“We’ll be spending a couple of nights here, if that is all right with you. I hadn’t planned on returning to Krestly Castle until later in the week.”
“Oh, yes. I-I would not want to interfere with your plans, Christian.”
He smirked and that dimple appeared in his cheek. “My plans were to research your name. And was that truly the name of you parent’s estate?”
“Yes.” Why she’d suddenly remembered it then, she did not know. It seemed her past was coming back to her a little bit at a time.
“Would you like another scone before retiring?” he asked, setting down his empty plate.
No, she was full. “Please,” she said, unable to resist another taste of the clotted cream.
He prepared another for her, and when she was finished, he rose, reaching out his hand for hers. “Come, I’ll escort you to your bedchamber.” As they exited through the doorway, Christian added, “Jackson, you will join us?”
“Yes, my lord.”
They led her to a wide staircase which curved up to the second level, then along a paneled hallway and stopped in front of a door made of dark-red wood. He twisted to face her. “I hope you will sleep well, and if you need me, I will just be in the next room.” He motioned forward to another door.
“Thank you for today, for dancing with me, for the fine food and drink. I am deeply grateful.” She licked her lips, remembering that fruit-filled pastry, the first item she’d eaten.
Christian looked like he was about to kiss her again. She knew it was not truly appropriate but, even so, she could not stop herself from wanting him to, and looked away feeling her cheeks heat because she was also hoping he would. What was wrong with her?
With the fingers of his left hand gently curling around her upper arm and the fingers of his right covering the handle, he opened the door. “May you have the sweetest dreams,” he muttered just before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and leading her past the threshold.
Contessa hesitated, not knowing exactly what to do with herself, and he nudged her farther into the chamber by pressing onto the small of her back, then pulled the door shut.
“Goodnight,” she replied in a little voice.
Only knowing he’d heard her when he responded in a much bigger voice with, “Goodnight.”
She listened as the sound of his footfalls drew away from her chamber in one direction and Jackson’s in the other. The sound was followed by a short pause of silence and then the sound of his door opening and closing.
Then more silence.
She looked about the chamber. It was spacious, although much smaller than the ones in Krestly Castle. It was decorated with teal fabrics and more of the dark, ornately carved woods as she’d seen in the entryway. And it was so cold. She shivered and hugged herself, moving closer to the bed.
Frowning, Contessa realized she was not sleepy, but knew not what else to do with herself, so she began unlacing her gown and kicked off her slippers.
She heard the sound of a door opening again, and then the door to her chamber flung open. With a little shriek, Contessa snatched closed the laces of her gown and watched wide-eyed as Christian stalked to the fireplace and began stuffing logs into it.
After one glance over his shoulder, in which his eyes rounded just like hers, he said in a choked sounding voice, “I a-apologize. I realized how cold my chamber was, even with a fire within the hearth, and knew yours was likely colder. I fear I should have remembered to tell the maid that you would be staying, but I neglected that bit of information. Again—” his words halted when he looked her way another time, and focused on her fisted hands at the front of her gown. “Again, I apologize.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple working with the action. She watched it bob, and then he turned back to his work. “I apologize,” he said for the third time, “I shouldn’t have barged in like that. The maid had gone to bed already and I didn’t want to disturb her, so I will start a fire for you.”
“Thank you,” she managed in a nervous tone.
Christian’s shoulders sank with regret it seemed. But he said nothing more as he arranged the wood and then drew a little stick across the stone of the hearth. The action was followed by a little whooshing sound and then light exploded in front of him, causing his outline to be gilded with flickering yellow. That…that was not flint!
Without thinking about how it had happened, Contessa found herself right next to him, lowering to her knees. “How did you make fire so easily?” she asked watching in awe as he ignited some tinder that he’d tucked in around the wood.
He leaned back with the wooden stick between two fingers, shook it back and forth and the flame went out, leaving a trail of smoke twirling upwards. “This is a match.”
“A match?”
“Yes, it’s simply a stick where the end has been coated with flammable chemicals which will burst into flame when dragged across any hard surface.”
Again, his explanation made no sense whatsoever. “Oh,” she said, just then realizing where she was, and how close he was to her.
As the fire licked around the wood, crackling, she lifted her hands to feel the warmth.
“Would you like to try it?” he asked, holding out another match to her.
She took it, her fingers brushing against his. Again, Contessa trembled, and it certainly was not from the cold. “What do I do?” she asked.
“Just drag this end along the stone.” He pointed to the coated end.
After doing what he said, she watched in startled amazement as that whooshing sound preceded another burst of light before it flickered and shrunk to a smaller flame. “Wow,” she breathed, as the little fire devoured the thin stick.
Christian slid two fingers into his mouth, withdrew them and pinched out the flame. His dimple was showing. “Careful now. If you let it get too low, it will burn your fingers.”
“How did you put it out like that without burning yours?”
“The moisture helped, and I was quick about it.”
“Oh.”
His gaze shifted lower, and she remembered her state of being undone.
She gasped and lunged to her feet, desperately gathering the front of her gown. The match fell and clattered on the stones in front of the fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she blushed fiercely.
Christian stood also, his height such, that he had to look down at her. “Your chemise was still fastened, no need to worry.”
The words were obviously meant as comfort, however, they did not offer much at all.
He sighed, and the dimple was gone. “I’ll go now. Sleep well.”
“Yes, sleep well, Christian.”
He paused at the door when she said his name, but didn’t turn back. Instead he grasped onto the door handle as though it were his saving grace and left hastily.
With her chin dropping, she considered her level of indecency. He was right, she was still covered. She finished disrobing and then paused when she reached for the laces of her chemise. She had not a night rail to sleep in. “I suppose my chemise will have to do.” Contessa reached to turn down the covers, climbed into the cool bed and shuddered some more.
It was nice to have a fire going, but that did not warm the sheets. Regardless, she settled her head into the pillows which swallowed her up in one gulp. But the fluffiness did not prevent the hairpins from digging into her scalp, and she heaved out of the cloud that was her pillows and began removing the pins, dropping them one by one onto the side table.
Once her hair was free, she reached for…she looked at the side table, at the wooden wardrobe on the other side of the chamber, on the other table nestled next to the fire.
There was no brush.
She began finger-combing her hair instead. When she’d loosened as many tangles as she could, she lowered back into the devouring pillows. They surrounded her and it was rather nice to be enveloped in such extravagant softness.
Contessa rolled to one side, pulled her knees up, and tugged the blankets to her chin.
She was still cold….
And could she sleep? No, certainly not. So she lay there watching the shadows dance across the wall, taking in the smell of the fire. She twisted her cheek farther into the pillow, drew in another breath and thought what delightful smelling sheets these were. Like roses? Or lavender? She could not recall. She then rubbed her cheek and fingers against the varying fabrics smothering her, experiencing the different weaves.
And shivered another time. The sensations against her flesh became almost torturing: The fabrics of the covers were soft, but when she moved, she encountered the cold parts that had not been warmed by her body. The left side of her was warmed by the fire, but not the right. She rolled, attempting to even out the experience, but heat would quickly flee from the first side as the second warmed.
Finally after flipping and flopping for what she suspected was half the night, she moved from the bed, dragged the top coverlets and a pillow from it, then moved closer to the fire. She dropped the pillow at one end of the thick rug lying before the hearth, curled up and tucked the blanket in around herself like a cocoon.
She was awakened by the voice of a woman saying, “My lady?"
Chapter 16
Privy
Jackson had just given Christian his coat when an earsplitting scream cut through the quiet and caused his skin to crawl.
“Do you think, perhaps, Bea found a ghost?” the butler whispered.
He certainly hoped not as another screech reached his ears. But it sure sounded like the maid had discovered a ghost. He shared one glance of shocked worry with the old man before bolting for the door.
He wrenched open Contessa’s door and then halted at the sight that greeted him.
Standing on the stripped bed, shrieking like a banshee, was the maid. And upon the floor near the fireplace was a struggling lump of the missing bed coverings, which was also emitting muffled cries.
Christian dove for the lump.
And carefully held it down, feeling relieved to discover she was quite solid underneath the material. “Shh, Contessa. What ever is the matter?”
“I-I know not,” he thought she said.
Keeping a hold of Contessa, Christian twisted to face the maid who was still perched upon the bed, looking as though an evil beast truly lurked within the chamber. “Beatrice? What is going on?”
The maid pointed to the far corner. “’Tis a-a f-filthy mouse, my lord.” And apparently it moved because the silly girl began flailing and squealing in terror again.
He frowned and rolled his eyes. A mouse of all things…. The distressing sound coming from Bea upset Contessa again, and she resumed her muffled cries and wriggling.
“Get off that bed, Bea, and go and fetch a man to take care of it then!” he bellowed angrily as he scooped Contessa up from the floor and moved to the mattress setting her on his lap. The maid tiptoed from the room with her skirts held high as though the little creature could slither over and halt her escape.
As Tessa continued to struggle, he searched for an opening in the blankets so he could see her face. “Darling, it is all right. Please be calm. It was only a mouse.”
She stopped twisting at his words and muttered through fabric and down, “A mouse?” he was fairly certain she said.
Finally he found a gap and revealed an adorable-looking Tessa with flushed cheeks, bright green eyes and mussed locks of honey. “Yes, a little brown mouse, and a baby one, I’d suspect from the size of it,” he said.
She burst into a peal of giggles. “That is what she was going on so franticly about?”
His eyes rounded. “You weren’t frightened of it, too?”
“Of a wee mouse? Are you daft? I think they’re such cute little creatures. ‘Twas the maid’s bellowing that distressed me. I did not know what horrible thing she was hollering about and could not get free!”
And now he laughed. “Which reminds me, what in the world were you doing on the floor with the blankets when you had a perfectly fine bed to sleep in?”
She blushed more so, and he recalled how he’d wanted to see that. He’d been right, she blushed absolutely beautifully. “Well, I was cold and could not sleep, so I moved closer to the fire.”
“Ah, I see. I’m sorry I didn’t start the fire sooner. Were you able to sleep once you did get warm?”
“Mostly.”
“Only mostly?”
“It is,” she began, paused to nibble her dark pink lip and then whispered, “overwhelming to feel.”
“I can imagine that is the case.” He began untangling her a little more and revealed her shoulders and arms, but she snatched the covers back to her chin with a gasp.
“Christian, I’m not…decently clothed!”
He could feel the smile twisting his mouth; he sure liked it when she said his name. Christian chuckled and kissed her nose. “Then I will leave you to getting dressed so that you may join me for breakfast.”
Those gorgeous green eyes of hers widened at the mention of food, and she smiled a smile that melted his insides. Go on, kiss her again, he thought, then decided now wasn’t the best time.
“Christian,” she asked drawing his gaze from her plump pink mouth.
“Yes, darling?”
“What am I to wear? My wedding gown again?”
“I suppose for now that is all you have. We could go to the dress shop later and get some new clothes made up for you.”
“But I do not have any coin.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“But your allowance—”
“…will be restored. At least part of it will be.”
“But—” His fingers landed gently on her lips to silence her. The feel of her soft mouth beneath his skin reminded him of the kiss he’d been thinking about a moment ago, and without considering his actions, Christian hunched closer.
He most definitely wasn’t prepared for her to squeak suddenly and fight to get loose of the blankets as she slid from his hold. “What is it, sweeting?” he said, attempting to help her, worried she didn’t want the kiss he nearly gave.
She batted at his fingers. “I can do it.” But she looked slightly frantic.
“What is it you need?”
“I need…I need…” But she seemed afraid to actually say what it was she really needed.
And then he understood, “Ah, the privy.”
“Yes!”
“That’s the medieval word for it. You should be proud I remembered—”
“I do not care what it’s called! Where is it?” She’d managed to escape two of the blankets and had the last one wrapped around herself like a cloak.
He took her arm and led her to the door. “The water closet is different then you’re used to. I’ll need to show—”
She halted their momentum. “Truly you are daft if you think I want you there!”
Again a laugh escaped him, and he forced her to continue. “Princess, we have the most modern commode, and running hot water.”
“Running hot water?” She halted again.
Which caused him to pull her once more. “Yes, a newly installed system last year. I’ll show you.”
As they reached the water closet, he tugged her inside. Contessa gasped and fell back against his chest.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Christian looped his arms around her waist, and walked her over to the commode. “Well, obviously, you sit…and then pull that chain to flush—”
“Flush?”
“Uh…” He honestly didn’t know any other word to explain it, but she didn’t give him a chance as she began pushing him back toward the doorway.
“Out! I mean, thank you, but I can figure it out on my own.”
“Very well,” he said, knowing when not to push, and left.
As he went down to the dining room and began filling his plate from the sideboard with eggs, sausage, kippers and bacon, Christian noted the look on the maid’s face. And it wasn’t flattering toward him. Hoping to distract her, he said, “I didn’t see anyone come up to take
care of the rodent. Could you not find help?”
“Jackson said he would catch it when he was finished with his other duties, my lord.”
“I see.” He pulled a chair out from the table and settled into it. “What is wrong, Bea?”
“That lady, my lord,” his title came out sounding like a curse, “do you plan to marry her?”
He rolled his eyes. Yet another person stood judging him. Perhaps he was too lenient with his servants…. “In fact I do plan to wed her,” he countered.
The girl looked at him with not a little suspicion, and he couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gained the impression he was some sort of rake. He hadn’t been the type of man who brought any women here in the past.
“Why do you doubt me?” he asked with his anger showing.
She saw it, displaying the appropriate amount of submission and snatched up a bacon-laden plate, muttering a blatant fib, “’Tis half empty. I must fill it.”
When she returned, he demanded, “Why do you doubt me, Bea? I must know.”
Bea hesitated, wringing her apron with thin fingers, and then said quietly, “Lady Spencer’s maid is my sister. I heard that—”
“Bloody hell, no!” Christian shot to his feet, knocking over the chair. He seized the maid by the arms. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, but her expression was terrified and he could feel her trembling. Not wanting to cause the girl to suffer for his anger toward that spoiled chit, he lowered his voice. “Forgive me, but whatever she said was a lie—”
“Poppy would never lie to me—”
“Not your sister, that brat, Lady Spencer!” Bea gaped; obviously shocked he would call a lady a brat. He went on, “I only danced once with her! She has no claim!”
The girl still gawked at him, her mouth opening and closing without any words coming out.
“Please, my dear, tell your sister that whatever foul words are spewing from Lady Spencer’s lips are untrue. I will not have Tessa hurt by this.”
Remaining mute, Bea nodded, bobbed a curtsy, slipped from his fingers, which weren’t holding her very tightly at all, and scurried away.
He groaned, wondering what gossip that brunette was spreading about him, righted his seat and sat back down. After dragging his fingers through his hair, he forked up some eggs and stuffed them into his mouth, then pushed the plate away. They were cold. He touched the meat with his finger, so was the bacon…and where was Tessa? Surely it should not take this long for her to….
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