She took a deep breath as he backed round and squeezed himself into the small amount of bench she had left. Primly, she tried to move over more, but now she was locked into place, stuck between a hard body, and even harder ledgers.
There was something about her physical predicament which seemed remarkably apt for how everything else was working out in her life.
“It’s going to be hard going,” Edward said quietly. “The snow is getting thicker and by the time we get to Rochester Castle, it will be at least four foot deep.”
“We’re going to Rochester Castle? But that is where I rescued you from—” Celine shook her head, her long hair becoming trapped against the large books.
Edward nodded. “I’m sorry we are going back there.” He laid his head back against the edge of the carriage and closed his eyes.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just don’t understand.”
His eyes still closed, Edward reached out and took her cold hands in his. He pulled them towards him, not stopping as Celine’s arms rose to pull at her shoulders too.
“Edward!”
“For once, Celine, just be quiet.” His eyes opened again.
Celine tried to break away, but her body held a strange lassitude to it, it was unwilling to do as she commanded. Inexorably, Edward drew her in towards him, gathering her by the shoulders against his chest. His long arm traced its way down her back, coming to land on the curve of her bottom. She shivered as he let it rest there.
“No,” he whispered. “I have no intention of moving it.”
Celine gasped, a tingling gathering in her chest. She glanced up at Alasdair opposite, but he seemed to be asleep, with his head in his hands. “We can’t.”
Edward shushed her. “Celine, you and I, we can’t not do anything.” His hand moved softly. “It’s beginning to kill me.”
“But I’m not—”
Edward’s groan of frustration rumbled through her body as she lay against his chest. “Celine, I don’t care if you are a courtesan, not a courtesan or even a bloody fishwife. You are still a woman.” His voice grew lower. “God knows I’ve tried to ignore the fact.”
“But you don’t want me.”
“What makes you think that?”
Celine took in a shuddering breath. “You pushed me away.”
Edward’s hand tightened against her, pushing the soft silk of her dress against her bottom. “I gave you what you deserved. I caught you kissing another man.” In the dark of the carriage Edward’s tones held fire and smoke.
Celine gasped as his hand rubbed her thigh. “Because you wouldn’t come to me.”
“Edward Fiske was…is a very repressed man. I’m not even certain if I should kiss you knowing what I know now.”
Celine turned her head to look up at him. “What you know now?” she repeated slowly.
Edward rested his head back against the carriage and looked down his nose at her. “The Melinno Society,” he said flatly.
“I haven’t known anything different.” Celine blinked as Edward brought a hand to her face.
He traced her lips with his finger. “Like a bow, plump and curved.”
Celine swallowed, her breasts brushing against the thin cotton of his shirt. This man was no longer the repressed businessman that she had set out to charm, whose measured dry kisses had barely brushed her cheek, and whose company had been measured by the every tick of the damn pocket watch she had given him.
This man was entirely different.
Not a father figure in sight.
As she held Edward’s gaze he pulled his head away from the wall. The smoke in his eyes deepened.
In one movement she put out a hand and stilled his restless hand that continued to stroke her thigh. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
Celine drew in a breath as the mild mannered Edward caught her hands between his in a crushing grip. “I mean I don’t want to kiss you.”
“What? Why? You always wanted to do so before! Don’t think I didn’t see when I restrained myself and kissed you on your cheek that you weren’t trying to catch me into something deeper.”
Celine shivered. Because I am afraid of what you have become. Because I am afraid I will lose myself to you, even more than when I thought of you as just comfort. “You said you were no longer Edward Fiske. I—I cannot share a kiss with a man that I do not know.”
He stared at her, then wriggled back up against the wall, pushing her from his chest. “You know who I am.”
She shook her head. “I know the man that lives time by the pocket watch, that lives life inside ledgers.” Her shoulders felt cold as she left the contact with his body and sat upright. “I don’t know the man that can leap onto a flying coach, that can restrain a rabid woman. That can tie men to a coach and then whistle afterwards.”
The gathering storm clouds in Edward’s eyes pushed away any traces of the smoke that were left. “And you don’t think it is hard for me to come to terms with the woman in my arms being a spy for a secret society that works against the Crown and whose superiors chose me as their mark?”
Celine’s mouth dropped open involuntarily. He was right. She hadn’t stopped to think.
“That all the lingering glances were a ploy to advance my affections, and yet, still, like a bee to a honey pot my body knows no better and still responds to you when you are near?”
They hadn’t really been a ploy.
Celine sat upright, hugging her arms to herself. Next to her Edward continued to lean back against the edge of the carriage, his arms folded against his chest. She stared sightlessly at the wall of ledgers next to her; with a finger she reached out and traced the ornate R that was heavily embossed on their spines.
“Don’t do that.” Edward’s voice was sharp. He unfolded his arms. “Don’t touch them. They’re—dirty.”
There was not one speck of dust on the pristine ledgers.
Celine frowned. A smaller book that looked familiar lay wedged in the center of them. She reached out and tugged it free. “I’ve seen this before.”
Edward’s voice was muffled. “You can’t have done. I keep these ledgers out of sight.”
She shook her head. “No. This one isn’t like the others.” She risked a look at him, pushing the ledger towards him. “See?”
Edward unfolded one of his hands and took the smaller ledger, holding it to the light. He nodded and handed it back. “It was in the bag of belongings that you came with, along with Gunvald’s note, a scarf,” he paused as a red flush lined his cheeks, and he fingered his neck, “and a bottle of lavender water.” He drew his hand away from his neck and stared at her, straightening his back.
Celine frowned. “I don’t own any scarves, and I certainly don’t use lavender water.”
Edward laughed with evident unease. “You always smell so enchanting—” he looked away and coughed.
“No. I don’t use it.” There was only one person that Celine knew who used lavender water, and that was Pithadora. She looked back down at the ledger. “This used to sit on Pithadora’s desk.” She pulled it open. The book was empty apart from the two columns on the second page. Payment…Goods received. “Gunvald must have put the wrong bag of belongings outside the door when I left. None of this belongs to me.”
Edward coughed again. “Not even the scarf?” He reached up to his neck and unwound a heavy looking material. The threads were thick and the dye heavy. In the half-light of the coach it was difficult to make out the design.
Celine shook her head again. “That I have never seen before.”
“You’ve never worn it?” The disbelief in Edward’s voice was apparent.
Celine shook her head again. “Bella, our dressmaker gave me everything I should wear. That wasn’t part of my disguise.”
Edward opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, Alasdair lifted his head sharply.
“I can’t hear our guest,” he said simply.
Edward cursed. Celine leant away as he banged against the coach roof. The coach slid to a stop.
The coach filled with white light as he peered out of the door towards the back of the carriage.
“He’s gone,” he groaned. “I knew Pablo was too quiet. He must have had a knife on him somewhere.”
Celine stared down at the scarf on her lap, illuminated by the iron gray light across the snow. Dryness hitched against her throat. “Edward,” she said slowly, fingers pleating the material this way and that. “Edward, look at the scarf.”
He stared at her and then down at the material.
“Bloody hell,” was all that he said.
CHAPTER 24
Edward stared at the material in Celine’s hand. He hadn’t stopped to look at the scarf before he had put it around his neck.
Ten elephants from the largest to the smallest danced in a line across the vibrant red material, their front legs raised, their trunks carrying the tails of the elephants in front of them.
“It must be coincidence,” he breathed, steadying himself against the door of the coach. He stared at Celine, whose face was whiter than the snow behind him. Anger ran down his arms. “Is this a joke you are trying to play? How did you plan it?”
Celine’s mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon?”
Edward flung himself back into the coach and pulled the door shut with a slam. “I took a length of your long black hair from the scarf.” He sat down with a lurch as the coach started moving again. “Admit this is yours. You planted it, trying to see what I would do.”
Celine shook her head. “No, no, no.”
Alasdair cleared his throat. “Mr. Fiske, I believe you should listen to what the lady is saying.”
Edward balled his hands in fury. “This lady tried to kill me.”
“I beg your pardon!” Pulling her whole body away from him, Celine stood, swaying as the carriage jolted.
“Come, Miss Celine, sit down, please.” Alasdair hunched into the ledgers, making a small space next to them.
Edward watched open mouthed as Celine turned and squeezed into the space next to the carriage wall.
She stared at him. “You think I tried to kill you and then we practically make love not two minutes ago.”
Alasdair coughed again, his ears turning a beetroot red.
“I didn’t even kiss you, Celine,” Edward said disdainfully, the hurt coursing through him. He was being humiliated. Again. Just like when his father had finally lost all concept of the present. The discussions of the public that had gathered outside Rochester Castle to catch a glimpse of him and his family. See his son, that will happen to him one day. Just like the grandmother. Insane, the lot of them.
“Oooh!” Celine threw her hands in the air. “You wanted to though.”
Alasdair hunched next to her, ducking his head as her hands narrowly missed his nose.
“Once I might have wanted to—” he didn’t manage to get the rest of his words out.
Celine’s face blanched even whiter. “By god you’re cold. Colder than the snow outside. Frozen even.”
Edward swallowed. Mr. Fiske was a frozen man, yes. Always frozen by day, immersed in his accounts and the dry, cold world of business. But Lord Rochester wasn’t. He burned by night, his dreams of Celine and her red dress haunting him in the forests of Rochester woods.
But who was he now? Fiske or Rochester?
And who did Celine really want, if she wanted either of them at all? “That lavender bottle contained acid. It could have burned me.”
Celine shook her head. “I beg your pardon? What are we talking about now?”
“The lavender bottle that was in the bag you brought with you.”
“I’ve already told you I don’t wear lavender.” Celine sat upright. “And how did you find out it contained acid anyway?”
“My coat began to smoke.”
Celine’s snort turned into a giggle which unexpectedly turned into a laugh. Edward tried to form words, but found only that his lips quivered.
“If I had tried to kill you, I would have stuck a knife in you when we were in bed together—” Celine paused as Alasdair’s coughing turned into a fit. “—or let you be hit by those arrows when we were stuck in that shop.”
Unwillingly Edward let his lips turn into a smile. But Celine had stopped laughing.
She swallowed visibly. “The only person I know that wears lavender water is Pithadora.”
Edward said the words although he already knew the answer. “And the only person you know that owned the ledger—”
“—was Pithadora.”
“Therefore this scarf—”
Celine looked away. “Must have come from Pithadora.”
Edward picked up the ledger which had fallen to the floor. “And the scarf has elephants on it.”
“Not in the usual style, sir,” Alasdair offered. “Franklin might know more, but I’d say that the style of weaving is from around thirty years ago.”
Celine blinked. “Who’s Franklin?”
“My brother,” Alasdair said promptly. “Lord Rochester’s valet.”
“Good thing we are going to Rochester Castle then,” Celine said. She looked at Edward as he tried to lift the ledger to head height. “I hope Lord Rochester won’t mind us visiting. Although you still haven’t said why we are going.”
“You could say I am an old friend.” Edward closed his eyes as Alasdair sniggered.
Celine sighed audibly. “We are just avoiding saying the obvious aren’t we?”
Edward held his breath.
“The scarf has an unusual elephant design on it. The music box that Lord Granwich took from his long lost love had elephants on it. He even said that Lydia liked elephants.”
Edward let his breath out relieved. Thank goodness. Nothing about him being Lord Rochester…yet. “The scarf had a long black hair on it.”
“And we know that she had long black hair.” Celine picked at her hair.
“So it all points to Pithadora knowing more about Lydia Randall and therefore Major Coxon-Williams than she admitted,” Edward said, sitting forwards.
“Then we are going in the wrong direction!” Celine banged on the coach. “Get him to stop, Edward. We need to go back and confront her.”
“We’ve only just left there!” Alasdair protested.
Edward sat frozen to the seat. “And she did try to kill you.”
Celine sat slowly. “Pardon?”
“That bottle of lavender water. It wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for you.” Edward blinked as the coach door opened. He hadn’t noticed the coach come to a stop.
Robert’s huge beard was the first item into the carriage.
“I don’t know why we are stopping now,” the great man rumbled. “We’re halfway up the drive to your house.”
“Your house?” Celine exclaimed.
Edward smiled weakly.
“Yon hoose,” Robert barked, his voice taking on the deepest Scottish accent Edward had ever heard. “It’s more like a castle really,” Robert confided in more normal tones.
Edward shrugged his shoulders. “It’s too late to go back to London.”
“There’s no way we are going back,” Robert said confidently. “The snow’s become too thick. We’ve barely made it this far, and the horses are tired. We’ll need to stay at the castle.”
“But your friend doesn’t know we are coming,” Celine protested looking at Edward. “And we’ve got to get back to find Pithadora before she does something stupid.”
“More stupid than trying to kill you, you mean? Why don’t you let it go?” Edward ran a hand through his hair. “Why does Lord Granwich’s problem concern you so much? You only investigated on the orders of the Melinno Society and they threw you out!”
Celine stared at him. She drew the brightly colored scarf to her face. After a long pause she said, “I felt sorry for him.”
�
�Like you felt sorry for me, the accountant, the boring man?” Edward felt inside his jacket with wild thrusts. His hands closed around the pocket watch Celine had given him that he had held so close to his heart. Pulling it out, he threw it into her lap. “This is yours.”
Pushing past Robert he got out of the coach and stood knee deep in the snow on the drive, looking back at the way they had come, away from the castle, down the avenue of elms whose leafless trees gave scant shelter to the snowy lane.
“Take them up to the castle, Robert, and make sure that everything is made safe. I will walk from here.”
“Edward!” Celine’s voice was filled with worry. “It’s too cold out there. You are being silly. I’ve never felt sorry for you—”
Robert slammed the door shut as she spoke, muffling her words.
A tinkle of glass caused Edward to turn on his heel.
“Bloody men thinking they can cut me off.” Celine’s elbow disappeared from the broken window and she stuck her head out. “You are the one that was meant to feel sorry for me!”
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that we all say stupid thing in the throes of passion.
Edward cursed as the wet snow soaked through his cheap material shoes he forced himself to wear as Mr. Fiske. From his knees to his feet he was frozen. In fact from his shoulders to his knees to his feet he was frozen. But his face was hot, hotter than on a summer’s day.
The large black shape of the coach rolled away from him up the drive towards the castle that sat squarely against the now all white landscape. To the east a line of firs denoted the forest edge where Robert’s cottage was located and where the castle hunts had taken place in the old days.
To the west a couple of spires of smoke twirled through the cold air from the fires of tenant farmer cottages.
When Robert had said they were near the castle, he had stretched the truth a little. The drive was still three miles long, and there was another one and a half miles to go through the snow before Edward met the courtyard gates.
He crossed the snow into the tracks made by the coach’s wheels and started to walk, his shoulders hunched and his head down. He wished he hadn’t given away the warm scarf, no matter that it belonged to a ghost.
Maddening Minx Page 18