Page 15 of Ravishing Camille

“If you sit, I will fix your hair.”

She pulled back to wrinkle a brow at him. “You?”

“Yes.” He rose from his chair and pointed at the chair beside him. “Sit.”

She got this silly look of disbelief on her face. “You do hair?”

“I do.”

“Since when?”

Since May showed me how to pin up hers.“A few years now. I’m good, too. Sit and you will see.”

She cast about, glancing at the footman who widened his eyes and at Jenkins who lifted his brows. She plunked down in the chair. “All right. Show me what you can do.”

He put his hands to her shoulders, the silk at the neckline of her blouse a sensuous enticement to slip his fingers up along her throat and her perfect little ears. Well, that would not do! He lifted the offending curl and pulled it straight out to view the structure beneath. “I see the problem.”

“What?”

“Foundation insecurity…”

“What?” She snorted in laughter.

“The hair beneath is not secured in the manner it should be. This thing!” He pulled out a long roll stuffed with pale blonde netting. He set it before her eyes and she squealed.

“You wear this every day?” he demanded.

“Put that back! What are you doing? If you destroy my lovely curls…!”

“Not I, my sweet. Dear God. What the hell is this?” He took out a pin and another roll, similar to the first, fell free.

“Oh you are impossible,” she groaned. “Do put that back!”

“I can’t!”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “Or won’t!”

“I have an idea.” He parted this hank of hair from that and then back again. He really did not have any idea but he would try. “Scaffolding is what your maid built.”

“Well, you are destroying my entire coif!”

He snorted. “It needs it. Without security, it will fall, dear girl!”

“As if you know!”

“I do.” He put his hands to her shoulders and patted her with strumming fingers. “Now sit still.”

“But hurry. I must be going!”

“Perfection takes time.”

She huffed and puffed.

“Stop it,” he ordered and found his way through the pins. Then he remembered how May had described the process of formal Chinese styling. That was an art that consisted of tiers of hair piled in irregular fashion to get height and stability.

“Pierce?” She egged him on.

“In a minute, pet.”