Page 10 of How to Tempt An Earl
He grinned and, caught up in the images of his memories, she was careless with her next words. ‘It’s a wonder you all survived.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with the horror of what she’d said.
The joy faded from Kieran’s gaze. ‘We didn’t all survive, though.’ He shook his dark head. ‘Stepan was good at a lot of things. He was good with horses, good with knives, but he excelled at swimming—which is why the irony is not lost on me, and why it is so hard to accept that he drowned.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She could barely meet his gaze. ‘I was thoughtless.’ There was pain in those eyes where joy—real joy—had so recently resided when he’d talked about his sister and his brothers. She hurt too, on his behalf, that something so beautiful had been lost. She didn’t know much about that night in Wapping, only that its outcome had made Roan extremely mad. He might have celebrated in company over the success of bringing down a Horseman, but she’d gleaned from private rants that had echoed throughout the house that, while a Horseman was down, there was no body and the weaponry he’d wished to stop from shipping had still gone to Greece.
‘Are you certain heisdead?’ she asked quietly. She asked the difficult question now out of hope, out of wanting to stanch the pain she’d unwittingly set loose amid the comforts of fresh, roasted coffee and jam-slathered toast. She’d not meant to cause him suffering.
‘I do not know what else we can think at this point.’ Grief edged Kieran’s voice. ‘It’s been two months. There’s been no word from him, and no body from the Thames. The Horsemen have a code: we have sworn to let the others know where we are if we’re ever separated. He would not have violated that. What other conclusions can be drawn?’ He made the argument with hopeless vehemence.
She felt that vehemence to her core, a sharp stab of grief. She’d known it when her own father had died—the hopelessness, the helplessness, the emptiness. ‘When my father passed, it felt as if I’d lost part of myself,’ she said quietly. ‘That I would never be the same again.’
She’d not been old enough when her mother had died for her to remember what it felt like, only that she felt immense sadness. But she remembered vividly the feelings that had accompanied losing her father. He’d been her last anchor to the world of her childhood. She’d had to grow up fast. ‘Not that it’s the same to lose a brother as it is to lose a parent,’ she added hastily.
‘It is different, I suspect.’ Kieran set aside his plate, his toast unfinished. ‘In some ways, we expect to face the death of our parents. We don’t expect to outlive younger siblings. Without Stepan, I feel like the three-legged dog that lived on a farm not far from us—I am minus a limb but I must limp on as best as I can.’
She sipped her cooling coffee to cover the emotion swelling in her throat. Up until now, she’d conveniently set aside the fact that Kieran Parkhurst was a human being, endowed with emotions and feelings, someone who could grieve, who could be hurt by another’s actions. She’d come to warn the Horsemen because they were heroes. She’d not thought of them beyond that. The fallen Horseman had, in her mind, been more akin to a fallen comrade in arms. She’d not personalised him, thought of him as a fallen brother or as a fallen family member.
Her quest had become enormously humanised this morning. The man across from her was no longer just a hero with a mission, or a handsome rake who manipulated charm for his own benefit without meaning a word of it. It had been easy to understand Kieran Parkhurst within the confines of that box. To add the extra facet—brother, family member, mourner—created depths she wasn’t prepared to navigate. It not only reminded her that he was human, but it also reminded her she was human too. And both realisations made her squirm. Being human was painful. Hurting, loving and losing was painful. Being vulnerable was painful.
Kieran slapped a hand down on the table, making her jump, along with the coffee cups. ‘Enough of this, or we’ll spend the day feeling sorry for ourselves,’ he decreed, that charming smile of his starting to play on his mouth. ‘I only began my line of questioning originally to determine if you’ve ever been to London before.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘And you are a sly-boots to derail the conversation.’ He fixed her with his gaze. ‘So,haveyou been to London before?’
‘No.’ She offered a smile as an olive branch. ‘Although I am quite a connoisseur of boarding schools. I attended the Smolny Institute in St Petersburg for a time, and then, after my father’s death, I finished my education in Austria at the school for officers’ daughters.’ Not because Roan or her father had been officers but because certain people in the Austrian military had courted Roan’s favour.
He raised an appreciative brow. She’d managed to impress him and found she couldn’t resist impressing a little more. ‘I acquired Russian, French and German languages at an early age, all of those being important tools for negotiating life in St Petersburg and Austria and the other places we lived.’
‘Duly noted.’ He grinned. ‘And don’t forget Latin. It seems there is a polyglot among us. It can be useful for navigating London as well. London is one of the most diverse cities in the world, full of people from all over the globe.’ A spark lit behind his eyes. ‘Did you enjoy your time in Russia?’
‘Yes, as much as a girl confined to a boarding school can, I suppose. We had cultural outings, and I enjoyed my friends there. One friend, Nadya, would invite me home with her for the summer holidays.’ He was fishing for something but what, she could not tell.
‘Would you like to have Russian food today? There’s a place in Soho we can go to, but only after I show you the rest of London,’ he added with mock sternness. ‘We must see how London compares to other great cities. Run up and get your hat and gloves; I recall that particular gown came with such things. I’ll have the curricle brought round.’
A day out laughing and talking with this man, having this man’s undivided attention. The prospect filled her with an unlooked-for sense of pleasure at doing something normal. And yet that same sense of pleasure had her hesitating.
‘Do you think it’s safe?’ She’d thought to spend the day wandering the garden, reading a book… In short, pent up in the house under the watchful eyes of the servants, half guest, half prisoner, as had been her existence at Roan’s.
‘I think we’ll be moving around enough that, if anyone is following us, it will be noticeable. We’re just as safe enjoying the sights as we are sitting in this house waiting for someone to fire a shot through the window or break in through the back door.’
She shuddered at the images. ‘Don’t say that.’ But she saw the logic. ‘I’ll be back down with my things.’
Celeste’s hands shook as she gathered her gloves and hat. She didn’t like the last suggestion he’d voiced: that safety was an illusion, even in this elegant house, even with a Horseman beside her. How easy it was to believe one was safe when there were clothes in the wardrobe, a roof overhead and food on the table. In truth, Kieran was right: she was no safer here than she’d been at the boarding house. The only difference was that now she wasn’t alone.
Her hand halted on the banister as she headed back down. That was the real danger—thinking that she and Kieran were in this together as a team. When had that transition happened? She’d certainly not thought that way when she’d gone to bed. Last night, she’d been full of wariness and admonitions, vowing to keep her distance, which meant it had happened over breakfast. Coffee, toast and confidences had built a tenuous connection between them, humanised them to one another, for better or worse.
On the one hand, she wanted to be more than an informant to him; it gave her value beyond her information. But the trade for that was allowing him becoming human to her as well and, drat it all, shelikedthe humanity she glimpsed in him. She liked the boy who’d run wild with his brothers in the summer, the man who’d pressed too many coins into the water-trough boy’s hand yesterday and the gentleman whose first question was always about her comfort.
He showed his humanity in other ways too. It was there in his touch—a tool he used liberally. She’d lost track of how often he’d touched her yesterday but she remembered how it had felt each and every time. It felt natural, as if heshouldtouch her. It felt comforting and powerful all at once, even arousing, the way she’d always thought a man’s touch ought to feel but had since come to realise often fell short of the mark.
The comparison drew a shudder from her and she pushed the reminder away. Today was to be full of sunlight and opportunity. There was no room for darkness. She’d need her wits about her if she was going to spend the day with Kieran Parkhurst: Horseman, hero, human. He’d clearly planned to propose seeing the sights of London all along—he was dressed for it—which meant today would be conducted on his terms. What did he think to learn? If she was watchful, what could she learn? So far, Kieran always offered something in return.
Celeste pulled on her gloves with a thoughtful grimace, reminding herself of the rules. He wasn’t the first attractive man she’d ever met, although he might be the first she’d actually liked, and a little liking could be allowed—up to a point. She could even flirt with him, also up to a point—that point being when the liking and flirting began to cloud her judgement. At which time, she needed to draw back and restore her objectivity. Well, forewarned was forearmed. At least she’d see the danger now before it was too late.
* * *
It was a delight to see London through Celeste’s eyes—this woman who’d been educated in St Petersburg and Vienna. Her remarks were intelligent and insightful as he toured her first through the British Museum and then the smaller venue of Somerset House, where the summer show would still remain on the walls for another week.
They stopped in front of Constable’sThe Cornfieldand he thought to test her opinions. Mainly he wanted to know if those opinions were her own or if they were merely a parroting of those of the general populace. The painting had been poorly received by the crowds earlier this spring and as a result it had not sold yet, which was unusual for Constable’s work. As for himself, Kieran rather liked it because of its details, many of which would go unnoticed or unappreciated by the casual viewer. What would she think?
She shook her head when he asked his question. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, I fear. This is not a picture on which someone can pass immediate judgement. If so, it will be found wanting, plain, but it’s not.’ She went silent, her gaze fixed on the painting. ‘Would you allow me a moment?’
