Chapter 24

Twenty-Four

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 15, 1816

CELINE

Apparently, I was fond of spectacles on a man. Who could have known? Also, how was I expected to concentrate on anything after the showing Will made on the terrace?

I had such plans this morning. I was going to trounce him thoroughly and he would fall to his knees, impressed with my swordsmanship. Instead, he trounced me , and he was entirely too handsome while he did it.

Now he was reviewing ledgers while wearing spectacles which was astonishingly something I found attractive. So far, we'd managed to determine that the horse was likely bred sometime in the three or four years before Gabriel was killed. That was before my time with him, so I was proving to be of little help.

Of course, the longer and more in-depth our search into Gabriel's less than gentlemanly occupations prior to our marriage, the less I was enjoying the results. Thus far, nothing had been a shock. But the reminder of just how much of a degenerate he was in the years before we met stung.

And I was not alone in my irritation. Oh, William was being nice about it, but both of our frustration was mounting. He'd removed the spectacles at least three times, cleaning them on a handkerchief before returning them to the bridge of his nose. And my lip was certainly reddened from biting back my annoyance.

I was fairly certain we were reviewing transactions from around the time Gabriel had seduced Adriane. It was not exactly a delight to find out just how much money my husband had spent at the local brothel before we met. Still, unlike William, I managed to refrain from clenching my jaw. Each time he did it, the motion emphasized the chiseled angles of his face.

I shouldn't find it attractive. My new suitor's annoyance with my late husband was absolutely not something I should take pleasure in, no matter how enjoyable the resulting view.

"What do you suppose is offered at a brothel for ten pounds? Surely nothing should cost that much." His question was distracted and likely rhetorical though it still hit a mark. Gabriel had never touched another woman after we wed, I had no question of that. But such an astronomical sum… What services could garner that? Certainly nothing we had done together.

"I have no idea."

"It's just… I see gentlemen's finances all day long. I've never seen anything close to that amount."

"Well I do not believe that overpaying at a brothel is what got him killed." The snappishness of my tone must have registered finally because he broke free from his ledgers, startled.

His eyes, like the sky after a rainstorm in the afternoon, widened with something like regret. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I forgot for a moment. Do you want me to set this aside? I can continue tomorrow, or this evening after supper."

"No… No. I just, Victoria was a point of contention between us. This is… more difficult than I expected. And for you as well, I expect."

"You're not wrong. He… he could have saved her. He was spending more than a hundred pounds per annum at a brothel, but he could not provide for Adriane? And that does not even consider what he lost regularly at the card table. He wouldn't even have had to marry her. She could have lived comfortably with less than half what he was wasting. But I should not be speaking so, not to you."

"It's in the past, it hardly signifies."

"I think we should set these aside for today. We've made quite a bit of progress. Mr. Wesley Parker seems to be a recurring name in the official ledgers that coincides with funds from ‘Cock-sure Blunderbuss.' The notes, ‘flush' or ‘in quite deep' seem to indicate whether Gabriel is paying or receiving funds. ‘White's' clearly refers to the brothel, not the club. ‘Puff Guts' seems to be the Earl of Westfield, who has yet to win in the year and a half we've made it through. ‘Hell's Own' seems to be Wayland to whom Gabriel seems to lose somewhat consistently. In fairness, a lesser sum than I've often seen men owe Wayland. That's a great number off our list that we've at least identified in the secondary ledgers."

"Very well."

"Celine, love. I am sorry. I can try to review these without your assistance."

"It's not that… Gabriel was not a good man. I know that. I knew that then as well. But I suppose time had dulled the painful sheen on the knowledge. Still, I want to help. I need to help."

"Of course, anything you need. I will try to be less obtuse."

"It's all right, William. Truly."

"It's not."

"I just, I think I could have borne it. If it were accident or illness that took him from me. But this… It was all so senseless. My husband died over a horse, or a game of hazard. Xander and Davina lost a brother, Her Grace lost a son, and for what? At least if you had killed him, you would've had good reason."

He huffed a laugh in response. "I've never understood the gentry. Not really. Even the late duke. I knew what I needed to do to curry his favor. I knew the consequences of failing to do so. But I never understood him."

"Even though I'm one of them, I find it baffling. All those years, singing and dancing and performing exactly as they wished to keep a roof over our heads. I never felt like I belonged, not really. Not after we fled. And now… Now I do what I wish."

His blinding smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes illustrated his delight more than words could have.

"What is it that you wish?" He gazed up at me from beneath his spectacles. His hand made a tentative movement toward my own, pressed to the desk. When he glanced down at his destination he paused, reconsidering. Ink? At that moment I could not have cared less about stains.

I caught his fingers, denying his retreat, tangling them with my own. The ink on his fingers smudged onto mine. He made a half-hearted effort to separate, but I merely tightened my hand, keeping him in place. There was something about the sight… I had a rather inappropriate vision of that ink staining other areas of my person, far more scandalous places than fingertips.

Just then, I wanted it desperately. My cheeks, my jaw, the bodice of my gown, my waist, my bottom, every inch of me covered in ink, stained fingerprints marking me for the world as his. And the smudges underneath my gown too, but those would mark me as his for the two of us alone.

If he knew the direction my thoughts had taken, he gave no sign of it. He studied me with curious eyes and an air of uncertainty. It was so different from the confidence I was accustomed to. He was so hesitant to press for more, even after the morning we shared. Yet, none of my actions had been unwelcome.

Summoning my courage, I pulled my hand from his and he dropped it at the first indication of resistance, releasing it as though it were on fire. It was both refreshingly endearing and the tiniest bit heartbreaking. I wanted him to feel sure in touching me.

I could continue to lead in this respect, though. I pushed his chair away from the desk and settled myself astride his lap with a confidence I did not feel.

His eyes widened in something that was either panic or arousal. Before I could question it too much, his hands settled about my waist, pinning me in place. And conveniently fulfilling my earlier fantasy. I would never draw his attention to it, he would certainly stop to fuss over the ink. It was an issue for future Celine to explain to future Jane before readying for dinner tonight. There was no place for stains here.

"You."

"What?" His voice was strangled and discomfited. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hide the smile. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I overwhelmed this man.

"You asked what I wish. I wish for you. You seem to like me just as I am. I've made no effort to curry your favor. You're helping me for absolutely no fathomable reason, at great personal cost. You're not afraid to put me in my place. You're unbearably handsome, particularly in your spectacles, if I do say so myself. You're what I wish."

His throat bob was his only reaction. He seemed to have forgotten how to blink. It was… sweet. I'd never entertained a sweet man before, deeming them too easily manipulated to be of any interest. But I was finding that I liked it quite a lot.

"What would you have me do?" He finally managed to offer up the question, slightly wary.

"Whatever you wish. There are no rules. A benefit of widowhood."

He removed the spectacles distractedly, decidedly avoiding my gaze.

"I'm not—surely you know—you must have gleaned by now—I'm not very skilled… with women." My heart clenched, warmed by his admission. There was guilt too, at the pleasure I took in something that took so much fortitude to admit.

"I don't need you to be skilled with women." His eyes shot to mine with confusion written across his brow. "I want you to be skilled with one woman—me. And I am more than happy to teach you."

"Celine…" His admonishment was halfway between a growl and a purr, and it had me clenching my thighs.

Determined to retain the upper hand, I retorted, "Not now, of course. Now we need to dress for supper. With my mother."

He blinked slowly, his thoughts returning from soft sheets and even softer caresses. "You're a minx. You know that?" The question was half under his breath and entirely distracted as I rose and offered him a hand up.

He shook his head. "Need a minute. I suspect I'll take less time to dress than you as well. I'll have another look at the ledgers and be up in a moment."

"All right, but do not think I will allow you to miss this supper."

"Wouldn't dream of it, love." I pressed a quick kiss to his temple and gave his shoulders a commiserating rub on my way out the door.