Tutting, she threw back the covers and crossed the room to help him unbutton his coat.
Smacking his hands out of the way she scolded him in French. "Now look what all this walking 'as done," she added, scowling at him. "You 'ave tired yourself out."
"Céleste, I am not in short trousers," the stupid man objected though he was barely able to stand without swaying.
"Non," she agreed. "Lucky for you, for I should spank you!" She cursed him under her breath as she removed his jacket and then got to her knees to pull off his boots. Idiotic creature, he had almost drowned and then only just recovered from being frozen half to death, and so he must go tramping about the countryside in the icy cold and damp. She carried on her litany of objections and curses against him until she reached his trousers, at which point he called a halt.
"Thank you, that will be all," he said, with a cool and dismissive manner, like he was addressing a servant or something. She gritted her teeth and then felt her temper rise further as he took a pillow from the bed and put it on the chair.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, picking the pillow up and flinging it back on the bed with some force.
With resignation, Alex picked it up again and put it back on the chair. "I will sleep here tonight. You may have the bed."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, may I?" she repeated, mocking his accent.
Céleste watched as he sighed and prepared himself for the coming battle. She folded her arms. "'Have you listen' to nothing I have said? You nearly died; you are not yet well. I will not 'ave you sitting all night in a draughty chair, non!" She stamped her bare foot on the bare boards and dared him to contradict her.
"Good Lord, Céleste, you are not speaking with your maiden aunt you know," he replied sounding really quite angry now. "I am not an invalid!"
"Non, is true," she agreed, nodding at him. "Because I take good care of you!" she yelled, smacking his arm with the back of her hand. "Ozerwise you are dead now!" she yelled, her accent becoming stronger as her fury grew. "So now you must do as I say and sleep in the bed."
"Will you keep your voice down," he hissed at her, and then she realised she had him.
"Non," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "And I will continue not to keep my voice down in a moment when I begin to make sounds like those I 'eard at Madame Maxime’s, hein?" She had to fight a giggle at the utter fury on his face, but instead collapsed back on the bed with a low moan, stroking her hands over her own curves in a suggestive manner and saying, loud and breathless, "Oh, Alex, oh oui, oui, like this, oui, oui, oh 'arder ... mmm, oh please fu--"
"Stop!"
Though she actually had no choice in the matter as a large hand covered her mouth. He was staring down at her, his eyes dark and wild.
"Very well, you little hell cat, you win," he said, his voice one of restrained rage, but Céleste didn't care a button. She had won.
She watched with satisfaction as he carefully folded his trousers before he flung back the covers with a sharp angry movement. She didn't dare suggest he remove his shirt too, which was a pity, but the look in his eyes suggested it wouldn't be a good idea.
He pounded the pillow with his fist, turned his back on her and blew out the light without another word.
Céleste sighed. Well, at least he was in the same bed.
***
Alex laid in the dark, torn between amusement, a raging desire that was driving him insane and white hot anger. What manner of crafty, doe-eyed, fury had he taken on? When she had had laid back on the bed and started writhing and saying his name with that ... that low breathy voice, my God, he had been so close to losing control. And now, once again, he found himself sleepless and on edge. If he thought the girl would sleep soundly he would take matters into his own hand and ease the ache that was keeping him from sleep and making him thoroughly bad-tempered. As it was he didn't dare.
He wondered what his brother Lawrence would say if he knew, and then grimaced. He knew exactly what he'd say; he'd laugh himself stupid.
And so it was in this spirit Alex spent the night, alternately staring at the ceiling and devising plans for how he might rid himself of his beautiful temptress at the earliest opportunity. He heard the comings and goings of the night staff and the ostlers, changing horses for carriages that rumbled in and out of the place at regular intervals, and finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion as the sky began to show the first signs of dawn.
He awoke with a start as a horn blasted, announcing the arrival of a carriage in need of a quick change of horses, and discovered Céleste coiled around him in such a manner that his breath caught. He was rock hard and she was laying half across him, her bare leg between his, and her hip pressing into him in a manner that was both delicious and torturous. He held his breath, hardly daring to move when a sharp rap on the door made them both jump and someone announced breakfast would be served in ten minutes and the carriage would leave in twenty.
He froze as Céleste rubbed her eyes and watched with alarm as she became as aware as he of their position. He hoped he didn't frighten her - though it was none of his doing - but she was after all a virgin, for all of her bold words. She didn't move and just rested her head back on his chest. With an inward sigh of relief he went to open his mouth to say they must hurry, when her hand slid down, over his stomach and beneath his drawers to tangle in the coarse hair just below and then caressed his aching member.
The words died on his lips and the pleasure was so intense as her hand slid down and back up again, that it took every shred of willpower he possessed to reach down and grasp her wrist rather than tumble her onto her back and spread her legs.
"No, Céleste," he said, the words barely comprehensible as he bit back a groan.
"Your skin is so soft," she replied, with wonder in her eyes, quite ignoring his protest. "Like silk," she added and he sucked in a breath as her thumb slid over the little slit at the head and smoothed over the moisture already gathered there.
He muttered a heartfelt curse and pulled her hand away, throwing her onto her back and himself out of the covers before he lost his last grip on sanity.
"You will not!" he raged and then ran out of words. He snatched up his trousers, feeling that perhaps he could regain some semblance of control if he were only dressed. "Tonight you will have a room of your own," he said, his tone cold. "And I care not what any of them make of that. You ... you ..." For possibly the first time in his life he was quite at a loss for words and the fact that she was staring at him, looking tousled and sleepy and totally perplexed by his sudden outburst did not help. In lieu of any words that might have helped him explain, he decided retreat was the only option and exited the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with some force.
Chapter 8
"Wherein you should have a care what you wish for."
Alex refused to look at or speak to Céleste for the rest of the day and the journey dragged on and on. It was quite clear to everyone in the carriage that he was in a foul mood, and all avoided his eye and were careful not to speak to him. This of course roused sympathy in every bosom towards Céleste and the group fussed over her, with enquiries into her well being coming so frequently that Alex was close to shouting for the carriage to stop so he could get out and leave them all to it.
The fact that Céleste was in fact looking rather pale and hadn't spoken a word all morning didn't help matters. It was clear they had rowed. He wondered with a grim smile what the passengers would think if they knew why. Because he'd lay his fortune on their ideas being quite the opposite of the truth.
Alex laid his head back and closed his eyes. His head was pounding and despite the rain that had been lashing at the windows for the past hour the carriage was unbelievably hot and stuffy. He thanked God that they were almost at their destination for he felt bloody awful.
"Alex?"
He was surprised to hear Céleste's voice. She hadn't addressed him directly all day, in fact come to think of it she hadn't spoken at all except to reply to the idiotic q
uestions demanded of her. Opening his eyes he saw concern in her eyes and flinched when her cool hand reached out to touch his forehead.
"Alex, you are not well."
He opened his mouth to contradict her but his throat was sore and damned if he didn't feel like the blasted Diligence had rolled right over him. To his horror and disgust the smartly dressed man opposite was, as he had guessed, a physician. Happily he still had enough wit about him to refuse to be mauled in a public carriage but once they had arrived at the next staging post, neither the doctor nor Céleste would be thwarted. He was forced to submit to the good doctor's attentions the moment they were shown to their room at the inn which he allowed with little grace. Alex looked around yet another shabby chamber with just one chair, a bed, a fireplace and a washstand. He lowered himself into the chair and eyed the greying linen on the bed with a grimace. This was not the way he liked to be accommodated and he longed for the crisp white sheets of his own bed.
"Has he been ill recently?"
Obviously deciding that since he had caught a slight chill, it had addled Alex's brain, the doctor addressed his question to Céleste. Alex opened his mouth to override her, afraid she would say too much, but once again found he had underestimated his young ward as she spoke in nicely accented French. Though the tones of a proper lady only made it look more like he, the rum looking character, had run off with some good family's innocent daughter in tow.
"Oui," she said. "He had a very bad accident and fell from his horse, into the river. The fall was itself not bad but he almost drowned and we didn't find him for hours. He was very sick."
Céleste caught his eye and he raised his eyebrow at her, amused as she looked away and studied her toes.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the doctor. "And when was this?"
"Last week, monsieur."
"Last week?" the bewildered physician replied in shock. "Mais, of course he is sick! It is incredible he is up at all? Monsieur you must have the constitution of an ox," he said to Alex with a tut and a shake of his head. He then cast a thoughtful look at Céleste and cleared his throat. "Ahhh ..." he began, looking a little awkward. "May I enquire as to whether Monsieur has been sleeping well?"
Alex stifled a bark of laughter at the flush of colour that rose on Céleste's cheeks.
"No, not much if I'm honest," he replied, holding her gaze with amusement.
The doctor cleared his throat with clear disapproval. "Well I suspect exhaustion. I will give you something to help you sleep, and suggest that you do sleep," he added. "I will instruct the inn to bring up some soup for you before you retire and to put a cot in the room for your ... wife, to sleep on without disturbing you." The word wife, he noted, was spoken with no little disbelief, and if he'd had more energy the man would have suffered the sharp side of his tongue for it, despite the fact he was entirely in the right.
As it was Alex watched as the man poured out a draft of something into a small glass and set it beside the bed.
"Merci, monsieur," he replied, hoping the snooty bastard wouldn't charge them too much. At least he would get a night's sleep without Céleste to torment him.
"You are welcome," replied the doctor, who then bent to speak. "Though I cannot help feel that you have brought this on yourself." He righted himself, staring pointedly at Céleste who blushed with fury as his words had been perfectly audible to her.
"What are you suggesting, monsieur?" she demanded, as the doctor took a hasty step backwards in the light of her expression. "Do you think this man has taken advantage of me, is that it?" She advanced on the doctor who opened and closed his mouth as the vision, who had indeed looked like a lost and frightened miss just moments ago, turned once more into the fiery little hell cat Alex well knew she was capable of becoming. As her anger grew her French became more rapid and Alex decided he would really have to polish his up if he was going to keep track of what was said.. "This man is my husband and he is a fine and honourable man, you have no idea how honourable!" she added, and Alex felt his conscience prick at the slight catch in her voice. "How dare you imply such a thing! I demand that you apologise to him."
The doctor blinked and turned to Alex. "I apologise if I caused any offence, monsieur. Please do not worry about the bill. I wish you a speedy recovery."
"Apology accepted," Alex replied and watched in amusement as his small Fury ushered the poor man out the door, practically slamming it after him. She continued to mutter to herself, a low, angry litany of incomprehensible French, liberally spiced with an inventive stream of swear words as she turned down the bed, and built up the fire. By the time she knelt down in front of him to help him remove his boots her temper seemed to have fled and he was surprised when she took hold of his hand and pressed it to her flushed cheek.
"Forgive me," she blurted out suddenly and he was alarmed to look down and see such anguish in her eyes.
"What on earth for?" he demanded.
"This is all my fault," she said. "If I hadn't made you so angry ... please, Alex, please forgive me. Don't leave me 'ere by myself. I promise I will be good and I won't tease you any more."
"What the devil gave you that foolish notion?" he asked her but she had put her head in her hands and refused to look at him.
"Céleste, come now." He leaned forward and put his hand under her chin until she looked up at him. "I am just a bit under the weather. You see, you were quite right to scold me for walking about so long last night. I didn't feel well then."
"Oui." She nodded, her big blue eyes full of guilt. "And if you were not scared to come to bed you wouldn't have done it, hein?" She shook her head and it made his heart ache to see her look so unhappy. "I promise to be good, Alex. I won't ... I won't ..." She shrugged looking utterly miserable and Alex smiled. "I am quite alright, ma mie, nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure, and you have my word of honour." He took both of her hands in his and looked her in the eyes so she knew he meant it. "I will never abandon you. You are safe, as I promised, you need never fear that." She sniffed and nodded, trying to smile at him, though it didn't reach her eyes. "And we will be friends, you and I."
He watched as she nodded again. "Friends," she repeated, her voice dull. "Oui, Alex, we will be friends."
She got up and answered a knock at the door and accepted a tray with a bowl of thick soup and some baguette. He ate, watching her with sorrow. She wouldn't go down and eat alone, saying that she had eaten too much yesterday and wasn't hungry, and refused to share any of his. Once the small pallet was installed for her to sleep on she watched him take the medicine the doctor had ordered and then she lay down by herself.
Alex looked across the room at the slight figure curled under the blanket and sighed. He had never before missed the days of his youth. Until the past week he had always been fit and strong, he knew he still attracted women with no problem at all, and though he was not a vain man, he also knew he was handsome and well made. Yet although he was hardly in his dotage, when put beside her youth he felt old, and somehow to blame for the girl's unhappiness. But he couldn't allow her to believe there could ever be more than friendship between them. Indeed she ought to regard him as a father figure. He knew it was likely that once this adventure was behind them and she was settled into a new life, that would be how she came to regard him. These days would be forgotten or recalled with embarrassment and shame, and he would be relegated to the status of kindly guardian. God help him but the idea made his heart hurt and he wondered how he would bear it.
***
When Alex woke the next morning, Céleste had already left the room. He washed and dressed, finding to his relief that he did feel much better than he had. Not his old self perhaps, he thought, and then grimaced, old. God damn it.
He made his way downstairs to find she had already eaten, and ate his own meal with haste, anxious to see how she was this morning. Striding outside into a bright and sunny morning, he passed the ostlers holding the many horses that drew the weighty Diligence, urging them into their harnesse
s as they stamped and tossed their heads. The fields around the inn were thick with frost and a low mist crept over the fields, giving the land an ethereal quality in the winter sunshine as the frozen grass glittered, crunching under his boots. He found Céleste leaning over a fenced paddock, talking to a fat pony who was submitting to her caresses with a look of appreciative bliss.
She turned as she heard his footsteps approaching and Alex found himself disturbed by the quietness of her greeting. In a very short time he had become accustomed to the way her eyes lit up when she saw him. It had gladdened his heart and yes, it had stroked his ego. And damn if he didn't miss it.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, knowing she was as he had seen her bag packed, but at a loss for anything else to say.
"Oui, Alex," she said, and turned away from the pony, taking his proffered arm as he led her back to the carriage.
***
Three more days and nights passed. They still shared a bed, for their finances were dwindling, but they slept with their backs to each other and Céleste kept her word. She no longer flirted with him, or leaned into him, searching for a caress or a hug. Her eyes remained downcast and she smiled less. She never laughed.
It was for the best, he told himself. She was sweet on him in the manner of young girls, it was merely an infatuation. It would pass soon enough and when it did he would have to be relieved he had navigated it without making a bloody fool of himself. For while she would forget him with the callous ease of a youthful heart, if he allowed himself to care ... He simply couldn't risk it.
But she never spoke now unless spoken to and he missed her conversation, even missed her scoldings, and he hated to see the brightness gone from her eyes.
It wasn't until they arrived at the posting-house that night that she spoke to him at all.
"Where are we, Alex?" she asked, looking at the landscape around the inn with curiosity.
"We're in Morbihan," he replied, simply relieved to have been addressed at all, but wondering why she asked.
The Earl's Temptation Page 6