“It’s the only way. We cannot break into the museum. It simply wouldn’t be right.” She took a deep breath and stepped into his room.
“What about your aunt?” he asked.
“No,” she said firmly. “She mustn’t know about the curse.” She closed the door behind her. “Thea’s nerves have been rattled enough; I don’t want to worry her any further.”
He shook his head. “You know this isn’t going to work,” he said, more to himself than to her. And perhaps it wouldn’t, but what if the damned inscription on the box was right, and they had only a handful of days to get that band off her wrist before she died? The thought sickened him. Regardless of how he normally felt about curses and the like, this time he wasn’t taking any chances.
“No, we don’t know that. Mr. Nichols said it worked for him once before,” she said.
Fielding held up his hands in surrender. “If you want me to paint your body, I won’t argue with you. Where do you want to start?”
“My back.” She held a dark blue sheet in her hand. “I thought this might help to keep most of my body covered.”
Her modesty mixed with her prior brazen behavior toward him was an alluring combination.
With a shuddering breath, she turned her back to him and dropped her robe.
It occurred to him he probably should turn away, give her some privacy, but he didn’t. And there she stood in her full glory. His eyes took in the length of her, a narrow waist flaring out into generous hips and then her bare bottom, so rounded and full. This was going to be a long evening. The sheet came around her, covering her tempting body.
He retrieved a wooden chair from the corner of the room and set it in front of her. With a forced cough, he tried to clear the desire out of his voice. “Sit on it backward.”
Esme straddled the chair.
“Drop the sheet farther down.” Fielding tugged on the material at her back.
She let the fabric fall to her waist.
“This will probably be cold,” he said. He scrawled the first word of the inscription.
She sucked in her breath and arched away from him. “It’s actually quite warm. How strange.” Her back relaxed.
He wrote another word and then another. The quill slid across her pale skin, leaving behind a dark engraving that marred her perfect flesh. Yet something about it— the roundness of her bottom peeking up from beneath the dark blue sheet and the black ink staining her back—was intensely erotic.
Word for word, he copied the phrase onto Esme’s back. He reached out to test how wet the first words were. Her flesh was warm beneath his fingers, and he found the writing had completely dried. “It dries quickly,” he said.
“I suppose we should do the base of my head now.” She gathered up her chestnut hair, clearing the nape of her neck.
His mouth went dry. Right in that moment he’d never seen anything as seductive. He’d had women all over the world, experienced women, exotic women, and yet, here in this borrowed bedchamber, this woman, with her incessant chattiness and bright innocent eyes, was the one who stole his breath.
He tried to ignore the muscles tightening low across his abdomen and the blood pounding through his body. He tried to pretend she wasn’t driving him mad with desire, but he was failing miserably. As quickly as he could he wrote the first word on her neck. He glanced back at the piece of paper on which Mr. Nichols had written the inscription. As ludicrous as this whole scenario might be, Fielding wanted to do it correctly. He released a heavy breath, scattering gooseflesh across her neck and back.
She sighed.
He swore under his breath.
She turned to look over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
The matter was he should have more bloody control over himself. He wasn’t a ruddy schoolboy. He ran his hand down her back, and she closed her eyes in response. “You’re driving me to distraction, woman.”
She said nothing and did not move.
“Hold still and let me finish.” He inscribed the words as fast as he could. He’d had to write much smaller on her neck, but he managed to get the entire anti-curse in place. “Finished.”
She dropped her hair.
“I think you’ll have to lie down for me to do the rest,” he suggested. He walked away from her then, uncertain that he’d be able to keep his hands off her were he to take in the full length of her naked backside again. Attempting to regain control of himself, he took several deep breaths.
Once she was in the bed waiting, he made his way over to her side. There she lay, partially covered by the blue sheet, her pale limbs a stark and lovely contrast to his masculine bed.