At the sight of this her head went so light with fear and nerves, she nearly swooned on the spot. It seemed the scene was set for their transaction as surely as one would lay the table for a banquet.
He was quietly watching her take in the room.
“Would you like some brandy? It might help with the nerves.”
She opened her eyes. “Yes. Certainly. Please. If you’re having some.”
“And then we’ll get right to it.”
“Oh. Ah. All right.”
It’s not like shoeing a horse, he’d once told her.
She barely heard the glug of the brandy over the pounding of her heart. Her breath sounded inordinately loud and ragged in her ears.
He handed the glass to her.
His eyes widened when she tossed all of it back, then coughed and spluttered.
She handed him the glass, and he laid it gently aside on the table near the settee.
“Now, I’d like to remind you that our agreement was that you’d let me do anything I wanted to do. Anything.Anythingat all.” His voice was all silk, sin, and promise. “Is that correct, Guinevere?”
Oh, Christ. Shehadsaid that. What had possessed her to say that?
“Yes.” She whispered it.
“I’d like you to stand in the middle of the room and take off your dress.”
A long silence ensued as she took in this request. “W-what will you be doing?”
“I’ll be sitting over there, watching you take off your dress.” He pointed to the settee.
“Oh.”
There was another little silence.
“You can begin now,” he said politely.
He settled back on the settee with a brandy snifter cupped in his hand.
Her hands were shaking so violently that it was long seconds before she was able to seize hold of her laces. For a moment, she seemed in danger of knotting them rather than tugging them lose.
He never took his eyes from her, and he didn’t move a hair.
She fumbled some more, clawing to loosen the laces further.
He’d been so still that she gave a start when he suddenly raised his eyebrows.
Finally she was able to spread the laces wider apart.
The sleeves of her dress sagged to her shoulders. The whisper-slide of the silk over her skin was like gentle hands.
She pushed one sleeve lower. Then lower still.
Marchand remained still, quietly observing this extraordinarily awkward show.
But his gathering tension was palpable.