The Earl of Her Dreams

by Anne Mallory

  Christian started to say something in response before abruptly stopping. He was looking over her shoulder, an odd expression on his face.

  “What?” She looked over her shoulder, but only the burgundy-draped window was in view.

  “The drapes.”

  “Yes?” she asked in confusion.

  He squeezed her hand. “Do you remember what color the drapes were in Olivia Trent’s room?”

  Kate grimaced. “Blue drapes. Dark blue.”

  “And Desmond’s?”

  She racked her brain. They hadn’t spent much time in his room. “Blue. Dark blue as well.” Her eyes sharpened on his. “The Crescents also have dark blue drapes, as does the common room. All rooms with access to the gallery have dark blue drapes, except Janson’s.”

  He stood up, bringing her with him. “Exactly. Julius Janson has dark green drapes. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Someone replaced the drapes.”

  Their eyes met. “Sally.”

  Kate hadn’t seen the timid maid since they had passed her earlier in the hall, but she tended to pop up where needed with an uncanny sense of timing. The maid would definitely cover for Mary, her best friend, and probably for any of the other servants or guests. If someone told her to clean the room and keep her mouth shut, likely she would.

  “Someone else may have switched the drapes. Any of the servants could have done it. Elias was absent with the keys for plenty of time that morning to make the switch.”

  “And servants are quite crafty; likely they all have keys to the rooms.”

  Christian lifted a brow as he led her to the door. “I’ll have to remember that. Let’s take a look at Janson’s drapes, just to make sure.”

  They crossed the hall and exchanged greetings with a joyful Nickford, who looked more animated than usual as he took measurements in the hall.

  Christian lifted their lamp, as they entered Janson’s room and headed straight for the drapes. Dark green.

  “Do you suppose the original drapes had bloodstains?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “They were changed to hide the evidence. That means that Janson was killed in his room, not on the gallery.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I didn’t see any other bloodstains. How is it that they all conveniently ended up on the drapes?”

  Christian looked thoughtfully at the pristine bed. “What if he was murdered in bed? The counterpane could have been changed as well and any sheets.”

  They checked the bed, but could find no evidence of blood.

  “Or he could have been knocked into the wall and drapes, dying in the process. The drapes could have fallen with the body. Olivia heard a thump. He could have been dragged out with the drapes and then tossed over the gallery, his head hitting the railing briefly and leaving the stains.”

  She sent him an admiring glance. “Yes, that sounds rather plausible, actually.”

  He bowed to her and picked up her hand for a formal kiss. “Thank you, my dear.”

  Warm air caressed her hand as he turned it palm up and placed a kiss in the very center. Shivers radiated from the spot, and Christian’s eyes met hers in the soft glow of the lamplight.

  Tinkling laughter interrupted the moment, and Christian cocked his head. He blew out the lamp and peered through the drapes for a second and then pulled them back together, allowing just a sliver to remain open, a wicked grin on his moonlit face.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Shhh.” He picked up her hand, the same one he had kissed, and tugged her to the edge of the drapes, in the right corner. The sliver of moonlight through the middle of the drape gave her just enough light to see the vague outline of where she was in the room. Christian pulled her in front of him, her back snug against his front, and opened the drape just enough so that she could see out without being seen in return.

  Olivia and Tiegs were crushed together against the railing, her arms curled around him, his body curled around hers.

  Kate jolted, and her body hit Christian’s, causing her to jolt again.

  “Kate,” he whispered a little more harshly. “Stay still.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Watching our suspects, of course. Look over there in the stables, just out of view of Olivia and Tiegs.”

  Kate squinted and could see the unmistakable forms of Mary and Lake standing close together, their heads bent toward each other as they too began to kiss.

  “What are you doing? We are not going to watch them!” She turned her head slightly around to hiss at him.

  “Oh, but Kate,” he whispered into her ear. “You can learn so much just by watching your suspects.”

  He tilted her chin back toward the drapes, and his fingers brushed down her neck.

  “We have the experienced lovers in blind lust, caring only for the mutual pleasure each can give the other. Look at the way they devour each other to achieve their own pleasure. And then we have the innocent romantics in love with their shy touches, smiles, and tentative kisses. They seek to affirm their affections and pleasure the other.”

  Kate shivered.

  “Watch Lake as he runs his fingers reverently down Mary’s face, as if her very skin holds the essence of silk and satin.”

  Christian’s fingertips ghosted down the skin of her right cheek, and she forgot how to breathe.

  “Light touches and small kisses.”

  His lips brushed right beneath her good ear, and she couldn’t help but tilt her head a bit to the left to allow him better access.

  “Then look at Tiegs and Olivia.”

  Her eyes followed as if mesmerized.

  “Bold strokes and needy hands, one of her legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer. Closer to where the heat and lust pool.”

  He dragged his palm across her stomach and downward, his touch turning feather-light when it reached the area where the heat of his words had pulled her body’s heat into a pool, just as he described. She unconsciously strained into his hand, wanting the touch to be exactly as he described instead of the teasing caress. She felt his lips touch her neck.

  She started to turn around, but he nudged her back and lifted her arms so that her hands were pressed against the drapes, hitting the cool glass behind. She was sure Tiegs and Olivia had to have heard the sound and seen the pressed drapes, but they continued consuming each other against the railing.

  “Keep watching, Kate.” Her name rolled off his tongue, the T curling as if he were savoring a dessert. She had always thought her name somewhat harsh, but Christian made it sound delicious.

  “Look at Mary, Kate.” She looked to see Mary lean into Lake. “Lake thinks she is more priceless than the finest china, more beautiful than the loveliest of roses.”

  Kate stiffened. Christian was running a finger up her jaw and toward her other ear. Her scarred ear, which was not like the finest china or more beautiful than the loveliest of roses.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Why would you think that?” His lips pressed against her throat. “To me Mary is just a pretty lass. To Lake she is beauty personified. If I say you are beautiful, then who are you to tell me no?”

  His fingers played with the cotton weave around her shirt, leaving trails of fire as they moved.

  “Don’t you trust me, Kate?”

  His tone was light.

  Did she trust him? Trust him not to hurt her when he did see that she wasn’t beautiful after all? She badly wanted to continue their touches, to feel his heated glances. He made her feel. And she desperately wanted to continue despite her previous judgment that she should entrust no one with her heart.

  Could she trust her own judgment?

  “I want to trust you more than anything. I want to know who you really are.” Her words were rough and needy.

  He stilled his movements and she gave a quick look behind in distress, cursing her sudden honesty. There was an unreadable expression on his face. And
then he slowly turned her so that she was facing him, put his hands lightly on the sides of her face and drew her forward.

  His lips hovered a hairsbreadth over hers and he whispered against her lips, the smooth feel of strong silk against satin, “Be careful, Kate, or I’ll never let you go.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 14

  Someday a deserving man will sweep you off your feet. I only hope I am around to see it.

  George Simon

  to Kate, age seventeen

  Panic, acceptance, eagerness, and desire pulsed through her as his lips touched hers. When she was fifteen and the squire’s smooth son had helped her into a carriage, his eyes warmer than the summer sun, she hadn’t known what the feeling in the pit of her stomach meant. When Connor had begun to pursue her, she hadn’t known that the flurries in her stomach were desire.

  But she knew it now. And those previous feelings were nothing compared to what Christian stirred.

  He reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers. Her heart increased its beat as her mind frantically fought to determine what to do. Her rational side lost as he pressed soft, strong lips to hers.

  She had been kissed before. A few stolen kisses, terribly exciting due to the forbidden circumstances, but not very satisfying otherwise. Some had been exceedingly wet, others chapped and dry; some had made her stomach clench, others had left her completely unaffected. This one was like none of those, as Christian’s lips skimmed hers lightly, allowing her to press forward or retreat.

  She decided to press forward, only to be met with air as he pulled back. He tucked a strand of hair into her cap.

  “Let’s go back to our room.”

  They hastily made their way into the hall and into the safe haven of their room.

  Christian softly closed the door and then walked toward her, his eyes dark and intense. She saw his intention as he leaned in, and instead of escaping, which he had given her plenty of time to do, she leaned forward as well. It was a sweet kiss, more along the lines of Lake’s kiss to Mary, but with the promise of so much more. She let the promise overtake her.

  He pressed a few light kisses to the corner of her mouth, the middle, the other corner, his hands moving into her hair and tugging on the wrap.

  “The light,” she breathed, wincing at her own cowardice.

  Christian searched her gaze for a moment and then doused the light.

  His fingers returned to her hair, removing the offending hair wrap, caressing the uncovered strands and tugging gently at the back of her head.

  He was giving her a chance to stop. She threw caution and sense away and kissed him back, following the same pattern across his lips as he had done to her.

  It felt heavenly, and Kate sank into him as their bodies drew closer and he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. She had the fleeting thought that without trousers the entire maneuver would have been much more difficult.

  Christian moved in the dark as if it were his natural habitat, and he pressed her to him.

  The first chime of midnight sounded. She stiffened, but he kissed her more fiercely. She clung to him desperately as the second chime struck, and his fingers massaged the back of her neck as he continued to kiss her more deeply. The warmth of his body, lips, and hands contrasted with the chill of her memories—ghastly memories of the endless moments when she realized in a horrified haze that her father was dead and there was nothing she could do, and the clock continued its relentless knell, its toll that life cruelly continued on as her father lay lifeless.

  Christian kissed her forehead and her eyes in the darkness before she even realized she was crying, and he held her to him, repeating comforting phrases, resting her head against his shoulder.

  When she had regained a modicum of calm, he lifted her chin in the dark.

  “Tell me, Kate. Why do you fear the chimes?”

  Kate felt it all rush from her, the memories, the fear.

  “The chandelier fell. An accident, they said. Crushed my father and hit me as well.” She touched her ear. “The hall chandelier. It was old, but Father loved it. We were bickering in the entrance hall, I didn’t want to go to the village. If only I hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t paused to argue with him. If only we had just gone to the village.”

  “If you hadn’t paused, both of you might have died.”

  “Or my father would still be alive.” She felt tears curl down her cheeks.

  “You don’t know that.” He seemed to sense her tears and he brushed the wetness away with two swipes of his finger. “Why the chimes?”

  “The chandelier fell and we both went down. I panicked; my head was on fire and there was so much blood. It took a moment before I realized that my father wasn’t saying anything either amusing or reassuring.”

  She shuddered. “I saw him and panicked again. He was trapped. The chandelier was too big for our entrance hall, really, just a small cottage-style home. But Father loved that chandelier, said it reminded him of Mother.

  “He was crushed,” she whispered. “Beneath the middle of it, the branches splayed on top of him like a crown. I managed to push it to the side, I don’t know how, I couldn’t lift it afterward. But Father didn’t move. No breath moved his chest, no beat pumped beneath his skin. And then the clock began to chime, the rhythm mocking the lack of any beat within his body, the chimes endless and unstoppable.” She shivered, and he pulled her nearer.

  “Is that what you are running from?”

  She shook her head against his chest, relieved to finally be speaking to someone. She couldn’t stop herself from letting it all out, especially as a confession shared in the dark.

  “My father left me a small dowry. Enough to be comfortable. My half-brother wants it, since the rest of my father’s monies are legally tied at the moment, and he struck a deal with one of his cronies to take me off his hands and split it. I have one week before I am of age. I just need to stay out of his grasp for a week and then I’m free. My aunt wrote that she would take me in. She’s a stickler for propriety, and I can stay with her for a little bit before deciding what to do. She would not turn me over to my brother if I have funds and a possibility for making a suitable match among her circle.”

  She touched the buttons on his shirt, hoping he didn’t think her a snob for some nebulous reason. “Not a brilliant match, of course; we are only on the fringe of society. And I know that until my—”

  She cleared her throat. It had gotten stuck at the point where she almost confessed about her ear.

  “—until things are more settled I will be at a very major disadvantage. But I have to deal with things the best I can.”

  She couldn’t help the wistful note that entered her voice. “I don’t particularly care for high society and their airs. I just want a nice family in a small house, maybe by the sea.”

  Her father had always talked favorably of living at the shore. And in so doing there would be a connection to him. He had always fussed that she should be looking at potential mates, but she had been happy to stay in their little house outside the village year after year. She knew he had been secretly pleased, for all his talk about having grandchildren.

  Christian’s head bent down and rested against hers. “Maybe I can help.”

  She smiled. It felt nice. Sometimes things were so much easier in the dark. “Perhaps we can travel to London together. You are headed that way later, correct?”

  “Yes, but I meant maybe I could help with your situation with your brother.”

  She jokingly tapped a finger on his chest. “You’re going to make sure I get to the solicitor’s without being abducted?”

  “Well, you could always marry me instead of your brother’s awful friend.”

  She laughed as she felt him jerk against her. She could only imagine the horrified look crossing his face as he suddenly realized what he’d said.

  “A bachelor like you? I’m sure you Runners get all the girls you can handle.” She shook her head, her cheek b
rushing against the soft fabric of his jacket. “I know I am a diversion. I accept that.” It was a painful admission.

  He brushed his cheek against her hair. “A diversion?”

  “Yes. I’m not bothered. Well, not too bothered. I want this.” She chewed her lip and touched her ear. “Are you sure you want this?”

  He lifted her chin and ran a finger down her cheek.

  And with that he gently lifted her and placed her on the soft counterpane as he began to undo her shirt.

  Chapter 15

  …and if I’m not there to see you swept from your feet, know that I trust your judgment in all things.

  George Simon

  to Kate, age seventeen

  Kate’s breath caught as he slowly opened her shirt as if he were unwrapping a package he had been waiting to receive. Smooth fingers pulled the shirt open and ghosted over the skin revealed.

  “Modified stays. Ingenious, that,” he said as he lightly turned her over so that he could remove her shirt and stays.

  She had made the stays herself based on an old Elizabethan design to completely flatten the front of her figure.

  “Well, I am posing as a tailor,” she quipped, though her voice was husky as Christian’s fingers worked.

  Christian finished undoing the latches and pushed both edges to the side, where they flopped on the bed. He picked up the edge of the modified undershirt and pulled it slowly up her body. She rose a bit so that he could pull it off fully and the shirt got stuck under her freed breasts, pulling them upward, the cotton creating a friction on her nipples as he tugged.

  He placed a kiss on the back of her neck and she arched up, the shirt finally coming free.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, quickly discarding the shirt, and running fingers through her short, silky hair.

  His fingers continued down her neck to her shoulder bones, pushing her down into the mattress, her bare breasts rubbing against the underside of the stays that still lay beneath.

  “You have a long, strong neck. Silky-smooth skin covering inner strength.” He placed a kiss at her nape. “A determination of character, perhaps?”