Red Roses Mean Love

'And I interrupted you,' he noted over the rim of his teacup.

'Not at all,' she assured him with a smile. 'It's a pleasure to speak to another adult, believe me. Especially a scholarly person such as yourself. We have quite an extensive library here, Mr. Barrettson. Perhaps you'd like to see it?'

'By all means,' Stephen agreed.

Hayley led him into the house and through a series of long corridors. 'This is my very favorite room in the entire house,' she said, pushing open a set of double oak doors.

Stephen wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't the huge, well-lit room that greeted his gaze. Floor-to-ceiling windows made up one entire wall. Heavy dark-green velvet drapes were drawn back, and sunlight flooded the room. The remaining three walls simply contained bookshelves that rose from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling. Leather-bound volumes neatly filled every shelf, and several comfortable-looking brocade sofas and shabby overstuffed chairs were grouped around the hearth.

Walking slowly around the room, Stephen perused the titles. He noted books on every subject, ranging from architecture to zoology.

'This is indeed a very fine library, Miss Albright,' Stephen said, unable to squelch the note of surprise in his voice. 'In fact, this collection nearly rivals my own.'

'Indeed? And where do you house such a large number of books?'

'Primarily at my country estate-' He froze and smothered an oath at his blunder. Forcing a sheepish smile he said, 'I meant my employer's country estate. I can't help but think of the place as home. Tell me, how did you come by such a fine collection?'

'Many of the books belonged to my grandfather, who inherited them from his father. My father added extensively to the collection through his travels.'

Stephen idly ran his fingers over a handsome leather-bound volume of poetry and remarked, 'I can easily see why this is your favorite room.'

'Please feel free to make use of the library while you are here, Mr. Barrettson,' Hayley offered. 'One of the greatest pleasures of having books is sharing them with others who love them as well.'

'That is most generous, Miss Albright, and I shall certainly take you up on your kind offer.' Stephen continued scanning the books for several minutes. When he turned back to Hayley, he noticed her studying him intently.

'Is something amiss?' he asked.

A becoming blush stained her cheeks. 'No. I was just wondering if you might care to shave?'

Stephen stared, taken aback by her question. 'I beg your pardon?'

'When I found you, you were clean-shaven. You're welcome to use my father's razor if you wish.'

Stephen reached up and touched his jaw. The bristled hair felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable. In fact, the damned stuff itched abominably. A shave would certainly be welcome, but he could hardly admit that he'd never performed the task himself and had no clue how to go about it without rendering himself scarred for life. Tutors, after all, certainly didn't have valets to shave them.

'I would like to shave,' he said carefully, 'but I'm afraid my shoulder injury would make the procedure somewhat awkward. Obviously this is my perfect opportunity to try my hand at growing a beard.' He turned his attention back to the books, convinced the matter was settled.

'Nonsense. If you're unable to do the job yourself, I'd be happy to do it for you.'

'Excuse me?'

'I'm offering to shave you, if you like. I shaved my father many times and never so much as nicked him. I'm most experienced in these matters, I assure you.'

Stephen looked at her, aware that amazement must be written all over his face. Shaved? By a woman? It was unheard of. No one other than his valet had ever taken a razor to him. It was unthinkable. His aristocratic upbringing rebelled. A marquess would never allow it. But I'm a tutor now, and I'd best remember that.

The more he thought of removing his itchy whiskers, the more welcome the thought became. 'Are you certain you know how-'

'Positive. Come along, and you'll be beardless in no time.' She walked from the room, and Stephen followed, not at all convinced but willing to see where she was headed.

'You've been staying in my father's room,' she said over her shoulder as they approached the door to the bedchamber. 'His shaving things are in his armoire. I'll fetch some water and be right back.'

Without being exactly sure how it happened, Stephen soon found himself reclining in a massive chair, a sheet of linen protecting his clothes and Hayley standing over him, briskly whisking a shaving brush in a porcelain cup to create a thick lather. When he saw her pick up a straight-edged razor and run its edge over a leather strop, a sharp wave of doubt washed over him.

'Are you sure you know how to do this?' he asked, eyeing the razor with more than a little trepidation.

She smiled at him. 'Yes. I promise I won't hurt you.'

'But-'

'Mr. Barrettson. I went to a great deal of trouble to save your life. I'm not about to slash your throat and ruin all my hard work. Now, just close your eyes and relax.'

With lingering reluctance, Stephen did as he was bid, finally deciding it would probably be better not to watch.

'What the hell is that?' he yelped, sitting bolt upright as something warm touched his face.

'It's merely a cloth soaked with warm water to soften your whiskers,' she said, her amused exasperation evident. 'Now I must request that you lie still, or I fear I may very well slice your throat. Quite by accident, you understand, but the results would prove no less painful.'

Swallowing his doubts, Stephen lay back and allowed her to apply the warm, moist towel to his face. She replaced it several times, and Stephen had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that her ministrations felt good. All right, damn good.

He kept his eyes closed while she spread thick lather over his cheeks, jaw, and throat, enjoying the feel of the brush stroking his skin, and the clean scent of the soap.

'I'm ready to begin, Mr. Barrettson. Do you promise to hold perfectly still?'

'Do you promise not to cut my throat or slice off my ears, Miss Albright?' he countered. He opened his eyes and gazed directly into her luminous aquamarine depths.

'I promise if you do,' she agreed with a smile.

Stephen closed his eyes again, feeling strangely soothed by her soft words and the warmth he read in her eyes. 'I promise.'

'Excellent.'

Placing two fingers under his chin, she applied gentle pressure. Stephen obliged by stretching up his neck and turning his head slightly sideways.

She worked in silence, the quiet broken only by her soft instructions to move his head, and the soft shush from wiping the razor after each stroke.

The tension slowly left his body. After the first few swipes of the razor, it was clear that Miss Hayley Albright did indeed know how to shave a man, a fact he found oddly disturbing. Until this very moment he'd never realized what a personal, intimate act shaving was. Every time she leaned over him, he caught the soft scent of roses surrounding her. His valet Sigfried certainly didn't smell like flowers. Her lulling voice, her gentle hands, her sure strokes, left him relaxed and almost sleepy.

Until he opened his eyes.

Her face was only inches away from his, her brow furrowed with concentration as she carefully scraped the whiskers from his upper lip. Her full lower lip was caught between her white teeth, another obvious sign of her attention to the task at hand. Her warm breath touched his face and the fragrance of cinnamon surrounded him.

She reached across him to grab a clean towel, and her breasts pressed against his upper arm, eliciting an immediate quickening in his loins.

He tried to force his eyes closed, but could not. He was transfixed by the sight of her, the feel of her, the scent of her.

When she finished wiping the last of the lather from his face, their eyes met. She regarded him for a long