Page 11 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

D rusilla watched as Cutty drew out the implements of his trade: a towel, which he wrapped around the earl’s throat, a dishful of lather, and his razor.

“How do you know each other?” the earl asked, his gaze full of trepidation as he watched Cutty’s preparations.

Drusilla smiled. “You should tell, Cutty.”

“Lady Drusilla here was helping some of the dockworkers’ wives and widows,” he began, sharpening his razor as he spoke. “It was—how long ago?” he asked, looking at Drusilla.

“Ten years.” Right when she’d learned the truth about the man she thought she’d fallen in love with.

“And I wasn’t set up here in this shop yet. I was a ship’s sick berth attendant.”

At Murdoch’s blank look, he explained. “I’m the one who tends to the sick on board, and I don’t get called away for the usual duties on the ship.”

“A sort of surgeon, then?” he asked.

Cutty shook his head. “No, we had a surgeon on board too. But he had to deal with the serious cases. I was assigned to the patients’ maintenance.”

“Ah, I see.”

“We’d lost a sailor while sailing from India, and when we returned I wanted to find the widow and tell her myself. He was a good man, and all he talked about was his wife and family.”

Cutty’s eyes grew misty; then he recollected himself and continued. “I only found the widow—a Mrs. Pease—with help from Lady Drusilla there, who said she knew where the family was and would take me to them—but only if I agreed to see to the needs of residents of a local boardinghouse.”

“I was quite proud of myself for thinking of it,” Lady Drusilla said.

“None of the doctors or surgeons I contacted would lower themselves to help when the problems weren’t life-threatening.

But I tell you, how can you look for respectable work when you’re suffering from dysentery, lice, and untreated injuries? ”

“When she was introducing me to some of the children who needed help, she forgot my name—it’s Mr. Cutler—and just called me Cutty. Since I was a surgeon of sorts, it suited.” He shrugged. “I’ve been Cutty ever since.”

“And now it suits even better, since you cut hair,” Drusilla said.

“The families? Were they able to find work?” the earl asked.

Drusilla nodded. “All but one. Then I told him where to find the widow, and they ended up falling in love and getting married. So it was a happy circumstance.”

Cutty began to lather the earl’s face. “You didn’t say the most important part. How you helped my Martha secure her widow’s portion, which helped us afford this building. I wouldn’t be here if not for her,” Cutty said, nodding to Drusilla.

“You would have made it here,” she said, feeling embarrassed. “It just might’ve taken you a bit longer.”

“Is that why you want my building?” the earl asked, only his speech was muffled because he couldn’t move his mouth to speak that well, what with the lather and all.

Thankfully she could still make out his words.

“Mm, yes,” she said, surprised to learn he was both curious about it and intelligent enough to figure it out. “I want to house more people—there is always someone in need.”

“You have a soft heart,” he mumbled, and she blushed.

“It’s not that,” Cutty remarked. “It’s that everyone else is coldhearted.” He gestured toward Drusilla. “This is the way people should be, not as selfish as they are.”

“There you go again, you socialist varmint.” The rebuke came from the other barber, one Drusilla didn’t know.

“Always wanting to do things like help the poor or feed the hungry. How are those lords and ladies going to make enough to keep them dripping in silks if you give your money to people who deserve it? No offense, my lady,” the man added, his tone cheeky.

“None taken,” she replied, dipping into a brief curtsey.

“My lord, you might think you’ve wandered into some radical meeting,” Cutty said, beginning to slide the razor against the earl’s face. Drusilla watched, fascinated, as clumps of hair mixed with soap began to fall onto the ground with an audible plop.

“I don’t think I’d argue with you now regardless,” the earl said, gesturing to his face.

Cutty tilted his head back and laughed, then returned to his work. “I like this one, my lady.”

So do I , Drusilla wanted to say, but of course she couldn’t. That wouldn’t be appropriate, even for her.

“This one?” the earl said in a sharper tone.

“I’ve met many of Lady Drusilla’s friends. They all share a certain look about them. None has been as large as you, however.”

Drusilla blanched, realizing that she had, indeed, brought a few of her lovers to get shaved by Cutty through the years.

Oh dear. And there had been no mistaking Cutty’s meaning; his tone was clear as day.

If the earl was as thickheaded as some of her past lovers, he wouldn’t understand. But he most definitely wasn’t.

“I see” was all the earl said, and Drusilla felt nearly frantic wondering just what he did see.

Would he want to remove his niece from her home if he thought her a loose woman?

He’d be justified, what with Society judging anyone who behaved out of the ordinary as being somehow less.

Or would he try to take advantage of her?

That wouldn’t suit his personality, though she did have Joey and Joey’s handiness with a pistol should things escalate.

The clumps kept dropping, one by one, onto the ground as both Cutty and the earl were silent, Cutty because he was concentrating on his task, the earl because Cutty was working on the area just above his lip and there could be a mishap if Cutty slipped with the razor while the earl was attempting to talk.

Eventually, there was a foaming pile of hair on the floor, and the earl’s face looked almost clean. Before Drusilla could get a good look, Cutty had swathed the man’s face in more towels and began to vigorously rub, likely getting off all the stray bits.

Cutty glanced at Drusilla, then arched his brow knowingly. “Are you ready for the first look?”

“I’d like the first look, if you don’t mind,” the earl’s voice said from underneath the fabric.

“Of course, of course,” Cutty replied, winking at Drusilla.

He took a hand mirror from a nearby stand, then held it in front of the earl’s face as he began undoing the towels.

When they were all removed, Drusilla was able to see his face in the mirror that was against the wall as the earl took the hand mirror from Cutty’s grip.

Oh my goodness.

She’d suspected that there was substantial beauty underneath, what with the strong bone structure she could see, even under the thicket of hair.

But she hadn’t expected this much beauty. All of it fierce, and feral, and intense. As though his handsomeness had been distilled into a concentrated form and applied directly onto his face.

His cheekbones were sharp and well-defined, anchoring the slashing eyebrows above.

His eyes were even more distinctive now, dark pools of mahogany that burned with intelligence.

But it was his mouth that captured Drusilla’s attention; his upper lip was thin, but his lower lip more than made up for that in how plush and sensual it looked.

“Well?” he said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. He sounded anxious, and Drusilla wondered how he could possibly think he wouldn’t pass muster.

“You look—” Spectacular. Devastating. So handsome she wanted to weep. “Unexceptionable. Like other Society gentlemen.”

“We could have given him those muttonchops many of them sport,” Cutty said.

The earl raised a brow. “You’re mentioning this option just a bit too late, don’t you think?”

And if he had muttonchops—ugly bunches of fur on gentlemen’s faces; why would anyone want that?—she wouldn’t have been able to see his handsomeness on full display.

Then again, neither would anyone else. What would happen when she introduced him to the world at large? She’d have to be certain he was prepared for the response. She’d have to be certain she was prepared as well—for the questions, the attention, and the curiosity.

Not to mention how much want she could feel stirring in places that usually were well satisfied and did not like to be kept waiting.

Oh dear.

M urdoch ran his palm over his face, feeling the smoothness of his skin.

He hadn’t felt his face in close to seven years, when he’d started growing the beard.

He’d grown uncomfortable with people looking at him, and he’d decided he could be more incognito if there was something hiding his face.

His facial hair responded with more alacrity than he could have anticipated, and so he’d been saved from having too many looks cast his way for a while now.

But she’d changed all that in a mere half hour. She was changing him .

“Let me just tidy this up, and then we can start on your hair.”

Murdoch gaped as he stared at the barber. “You mean there’s more?” He hadn’t taken her at her word when she’d said it before, because he never would have thought one adult would possibly tell another adult they needed to cut their hair.

“Of course,” Lady Drusilla remarked. “You don’t think I am going to let all of Cutty’s hard work sit with that mess on your head, do you?”

Murdoch shook his head, tossing the towel around his neck onto the chair as he rose. “No. I will not. I have agreed to this, since you said to leave it as it was would be to cause comment. But this?” He ran his hand over his hair. “There is nothing wrong with my hair.”

He spoke in a belligerent tone, not one he would normally use with a lady, but this lady was anything but normal.

As expected, her eyes lit up as he spoke. “I like to see you standing up for yourself, my lord. That will help when we venture out in public with you looking like that.”

“Like what?” he demanded, still irritated.

“Like you’ve stepped down from some Greek statue of Zeus or Apollo or something.”

“She’s saying you’re godlike,” Cutty said, presumably thinking he was being helpful.

Murdoch was pleased to see her color at her friend’s words.

“Well, I wouldn’t say godlike—”

“Transcendent? Striking? Gorgeous?”

Now it was Murdoch’s turn to blush.

“Fine, let’s return home, and you can show your niece how you look,” she said hastily, her cheeks a livid pink. “Cutty, thank you, and send my regards to Mrs. Cutty. We can do the haircut another time.”

The barber bowed, his expression full of mischief. “Certainly.” He looked at Murdoch. “Don’t let her get her say in everything. There has to be a bit of balance in any relationship, and she’ll—”

Lady Drusilla pushed Murdoch out the door before he could hear the rest.

Her carriage waited outside, and this time he strode forward so he could open the door for her, taking her arm as she stepped up into it.

“Thank you,” she said, as he entered behind her. He shut the door firmly, and she rapped on the roof to signal the coachman to go.

“What was your friend going to say?” Murdoch asked. It felt as though the last few moments had shifted the balance of power between them, and now he was the more confident of the two.

She waved a hand. “Nothing important, I am certain.” Her color was still high. “I am very much looking forward to seeing your new self in the wardrobe we chose.”

“ You chose, you mean.”

Her color deepened. “Yes, I suppose so. But you can’t think—”

“It’s fine,” he said, leaning back against the carriage seat. “I am just teasing you.”

She looked startled. “Teasing me? I didn’t realize you had a teasing bone in your body, my lord.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “I don’t usually, but somehow you draw it out of me. It must be the combination of the London air, your town house, and the arrangement we have.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

“When do we actually start with this whole debut thing?” he asked.

Her expression had shifted again, to one he couldn’t identify, except that it made him feel more aware of everything.

Of the fact that they were two unattached people in a carriage, that she clearly found him comely, and that he couldn’t take his eyes off her lively, quick-witted self.

“The first party is in a week,” she said.

Her cheeks were not quite as bright now.

“I’ve sent out the invitations, and your niece and I only have to select which of her many gowns she will wear that evening.

I do hope your sheep are quite profitable, because I am afraid we are going to spend vast sums of your money. ”

“As long as Emily is happy, that is fine with me,” he said gruffly.

“You care for her a great deal, do you not?” she asked, still in that soft tone.

He nodded.

She didn’t speak then, just regarded him with those curious eyes.

“She is my late sister’s child,” he began.

He found it easier to talk with her—and also harder, at times—than he’d found with most people.

A question to answer at another time. “And while Aileen and I didn’t have a lot in common—she liked people much more than I do,” he admitted, “she was so kind and generous and wanted her daughter to have the experiences she had. Our father wasn’t convinced she should even go to London to have a debut.

He thought heading to Edinburgh for parties was enough frivolity. ”

“Why did he change his mind?” she asked.

“My brothers and I, we told him how important it was, and how different Aileen was from the rest of us. That we’d be stifling her if we kept her in Scotland instead of letting her see the world.”

“That was very kind of you,” she replied. She kept her steady, warm gaze on his face. “I imagine you to be quite persuasive, if you put your mind to it.”

Something in her words, her tone, made him think of all those forbidden things he’d first thought of when he’d met her. Things he had been able to keep at bay until now.

“You really do look quite handsome,” she continued. And then she slid from her seat to sit beside him, still looking at his face. He felt his breath catch and his chest tighten.

“Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Could I—that is, I’d very much like to know how it feels—could I kiss you?”

He gaped at her for a moment, then nodded his head, because words were beyond him at the moment.

She didn’t do it immediately; she sighed, and then smiled, a smile that combined warmth and desire and curiosity all at once.

Then she placed her fingers on the side of his head, sliding them into his hair.

He gasped when she tugged on the strands, the unexpected pressure sending a zing of pleasure straight to his cock.

He was even more grateful he’d been spared a haircut.

It was as though she’d expected the reaction, because her smile deepened in satisfaction, and then she lifted her face to his, closing her eyes. “Kiss me, my Scottish ram.”

And so he did.