Page 5 of How to Tempt An Earl
The Horseman gestured to a maid who stood nearby. ‘This is Liana. She will take you upstairs and see to a bath. We installed running water a couple years ago. You’ll enjoy that after weeks of travel. You must excuse me, now. I have arrangements to make, so I will see you at dinner.’
Was he leaving her alone in this big house? Celeste felt a sudden sense of being bereft, adrift in a strange world where she knew no one. ‘Wait,’ she called to him. ‘Might I have your name first?’ That she didn’t know his name threw into sharp relief the risk she’d taken in coming here. This manwasa stranger.
He turned with a smile, his agate eyes dancing. ‘You most certainly may, just as soon as I have the pleasure of yours, m’lady.’ He made a bow and was gone.
* * *
The bathing chamber was a pleasure for the senses with its dark-blue marbled floor veined with silver to resemble the ocean itself, and the sound of rushing water as it filled the white porcelain tub. Celeste shed her travel-worn garments with alacrity, looking forward to the bath. It felt like something out of a fairy tale to be here alone, one of those tales in which the castle beast left during the day only to return at night. Although, the Horseman was hardly a beast.
Celeste slid into the lavender-scented water and closed her eyes, letting the peace of the chamber and the susurration of the water against her skin soothe her body, even if her mind remained alive, moving from thought to thought. She wasn’t really alone here. There were servants; he’d been quick to point that out. At the time, she’d thought it an act of comfort, letting her know her needs would be met. Now, she wondered if it had been a reminder he’d be aware of her every movement. If she roamed the house, he would know. Someone would tell him, if not the servants then perhaps the two men in the drawing room. Did that make her a guest or a captive?
One did not usually allow captives baths and thick towels. Then again, comfort and luxury had their own seductive properties. Had he decided, if he couldn’t have her secrets outright, he’d seduce them from her with the comforts of home? Kindness was an effective ruse when employed on the unsuspecting.
Cabot Roan had used that trick aplenty. After her father had died, Roan had sent gifts on her birthday or at Christmas: a locket or set of barrettes. He’d seemed gracious and kind, a true best friend to her father and a devoted guardian to her. It was not until she’d finished school and Roan had sent for her that she’d realised he expected payment for that kindness; that he’d been grooming her to take her place and more in a world that was dark, dirty and dangerous. She’d been wary of gifts and kindnesses ever since.
And yet, she’d gone off with a man whose name she didn’t know. She knew why: his reputation spoke for him. He was one of the Four Horsemen and the antithesis of all Cabot Roan stood for, and her father. She could not forget that, as much as she would like to. The two men she’d admired the most in her young life had not been what they’d seemed. It was hard to reconcile the idea that she’d loved her father but hated what he’d done. Not so with Roan. He was rotten clear through, and so she’d run to the only people she could think of who might possibly help her.
She slid deeper into the water and sighed. She ought to be celebrating. She’d done it—she’d found the Horsemen. That was no small thing. She was in their home. She’d delivered her warning. They could fight Roan and she would be free. After years of living under Roan’s thumb, the concept of being free was both heady and unformed. Where would she go when this was over? She could go anywhere, assuming she might cajole some funds. What would she do? That was more complicated. A woman had few choices. She knew what she didn’t want to do and that was answer to a man; to give up her freedom in service to another. But those were worries for another time, a later time, after Roan was defeated.
At last, her mind quieted and she imagined sending her thoughts away on lily-pads down the gentle stream of lavender-scented consciousness, drifting…drifting…
‘Miss? Miss? Wake up, we can’t have you drowning, now.’ A gentle shake of her shoulder was enough to bring her back, as was the cooling water. Perhaps she really had drifted off. Celeste reluctantly opened her eyes and pushed herself up a little higher in the tub. Liana was holding a thick, white towel. Celeste wondered where her relaxed limbs would find the willpower to get out of the bath. At the moment, it seemed like a gargantuan effort.
‘We’ve got to get you dressed for supper,’ Liana coaxed.
Celeste groaned. ‘I don’t have anything to wear.’ She did not relish the idea of putting on her dirty clothes again after getting clean. ‘Perhaps a tray in my room…’ she began, but Liana shook her head.
‘You’re not to worry, miss. There are clean things laid out for you in your chamber. M’lord had Madame Dumont send clothes for you.’
‘And Madame Dumont is who?’ She hoped Madame Dumont wasn’t the Horseman’s mistress. She was in no position to be finicky, but the idea sat poorly with her. She’d been forced to dress the part of the whore before.
‘Madame Dumont is a dressmaker near Bond Street—very respectable. All the fine ladies get their gowns there. She had some items that had not been claimed.’
Curiosity at the prospect of new, clean clothes propelled her out of the tub, as did the thought that the Horseman had sent for clothes for her, that he had done this especially. The nuance was not lost on her. This was not merely the culling of closets to see what might have been left behind by other visitors. He’d sent for clothes specifically for her. That was an extreme kindness and must be treated with extreme wariness, even as excitement fizzed through her.
Liana produced an ivory silk dressing robe—another item that must have been sent over by Madame Dumont—and helped her into it. ‘Your chamber is through here.’ Liana gestured to an open door that gave on to an airy room done in soft powdered blues:her chamber. Another type of gift—the gift of privacy, the gift of owning space. The maid said the words as if she was a welcome guest, someone who would be staying a while. It was a lovely thought but an unlikely one.
On the wide bed, with its carved mahogany posts, lay an array of garments: chemises, stockings and a gown of cool white muslin decorated with tiny green flowers. Not a single item had been overlooked.
‘Hair first, I think.’ Liana steered her towards a lady’s dressing table where more surprises awaited: a hairbrush and a small bottle of a light floral scent that nearly matched her own. By the time her hair had been put up, scent dabbed at her pulse points and the muslin gown with its green sash dropped over her head, one thought ran rampant through her mind: the Horseman wanted more than her name. She’d best be on her game tonight.
Chapter Three
The game was definitely on. Kieran’s gaze locked on the woman poised at the top of the stairs in the white gown, glossy chestnut tresses artfully pinned to show off a slim and elegant neck a swan would envy. She began her descent, her gaze meeting his with temerity. Perhaps she had the same goal in mind—to make a study of him even as he made a study of her. His grandfather’s informant cleaned up well, and she’d discarded the veil as he’d hoped. She began her progress down the stairs, the movement drawing his eyes to where the swish of skirts offered an occasional glimpse of well-turned ankles. A few more steps and he’d be able to see her face in detail.
Just three stairs to go before she reached him. He could truly see her now, unlike in the church. The green sash brought out the colour of her wide, beautiful eyes set beneath slim, dark, arched brows. A man could spin a million fantasies in that sea-glass gaze with its hint of mystery, its spark of intelligence and, he suspected, a host of other things. Perhaps she was not as innocent as he’d assumed at the church. There was a worldliness to her that was on better display without the veil, although he doubted she was more than three and twenty.
He wondered again who she might be to Roan—a paramour of some sort? He could certainly see the appeal. The fine bones of her face gave her an air of good breeding. The straight, narrow perfection of her nose, the defiant point of her chin, and the delicate curve of cheek and jaw complemented the steel that could exist in her gaze. And that mouth… One might argue that her mouth was the real treasure with its full lips that could just as easily offer a compelling pout as effectively as they offered an invitation to a kiss. If she was a mystery in muslin, she’d be pure seduction in satins and silks.
What an asset she’d have been to Roan, teasing men out of their secrets over supper.
She reached him at the bottom of the stairs and he offered his arm. ‘I am glad the dress fits,’ he said, then added with a charming wink, ‘and that you’ve discarded the veil. The ruse does not suit you.’ The ruse of young gentlewoman did, though. Or was it real? Dinner would tell. Eating often caught people out in subtle ways.
She cocked her head to glance up at him as they walked. ‘What makes you so sure it is a ruse?’
Kieran chuckled. The minx would hold her ground until the last. ‘Your hands gave you away.’
She made a pretty pout. He’d not been wrong about her mouth. ‘Surely you can do better than that? A ring or lack of one does not tell all. There can be several reasons why I didn’t have one on. Many widows take their rings off.’
