There was a tiny gasp inside the room. ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Vaughn?’ There was a slight edge of uncertainty to her voice now.
‘I feel no need to threaten, Miss Morton, when the truth will serve just as well.’
Caro was in something of a quandary. Having fled her home two weeks earlier, sure that she would find employment in the obscurity of London as a lady’s companion or governess, instead she had found herself being turned away from those respectable households, time and time again, simply because she did not have the appropriate references.
Everything in London had been so much more expensive than Caro had imagined it would be, too. The small amount of money she had brought with her, saved over the months from her allowance, had diminished much more rapidly than she had imagined it would, leaving her with no choice, if she were not to return to an intolerable situation, but to try her luck at the back door of the theatres. She had always received compliments upon her singing when she’d entertained after dinner on the rare occasions her father had invited friends and neighbours to dine. Those visits to the theatres had resulted in her receiving several offers of employment—but all of them were shocking to a young woman brought up in protected seclusion in rural Hampshire!
She owed her present employment—and the money with which to pay for her modest lodgings—completely to Drew Butler’s kindness. As such, she was not sure that she could turn Dominic Vaughn away from her dressing-room if for some reason the older man really had approved the visit.
Her fingers shook slightly as she took her hands from the pockets of her robe to slowly turn the key in the lock, only to step back quickly as the door was immediately thrust open impatiently.
It was the silver-eyed devil from earlier! He looked even more devilish now as the subdued candlelight illuminating the hallway threw that scar upon his cheek into sharp relief and his black jacket and white linen only added to the rawness of the power that seemed to emanate from him.
Caro took another step backwards. ‘What is it you wished to speak to me about?’
Dominic deliberately schooled his expression to reveal none of the shock he had felt as he looked at Caro Morton for the first time without the benefit of that concealing jewelled mask. Or the ebony-coloured wig, which had apparently concealed her own long and gloriously golden curls. Those curls now framed sea-green, almond-shaped eyes, set in a delicate, heart-shaped face of such beauty it took his breath away.
An occurrence, if she were indeed a disobedient daughter or—worse—a runaway wife, that did not please him in the slightest. ‘Invite me inside, Miss Morton,’ he demanded dictatorially.
Long-lashed lids blinked nervously before she ar rested the movement and her pointed chin rose proudly. ‘As I have already explained, sir, I am resting until my next performance.’
Dominic’s mouth hardened. ‘Which I understand from Drew does not take place for another hour.’
The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively, drawing his attention to the bare expanse of creamy-white skin revealed by the plunging neckline of her robe. His hooded gaze moved lower still, to where the silky material draped down over small, pointed breasts. Her waist was so slender that he was sure his hands could easily span its circumference. He also privately acknowledged, with an unlooked for stirring of his arousal, that his hands could easily cup her tiny breasts before lowering to the smooth roundness of her bottom and lifting her against him for her to wrap those long, slender legs about his waist …
Caro found she did not much care for the way Dominic
Vaughn was looking at her. Almost as if he could see beneath her robe to the naked flesh beneath. Her cheeks became flushed as she straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘I would prefer that you remain exactly where you are, sir.’
That silver gaze returned to her face. ‘My lord.’
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He introduced himself. ‘I am Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone.’
Caro felt a tightness in her chest as she realised this man was a member of the ton, a man no doubt as arrogant as her recently acquired guardian. ‘If that is meant to impress me—my lord—then I am afraid it has failed utterly.’
He raised dark brows as he ignored the sarcasm in her tone. ‘I believe it is the usual custom at this point for the introduction to be reciprocated?’
Her cheeks burned at the intended rebuke. ‘If, as you claim, you have spoken to Mr Butler, then you must already know that my name is Caro Morton.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Is it?’
Her gaze sharpened. ‘I have just said as much, my lord.’
‘Ah, if only the saying of something made it true,’ he jeered.
That tightness in Caro’s chest increased. ‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’
‘I am afraid I am of an age and experience, my dear Caro, when I doubt everything I am told until proven otherwise.’
There was no doubting that the cynicism and mockery of this man’s expression gave him a world-weary appearance, and that scar upon his left cheek an air of danger, but even so she would not have placed him at more than eight or nine and twenty. Not so much older than her own twenty years.
Nor was she his ‘dear’ anything! ‘How very sad for you.’
Not the response Dominic had expected. Or one he wanted, either; the wealthy and eligible Earl of Blackstone did not desire or need anyone’s pity. Least of all that of a woman who hid her real appearance behind a jewelled mask and ebony wig.
Could Butler’s assessment of her be the correct one? Had this young woman run away to London to hide from possibly an overbearing father, or a brutish and bullying husband? She was of such a tiny and delicate appearance that Dominic found the latter possibility too distasteful to contemplate.
Whatever the mystery surrounding this woman, he was of the opinion that neither he, nor his gambling club, was in need of the trouble she might bring banging upon the door. ‘Are you even of an age to be in a gambling club, Caro?’
She looked startled. ‘My lord?’
‘I simply wondered as to your age.’
‘A gentleman should never ask a lady her age,’ she retorted primly.
Dominic slowly allowed his gaze to move from the top of that golden head, over the slenderness of her body, the delicacy of her tiny wrists and slender hands, to the bareness of her feet, before just as slowly returning to her now flushed and slightly resentful face. ‘As far as I am aware, ladies are always accompanied by a maid or companion; nor do they cavort upon the stage of a gentlemen’s gaming club.’
Her little pointed chin rose once more. ‘I do not cavort, my lord, but simply lie upon a chaise,’ she bit out tartly. ‘I also fail to see what business it is of yours whether or not I have a maid or companion.’
Dominic glanced into the room behind her, noting the tray on the dressing table, with its bowl of some rich and still-steaming stew and a platter of bread beside it, a plump and tempting orange upon another plate, obviously intended as her dessert. No doubt that ‘bite to eat’ Butler had mentioned providing for her.
‘I appear to have interrupted your supper,’ he acknowledged smoothly. ‘I suggest that we finish this conversation later tonight when I, and not Ben, act as your escort home.’
Her eyes widened in alarm before she gave a firm shake of her