The Blue Drawing Room (Regency Rendezvous Book 2)

by Carmen Caine

  Wind howled outside and rain pinged against the windowpanes. He pictured Eliza’s pink lips and soft curves. He’d had his hands on the small of her back. What would her flesh feel like beneath his fingers? If he’d pulled her just a little closer, her breasts would have pressed against his chest. Desire wound through him. He relaxed, and pictured her, head bent back, rising on tiptoes to meet his mouth as he lowered his head to kiss her. Alistair closed his eyes. She would be so sweet…so very sweet…

  A sharp knock on the door startled him awake. Bleary-eyed, he glanced at the clock on the mantle. Ten-thirty. Had he slept over an hour?

  Another knock sounded. “Enter,” he called.

  The door opened and the old piper entered, his aged brows knotted with worry.

  “What is it?” Alistair demanded.

  “It’s the laddie,” he replied. “We’ve been searching everywhere, but he’s not been found. He may have left the castle.”

  Alistair started. “Oliver?”

  The piper nodded and Alistair tossed a glance at the darkness outside the window. Recalling the lad’s inordinate interest in the piper, he wondered if he’d venture out in such stormy weather.

  “Bloody hell.” He rose and headed for the door. “I’ll lead a search of the cliffs and the shore.” Alistair brushed past the piper and the older man fell in alongside as he strode down the hallway. They reached the grand staircase and descended to the main floor. “Send men to search the stables, and anywhere else the lad’s been known to wander,” Alistair ordered as they reached the last step.

  A footman carrying a hooded, black oilskin cloak met him at the door, as another opened the outer castle doors. Alistair swirled the cloak over his shoulders as he crossed to the threshold. He squinted into the inky rage of the storm as men gathered behind him with oil lanterns.

  The wind howled as he took a lantern from the nearest man and started forward. Pellets of rain stung his cheeks and buffeting gusts tore at his cloak as they made their way through the darkness toward the cliffs. The waves crashed against the rocks below and blasts of salty wind stung his nose. He and his men shouted Oliver’s name, but in vain. The roaring winds ripped their voices from their throats and he feared the boy would never hear them, nor they him. The thought gave his step an extra urgency as he descended the slippery, rock-strewn path leading to the shore.

  Reaching the beach, they spread out over the rock pools. Alistair wiped rain from his face, eyeing the cave-pocked cliff rising dark and dangerous above them. Surely, the lad wouldn’t go into the caves, especially on a night as this and after hearing the piper’s tale. The winds whistled through the abandoned, crumbling arches like ethereal pipes playing in the night. Alistair raised his lantern and headed for the entrance when shouts from behind stopped him in his path.

  The man reached them and shouted, “We found him, my lord.”

  Alistair strained to hear. “You found him?” he shouted back.

  The man nodded. “In the castle.” He said something else, but the words were drowned out by the wail of the wind and the pounding surf.

  Relief flooded through Alistair, quickly followed by irritation. In a darkening mood, he hurried with his men up the path and through the castle doors, finding himself cold and sopping wet despite the oilskin cloak. As a footman peeled the garment off his back, Foster rushed forward to greet him.

  Pushing back his wet hair, Alistair half growled, “Where is he?”

  The old piper hesitated. “Charles’ apartments, my lord.”

  Alistair paused. “Charles’ apartments?” What was he doing there?

  He caught sight of Edwards on the grand staircase above, milling about with other guests. With a scowl, Alistair strode down the corridor and headed for the rear stairs, intent on detouring to his room to change out of wet clothing for the second time that day.

  Minutes later, he donned a dry, white, loose-fitting linen shirt and a pair of gray trousers, then left his chambers for the finely decorated rooms that had served as his stepbrother’s private apartments.

  Candlelight spilled from the open bedroom doorway into the dimly lit hall. Alistair paused under the lintel, taking in the finely crafted four-poster bed, the settee, writing desk, armoire…and Eliza.

  She sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest and her cheek resting against one knee, her attention on the boy curled up in the corner. Oliver, asleep on a pile of linens, lay clutching a large, full white laundress’ apron tightly in his arms. Alistair’s frustration melted away. The lad missed his mother.

  Eliza noticed him and started to rise, but he motioned her to remain seated. He approached softy, then knelt on one knee by her side and studied his young nephew. Odd the lad should find his father’s room. Of all places, why had he run here?

  Heaving a sigh, he gently gathered the boy in his arms and carried him back to the nursery with Eliza walking by his side in silence.

  It wasn’t until he’d laid the boy on his bed and drawn a blanket over his sleeping form that Eliza began to apologize.

  He shushed her with a finger on her lips. “You look fair exhausted, lass. Don’t fret. You’d best sleep before our hellion awakes again.”

  She smiled, an unguarded smile that warmed his soul. His gaze dropped to linger on her lips. He’d thought them so kissable from the start. For a moment, he almost reached out to trace the velvety softness with this thumb—but then, she’d reserved such intimate gestures for her fiancé.

  Yet she cared for him. He’d seen it that evening.

  Captain Edwards be damned.

  He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She tensed, but he bent down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. As she remained motionless, he stepped away, noting the pink flush creeping over her cheeks.

  He strode out the door, happier than he’d been in weeks.

  Chapter Ten

  Soft as Candlelight

  Eliza stood rooted to the spot, her lips still burning from his touch. What was he doing to her? Their social positions set them worlds apart. He knew that. Why toy with her like this? She looked down at Oliver sleeping in his bed, clutching the apron to his chest. He was tempting her because he was a man. Charlotte and Oliver were evidence of his rakish ways. Her heart softened. Yet, time and again, she’d witnessed his honorable, gentle side and, unlike many men of his station, he was taking responsibility for his illegitimate offspring, even if it was late in the game.

  Given his smoldering looks and magnetism, she was honestly surprised he hadn’t fathered more than these two children. He had merely to walk into the room and her heart skipped a beat. He’d turned her insides molten hot when he’d waltzed her across the nursery room floor. Just the memory of his lips on her forehead sent butterflies skittering across the insides of her stomach.

  She released a sigh. Why torture herself like this? The devil with that. She wanted him to kiss her, crush her to his chest, and… Her head whirled with thoughts of him gently laying her on his bed and coming down on top of her. Her heart beat fast. This had to end. He was her employer—nothing more.

  Eliza tucked the covers more closely around Oliver before checking on Meg and Charlotte. She found them fast asleep. She padded about the nursery for a time, setting things to rights, and then banked the fire for the night. When she was done, she dusted her hands and started toward her room, but stopped when the nursery door creaked open.

  Her heart leapt. Alistair? Unable to stop the smile, she took a step toward the door. The smile died on her lips.

  Captain Edwards, coatless and swaying on his feet, entered.

  “Sacre-bleu,” she swore. “Why are you here?”

  “Why elshe?” he slurred the word.

  “You’re drunk,” she said in disgust.

  As he stumbled toward her, she retreated. “Leave, now.” She pointed to the door.

  “Leave? You need me.”

  “The devil I do. Get out.”

  He lurched forward and seized her by the waist.

  �
�Get your hands off me!” Eliza batted his chest.

  He drove her backwards. Her back hit the wall. Pain lanced through her left shoulder blade. Fear spiked, but she forced a hard voice. “Don’t be a fool.”

  “You want me,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re my mistress, Eliza. Come to bed.”

  “Your mistress?” He’d gone mad. “I am not your mistress.”

  His fingers dug into her shoulders. Eliza twisted in an effort to break free. He grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth upward and mashed his mouth against hers. Bile rose. Tears threatened.

  Think, she ordered herself. Think. Steeling her nerves, Eliza willed her muscles to relax and she started to fall. She ripped her mouth from his and drove her forehead into his nose. A sharp pain stabbed deep into her skull. The captain yowled and stumbled back, clutching his nose.

  Eliza’s vision blurred. She glimpsed the poker leaning against the hearth. Ignoring the pulsing pain in her head, she grabbed it and brandished it like a sword. “I want nothing to do with you,” she said in a strangled voice. “Leave, before I give you a solid drubbing.”

  “Losh, what’s happening?” Meg’s sleepy voice sounded from the door.

  Captain Edwards staggered sideways, blood seeping between his fingers from his nose. He swung his gaze onto Meg, then spun and lurched out the door.

  Eliza dropped the poker, rushed to the door and shoved it closed. She stood with her weight against the wood and drew a long, shaky breath.

  “Did the man threaten you, now?” Meg demanded.

  Eliza turned, but didn’t leave the door. Meg stood in the doorway to her room, a shawl tossed over her nightdress and her big eyes filled with concern.

  “No harm was done.” Eliza smoothed her dress to calm her nerves. “He was drunk. Most likely, he’ll never remember the incident.”

  Meg’s eyes narrowed. “We should tell his lordship. He’ll boot the man straight out.” She crossed to the hearth and picked up the skeleton key on the mantle, then went to the door. Eliza stepped aside and she locked the door.

  Meg straightened and handed her the key. “We should keep the door locked until the man is gone. Are you sure you’re all right, Miss?”

  Eliza gave her a shaky smile. “I’m fine. You go to bed. We’re perfectly safe now.”

  Meg hesitated, then nodded and bid her good night.

  Eliza glanced at the door. She’d been a victim of Captain Edwards’ controlling ways and temper before. She’d thought him a mere pompous bully, but now... Fear rippled deep inside her, and even though she knew full well she’d locked the nursery door, she couldn’t relax until she’d dragged a chair and propped it under the knob as well.

  Sleep was long in coming.

  * * *

  Eliza had just sat the children at the breakfast table when a sharp rap on the nursery door made her jump. Exchanging a quick glance with Meg, she strode to the door. More relief than she cared to admit flooded through her when she opened it to find Lady Kennedy’s maid standing there.

  “Good morning, Miss Plowman.” The young woman greeted her with a nervous smile. “Her ladyship requests your presence. At once.”

  Eliza winced.

  The maid’s smile turned sympathetic.

  “Och, I’ll watch the lad and lassie,” Meg offered. “You’d best do as Lady Kennedy bids. It’s better for all of us when she’s not kept waiting.”

  “Right then.” Eliza heaved a breath.

  She darted to the mirror and quickly tucked in a few stray locks, then twirled, inspecting her new green muslin gown for anything out of order. This was the first dress Fanny had made for her. It would have been better not to accept the dress. But how did a governess refuse her employer’s gift?

  “She’ll not find a thing to complain over, lass,” Meg assured. “Unless it’s the gown’s too fine or you’re late in arriving.”

  Eliza snorted. “Most likely both,” she said, and left with the maid.

  Lady Kennedy thinned her lips upon Eliza’s arrival. Sitting at her secretary desk in a yellow morning dress, the woman clucked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.

  “You’re such a pretentious servant,” she said by way of greeting. Her eyes raked Eliza from head to toe. “Look at you, so finely dressed. Not one to know your place, are you?”

  So, Meg had been right. Eliza kept her eyes downcast, dipped into a respectful curtsey and murmured, “Good morning, my lady.”

  The woman humphed. “Fetch my rouge from the dye-shop. Be quick. I need it before Lady Ann arrives this afternoon.” She turned away and began shuffling the papers on her secretary desk.

  “Pardon?” Eliza asked, confused.

  Lady Kennedy glanced up, but her maid quickly stepped forward. “I’ll be happy to explain it further to Miss Plowman, my lady.” She offered a curtsey of her own.

  The woman nodded and turned back to her business.

  Eliza followed the maid out the door and back to the servants’ stairs.

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault she’s asked you to do this.” The young woman lifted the hem of her dress and revealed her bandaged left foot. “I twisted it on the stair last night. It’s well enough for the castle, but not for a walk to the dye-shop in Maidens. Her ladyship could ask another, but…” the young woman smiled a bit ruefully.

  “Her ladyship doesn’t care for me,” Eliza finished with a dry laugh. “No matter. I’m happy enough to help.”

  “It’s not far,” the young woman assured. “Maidens is straight down Piper’s Brae, and it’s a pleasant enough day for a walk.”

  “I’ll just fetch my bonnet and coat.” Eliza smiled brightly, then hurried away.

  “I’ll never understand the workings of her ladyship’s mind,” Meg tut-tutted in the nursery a few minutes later as Eliza tied her bonnet. “What did you do to the woman? Why does she hate you so?”

  Eliza shrugged and they shared a laugh and, after seeing the children busy with their lessons, she hurried downstairs.

  What had she done to antagonize Lady Kennedy? While the woman had detested her from the start, she’d apparently added another level of venom after Eliza had caught her on the beach, talking to that pockmarked man. Was the man a secret lover? Eliza snorted and rolled her eyes. What man would willingly embrace such a bitter prune?

  Mist hung heavy in the air, shrouding the castle lawn as she hurried across the grass, still wet from the night’s storm. She grimaced as cold water soaked through her thin boots. She hated wet feet. Scowling, she hurried down the road.

  As she neared the marshes and the Swan Pond, Alistair’s mention of a man with a red-feathered, green hat sprang to mind. Now that she thought of it, Oliver had worn such a hat in the stables. It was a rather odd style of hat. She wouldn’t have thought it popular enough for two of them to be seen around the castle. She’d have to ask Oliver where he’d come by the thing and where it now was. Lord Kennedy would want to know about the hat. It was too—

  She started at a thundering of hooves behind her. She turned. In the mist, she discerned a rider galloping her way. As he approached, she hurried to the side of the road. Before she realized his intent, he veered her way, swooped down, and hauled her across his lap.

  It had to be Captain Edwards.

  “Devil take you!” she swore, pummeling his chest with her fists. “Unhand me, you fool—

  “There, there, lass,” rumbled a familiar deep voice. “Och, you’re even smaller than you look.”

  Eliza froze, torn between shock, relief—and anger. “Damnation! Have you lost your mind?” she demanded. “What gentleman snatches a lady off the street? I thought you—” She broke off.

  Alistair chuckled and let the horse canter a few paces more before pulling the reins to slow the animal to a walk. His strong thighs shifted beneath her as he twisted her around, adjusting her so she sat sideways across his lap.

  He’d forgone the coat, vest, and cravat in favor of a loose, white, puff-sleeved shirt with a large green Kennedy pla
id thrown over his broad shoulders. It was a handsome combination, and the man wearing them, even more devastatingly so.

  Catching her chin with his thumb, he tilted her head back toward his. “Where did such a wee thing like you learn to swear like a sailor?” he asked in a teasing tone.

  She squirmed, embarrassed. “It’s a detestable habit,” she admitted. “My great-uncle was a navy man. He raised me as his own after my mother died. But I offer it as no excuse—”

  Alistair chuckled. “I’m not seeking an apology, lass. Far from it. I confess, I find you a damn sight more interesting than the ladies sitting in Culzean, nattering behind their fans.”

  The compliment made her heart skip a beat. “You would dash their hopes if they heard you say that, my lord.”

  “Hopes?” His lips curved into a smile above his dimpled chin. “I’ve given them no such thing. Truth be told, I can’t tell you how many guests I even have—or half of their names.”

  They shared a laugh.

  His arm flexed about her waist and his expression grew serious. “Why are you walking alone?”

  Eliza shifted uneasily, too aware of the firm, muscular thighs beneath her bottom and the hardness of his chest pressed against her shoulder. Biting her lip in an effort to clear her thoughts, she replied, “I’m running an errand for Lady Kennedy, my lord. She’s in need of her rouge before luncheon is served.”

  He brought his horse to a stop and stared down at her. His eyes darkened. “My name is Alistair,” he whispered. “Say it.”

  Her stomach flipped and she managed a whispered, “I can scarcely call you that, my lord.”

  His thick lashes lowered. “Why not? A lass who raps my knuckles with a spoon shouldn’t balk at calling me by my given name.”