Page 11 of How to Tempt An Earl
Kieran removed himself, taking up a seat on a wide, square ottoman a few paces away to give her space for contemplation. He leaned back on his elbows, taking full advantage of the empty gallery to lounge casually, to study her intimately. He’d like to untie the bow of her hat and remove it—as fetching as it was—so he could see her face. She did like to hide it: the veil yesterday, the wide-brimmed hat today. Perhaps she was aware of how much a face gave away, or perhaps it was her beauty she preferred to conceal. Was her beauty also her bane, something used against her? He would not put it past Roan.
After a while she came to sit beside him, her blue skirts brushing his leg. Her light floral scent—her own scent, the one Luce had retrieved from her room at the boarding house—wafted on the still air of the deserted gallery.
‘I like it. I think a botanist would like it even better, but I don’t know how the general public would possess the skill to evaluate it.’ She began her impromptu dissertation and something roused inside Kieran—anticipation, perhaps? An eagerness to hear what came next? The thrill of knowing that he was about to be treated to something interesting? Or was it the thrill of new attraction, of discovering someone?
She started to build her case and he found himself thirsting for each word. ‘It’s a summer painting, set at summer’s hottest. Water is at a premium. It is the dry season, something that is indicated by the dead tree and the shepherd boy stopping to drink from a roadside pond. He is thirsty, the land is thirsty, as summer reaches its climax.’
Kieran shifted on the ottoman, acutely aware of her choice of word. Did she mean it to be provocative? Not for the first time he wondered if her flirting was intentional. Or maybe it came naturally, like those low, sultry tones that marked so much of her conversation. ‘Also, the botanist will appreciate that all the right flowers are in full bloom; the grasses are at their summer zenith.’
Dear God, he’d never found a discussion of art as arousing as he found this. ‘Are you seducing me?’ It was teasingly asked but seriously meant. Perhaps she was playing a game of her own, trying to equal the scales he’d tilted his direction with a hundred little comforts. He did not want to play that game—a game where she used sex as a bartering tool or currency. Nor did he want it to be a game that she played often. Not that he thought she was a virgin—she definitely wasn’t—or that he even wanted her to be one. Virgins and their timid rules held little appeal for him.
She denied seduction most coyly, her denial all but proving the opposite. ‘Might I not have my own interrogation? I am trying to work you out as much as you are studying me.’
Kieran laughed. ‘I havenotinterrogated you. I merely asked a few harmless questions at dinner and at breakfast.’
‘There arenoharmless questions.’ She slid him a smile and a sideways glance from beneath the brim of her hat and laughed with him.
‘Not even about Constable?’ Kieran could not help but make the argument.
‘Especially about Constable. You were testing me. You wanted to see how deeply my education runs. Do I parrot opinions I’ve been given or have I used my education to critically form my own?’ She gave him a smug look. ‘I trust I’ve passed.’
‘Refreshingly so.’ The education that had been lavished on her had not been wasted even if it had been marked by disruption. Her story at the breakfast table had revealed a girl who had perhaps craved stability but had instead been moved around Europe from school to school and left alone to navigate new languages, new cultures and new people. He and his brothers had gone off to school too, but they’d gone together—he and Caine, and later Stepan and Luce. They’d come home together between terms. He’d not faced school, had not faced leaving home, alone. Family had been with him every step of the way. She’d had only herself. It spoke of enormous courage, perseverance and loneliness.
He rose and offered his arm. ‘Enough of museums for today.’ If they stayed any longer, he’d be tempted to put the walls to other uses than hanging art. ‘How do we compare to the Hermitage?’
She took his arm, the sound of their heels clicking on the hard wood. She flashed him another of her beneath-the-brim glances.
‘Isthere any comparison? The Hermitage is an empress’s private collection. The British Museum is free to anyone with a curious mind. One museum makes learning available to all while another argues that education and learning is not for the masses. I saw a small part of the Hermitage because I attended Smolny—Catherine the Great’s school for girls. But otherwise, unless one is invited to the Hermitage, one will never see the art within its walls.’
He could tell that angered her. ‘Are you a Decembrist, Celeste?’ he whispered, a chuckle rumbling in his chest at the discovery. What a multifaceted delight this woman was. In other circumstances, this would make for a most pleasant affair.
‘There is some irony in that, isn’t there? A Smolny education is meant for aristocrats and yet it fostered in me the preference for a society that promotes the opposite, a society that protects its people instead of raising up the wealthy on the backs of the poor. I am sure Catherine the Great would not be pleased with the results.’ She gave him a wry smile, her eyes challenging him, perhaps seducing him—a thought he found quite palatable. ‘Do I surprise you, Kieran Parkhurst?’
‘Only in the best of ways.’ She was intelligent, beautiful, politically aware…passionate. Did she know how passionate? It was there in her words, in her voice, in her gaze. Was that passion tried or untapped? It was hard to tell with her, and perhaps that was part of her charm, part of her intrigue. What a change she offered from the empty-headed debutantes he’d been dancing about.
‘There are people in London you’d enjoy meeting. Prince Nikolay Baklanov and his wife, Klara. He is from Kuban in the Russian south. He feels much as you do. He owns a riding school in Leicester Square. Klara’s father is the Russian ambassador, and almost a Decembrist himself, although he did not participate in last year’s uprising.’ He made a note of the connection. Klara would be good, discreet company for Celeste.
‘Do you want me to meet people?’ Celeste made a questioning knit of her brows.
‘Do you not want to make friends?’ Kieran held the door for her as they exited into bright sunlight. It was past noon and the day was promising to be as hot as yesterday.
‘Friends imply permanence.’ She opened her parasol and twirled it overhead. ‘I do not know how long I’ll be here.’ Ah, spoken like the boarding school miss who’d been uprooted too many times and who was now wary of investing in such friendships for fear of their inevitable loss. He could lay the blame for that at Roan’s feet.
He helped her up onto the curricle seat. ‘Where will you go?’ She did not answer, which was perhaps for the best. He wanted her to rethink that decision when this was done. To be alone was always to be at a disadvantage. He could help her build a life here. There could be more Constable, more sparring, more discussion. He jumped up beside her on the seat as his tiger ran to the back bench. ‘Hyde Park is next. I think we should cool off with a row on the Serpentine. There’s nothing like being on the water on a hot day.’
He needed to cool down his thoughts as well as his body. Celeste Sharpton was an intriguing novelty in a London devoid of company at present, and a striking contrast to the girls he’d spent the Season with. That was all, he assured himself.
He supposed there was also the residual collateral of his brother’s marriage, which had him more seriously considering the quality of his female companionship. If Caine could find the courage to wed, perhaps Kieran could too. There was no denying that his brother’s marriage had stirred old dreams he’d given up on. But that didn’t mean he should mix business with pleasure. This woman held the keys to finding the man who’d been responsible for Stepan’s death. Celeste Sharpton was business only and that was all she could be.
He dropped a hand to his right side. He hoped the exertions of a row on the Serpentine would help him remember that.
Chapter Six
The Serpentine sparkled beneath the sun and a light breeze blew on the water. Oaring the boat gave Kieran an excuse to rid himself of his coat and roll up his shirtsleeves while Celeste sat in the bow, prettily arranged and wielding her parasol for shade. The sight of her provoked a thousand thoughts, many of them prompted by manly insights. What had life been like for her with Roan? That man did nothing unless it gained him something. What had she done for him that had warranted him allowing her to live under his roof, to gown her, to financially support her?Hadhe used her beauty? Was that why, now, she was careful to conceal it?
She was no innocent miss. The way she’d so subtly flirted with him today at Somerset House suggested more of that worldliness he’d glimpsed yesterday in the church. She seemed to be inured to the world of men. He did not hold it against her. Often a woman’s survival depended on that expertise. But these were questions he could not ask her…yet. If he rushed his fences, she would become skittish and the wariness he’d worked so hard to minimise would return. She might flirt with men but she didn’t trust them. That was a part of her personal past he’d not yet unwrapped.
As they rowed near another boat, a feminine hand waggled in greeting as a male voice called out, ‘Lord Wrexham, a beautiful day is it not?’
