“Your maid will be here shortly.” He reaches out and tucks my hand under his elbow, and his grin is mischievous. “Now for your room.”
“My room?” I ask, my brows furrowed. “I’m not staying with Lucy?”
He looks at me askance. “Why would I have you share when I have twenty-three guest rooms?”
His question is so characteristically arrogant I can’t help but smile. “Very well. Lead on.”
We walk down the hallway and pass many rooms. I try to count how far away I am from Lucy, but I lose track. “Are you trying to get me lost?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he says as we turn the corner. “You won’t sound nearly so irritated when you see your view.”
As soon as I walk into the room, I stop and stare. The entire wall opposite me is windows. Floor-to-ceiling length windows. The doors to the balcony are thrown open, pale curtains waving in the soft breeze. The smell of flowers fills the room, both from the number of bouquets in golden vases and from the garden beyond. The view is of the shimmering lake and gardens. In fact, from this room, it seems I can see the whole of his estate—at least the part of it that spreads from the front of the house.
But it’s the marble tub in the middle of the room that gives me pause. It’s perfectly round and set up on a dais, appearing as if it grew out of the marble floor beneath it. It’s big enough for two people to bathe comfortably. I have never seen the like in all my life. The only bathtub I’ve ever enjoyed has been made of hammered copper.
It takes me a moment to realize my hand is still attached to his arm. “Does this please you?” he asks, his voice rumbling in my ear.
“Very much so,” I say, my eyes still on the sweeping view from my windows. The bed is even situated in such a way I will be able to watch the sun rise above the trees while propped against pillows. It’ll be like sleeping outside—something I haven’t done since I was very small.
He runs his hand along the edge of the tub. “What think you of this?”
Still in shock, I answer him completely uncensored. “I think it’s big enough for two.” The blush spreads up my neck as nervous flutters release in my abdomen.
His eyes darken. “Truly, Katherine, I believe you’ll be the death of me. I dare not even ask if that was an invitation.”
I give him the coy smile I’ve been suppressing since the moment we met. Its impact is lessened, I’m sure, by my furious blush.
He must take pity on me because he changes the subject. “I know you are probably tired from your trip, but would you care to walk with me?”
“I would—especially if we are to walk in one of the gardens. Truly your groundskeeper must be very talented.”
“Does this mean you approve of Thornewood?” All hints of his teasing smile are gone.
I meet his gaze. “It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined.”
A look of relief passes across his face. “It’s been a long time since I cared what someone would think of my home—if I ever have.”
His words are simple, but the underlying meaning speeds my heart and sends warmth traveling through my chest. “I can’t think how to thank you properly for such a beautiful room.”
A slow grin spreads on his face. “You could kiss me.”
He’s teasing, but his intense gaze tells me he’s also serious. Do I dare? My eyes drop to his mouth. It must have been enough of acquiescence because he takes one determined stride toward me and wraps me in his arms.
I hold my breath as his mouth descends upon mine.
Before my mind even fully comprehends the feeling of his full lips, my body responds as if we’ve kissed every day of our lives. Could it possibly be like this for everyone? This all-consuming need for another person?
I press into him, my body melding against the hard contours of his. He groans, deepening the kiss. He draws the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip, slowly, teasingly, and warmth floods me. My hands reach up to touch his hair, and it’s as thick as I imagined it to be but surprisingly soft. He trails kisses on my jaw and down my neck, and I arch back brazenly to give him better access.
His hands skim the sides of my body, strong but gentle, and I wish I was wearing a tea-gown with no corset instead of the heavier satin traveling dress. Desire pools low in my abdomen, a primitive craving for him to touch my bare skin. As if he hears my thoughts, his fingers skim the side of my neck down to my décolletage, teasing the tops of my breasts.
I want to feel him, to revel in the differences between our bodies. I trail my hands down from his hair to his wide shoulders and lower still, to the unyielding muscles of his back.
He smiles into my lips. “Your tentative touch is driving me mad.”
“And you’ve been teasing me for the past few minutes,” I say between kisses.
“Only because I don’t want to push you too far,” he says, pulling away to meet my heavy gaze. “I swear to you it isn’t my intention to kiss you so soundly, but you make it bloody hard not to when you respond to me like that.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. It’s a heady realization to know I can affect him just as much as he affects me. “Shall we promise to be good for the rest of the afternoon then? Perhaps go on that walk you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes, a walk sounds safe. We’ll even invite your sister to make it that much more proper. Maybe then I will be able to keep my hands off you.”
The hall is quiet as we walk, and I try to compose myself. I’m more than a little self-conscious about the contact, but only because I’m afraid of either Grandmama or another guest seeing us—not that I’d seen anyone else.
“Have the others arrived?” I ask, with another paranoid glance around.
“Everyone else will arrive on the morrow.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Even your brother?”
He smiles. “No, you’ll meet James soon enough.”
He’s back to being cryptic, so I try to relax for once and not try to control the situation. He stops at the room I think is Lucy’s and knocks.
“Care to join us for a walk?” Lord Thornewood asks when Lucy answers the door, his expression all innocence.
“Oh, I’d love to,” Lucy says. “Would you mind waiting for a moment while I get my drawing materials?”
“Not at all.”
She rushes back inside her room, and I keep my eyes focused on one of the paintings on the wall. I will not review the previous ten minutes in my mind. I will not think of the way his soft lips felt against mine.
“You’re blushing,” Lord Thornewood says quietly, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
“Ready,” Lucy calls, clutching her drawing paper and charcoal to her chest as if it was a beloved child.
I thought Lord Thornewood would release my hand when Lucy joined us, but he keeps it tucked under his elbow as if it is the most natural thing in the world. To my sister’s credit, she doesn’t even give me a questioning look.
He leads us out a side door and into a garden blossoming with hydrangea, peonies, and ivy. The garden is controlled chaos, with blooms exploding over one another and atop trellises. Lucy makes a happy little squeak, her eyes darting around for the best vantage spot.
I lean over to smell one of the peonies’ sweet fragrance. What would it be like to live in such a place? To feel every day as if I’ve stepped into a story from Arabian Nights? I haven’t even seen the stable yet, but I’m sure it’s as amazing as the rest of his estate. When I glance back at Lord Thornewood, he’s looking at me in that intense way that makes my body come alive.
A loud bark startles me, and I turn around just in time to see a massive wolfhound barreling toward us. His tongue is lolling out, so despite his considerable size, I don’t worry he plans to attack.
“James,” Lord Thornewood shouts, “come get your bloody hound before it knocks one of these ladies over.”
James strolls toward us, completely unconcerned by his brother’s obvious anger. His resemblance to Lord Thornewood is uncanny, though he is m
uch more lean and lanky. He has the same hair, the same strong jaw, but his eyes must have come from the other parent as they are much lighter.
“To me, Bear,” James says with an impish half-grin. The wolfhound goes immediately to his side, calm and obedient. I stifle a laugh as I wonder if he sent the dog ahead just to rile Lord Thornewood.
Lord Thornewood pinches the bridge of his nose and gestures for his brother to join us. “You’ve made your entrance. Now come meet our guests.”
His grin still in place, he executes a short bow as Lord Thornewood makes the introductions. Lucy keeps her eyes everywhere but James, her momentary air of ease all but disappeared.
“James, the Sinclairs are daughters of Robert Sinclair, Father’s dear friend.”
James nods. “I know. And you’ve been asked to make the elder Miss Sinclair the talk of London.” He turns to me and arches his eyebrows. “Well? Has my brother been successful?”
Lord Thornewood groans. “You don’t have to answer that. In fact, you don’t have to answer any of his questions.”
James laughs. “You’re just afraid of what she’ll say. My brother has the advantage of being a wealthy earl, but his personality can be somewhat lacking.”
“I recognize sibling banter when I hear it,” I say, “so I think I will take Lord Thornewood’s advice and decline to respond.”
“No fun at all,” James says. He turns to Lucy. “And what of you, Miss Lucy? Do you believe my brother has been any help to your sister?”
“Leave her be, James,” Lord Thornewood says. “If I’m lacking, then you are overbearing. The girl is too well-bred to respond to any of your taunts.”
James shrugs and takes a seat on one of the benches. The wolfhound stays stuck to his side. “Since you won’t even let me talk to either of these beautiful ladies, I hope you have invited other guests for the ball tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“So a round of cricket in the early afternoon and a ball in the evening?”
“If you wish.”
“My brother is a sphinx,” James says to me, and I swallow a laugh. “He is capable of holding longer conversations, but he has to be passionate about something.” He glances at me again. “Or someone.”
“Enough,” Lord Thornewood says. “Come, my brother has taken over the garden with his hound and his running commentary.”
I laugh. “My lord, it’s fine. Your brother is not as bothersome to us as he is to you. Trust me, I have a brother, too. They only have the power to annoy their siblings.”
James holds up his hands. “I’ll go. I need to settle in anyway.” He bows again toward Lucy and me. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, my lord,” I say.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “This will be a fun party indeed.”
SEVENTEEN
THE morning is refreshingly peaceful without the constant noise of London’s streets. Rays of sunlight glint off the lake, turning the water into liquid crystal as I sit at the mahogany vanity.
Devi, the maid Lord Thornewood provided for me, runs a brush through my hair and smiles at me in the mirror. She wears the traditional Indian sari, a lovely rose color that looks so rich against her jet-black hair. “You have lovely hair, my lady.”
“I thank you, but I’m afraid I can never do anything with it. If it was left to me, I’d look more banshee than lady.”
There’s a kindness in her eyes as she laughs. “No indeed. Hair like this won’t take me long at all.”
“You’re more talented than me then,” I say, sorting through my jewelry for something simple to wear. I point over my shoulder at the gown I’ve removed from my trunk. “Do you think that will be suitable for what my lord has planned?”
She turns to look. “Perhaps a wrap, too, for warmth.”
I nod as I watch her smooth my hair. It makes me think of my own maid at home. “Devi,” I say after a moment, and she meets my eyes in the mirror, “have you always been a lady’s maid?”
She bobs her head. “Yes, my lady. Since I was sixteen.”
I watch her fingers gain control of my thick hair, deftly weaving it into a soft chignon. “How do you remain so skilled when there are no ladies to wait on here?”
Her smile is wistful. “My fingers haven’t forgotten what to do. But you’re right, it’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of serving in the position I was originally brought here for.”
“Were you Lady Thornewood’s maid?” I ask.
“Yes, and I miss her terribly. It was such a tragedy to die so young, leaving those boys without a mother.”
I suspected Lord Thornewood’s mother was no longer living, since he made no mention of her. Now I know for sure. “He and I have that in common, then.”
Her hands pause in the act of smoothing my hair. “I am sorry to hear that, my lady.” She resumes her work with a shake of her head. “My lord was much too young when he began caring for his younger brother. He’s always taken on too many responsibilities.”
He had lost his father, too, I know. My own had attended the funeral, though I can no longer recall when it was. “When did Lord Thornewood’s father die?”
“Not terribly long ago. Two years. But he was never as involved with his family as Lady Thornewood. And there’s no replacing a mother.”
I think of my own kind father, of the way Robert and I had helped raise Lucy. What would it have been like if it was only Lucy and me? Without the benefit of Papa’s wisdom or Robert’s wit? If I had to shoulder the entire burden of the responsibility?
“Lord Thornewood must be a very kind brother.”
“Oh, the kindest, my lady,” she says with great enthusiasm. “I’ve never had a more generous employer. All the servants know we can go to him with anything, and we will be heard.”
Such a different picture than the one I formed of Lord Thornewood when I first met him. I wonder, though, if he’s generous and kind enough to accept even my true identity. I frown and look down at my hands. The closer I grow to him, the more I am afraid of my secret ruining everything.
“There,” Devi says, patting the last few stray hairs in place. “Is it to your liking?”
I drag myself back to the present moment and hide my worries with a smile. “It’s lovely, thank you.”
“Anything else you need, my lady?”
“No, nothing, Devi. Thank you.”
She smiles and bobs her head, closing the door behind her. As I fasten a gold cross around my neck, my father’s words return to me unbidden. It never prevented me from marrying your mother. Papa knew about Mama, but he married her for love. Still, I struggle with the idea there are two such men in the world. Can Lord Thornewood possibly be as open-minded?
I shake my head and stand. It’s no use staying in my room fretting. Better to face the day.
I find him in the library, sitting in front of the fireplace. The fire crackles and licks at the logs, and I watch its flames for a moment, suddenly unsure of myself. His face is in profile to me as he reads a thick leather-bound book of some kind. The firelight glints off his dark hair. My skirts rustle as I take another step forward and he glances up.
“You’re up early,” he says as he stands.
“I’d be up this early every day if Grandmama would let me. It’s much more peaceful when only the birds and servants are awake.”
His eyes take on a teasing glint. “Is that a hint you’d rather explore the library alone?”
“Even if I did, I very much doubt you’d do anything other than exactly what you wanted.”
“You’re right about that,” he says unapologetically. “Since you’re joining me, shall I ring for another cup of tea?”
My stomach rumbles, and I press my hand over my abdomen to stifle the noise. I smile sheepishly. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”
He pulls a velvet rope hung amongst the draperies. “Won’t you sit?” He gestures to the settee across from his wingback chair. “Or would you rather
hover there amongst the bookcases?”
I cast him a withering look to mask how nervous I feel.
“I trust you slept well last night?” he asks when I sit.
“Yes,” I say with a sigh of pleasure, “it was so lovely to escape the London street noise. I’d all but forgotten how peaceful it is in the country.”
“London is one of the most miserable places on Earth. I much prefer it here.”
My lips part in surprise. “Truly? I thought you to be a connoisseur of all London had to offer.” When his brows draw in concern, I hastily add, “That is, things of a . . . proper nature.” I look away, wishing desperately for the cup of tea, or at least a servant to interrupt.
He leans back in his chair, appraising. “You believe the rumors then. That I’m a terrible rake?”
“I . . . had not—” I glance at the door, willing someone to enter. “Not really,” I finish lamely. The truth is I’ve learned so much about Lord Thornewood in the past few days, I’m not sure what to think.
“Hm,” he says and stands. “Does it bother you that you are very much alone with a man rumored to be a rake?” He walks to my chair, leans down so we are eye-level. “Alone in that man’s home?”
His voice is husky, and his dark eyes hold mine captive. What game is he playing? My chest rises and falls rapidly, but an answer comes to my mind. One I’ve already realized to be the absolute truth. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I trust you.”
The intensity in his eyes melts into relief. “I thank you for your trust,” he says quietly. “Perhaps you’ll trust me enough to let me steal another kiss?”
This time, I reach for him instead of the other way around. This kiss is rougher than before. I kiss him, savoring the way he caresses not only my lips, but my neck and hair as well. He hauls me to my feet, his hands sliding down from around my waist to my hips. He pulls me close until we are pressed together wantonly.
My hands rove over his firm chest. A brief smile touches my lips as I feel his heart pounding a furious rhythm to match my own. I am aware our behavior has long since passed from merely improper to scandalous—something I never would have thought I’d succumb to—and yet I willingly fan the flames within my own body. I want him. I want him, and I’m beginning not to care a whit for the consequences.
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