Your Darkest Dream (Blackwood & Friends #2)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The following morning, Blanche was woken most rudely by her lady's maid before the sun had even graced the horizon with its presence, as requested by Mr Nathaniel Southill himself. After stuffing her limbs into the breeches that fit her hips snugly but wore loose about her waist and an oversized shirt that Nicola had procured for her after their strenuous hike across what felt like the entire country, she slipped into sturdy walking boots and tied her hair in a haphazard knot atop her crown (it was going to be ruined within seconds anyway, so why bother making any pretence of a respectable chignon?). Blanche then made her way to Nicola's chambers that her friend now shared with Jason on the other side of the house.

The Marquis of Northwick proceeded to toss his boot at her head and uttered a profane oath about her sheer audacity.

Luckily the boot had hit the doorframe and not her, however Blanche was left without a chaperone for whatever hell Nathaniel wanted to put her through at such a ridiculous hour, compelling her to search for one who was awake.

Which lead her to the kitchens, naturally, and she located Beth, her lady's maid, who was nursing a cup of tea. That compelled Blanche to idle away some time with her, chatting nonsensically to the kitchen staff who had arisen to prepare breakfast. They were very familiar with Blanche's daily presence in the kitchen so it wasn't entirely unusual for her to spend some time down there, especially if coffee and treats were involved.

Some while later, she wandered out with Beth to the front terrace where Nathaniel was waiting her arrival. She sipped at her cup of coffee in one hand while the other cradled a chocolate-filled croissant she had stolen from a tray being prepared for breakfast.

It had taken her about thirty minutes to move from her bed to the outside terrace where he was sitting with his back to her on the stone steps leading down to the gardens. Dawn was streaking the inky blackness of the night sky with luminescent streaks of orange and pink, and birds were beginning to herald the start of day with shrill calls and whistles. If Blanche didn't feel like every muscle in her body was screaming, she might have enjoyed the moment.

"Good morning," she said to his back, a bit grumpily, and Nathaniel turned to her.

Then froze.

A bizarre thing happened. His eyes slithered over her body and then a vacantly stupid expression slackened his face. Even in the dim morning light, she saw his gaze darken and draw inward, his mouth gape slightly, and she rather thought he wasn't looking at her anymore. It was the look of someone caught in a rather intriguing daydream.

Which led her to imagine what he was imagining and suddenly she became very hot and strangely pleased that she had been the cause of his expression, or she presumed so anyway.

Then Nathaniel blinked, pressed his hand to his mouth, and glanced away from her before rolling to his feet in a swift motion, all traces of the past moment gone. He strode towards her in a white shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tautly corded muscles and tanned skin of his forearms, and tucked loosely into his dark trousers. The vee hung open at his neck, a tantalising peek of the skin that lay underneath drawing her gaze like a hook, and his hair was unbound and wild, framing his face in thick wave to his shoulders.

She openly admired his powerful thighs as they swallowed up the space separating them, tearing a bite out of her croissant as she did so, and then suddenly he had snatched the pastry from her fingers.

"You have kept me waiting an hour for a snack?" he asked tightly.

She craned her head back to stare at him, chewing loudly. "Hardly an hour." Pointedly, she took a sip of the coffee she held in her other hand.