They reached a curved staircase and halted.
‘Would you like to go straight upstairs or would you prefer to sit and talk in my office, makeshift as it is?’ Paine offered, gesturing to a room farther down the hall.
Julia lifted her skirts with resolution. ‘Straight upstairs, if you please. I am eager to see this business concluded.’
‘Do not be too eager, my sweet. There is much you might discover to be enjoyed if you take time and savour our interlude,’ he said in low tones at her elbow.
‘You are quite sure of yourself,’ Julia responded with disdain. ‘I am interested only in seeing the deed accomplished in an expedient manner.’
Paine laughed, a throaty, intimate chuckle that sent an unlooked-for thrill through Julia. She spared him a sidelong glance that lasted long enough to see that his blue eyes danced with smug merriment, giving her the distinct impression that he knew something beyond her comprehension.
She didn’t like being so far out of her depth. She was not fool enough to believe that she’d ever held the upper hand in their dealings. He held all the knowledge and all the power. Should he decide not to go through with her request, she had no way to coerce him back into compliance.
They ascended the stairs and she reflected wryly on her earlier thoughts to offer her earbobs as financial compensation, thinking they would appeal to him in his lowly circumstances if she needed leverage. In light of this elegant house, her earbobs seemed laughable. But her powerlessness was not. She had no leverage now if he suddenly found his long-forgotten conscience and backed out. Then again, he was a rogue of the first water. Gossip had it that he seldom slept alone and the line of women parading through his bedroom was endless. He was a man of intense physical appetites. He wouldn’t back out. He needed sex.
Paine stopped before a panelled oak door and opened it wide, allowing her to enter ahead of him. ‘My chambers,’ he said without flourish, but she could feel his hot eyes on her, watching her reaction.
She hid nothing in her response to the room. Indeed, she didn’t know how she could have schooled her features to remain impassive when faced with the seductive opulence that spread before her. The room was exotic and utterly unlike anything she’d seen before—not that she made a habit of frequenting male bedchambers. In reality, seeing one or a hundred bedchambers was immaterial. She knew instinctively she could view every bedroom in England and not find one like this.
Candlelight from candelabras placed about the room lit the place in a soft glow, casting shadows on gold damask-hung walls. Beneath the soles of her dancing slippers, Julia could feel the plushness of the carpet, the thick pile a marked contrast to the threadbare Axminster rugs that dotted the floors of her uncle’s home. This carpet was of soft wool dyed in rich crimson hues and accented with gold to match the walls. Julia doubted anyone else in England would have been so bold as to decorate a bedroom in deep crimson and burnished gold, but the differences didn’t stop there.
Her eye was drawn to the furniture; an ornate cabinet of ebony stood against one wall, inlaid with gold and ivory to create a design, perhaps a symbol of some sort. Low-slung chairs filled with pillows sat at angles to a low teak table, but what garnered her gaze unequivocally was the bed.
Unlike the high, pillared beds she was accustomed to seeing, this bed was framed low to the ground, piled with pillows and silken coverlets. Blankets seemed too ordinary of a word to describe the lush swathes of fabric that lay strewn about the bed, vibrant in their shades of scarlet, saffron and jade. Julia could not resist the temptation to touch the fabrics. She walked to the bed and ran her fingers across the surface of the closest covering, revelling in the smoothness of the silk as it shushed through her hands.
For a moment, she’d forgotten where she was and why she was there. The heat of his gaze on her back served as a searing reminder. She dropped the blanket self-consciously and stiffened.
‘It’s a magnificent bed,’ Paine said from across the room in a slow drawl that indicated he’d watched her every move.
‘It’s very interesting. I’ve never seen one like it,’ Julia replied stiffly, turning away from the bed.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink before we get started?’ Paine offered, opening the inlaid doors of the ebony cabinet to reveal assorted sizes of crystal glassware and an impressive collection of decanters.
Julia was tempted to say no. As a rule, she didn’t drink beyond an occasional glass of champagne. But tonight, the thought-numbing properties of alcohol, which she had been warned against as a débutante, might be just the addition she needed to get through the evening. ‘Yes, sherry, please.’
Before she could rethink her decision, Paine had the glass in her hand and was gesturing to one of the cushioned chairs. ‘Let’s sit and talk. It makes these encounters less formal.’
His coolness spoke volumes about his character, Julia thought. While she was fighting back nerves, he was entirely at ease, as if this were something he did regularly—which, in fact, it was, according to the rumours. He lounged casually in his chair, looking devastatingly handsome and comfortable. The only sign he was in any way affected by the presence of a female in his chambers was the burning intensity of his eyes—eyes that followed her every gesture, every move. She was supremely conscious she was fiddling overmuch with the folds of her skirts as she sat.
Julia sipped from her glass, giving herself a moment to savour the warmth of the sweet liquor as it slid down to her belly. ‘You must like to travel.’ There. That was a safe topic.
Paine nodded briefly. ‘I have found places in the world where I feel at home.’
‘Are these pieces of furniture from any of those places?’ Julia asked, her eyes sliding to the lacquered cabinet, looking desperately for a safe direction of conversation. She’d hoped he would have said more about his travels than the meagre offering of a single sentence. But the talkativeness he’d exhibited upon arrival seemed to have disappeared. ‘Do you know anything about the design on the cabinet? It appears to be a symbol. Do you know what it is?’
‘Yes. I know.’ Paine followed her gaze to the inlaid panels of the cabinet doors, a smile quirking at his sensual lips.
The dratted man was a rotten conversationalist with his minimal answers. Julia put down her glass and rose. She went to the panels, tracing a portion of the symbol with a slow finger. ‘Mr Ramsden, talking to you is virtually impossible since you are not the least bit forthcoming with any information. I feel obliged to tell you that a gentleman is able to make conversation on a diverse array of subjects.’ She hazarded a sideways glance at Ramsden to see the effect of her veiled barb.
It had hit the mark, perhaps too effectively. Ramsden rose and came towards her with all the feral stealth of a jungle panther. He paced behind her, giving Julia the distinct impression she was being stalked. She had not meant to strike so deeply.
‘Miss Prentiss,’ he began in low tones, ‘your very comment is a trap from which neither of the answers available shall save me. My dilemma, you see, is that while proving my worth as a gentleman I am at the same time besmirching that title by the same means. If I confess that I am no gentleman, I shall save myself from answering what the symbol is, but at the expense of my honour, which I hold dearer than you might have been led to believe. On the other hand, if I confess what the symbol is and provide an erudite exposition of my conversational skills, I shall vouch for my ability to perform the gentlemanly arts. However, discussing that symbol with any well-bred girl is a conversational topic that no true gentleman would broach. So I ask you—do you want to