Page 6 of How to Tempt An Earl
‘The ring is too easy.’ Kieran reached for her hand and held it up between them. ‘There is no ring mark, no telltale signs there’s ever been a ring on your finger at any time.’ He let his eyes linger on her, let the timbre of his voice lower and quieten, allowing the lecture on observation to turn into something more seductive. ‘But then there is the issue of your skin. When I ran my thumb over your knuckles, your skin looked and felt smooth, supple—too youthful for a likely widow.’
‘Some women lose husbands young. Perhaps I married an elderly man.’ Her sea-glass eyes narrowed with the challenge and locked on his.
‘And suddenly found the need to deliver a warning about Cabot Roan? That makes little sense. Given the circumstances, your veil was a disguise only.’ They passed the dining room, dark and unlaid for supper. She arched a slim brow in question.
‘I thought we’d eat outside on the veranda. We have a bit of a garden out the back and it’s cooler than eating inside.’ Kieran gave a smile meant to charm. ‘Out of doors will also offer us privacy for all the things we have to talk about.’
‘Are we alone?’ she queried as he held open the French doors for her. ‘What about the two men from the drawing room?’
‘They’re gone, but the servants are here. You needn’t worry for your safety, if that is what you’re asking.’ But how telling that she might have reason to fear for it, to fear being alone with a man.
The servants had done well on short notice. A round wrought-iron garden table had been covered with a white cloth and a thick round candle had been set in the centre and lit, protected from any gentle breeze by a glass chimney. Champagne stood at the ready, cooled to perfection. He nodded to the footmen to bring up the meal and saw to the uncorking himself.
‘I admit to enjoying chilled champagne in the summer,’ he said, pouring two glasses with precision. ‘A true connoisseur of the beverage might argue that I prefer it too cold, but I like the sharpness.’ He handed her a glass and set his aside to pull out her chair.
‘Is this to be interrogation by candlelight?’ She arranged her skirts and fixed him with a pretty smile that belied the nature of their relationship. Kieran wondered for a moment what the odds were that they were both playing the same game—seduction for information. Not that he meant to seduce her fully, but he was not opposed to cajoling and flirting to put someone at ease. He did it every night, whether in Mayfair’s ballrooms, or in the drawing room when gentlemen came to play cards.
Kieran took his own seat, flipping up the tails of his evening clothes. She was not the only one looking her best. Women responded to a well-groomed man. His first lover, an older woman in Venice, had explained it to him like this: if a man had the self-discipline to keep themselves up, perhaps it stood to reason that man also had the self-discipline to keep secrets. She’d not been wrong.
‘“Interrogation” implies we are at odds, which you have insisted we are not. You suggest we are allies, and allies do not interrogate one another. But I am no fool and I have questions before I risk the Horsemen with your information.’ He raised his flute. ‘Here’s to an evening of enlightenment. May we start the night as strangers and end as friends.’ Although, ‘friends’ was probably asking for too much. One did not really have ‘friends’ in his business.
They drank his toast and Kieran waited until the footmen had laid the cold summer repast before he began. They would serve themselves from now on to ensure privacy. ‘Shall I make up a plate for you?’ he offered, mentally wagering with himself that she would not want to be catered to, and he was right.
‘I can manage, thank you.’ They took a moment assembling their plates from the meat, cheese and bread on the tray set before them. Her plate was full, unlike most of the debutantes who ate on scale with the smallest of birds. She was hungry, then. The journey had taken a toll on her. Perhaps there’d not been finances enough to eat as often as she’d have liked. Kieran tucked the knowledge away.
‘There’s plenty in the kitchen. I can always call for more,’ he said, holding back a chuckle when she hesitated to take another piece of ham. Hunger was no laughing matter, and she’d had cause to know.
A pretty pink stained her cheek. ‘Travelling works up an appetite.’ Kieran gave her a smile and assembled a sandwich. ‘I trust you enjoyed the bath?’
‘You know I did. And the clothes and the maid as well. I didn’t tell her anything useful, though, if that’s what you were hoping for.’
She took a sip of her champagne, the candlelight picking out the hints of red in her chestnut hair, and Kieran was struck with the sudden wish to sit with her in a Parisian café, perhaps in the Latin Quarter, debating something, anything; or to walk the Seine at twilight and stop in one of the many turnouts on the bridges to view the river; to steal a long kiss. He wondered if she was doing it on purpose, this subtle flirting through argument, or if it came to her naturally.
He offered a grin in the wake of her cynicism and gave her a long study. ‘I cannot decide about you,’ he said at last. ‘Some moments I think you are an innocent caught in a very dangerous game you don’t know how to play.’
‘I am notnaïve.’
There was more chagrin than protest in her response. He’d insulted her. Kieran shook his head in disagreement. ‘Yes, you are. The widow’s rusewasnaïve. It was flimsy and it was never going to hold up under closer scrutiny—an amateur move, as was wanting to go back to your rooms. But let me finish; I was about to say, or perhaps you’re truly shrewd.’
He gave a cheeky grin meant to tease. ‘Youdohave moments of brilliance, like thinking I’d use the maid to spy on you. And,’ he drawled, flashing a boyish grin designed to charm, ‘your suspicion of comfort suggests you have a high degree of cognitive complexity; that you are able to see things from a variety of angles.’
She smiled a little at that, her armour cracking ever so slightly. He was getting to her at last—good. He wasn’t used to such resistance. Most women fell for his smile and trusted his eyes. For the most part, they could. He was no betrayer.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘So, have I earned your name? After all, I’ve let you into my home and exposed myself, in good faith that you do not come to do me harm.’
She gave him a look of disbelief. ‘You do not strike me as a man who is ever truly at a disadvantage. You would not have brought me here if it didn’t also serve your purposes.Iam the one who is exposed.Iam in the belly of the whale here, adrift among strangers in a strange home.’
‘It seems to me that you’re in the belly of the whale wherever you go. Why so reticent? Surely you knew you’d have to give up a name at the very least? Understand this: whispers, rumours, the stuff of information, must be substantiated. The Horsemen cannot afford to follow every whiff of conspiracy and assassination that comes our way. It would make us nothing less than puppets to be jerked on the strings of others. Now, a name, if you please…’
* * *
He was not going to tolerate further refusal. Celeste could see it in the set of those broad shoulders beneath the dark evening jacket, the insistence that lingered unspoken in his gaze. He’d made his overtures and it was her turn to respond. She understood this dance. She understood, too, that she had an obligation to perform the steps. ‘I think if you knew who I was it may shade your attitude towards me and towards the information I’ve brought.’
‘Or perhaps towards my willingness to help you. Why don’t you try me and find out?’ Those dark eyes narrowed in contemplation and it was hard to look away. In fact, it had been hard to look away all night since the moment she’d descended the stairs. He cleaned up well—too well.
‘Yes, that, too, when it comes down to it. Your willingness to help would not go amiss.’ Why not admit it? He’d proven persuasive. His methods had been effective. The pull of his smiles and long, lingering gazes were more magnetic than she wanted him to realise.
She sighed and he refilled her glass. She’d only known this man for the span of an afternoon but she knew he was a protector. She wouldn’t mind using his protection a while longer—or his bathing chamber—but being a protector didn’t mean he wasn’t also dangerous in, oh, so many ways…starting with her champagne-imbued sensibilities.
