The Sleeping Beauty

Her thinness, however, was disconcerting. In the soft fabric of the dress she now wore, he could see that the bones of her shoulders were acutely pronounced. The stomacher, meant to flatten a woman’s chest and push her breasts upward, nearly sagged. The garment hung on her, even at the pinched waist, which was already shockingly narrow. Yet even in this faded finery, she made a palpable impact on the room as she entered, head held high, eyes straight ahead.

“Father,” she said, pointedly ignoring Adam.

He grinned. She might have transformed her outward self, but she was still determined to bedevil him.

Rathford held out his arms to her. Adam’s complacency vanished when he saw the older man’s hands shaking visibly. Adam turned his head away.

Why all the melodrama? he thought testily. Christ, he wasn’t a beast. And if they thought he was, why not throw him out and have done with it?

She breezed past him, into her father’s embrace. Embarrassed at the intimate way they had their heads together, murmuring to one another, he looked out the dirty, multi-paned windows.

“No!” he heard her say.

Rathford said something back. She protested; he overrode her.

Adam checked his nails. They could use a trim, he supposed. He sighed, waiting. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he began to count the cobwebs.

A sharp cry and the rustle of skirts told him she had retreated from her father. Adam spied her sulking by some potted plant carcasses in the corner. She glared at him.

Turning to Rathford, Adam found the man red-faced. Biting his lips to hold back whatever emotions churned behind that ruddy facade, he gave Adam a curt nod and made for the door.

Adam supposed Rathford had told her the happy news. The rest was up to him.

Gritting his teeth, he approached Helena carefully, much as he would a skittish horse. Although he was certain she would not be delighted by the analogy, the situations were similar in that they both called for a gentle voice, a firm hand.

He was unprepared for the blaze of her eyes when she whirled on him. “My father says I am to wed you.”

He halted in his tracks. It wasn’t so much her anger—that he might have anticipated—but the stark blaze of fear he saw that stopped him. Holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, he said carefully, “I am certain the idea will be more agreeable to you when we know each other better.”

“Why? Do you improve upon acquaintance?”

He bit back his temper. “I simply believe we got off to a bad start.”

“When precisely was that? When you chased me into the shadows or when you pushed the door in and nearly knocked me down?”

He answered, “I believe it was when you called me a jackanapes.”

Doing her best to flounce, she turned away from him with a sound of disgust. He reined in his mounting anger, reminding himself that he was supposed to be smoothing out their differences, not inflaming them.

He could coddle her pride. For five thousand and another six annually, he could do that. “I admit I thought you a servant,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “It was unforgivable of me, but I can only plead the excuse of ignorance and poor lighting.”

Her head came back around, slowly. Thoughtfully.

Encouraged, he continued. “You are no fool, that one can easily see.” He took a step closer, glad she didn’t skitter away from him. At this distance, he could see her prominent collarbone and the soft pulse that beat at the base of her throat. His gaze dipped lower to where the tiny breasts heaved under the too-large bodice. The slightest tremor stirred inside him. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the strangely exciting sight. “You don’t trust me. I think this is fair. However, though I may be a cad, I am an honest one. If you don’t believe me, consider that your father loves you too much to deceive you. He will no doubt share with you every facet of our conversation and the resultant bargain. Therefore, I have no choice but to be truthful.”

She bit her lip with uncertainty, and he felt his stomach clench as the even, white teeth sank into tender flesh.

She said, “If all you want is money, I will pay you to go away.”

“If money was the only consideration, I could pluck an heiress without going farther than the drawing rooms of Belgravia and Mayfair.”

“Then why did you come?”

He hesitated. “There was talk. There was…a legend of sorts. Of a woman who lived in these parts, who was possessed of beauty and charm—”

The blue of her eyes grew icy when she cut him off. “If you wish to flatter me, you must think me indeed a fool.”

“Of beauty and charm,” he insisted, coming even closer, so that it seemed he towered over her. She was so petite, so fragile, like an exquisite doll made of porcelain. “That is the truth.”

“And rich.”

He didn’t flinch. Almost, but he fought it. “And rich. Yes.” There was an awkward silence.

She was the one who broke it. “I trust my father is compensating you well.”

He didn’t like that, not at all. Less so for it being the truth. “I have already admitted as much. You cannot wound me by taunting me with it.”

“Can’t I?”

He gritted his teeth. “You are very clever.”

“Didn’t they tell you that when they were extolling my beauty and wit?”

“Charm. It was beauty and charm. However, they clearly neglected to inform me of a few things.”

Her lips twitched for a moment, then pressed together, extinguishing any hint of amusement. “You must be very angry at whoever sent you up here.”

“Right now, I am concerned with you.”

“Yes, of course. You can hardly kidnap me and force me to marry you.”

“Your father thinks my suit to be a sound one. Should you not consider that?”

Tossing her head, she retorted, “My father is a drunkard whose affection for me has been lost in an intoxicated brain fever.”

“He seemed quite clear thinking. He made me promise to treat you well, not to abandon you, and…to see to your needs.”

“How wonderful.” Her eyes blazed with a renewed flare of anger, blue-green fire coming straight for him. “It seems we’re all set, then.”

“That sort of sarcasm is unflattering.” It wasn’t true. Her features were alive and mobile with the play of emotions. His gaze once again dipped to those meager mounds of flesh, that miniature waist. What was coming over him, to wonder what that slender body would look like naked? Undressed, would it be hard angles and ungiving bone or would her breasts still rise to pinkened peaks and her hips flare with just the right sort of roundness to tempt a man’s hand to slide along the contour?

She smirked. “Oh, heavens! And I do so wish to impress you.”

He blinked, giving himself a mental shake. The direction of his thoughts surprised him. She was not the sort of woman he usually favored. She was haughty and brittle and far too thin. “You are making quite an impression.”

With a brazen flourish, she squared off across from him. “Why should I care the impression you form of me? The days of my living for others’ opinions are long since gone.”

“That is obvious,” he drawled.