She oughtn’t to be concerned by what Lady Pippsbury said, or anyone else for that matter.
But she was.
And the thought of them crowing over her failure to keep the regard of the man who’d professed to love her just hours ago was more than she could bear.
It had been one thing for Burnell to suggest her finding him in an indiscretion in the final days of the house party. At least, then, she’d have been able to assert that she held herself in too high regard to continue a liaison with a man whose attention was so easily swayed.
To end things now would smack of rejection—and she just couldn’t bear it.
“No!” The word came out far more forcefully than Cornelia anticipated. Minnie’s head jerked up, her eyes anxious, clearly wondering what she’d done. “There, there, not you Minnie.” Cornelia patted her lap, letting the terrier jump up to receive reassurance.
“I take it that word was directed at me, then?” Burnell looked just as surprised.
“Yes, it was.” Cornelia took a deep breath. “I appreciate your apology, and I agree you’ve been utterly selfish, and vexatious in the extreme, but I can’t have it end like this.” She set her face into determined lines. “I need you to carry on.”
Burnell couldn’t have looked more taken aback. “You want me to continue pretending I have the hots for you?”
“Well, I’d prefer it to seem a more elevated passion, but that’s the general idea, yes. It’s probably just as well you’ve let the duke and duchess know, as it wasn’t sitting well with me to deceive them, but I don’t want anyone else to realize that your regard is fictitious.”
Burnell raked his fingers through his hair, still evidently confused. "Am I allowed to ask what's brought on this sudden change of heart?"
“It’s really not complicated.” Cornelia lifted her chin. “For the moment, I've decided it suits me for you to be smitten. Just stop telling everyone ridiculous stories about me winning wrestling competitions with the swans in Hyde Park, or being the leading authority on taxidermy of arachnids, or whatever it is that pops into your mind at a moment’s notice.”
He grinned. “It won’t be nearly as fun, but I’m sure I can manage—and you’ll give me the nod when you’re ready to call off the game?”
“Yes, leave that to me.”
All that mattered, right now, was to make the others believe Burnell cared for her. She’d deal with the rest later. Playing along would still make her cringe but the vexation would be worth it to sock one in the eye to Lady Pippsbury.
Chapter 10
No sooner had Cornelia retrieved her boots and laced then up than she heard the door click open again. She whipped around, her pulse quickening, but it wasn’t him.
Rather, it was Colonel Faversham.
“Oh, Mrs. Mortmain. Hope you won’t mind. Your aunts have fleeced me of ten shillings; far too good at whist! Can’t deny it was fun, but must keep an eye on the pocketbook. Just need somewhere peaceful to sit, ’til it’s time to put on the bow tie, you know.”
“Take the chair by the fire, Colonel.” Cornelia picked up her coat, folding it to one side.
“Marvellous.” He pulled over a footstool, ignoring Minnie’s curious sniffing of his soles. “A quick forty winks will do me. You carry on, my dear. Pretend I’m not here.”
Retrieving the book she’d been earlier perusing, Cornelia returned it to the lower shelf of a side table.
And then she saw it—a book very different from the others stacked there, bound in pale pink leather and embossed in gold: The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful.
A strange title to find in the duke’s collection. Opening the cover, she read the inscription:
To my darling Rosamund,
On your twenty-first birthday
Wishing you a lifetime of happiness
All love
Mother
Of course, the edition belonged to the duchess. It was the sort of book young women often received on coming of age—a mixture of household tips and etiquette, and pearls of wisdom on various subjects.
Flicking through, she stopped at L: lace, and lamb (the cooking thereof) and lemons (good for bleaching elbows, apparently)—and, rather vaguely, ‘life’.
Our human existence is a series of adventures, each end bringing a new beginning. Others enter our lives for a brief time to share the journey, or stay a longer while. Where friends offer their hand, be glad, and do not fear unexpected paths. Life ends at the same destination for us all—and, there, we shall never sigh for what we dared, only for those adventures left untasted.
They were wise words, she supposed, although one needed caution in whose hand one grasped. Not all paths, after all, brought joy.
She let the pages flutter through passion, persistence and pride, coming to rest on puddings. She was very partial to treacle tart, and to syrup sponge. Was this the sort of book that included recipes? Their cook at Portman Square was rather too fond of jam roly-poly.
However, before she could read further, her attention was caught by a low growling.
Minnie was no longer slumbering by the fireside but had jumped onto the arm of the chair in which the colonel was sitting. Letting forth a gentle snore, his chin lolled forward, setting his hairpiece askew.
The terrier’s little black nose twitched as she took stock of what sat upon the colonel’s head. A thousand years of ratting instinct would not be quelled when such an excellent specimen was ripe for the taking.
“Minnie, stop that!”
But, with an agile flick, the toupée was between Minnie’s teeth. She hopped to the floor and gave her hairy victim a shake.
“Drop!” hissed Cornelia. She lunged but Minnie was quicker by far. Skittering across the polished wood, she came to a sliding stop before the closed door.
Cornelia hurried over. The hairpiece would be inevitably damp, but she might smooth it down sufficiently that the colonel would never notice.
Minnie looked from her mistress to the handle of the door. Weighing her chances, she took a horizontal leap. A nudge of her head did the trick, springing the mechanism, allowing the door to swing open. Without missing a beat, Minnie scampered through. With the toupée still clutched keenly in her mouth, she scooted up the stairs.
Panting, Cornelia ran behind. It seemed Minnie was taking the way she knew best, along the passageway to Cornelia’s bedchamber.
Sure enough, as Cornelia rounded the corner, the terrier was sitting patiently, waiting to be let in. Having a rounded knob rather than a levered latch, it was the sort of handle Minnie had yet to master, although Cornelia wouldn’t put it past Blanche to teach her some technique for this too.
“In you go, naughty thing!” Thanking the heavens no one had seen them, Cornelia ushered Minnie inside without delay.
Leaping onto the bed, the terrier deposited her prize on the quilt, giving it a proprietorial lick.
Cornelia sighed. She’d have to dry the wretched thing before attempting to replace it.
Approaching the bed, she realized she was still clutching Rosamund’s book.
I bet there’s nothing in here about catching Houdini-esque dogs.
Cornelia tossed it aside and made a dive for Minnie but, in a flash, the terrier was off the bed again, snatching up the toupée en route. This time, she made for the window seat, hopping up to press her nose to the glass.
Cornelia had a horrible feeling.
The lead-paned windows used an old-fashioned lever handle to open, rather than a sash, and the feisty little terrier was extending her paw.
“No!” Cornelia threw herself across the room. Too late, she grabbed at retreating hind legs.
Cornelia hardly dared look but a yap told her Minnie was still alive.
A deep ledge with a balustrade ran across the building, no more than three feet below.
Leaning out, Cornelia extended her arms. “Come here, Minnie. I’ll lift you back in.”
Looking up at her mistress, she seemed to consider the offe
r, then trotted further along the ledge.
“Get back here this minute!”
It was completely dark and the snow was crusting with ice. Minnie sat down, just out of reach.
“Don’t make me come and get you…” Cornelia waggled her finger, to which Minnie responded by wagging her tail, sweeping powdered whiteness in an arc behind her.
Cornelia looked again at the ledge. If she went on her hands and knees, she’d be able to crawl along, and the balustrade would provide some protection. As long as she didn’t stand up, she’d be perfectly safe. Once she had Minnie tucked under her arm, she’d be able to shuffle back and pass her through the window.
The thought of climbing out made her head swim but, whatever she was going to do needed to be done immediately.
Swinging her legs over, Cornelia held onto the window ledge until, finding her feet, she lowered herself into a crouch. Touching the snow, her palms prickled with pain. She should have put on her gloves; but, of course, they were in the pockets of her coat, which she’d abandoned in the library.
She inched forward, wincing as the damp seeped through her skirts.
Minnie, watching from several feet away, cocked her head to one side then the other, clearly bemused at the unexpected turn of events.
Adopting her sweetest tone of voice, Cornelia cooed and coaxed. “Come here now, Minnie. Good dog. You know I love you.”
Minnie stood up again.
“That’s it. Over here.” Cornelia reached out her hand but, at just that moment, her nose began to tickle. A sneeze was coming.
Without a handkerchief to catch the exhalation, it whooshed towards Minnie, taking a whirl of snowflakes with it.
In protest, the terrier hightailed in the opposite direction, leaving a trail of footprints in her wake.
“No!” Cornelia wailed. “Minnie!”
Damnation! Gritting her teeth, she scuffed through the snow at a brisker pace.
Luckily, Minnie stopped. If Cornelia was swift enough, she might grab her before the terror shot off again.
Though her hands were numb, Cornelia kept going. The terrier glanced back but stayed put, raising her paw to the window she'd stopped beside.
At last, Cornelia flung herself forward, landing atop the little dog and pulling her tightly into her arms. Burying her face in the soft fur, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
She had only to shamble back the way she’d come. However, she saw suddenly why Minnie had stopped. The space on the other side of the glass was illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light. Though the panes were slightly misted, she could discern that the room was stark, the walls and floor white-tiled. On one side was a sink with a large mirror above; on the other was a bath.
A bath filled with water.
A bath with someone in it.
Someone with dark hair tousled and damp, and shoulders astonishingly broad.
And then, she was sucking in her breath because the someone was standing up—and his body was long and lean and distinctly masculine. Her eyes took in his tautly muscled back and trim waist, down to the firm haunch of male bottom, dimpled on each side.
Oh my!
The someone was stepping out of the tub and turning around, revealing the sort of sculpted form she’d seen only among the Greek and Roman statues of the British Museum. Except that those marble gods lacked the light dusting of hair on forearms and legs. They had none curling about their chest, nor the darker line, angling downward, leading to…
For a moment, Cornelia stopped breathing altogether.
Taking a towel, he rubbed vigorously through his hair, then over every part she’d catalogued.
Minnie, with the piece of matted fluff still clamped in her jaws, gave a muffled yelp, protesting at the strength of her mistress’s embrace.
As the object of her attention wrapped the towel around his waist, he looked up—directly into Cornelia’s eyes.
“What the hell are you doing out there?”
When Burnell opened the window, Minnie leapt straight through, skittering across the slick floor.
Wasting no time, he grabbed Cornelia beneath the arms, pulling her in. Instinctively, she placed her hands on his bare shoulders.
“Dear God, you’re like ice!” He jerked away. “And your skirts are sodden.”
Yanking the window closed, he looked at her as if she were a madwoman. Cornelia could hardly blame him.
“It’s c-complicated.” She struggled to keep her voice from emerging as a squeak. He’d just caught her looking at him in the altogether. Spying on him while he bathed. Ogling his naked body.
He was partially covered now, but she’d seen everything—and there had been quite a lot to see.
She ought to be mortified, and she was. But, rather than scooping up Minnie and exiting the room, she was simply looking at him, in the soft light of the lantern, his skin glistening damp.
He held up his hands. “Don’t try to explain. Whatever it is can wait. First off, you need to get out of those wet clothes and into this bath. It’s the quickest way to warm up.”
Cornelia clutched her arms to her chest. “I’ll do no such th-th-thing.” Though the room was wonderfully warm—a light steam rising from the bath—her teeth were chattering. “P-please stand aside. Minnie and I will retreat to my bed chamber.”
He scanned about, giving a start as he clapped sight on the bright-eyed terrier.
“Dear God! What’s in her mouth?”
He bent down, peering at the bedraggled, drool-soaked scrap hanging from one side of the dog’s jaw. “Is it…still alive?”
He was treated to a low growl and a flash of fang.
Burnell stepped back. “It’s all yours. Forget I mentioned it.”
He glanced at Cornelia. “Come on, scoot around. I’ll unhook those buttons, and pull the laces loose on whatever’s holding you tight under there. Then, I’ll leave you be. I promise.”
He looked sincere enough, and the bath did look inviting. Nodding, she turned around. The circulation was returning to her fingers, making them throb horribly. Even if she managed to reach her own buttons, she wouldn’t have a hope of unfastening them.
His breath teased upon the nape of her neck as he wrestled with the tiny pearls closing the back of her bodice. She was conscious of how close he was standing. All that covered his nakedness was the towel, and she was all too aware of what lay beneath that meagre covering.
“Damn fingers aren’t made for little fancies like these.” He let out a grunt of frustration. “Ah, there we go. The next one’s coming easier now.”
Cornelia couldn’t help but imagine what his fingers were made for…
His knuckle grazed her bare back, just above the rear yoke and an image rushed upon her of him brushing his lips to her neck and shoulder, whispering in her ear, telling her where else he wanted to kiss her...
She was startled from her reverie by his hands resting firm on her shoulders.
“All done. You should be able to wriggle out under your own volition from here on."
His voice drifted over from somewhere near the door. “There’s a fresh towel on the stand and, don’t forget, lock this behind me. You’re only two down from your bed chamber, with the linen cupboard between, so you should be able to scoot back safely enough, if you take a good look before committing yourself to the corridor.”
With that, the latch clicked shut behind him.
Cornelia caught a glimpse of herself in the misted mirror; someone she only half recognized looked back.
Chapter 11
Standing before his mirror, Ethan wrangled with his bow tie for the fifth time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
God only knew what she’d been doing outside the window when he’d been bathing. However much she might secretly want to see him in the buff, risking life and limb crawling along that ledge seemed an extreme way to go about it.
Hell, she’d only to ask if she wanted to while away a few hours doing something o
ther than playing cribbage, or charades, or whatever kept the rest of Studborne’s guests amused while stuck inside.
As for having that dog of hers tucked under her arm…
It was a story he looked forward to hearing—and just the tonic he’d need after enduring an evening listening to Lady Pippsbury murdering the dictionary while extolling the virtues of her daughters.
In point of fact, he’d been indulging in a little masculine musing the whole time he’d been in the tub—and Mrs. Mortmain had played a starring role. Not that he’d ever be letting that slip.
He doubted she was anywhere near the prude she made herself out to be, but she mightn’t appreciate knowing what he’d been imagining her doing to him while he lay back in that gloriously hot water.
Discovering that she’d been looking in on him while he’d been satisfying that particular fantasy had shaken him up alright. As to how long she’d been out there, he could only speculate, but he was pretty sure she must have seen him get out of the tub.
His concern had been to get her safely inside and warmed up, but he had to admit that pulling her into his arms—albeit briefly—had stirred his blood right up again. That, and knowing she’d been watching him.
The thought appealed to him on a whole other level—and she’d enjoyed it, he was mighty sure. She’d been a married woman, after all, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a man in all his glory before.
Anyways, he’d kept himself gentlemanly, for which he had to congratulate himself. Not that it had been easy. His hands had been shaking so much unfastening her damn buttons, he’d almost given up and high-tailed it out of there.
He couldn’t help wondering how she might have reacted had he dropped a kiss on those pretty shoulders. Most likely, he’d have gotten a slap across the face for his trouble—and he’d have deserved it, too, having promised not to take liberties.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 42