He wasn’t unused to entering ladies’ bedchambers, but he only ever did so with an explicit invitation.
Casting his gaze away from her, he noticed a series of documents strung along the wall. They weren’t art. He recognized Bella’s handwriting and what appeared to be sketches of some of her puzzle games.
“What’s all that?” He gestured toward the wall and started to move closer.
“A project I’m working on. Nothing I have time to talk about.”
“Perhaps you’ll tell me some other time.” There was a period in their lives when he knew everything she was up to, all her secrets and plans. He missed being privy to Arabella Prescott’s projects.
Turning to him with an irritated look, Bella seemed to be suffering with none of the sentiments he felt.
“Does this look all right?” She’d put a bejeweled comb in her hair but it was crooked and only half in place. “It doesn’t, does it? Would you ring the bell again?”
Rhys approached the mantel and gave a tug on the bellpull. Her frustration was palpable, and his impulse was to help, but all he knew about ladies’ coiffures was how to take them down.
“I should be in the drawing room by now.” She stuck two hairpins between her lips and a third into her hair so violently, she dislodged a few other curls. When another strand of hair became dislodged, she let out a little yelp of distress. “I’m making it worse.”
“Sit down.”
She snapped her gaze to his, eyes glittering with annoyance at his commanding tone. Then she seemed to realize what he intended and her expression softened.
Rhys felt something in him ease too. He approached her where she sat on her vanity bench. She straightened her shoulders and held out a palm full of hairpins.
“I take it the objective is to trap your curls with these.” He drew his fingers along her palm and felt her tremble in response when he took one of the pins.
“Just these few strands that have fallen down. It needn’t be perfect. I’m not aiming to impress any of the gentlemen downstairs.”
He looked into the mirror and their eyes met. She watched him, as if gauging his reaction.
“I’m sure you already have. That’s why they’re still here.”
That seemed to embarrass her. She shifted her gaze to the wall in front of her and then down at her lap.
Rhys lifted one long curl and pinned it next to another. He did the same with two others, and did his damnedest to resist the urge to pull the whole thing down. Every time his fingers brushed her scalp or the back of her neck, her body gave a little jolt and he felt the movement all the way to his groin.
He had no idea why helping a lady pin her hair up was so arousing. His heart beat as hard as if he’d run all the way from Edgecombe. When he’d placed the final pin, he took the bejeweled comb and settled it among her auburn waves. The more he touched her hair, the more he sensed the tension begin to seep out of her body. Her shoulders rounded.
When he’d finished, he found he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t wish to stop touching her.
“That looks better,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
He stepped back and turned to the long mirror in the corner of the room to check his tie and focus on anything other than her. But he was aware of her every movement. In the quiet of the room, he could hear that her breath had sped too. His gaze was drawn to her movements in the mirror. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek, then placed a hand at the base of her throat and swallowed hard.
Standing up from her vanity, she lifted both arms up and behind her head to try to reach the loose buttons on the back of her gown.
“May I help you?” he heard himself say.
Rather than answer, she turned her back to him. He walked the two steps toward her too quickly, and she glanced back.
“You should go down first,” she told him matter-of-factly. Always practical. Always solving problems. But he’d known her long enough that he didn’t miss the quaver in her voice.
His own hands trembled as he fastened her buttons and he bit his lip at the softness of her skin against the backs of his fingers. Good grief, he needed to stop touching her.
When he’d fastened the last button, he stepped away and started toward the door.
“Five minutes?” she said as he reached for the door latch.
Rhys closed his eyes, fought to steady his heartbeat, and looked back at her with his mask of bravado firmly in place. “Whenever you wish. It’s your birthday. I am merely here for you to command.”
“You’ve never let me command you in your life.”
He chuckled and winked at her. “Consider it a birthday gift.”
Bella’s plan wasn’t going as expected.
Fanning herself with her hand dispelled a bit of the heat in the blue drawing room but not an ounce of the tension. The night had turned cool and servants had lit a fire, but the combination of overdressed bodies and the irritation Rhys’s presence stoked made the room stifling.
She told herself tension was good. Unease was what she’d intended, and by inviting Rhys she’d definitely ruffled feathers.
Dinner had been miserable, with conversation rarely crossing the divide of candles and bowls of flowers at the center of the table. She’d been seated with Hammersley and Nix on one side, her parents at either end, and Louisa and Rhys on the opposite side. Lord Wentworth sat beside Louisa and was the only one who attempted to cross the battle line of the centerpiece by asking Bella about the quality of her roast and whether or not she liked autumn weather.
Now, in the drawing room, conversation remained at a low uncomfortable hum. The men darted glances toward Rhys, and she heard a few whispered condemnations. They weren’t as quiet with their barbs as they probably thought they were, but they took care not to speak of their disdain too loudly. Rhys was a duke, after all.
Still, her ultimate goal seemed nowhere in sight. The gentlemen suitors may cast judgment on Rhys, but none of them seemed put off in their pursuit of her.
When everyone at the dinner table had offered her a birthday toast, Hammersley leaned so close, she’d feared he might kiss her on the cheek. He was deep in conversation with Mr. Nix now, but he continually cast glances her way, as if she might be the subject of their discussion.
If they were wagering on her again, she’d have her father send them all away.
Casting a glance around the room, she noticed that her father had slipped out at some point. Her mother didn’t seem concerned at his absence, but Bella had an impulse to go and check on him nonetheless.
“Bella is excellent at riddles and puzzles of all kinds,” Louisa said, raising her voice from the corner settee where she sat in conversation with Bella’s mother and Lord Wentworth. “Someone pose her a riddle and I promise she’ll solve it.”
“Why doesn’t Miss Prescott pose one of her own riddles, and we will try to solve it,” Mr. Nix said with a tone that implied he was very certain he would solve it.
Rhys sat forward on the chair he occupied, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He’d always liked her riddles and had even helped her devise a few. The first that came to mind was one they’d worked on together.
“There is one that has a head without an eye, and one that has an eye without a head.” Bella enunciated each word carefully and more slowly than she’d normally speak. “You may find the answer if you try and when all is said, half the answer hangs upon a thread.”