Undressed (Undone by Love) by Kristina Cook Page A

You’ll tear the hem, you will, stomping about like that.”  With a scowl, Celeste gathered up the soft blue folds and gently shook them out.
    Brenna strode to the vanity and, still inwardly fuming, began to pull the seed-pearl pins from her hair . One by one, the pins clattered to the marble as her hair fell softly across her bare shoulders.
    “Let me help you, miss.”  Celeste reached for the silver brush lying on the vanity.
    “Nay, I can do it myself.”  Seeing the maid’s face fall, Brenna immediately regretted her churlishness. “Ye must forgive me, Celeste. I dinna mean to snap at ye. I’m just feeling a wee bit out of sorts, is all. Go on to bed,” she said gently. “I can get into my nightdress myself.”
    Celeste bobbed a curtsy . “If you say so, miss.”
    “Good night, Celeste,” Brenna said, rising and reaching for the young maid’s hand . Celeste had been some sort of lesser servant, a laundry maid, perhaps, and was only recently elevated to lady’s maid. Light blue eyes under pale brows eyed Brenna curiously as she tugged her hand from her mistress’s grasp.
    “Good night, then, miss.”  With a shake of her head, Celeste took her leave, softly shutting the door behind her .
    Brenna slumped back onto the padded seat before her dressing table . She exhaled in a rush, wishing to forget the evening’s unpleasantness. She grasped the cool handle of the brush and began to run it through her hair, staring back at her own reflection as she did so. Her face appeared drawn, her mouth pinched. It most certainly had not been an enjoyable evening, and her countenance certainly showed the strain.
    Oh, Lord Thomas Sinclair had been polite enough, his manners impeccable and his attentions solicitous . He was no doubt a handsome man as well. Perhaps too handsome for his own good. Yet there was something wolfish about his smile, and his eyes possessed a predatory glint that made her shudder. Several times during dinner she’d looked up from her plate and seen him watching her, his gaze possessive and full of heat. As if he...he owned her already. And it was clear that that was her brother’s intention—that Lord Thomas should own her.
    When Lord Thomas had at last prepared to take his leave, he’d reached for Brenna’s hand and raised it to his lips while his fingers had stroked her palm . There had been something suggestive about the touch, and when her surprised gaze flew up to meet his, he’d winked at her. Or perhaps he’d had something in his eye, her mind countered charitably. No, she was very sure it had been a wink, the rogue.
    No doubt Hugh was in collusion with him . She’d watched her brother escort their guest to the front hall, the pair conversing in low, hushed tones, then throwing their heads back and laughing aloud, as if they had shared a most amusing joke. She’d paused on the landing and distinctly heard Hugh say, “Didn’t I say she was exactly your type?”  At that, Brenna had scurried up the stairs without waiting for the distasteful man’s reply.  
    Brenna smacked the brush back down on the marble, wincing at the sharp sound . Exactly his type? Rubbish. What did he know of her? Even her own brother knew very little of her true character, her interests and enjoyments. Hugh wouldn’t entertain talk of her years at Glenbroch. As far as he was concerned, her life began the day she arrived at Danville House.
    She rose and padded across the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed . Hera crawled out from beneath the bed and rubbed against Brenna’s bare ankles. She reached down and scooped up the cat, depositing her on her lap. After several strokes, the cat was purring loudly.
    “Oh, Hera, I do believe Colin Rosemoor understands me better than my own brother does.”  Spoken aloud, the thought startled her, warming her cheeks . But it was the truth, plain and simple. If Mr. Rosemoor had winked at her whilst bidding her a good night, she would have found the gesture