Page 9 of How to Tempt An Earl
‘I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson there,’ Kieran promised, a hand reflexively going to his side. He rose and embraced his brother. ‘You be safe too. If I’m not here when you get back, you’ll know Roan’s people are among us. I’ll find a way to let you know where we are. Sweet dreams, brother.’
* * *
Oh, sweet saints be praised, her valise! It was here in her room, waiting for her. A special kind of relief swept Celeste as she knelt beside it and undid the fastenings. When she’d gone with the Horseman, the possibility of seeing these items again had greatly diminished. There was little chance he’d let her out of his sight long enough for her to get back to the boarding house, even if it was safe to go back. He’d made compelling arguments today about the threats to her safety, threats that seemed more real to her than she’d let on at the time. Roan’s men could not be far behind. They might already be here and temporarily stymied by the vastness of the city in locating her.
The uncertainty of not knowing gnawed at her. She didn’t like being so blind, to be left guessing, worrying. But she would have to get used to it. She could very well spend the rest of her days with that uncertainty, wondering if they were still looking for her. Uncertainty was the price for her freedom.
Celeste dug through the top layer of clothes, which amounted to nothing more than a shift and a spare dress, to the treasures below: her mother’s pearls and the most precious item of all—the miniature of all three of them together when she’d been young. When they’d been a family. The items might have worldly worth but to her the value was in sentiment; they were all she had of a happier time when she’d had a family; a time before her mother had died and before her father had been entirely in Roan’s thrall. Before she’d been sent away to various boarding schools. She’d been safe in those days, loved and cherished.
Carefully, she rewrapped the miniature and tucked it away. The valise had not been rifled through. The miniature had still been wrapped as she’d wrapped it, the pearls still as she’d packed them. Kieran Parkhurst had been kind to send for it, and kind not to have invaded her privacy.
She sat back on her heels. No; she could not start thinking like that. Everything in that sentence was dangerous to her, starting with his name. Everything he’d done or said tonight had been an invitation to encourage a sense of intimacy between them and intimacy inspired confidences. Each effort he’d made had been a pearl added on a string that led towards confession, the baring of her soul, the emptying of the dark reaches of her being.
Kieran Parkhurst was working her in the ways men and women always worked one another: with favours, false kindnesses and score-keeping. He was subtle, too. Some gifts could be refused, but the gifts he offered her could not be. She could not refuse her own valise. She could not refuse a clean dress or shelter, especially the last. Her coin was running low and the Chelsea boarding house would not be safe much longer. Only a fool would say no to what he offered.
So far, he’d wanted very little in return, but hedidsuspect she was holding back. The way their conversation in the garden had ended indicated as much. She thought of the list sewn in the hem of her gown along with her remaining coin. She did have more information to offer, but she was not about to blurt out all of her secrets at once. Her value to him would be sorely diminished. In her experience, she would not be worth protecting once she had no further information to offer him. That was how it had been with David and Roan. They’d discarded people the way rich women discarded gowns after only one donning.
This time it might be different.
The refrain ran through her head as she refastened the valise and slid it beneath the bed. The idea stayed firmly lodged there when Liana came to help her change into the clean white nightgown of Irish linen and brush out her hair. It was not mere whimsy behind the thought. There was some logic to it. She’d run to the Horsemen not only for their protection but for hers as well, because theyweredifferent from Roan. They were protectors; they had a reputation for selflessness, for good. Thingscouldend differently for her this time. ‘Could’ was not the same as a guarantee, though. She’d made a disastrous decision in the past about what a man could offer her instead of considering what a manwouldoffer her. And yet brown velvet eyes tempted her to think beyond the past, to consider the future with a clean slate.
Still, she thought as she said goodnight to Liana and slid beneath lavender-scented sheets, she would not be foolish enough to cast aside her sense of caution, no matter how much a man’s eyes reminded her of melted chocolate, or how much comfort she found in the strength of his arms, or in the courteous kindnesses he showered her with. Never mind that he’d guessed her measurements to near perfection, or that with a simple touch he’d made her feel safer than she’d felt in months in what had essentially been her own home.
She turned down her lamp and fluffed her pillows with determined firmness. Kieran Parkhurst must have women falling at his feet. She could not let herself be one of them.
Chapter Five
Kieran was waiting for her in the morning room the next day, dressed for the day in polished tall boots, snug chamois breeches and a dark-brown jacket that matched his eyes. His presence was decidedly masculine amid the more feminine décor of indigo and yellow. Vases of Blue Star irises bracketed the trays filled with morning breads lining the sideboard, and another vase sat in the centre of the round table, calling attention to the contrast between the room and the man who sat in it. He’d been reading a newspaper but he looked up as she entered and flashed her a smile. The morning had not dimmed his attractiveness, nor had the night exaggerated it.
He rose and set aside his paper. ‘Good morning, Celeste. I trust you slept well? Did you have everything you needed when you woke?’ The morning had also not dimmed his informality. He made free with her first name.
‘Yes, and yes!’ She laughed. ‘Liana is more than capable as a lady’s maid, and I thank you for my valise.’ She’d have said he’d been too kind to fetch it but they both knew kindness had nothing to do with it. Retrieving her bag had suited them both. She wandered to the sideboard and began to fill her plate.
‘Thank you also for the clothes. I do not think I mentioned it last night.’ She glanced over her shoulder with a smile. He was watching her, learning her—did she prefer the brioche or the plum cake? Rolls or toast? ‘I’m rather amazed you guessed my measurements so well on such short acquaintance.’ It was a bit of a lie. She was not that amazed, really. He’d seen through her disguise yesterday simply by paying attention to her hands. Kieran Parkhurst was a man to whom details mattered. It seemed he noticed everything and he used those details to influence his decisions.
Kieran dismissed the effort as being of no consequence. ‘It was necessary. When I realised how little you were travelling with, I knew we had to do something about your wardrobe.’ He smiled again and her stomach fluttered involuntarily.Shame on it.
‘Rest assured, I did not go through your things. I merely judged your need on the amount of luggage you had, or in this case didn’t have. I don’t know a woman in England who could travel with so little—certainly not my sister.’ There was affection in the laugh that followed.
She sat down with her plate and a footman stepped forward to pour a cup of coffee. ‘You’re fond of your sister; I hear it in your voice. Did she decorate this room?’
‘Should I not be fond of her?’ He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘And, yes, she designed this room for us. She said even bachelor homes needed a woman’s touch otherwise nothing sets them apart from rooms at the Albany.’
How right his sister was. ‘Your sister sounds like a wise woman.’ Celeste sipped the coffee, inhaling the comforting aroma, the smell of morning and home. ‘I think it’s wonderful when siblings are close. I also think it is rather unusual, at least in my experience.’
‘What experience would that be?’ Kieran helped himself to a piece of toast from the rack on the table and slathered it with butter followed by a healthy dollop of strawberry jam. ‘I find myself intrigued by your background. I assume you have no siblings?’
His tone was genial, his gaze friendly, but hewasinterrogating her. There was no harm in answering these questions as long as she didn’t forget what was really happening here—and it would be easy to forget, easy to be flattered by this man’s singular attention and to think that he was asking because he was charmed by her.
‘You guess correctly. I am an only child.’
He took a large bite. ‘I cannot imagine being an only child. My father’s home, Willow Park, is not large. My brothers and I shared two rooms between us. My sister had her own room simply on account of being female. She’s the youngest of the five of us.’
He waved his toast and laughed. ‘We all thought it was highly unfair. How does the baby of the household reckon a private room? But looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. My brothers and I were always on top of each other, inseparable. We still are—inseparable, I mean—although we’re seldom living on top of one another these days.’
There was ruefulness mixed with nostalgia in that comment, she noted with a hint of smugness. He was not the only one who marked details. She found herself smiling. ‘Your childhood sounds idyllic.’
‘Chaotic. We were always up to something; always tearing around the countryside on our ponies, swimming, fishing, climbing. Falling: off horses, out of trees, down hills. You name it, we probably fell from it.’
