Page 18 of How to Tempt An Earl
‘Ahem, Miss Sharpton—breakfast?’ One of the outriders approached with a plate loaded with bacon, toast and, miracle of miracles, eggs.
‘Oh, thank you.’ She tore her eyes away long enough to take the plate. The bacon smelled delicious, but Kieranlookeddelicious. Kieran reached for a towel and turned round, shaking water droplets from his dark hair. He dried himself and she had to remind herself not to gape. This was the body that had defended her last night; the body that had shielded her from shattering glass; the body she’d fallen asleep against. He was an atlas of muscled ridges and planes, all directing the eye downward to where his sculpted iliac girdle disappeared into the waistband of his breeches and…a scar. The jagged line disrupted the perfection of him but added to it. Perhaps a little imperfection enhanced the masculine beauty of him; it was a reminder of the life he led and the dangers he faced. They were real—knife-tip real.
‘Good morning; I trust you slept well?’ He tossed away his towel and reached for his shirt, unfazed by being caught bare-chested. Something secret and knowing flared in his dark eyes. He’d caught her looking and appreciating what she saw. He’d caught her wondering how it would feel to trace the lines of his torso to their terminus. ‘I see Eric has offered you breakfast.’ He nodded to the plate in her hand.
She’d forgotten it for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. Eggs are a luxury on the road. Wherever did you find them?’
Kieran laughed and bent down to pour coffee from a blue speckled coffee-pot nestled in the fire, showing off the flex of his buttocks in the process. ‘We had them with us as part of our supplies. But they cracked during the journey last night. We had to cook them this morning or lose them for good. Eggs never last but they make a good first-day-out breakfast.’
He came to stand beside her, smelling clean from his ablutions and making her keenly aware of her own less than fresh state. He was making it hard to think. He was telling her their plans, and she ought to listen, but all she wanted to do was look.
‘We’ll take time this morning to rest. The horses need to recover, even though the timing is not ideal. I’d rather not travel the horses in the heat of the afternoon, but they put in a long night, and so did my driver. Bert will sleep this morning in the coach while you and I stretch our legs and take some target practice. Eric and Matt will patrol our perimeter. They’ll keep an eye out for any passersby, but we’re far enough from the road that we shouldn’t draw any attention.’
‘Of course.’ She nodded, her mind still trying to move past the sight of a shirtless Kieran while his mind had quite literally thought of everything for everyone. She eyed the wash basin covetously. ‘Do you think I might be able to wash first?’
Kieran grinned and followed her to the basin. ‘There’s soap—it’s mine—and a clean towel and washcloth. They’ll dry before we have to leave.’ He reached down and lifted a tin pitcher. ‘And there’s this. It should still be warm.’
Celeste gave a gasp of delight. ‘Did you saywarm?’
‘Unless you’d prefer cold water? There’s a stream not far from here; I could arrange it,’ he teased.
She cut him off with a playful punch to the arm—a rock-solid arm. ‘Don’t you dare arrange anything. Warm water will be just fine. Give me a moment to get my valise.’
He snapped his fingers and Eric ran up with her bag. ‘I’ve already thought of it.’
‘You really do think of everything.’ Although, she hoped he couldn’t read her thoughts at the moment. They were quite decadent. She rummaged for her toothbrush and comb. ‘You will spoil me.’
He took the bag from her when she found her items and set it aside. ‘You may feel differently in a few days. Most women would not consider camping with four men along the roadside spoiling.’
She was aware of him behind her. She could feel the heat of his body as he bent to her ear. She slid him a sideways glance and a smile, his playful tone spurring a little daring of her own. ‘Maybe I’m not most women.’
‘You certainly are not.’ His tone turned sober and his gaze lingered on her mouth, making her blood go hot with an attraction she was becoming unable to school. ‘Be careful what you’re asking for, Celeste. I might be inclined to give it.’
After last night, she’d be inclined to receive it. The blood, the violence, the fear had all served as reminders that life was short and possibly abrupt. There were no guarantees. Waiting carried its own danger of missing out.
Her body was all too ready to launch the argument that she didn’t want to miss out on whatever Kieran Parkhurst offered. Her mind was all too ready to support the argument with the logic that it needn’t mean anything beyond comfort, beyond simply celebrating life and what their bodies were made for. There would be no harm in that, only pleasure.
He took a step back from her, a rakish gleam in his eye. ‘Maybeyoudeserve a little spoiling. Take your time. I’ll clear the camp for you.’ He turned and raised his voice, giving orders. ‘Let’s give Miss Sharpton some privacy while she freshens up. All except you, Bert. You get to sleep.’ There was general laughter and rustling as his crew moved off. Another gift.
She’d not expected that; she had not asked for it. She wanted to fall into those kindnesses without fear, but to do so would be to enter the province of fools. She could not for a minute let herself forget that she’d bought these kindnesses with the promise of her list, or that safety was momentary. Ammon Vincent was out there and sooner or later he’d find her. For now, she had a few days on the road, a few moments out of time to enjoy a fleeting sense of freedom, and it was entirely up to her what she chose to do with it.
Chapter Ten
The place Kieran had chosen to camp was along a stream that managed to remain vigorous even after the efforts of a hot summer to deplete it. He’d set up makeshift targets along the bank and was waiting patiently for Celeste when she finished washing. The two pistols from the gun box beneath the carriage seat lay ready and gleaming.
‘We’ll start with loading,’ Kieran instructed and she envied him the ability to switch roles so effortlessly: one moment the carefree flirt, the next moment the deadly Horseman, the protector, the bodyguard. Her own emotions were still running amok, her mind filled with images of him at the water basin.
‘You need to concentrate,’ he scolded, and she knew she’d missed something important. ‘I want you to be entirely proficient with these firearms from start to finish.’ Gone were the laughing eyes that had teased her—a reminder that freedom must always be fought for and that it came with a cost. She had to be prepared to defend hers. ‘I hope you will not have to face Roan or Vincent alone, but one must plan for all contingencies.’
Celeste didn’t like to think of those contingencies, which necessitated that Kieran Parkhurst, Horseman extraordinaire, wouldn’t be beside her at the crucial moment. But she did not argue. At some point, she would need to part from him and she would need the skill he was willing to teach her now.
In slow, deliberate movements, he showed her how to load the balls, how to add the powder and how to prime. ‘Now, you try.’ He handed her the other pistol and she followed his instructions as best she could, feeling herself glow when he praised her efforts.
‘Excellent. Now, we shoot. Be sure your aim is good because, even if you’re proficient at reloading, it will take twenty seconds at best to do it and we seldom have ideal conditions. Under pressure, nerves may get the best of you, which is understandable, but excuses won’t keep you alive. No one is going to stop and wait. The enemy will keep coming. Only the most seasoned soldiers don’t fumble under fire. In my opinion, the only shot you can count on is the one you have loaded. You may not get a chance to reload and try again,’ Kieran said sternly. ‘Make the shot count. Take your time. A hurried shot will not serve your cause. After you fire, you will be exposed. A lifetime can happen in the twenty seconds that follow.’
She swallowed hard against the image his words conjured: the dark alley and the men in pursuit. It was hard not to imagine a scene in which Ammon Vincent charged her while she struggled to reload. She shook off the fear. No; if Vincent came at her she would not miss. She would make sure of it.
‘I don’t mean to frighten you. I mean to be honest with you. Too many people feel empowered by a gun and they overplay their hand. Let’s see you shoot. You’ve shot before but every gun is different.’
