it and should refuse to be goaded, but she found herself capitulating. “Fine, but you are not permitted to complain afterward.”
Brooks returned with the shears.
“Give them to the lady. She will do the deed.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the large man’s face as he looked from Grace to Ian. “You sure about this, Castleton?” Brooks asked.
“Don’t call me that.”
“My lord.”
Ian gritted his teeth. “That, either.”
Brooks was clearly enjoying himself at Ian’s expense. “Pardon, Mr. Swift.”
Ian scowled.
“The first two forms of address were correct,” Grace said.
“I told you to ‘my lord’ me only when we are out and about. Only then.”
She already thought of him as Ian when she shouldn’t. She should take her own advice and think of him as Castleton. But how?
Brooks winked at Grace. “Good luck, Miss Ashton.” He bowed, then promptly departed and closed the door behind him.
She turned to Ian. “Wait! Why is he leaving?”
“You have the shears. I wouldn’t dare attempt to seduce you,” Ian drawled.
She gripped them, feeling their weight. Narrowing her eyes, she faced him. “Fine. Remove your coat.”
Ian shed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat and placed the items on the bed. As he moved a chair into the middle of the room, she tried not to stare at the muscles that bunched beneath the linen shirt.
“Not on the Oriental carpet. On the hardwood.” She motioned to where she wanted him to place the chair. “Since you have no housekeeper or a full staff of maids, it will be easier to sweep.”
He placed the chair away from the edge of the carpet and onto the polished, hardwood floor. Then he sat with his back to her.
Grace swallowed hard, and her heart fluttered. This wasn’t what she’d expected tonight. She had her notes prepared; she knew exactly what she was going to teach. Cutting the Earl of Castleton’s hair was certainly not on the list.
Ian glanced over his shoulder, his gaze dark and mysteriously compelling. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Nine
Grace wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for this man. She took a deep breath, then stepped close.
Reaching out tentatively, she touched Ian’s dark hair. It was softer than she’d expected, like silk. Once it was trimmed, there would be nothing soft about him. He was already a muscular prizefighter, a hardened owner of a gaming club, and most confusingly, a man who resented inheriting an earldom. Yet, he’d kept to their agreement and refused her father admittance into his club not once, but twice. He was a complex man, not easy to predict or understand.
What new side of him would she next discover?
“Go on.”
She swallowed and reached for the longest lock at his nape. She raised it to reveal a glimpse of skin, paler than the rest of his bronzed neck. Raising the shears, she snipped the piece of hair and watched as it fell to the floor.
She caught the slight tensing of his jaw. “I can stop now if you say the word.”
“Keep going.”
The maddening hint of arrogance in his tone drove her to continue.
She cut and snipped, her brow set in concentration. Cutting hair wasn’t the simple task it had seemed. She smoothed his thick hair to be sure her cuts were even. All the while he sat straight and silent. She was aware of the breadth and strength of his shoulders and the warmth of his body as she worked. The scent of his shaving soap teased her senses. Her thumbs ran down the back of his neck, caressing the strong tendons there.
He inhaled deeply at her touch but never turned.
The task was much more intimate than she’d initially imagined. She was extremely conscious of his virile appeal. In the quiet room, she was sure he could hear the blood rushing through her veins. Deep down, she’d wanted an excuse to touch him and she had it now. She brushed loose hair from his shoulders, and memories of his kiss returned in an unwanted rush. The ravishment of his mouth had turned surprisingly gentle. She’d never forget when his tongue had traced the soft fullness of her lower lip.
She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected. She knew such an attraction was perilous and that she would have to guard her own actions as well as his.
She moved to the side to cut the hair near his ear and—despite her resolve—her gaze fell to his mouth. She felt the all-too-familiar sweeping pull in her stomach.
Madness.
Her feelings for him had nothing to do with reason.
While she felt warm and fluttery inside, he sat still and unaffected. She knew he’d had lovers. Women at the club probably threw themselves at him.
What could one mere kiss mean to a rake?
It wasn’t fair. He’d brought her untried senses to life with the ease of an experienced lover. Her knees were weak and her heart was hammering in her chest, while he appeared to be merely tolerating her ministrations. She touched his cheek, pretending to brush aside loose hair.
He continued to sit ramrod straight.
She ran her finger along his jawline, attempting to assess his unreadable profile.
He turned then. His intense gaze captured her own, and she gasped and nearly dropped the shears. She realized her mistake.
He wasn’t unaffected.
There was a wild look in his dark eyes, a smoldering promise of more to come. His chest expanded and his fingers tightened on the arm rests of the chair. The tensing of his powerful body was not from cold disinterest but from measured restraint. He looked like a predator ready to pounce…and she was his prey.
Oh my.
Rather than experience fear, a thrill passed down her spine that she had so affected him.
Don’t play with fire, Grace!
She quickly stepped back and set the shears on the chest of drawers. “I’m finished.”
He stood and turned around slowly. The cut emphasized the chiseled planes of his face and made him appear even more attractive. How was that possible?
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his shorn locks. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Was he referring to the act of cutting his hair or the closeness that was required?
She raised her chin and tried to calm her racing heart. “It was a necessary task, but not one I’d like to repeat.”