Chapter 30

Thirty

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

WILLIAM

The sunlight was an unwelcome intruder. I had my very own sun, wrapped naked in my arms and half buried under a blanket. What use had I for the one intruding on our morning?

I threw an arm over my head to block the irritating rays. That did nothing for the infuriating little bird outside that was determined to remind me I should be dressing for work at that very moment. The least it could do was learn a third note. Perhaps Celine would like a cat, one that ate whatever specific bird that was.

Beside me, Celine stretched languidly, her curves pressed all along my side in a way that was definitely not encouraging me to get out of bed.

"Hush you," she murmured. To my great astonishment, the bird listened, ceasing its infernal two-toned chirp instantly.

"You're a magician."

I felt, rather than saw the self-satisfied smile cross her lips as she slung an arm low on my waist. "The bird and I have an understanding."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it. How are you feeling?"

"Like I never want to leave this bed. Here is perfect. We don't need to go out there, do we?"

"I don't… At least not yet. You, on the other hand, seem to feel that your attendance at your place of business is necessary."

"Cruel."

"You've just now noticed?"

"Noticed last night when you were trying to kill me."

"Only a little death…"

"Misnomer, that. One day my heart will stop beating and it won't feel nearly as momentous as that."

"I cannot disagree. I don't suppose I can convince you that work is entirely unnecessary?" she asked.

"You absolutely could."

"And if I wished to set about doing that… How, precisely, should I make it happen? And please do be explicit."

When I finally managed to drag myself from her arms, I was only very, very late.

It took all the willpower I possessed to leave her in that bed, sprawled across it as she hummed thoughtfully. She watched me with hooded eyes as I parsed through my clothes that had miraculously found their way to her dressing room.

I ought to be ashamed of how much her servants knew, but I had a limited capacity for cares and they were all occupied with her.

"Do you have plans this evening?" she asked, nonchalant as she stood to don her dressing gown.

"Planned to ravish you until sunrise," I grumbled as I tugged my fresh shirt over my head. It was nearly impossible to remind myself why we could not begin immediately. The not insignificant risk of my heart giving out from the exquisite bliss of entering her for a second time in an hour was pitifully unconcerning.

"So nothing fixed?" she pressed.

"No, nothing," I said, sliding on stockings while seated at the edge of the bed. She had found her hairbrush and was running it through the ends of her curls carefully.

I wanted to do that. Damnable employment.

"Kate is hosting a ball tonight…"

I groaned. "Please don't ask me what you're about to ask me."

"But..."

"Celine…"

"But it's Kate. And Lord Leighton—Mr. Summers—will certainly be there, so you can complain together." Her lower lip dipped out just the tiniest bit. It was absurd, enticing, and altogether too adorable. I caught it between mine, giving it a nip.

Quite frankly, I did not possess the needed resolution to resist, nor did I wish to. Still, I managed to break away, answering with a flat, "No."

Her jaw fell open and her eyes widened. "You… but…"

"Me—But nothing. You and your feminine wiles are not subtle, minx."

"Will… Please?" It was the please that finally did it. The please and the big downturned olive eyes.

"Fine, but I won't dance." I shoved my legs through my trousers irritably. I didn't want to be putting these on, and in my present state, they were more than a little uncomfortable.

"All right, but one dance though."

"Am I speaking? I feel like I'm speaking and words are coming out of my mouth and those words have meaning. But you seem neither to hear nor understand the ones you do not like."

"Precisely, so you may as well give in. Two dances, the supper set I think. And the first."

"What happened to one?"

"You know you want to dance with me."

"I want to dance with you between these sheets," I said, nodding to the bed beside us. "I have absolutely no interest in the rest of the ton's involvement."

"Oh, very well. I suppose I shall be able to find some other partner."

The sound that ripped from my chest was in the vicinity of a growl. What was this woman doing to me? "You are a tease."

"I am a delight, and you know it. Three dances."

"I don't know three dances."

"I'll lead." She held out my waistcoat for me to slip my arms in. I turned in her grasp and she slipped the buttons through the fabric.

"You will be the death of me."

"Very likely," she answered pertly. She straightened the knot of my cravat and ran her fingers through my curls, smoothing them. "There, all respectable again. No indication that I spent the evening debauching you beyond belief."

That would not do.

I kissed her, hot, hard, fierce, desperate, pouring every ounce of regret, and irritation that I had to leave into her. Finally, I pulled away. She looked thoroughly tupped and, by the way her thumb traced my lower lip with an indulgent smile, I feared I did too.

"Get to work. Before I tie you to the bed."

"Goodbye, love."

"Goodbye, William. Be home by six?" Her lower lip caught between her teeth and I caught a hint of the vulnerability she was trying to hide.

Home by five then, and perhaps flowers on the way.

"Six."

I was very, very late. And I cared very, very little.

All the clerks were in when I finally walked through the office door after a considerably longer walk than usual. Kit, on the other hand, was not there, though he had been at some point if the tarts were any indication. They had been well enjoyed before my arrival, all but a few were little more than crumbs. I grabbed one without regard for flavor.

I hadn't yet made it to my chair before Bates was out of his and hovering in my doorway.

"Good morning, sir. I'm glad to see you're well. When you weren't in, I went upstairs to check on you and there wasn't an answer. Mr. Summers told me you were staying elsewhere?"

"I am perfectly well, thank you. In the future, you need not concern yourself with my whereabouts."

I was becoming more and more certain that he had been involved in the break-in. He was too young to have been entangled in Gabriel's murder, but surely he knew something.

"Right, of course. Where are you staying? Somewhere nice I expect. You look well-rested. How long do you think you'll be away from home?"

I prided myself on being a kind and fair employer. But even I had my limits. Today of all days most especially, a day when I left a warm, sun-kissed goddess in bed to be harassed by a particularly incompetent, nitwit of a criminal.

Still, I needed whatever information he had, and I wasn't likely to get it by slamming my office door in his face. No matter how tempting the thought.

"I am staying with a friend. And I will be gone as long as necessary. Now, I believe there is work to be done…" I raised a brow in the direction of his desk, and he finally had no other option but to scamper off.

I needed to discuss this with Kit.

I dug Xander's documents out of my satchel, the one that never left my side when I was in the office now. I was nearly finished with some of the contracts Xander had requested when Kit finally returned, looking rumpled and harassed.

"Finally made it in?"

"You're one to talk."

"I was helping my sister and her arse of a husband with her ball, you were… Well, I have no wish to know what you were doing," he said, grabbing the last tart and wandering into my office. He tugged the door shut behind him.

"Are you ever going to forgive the man?" I asked.

"He made Kate sad. Have you met Kate? That ought to be impossible. She may have forgiven him, but I don't have to."

He took the seat across from me and grabbed a scrap of parchment, then scribbled a note.

Bates is listening at the door.

"How is dearest Kate? Prepared for her ball tonight?" I asked, writing my true reply while overenunciating my question.

He knows who is involved in all of this. Should we interrogate? Or try to get him to slip?

"I hadn't thought you were listening when she invited you to the ball," he replied.

There have been no further attempts. We can risk a more subtle approach.

"I wasn't."

Agreed, but we should keep him from more sensitive accounts. He may be after more than the Hasket documents.

"So the lovely Lady Rycliffe has convinced you to attend? What did she offer, I wonder?" He nodded his assent.

"Nothing at all, merely the gift of her company."

"Ah, threatened to dance with other men, did she?"

"You can leave my office now." I held the page over a candle until it caught, then I held the flaming parchment over the rubbish can and watched it burn thoroughly, completely, before pouring the day-old cup of tea on my desk into the bin.

"I could, but where would be the fun in that?"

"Christopher…" I grumbled in mock irritation.

"You should head out early. Kate will have your head if you make Lady Rycliffe late. Kate adores her."

"That is hardly a novelty. Everyone adores her."

"Too right," he said before wandering out the door and into his office.

Reviewing Xander's documents took most of the morning and proved a sufficient distraction. Unfortunately, it left the afternoon without occupation.

The ball tonight was a looming shadow over the day. Nerves and Celine's continued absence from my arms left me tetchy and irritable, to the detriment of all.

It had been so easy this morning to agree to attend this certainly disastrous ball when Celine was all mussed from my hands and mouth. How could I say no when her fingers were tangled in my hair and her lips pressed against mine?

Now, though, I actually had to attend this mess. An event exclusively for the wealthy and titled, of which I was neither and she was both.

Even though her mother hadn't warned her off, the ton would certainly set Celine to rights. They would remind her that I was beneath her in appearance, status, rank, and wealth. Below her in even the more subjective measures of desirability—affability and gentility. Tonight would throw into sharp relief just how ill-suited we were.

She would finally see, finally understand, what I had known the entire time. I learned many years ago that affection wasn't enough to scale society's barriers. Love wasn't enough—my love, specifically. And, as easy as it was in her presence, my love alone could not forge a relationship—especially not in the face of such obstacles.

Still, I could not regret last night. I would not trade a single second of it for the entire world. Not even if it was the only night we would ever have.

I would treasure it enough for the both of us.

A million years later and far too soon, Kit popped his head back into my office with a wordless nod toward the door. My forlorn expression, he was content to ignore, but my heaving sigh was not enough.

"It'll be all right, Will. You've got an earl in your corner, remember? Just give me the signal and I'll commit some horrible faux pas that will have them talking for the next decade."

"What, precisely, is the signal?"

"Your complete and utter humiliation. Do not worry, I will know it when I see it."

"Lovely."

"Just hide in the library. That's what Wayland and Lady Juliet do. Probably best knock first though."

"Do I wish to know why?"

"Absolutely not."

"Very well."

The walk back to Cadieux House was too quick, even with a detour for flowers—not irises. I bypassed Bouvier as quickly as possible, desperate to avoid conversations about my whereabouts last evening, I took the stairs two at a time.

"Will?" Celine called from her dressing room. I turned that way instead of toward the blue room I had been using. Peering inside, I found Celine's maid fussing with her curls at the dressing table.

"'Lo, love," I murmured, leaning against the door. I could only see her reflection in the mirror. Even that sight felt very much like the punch I had taken a few days ago. She was so damn beautiful with the late-afternoon sun streaming through the window.

Her eyes darted to the clock on the mantel before widening slightly. She said six—I was certain of it. I had left at quarter to four, it couldn't be anywhere near six. Still, my stomach lurched with worry as I checked the clock myself—half past four.

"You're early." The statement was simple, but her voice was thick with unknown emotion.

"Too early? I can duck into the study for a bit."

"No, no. Not too early." A sentiment was behind the words that was clearly beyond me and it had me off-kilter already.

Clenching my hands for want of something to do, I nearly squished the purple calla lily stems in my grasp. Trying to affect more confidence than I felt, I stepped into the room and set them on the table beside her.

"You're early and you brought me flowers?" she asked, turning toward me in her chair.

"Yes?"

"Jane, would you be a dear and fetch a vase?" Though the question was directed toward the woman behind her wearing a slightly peeved expression, Celine's eyes never left mine.

It was very, very slowly dawning on me that I may not have made a misstep after all. I may have done something very right.

Behind her, the maid tossed a handful of hairpins on the table in irritation before setting off in search of the vase. Though improper, I could hardly blame her for her annoyance. It was entirely probable that Celine's hair would be in quite a state of disarray when I was finished greeting her.

"You came home early."

"I did."

"And you brought me flowers."

"Yes…"

"To attend a ball you would rather chew your own foot off than accompany me to."

"I wouldn't put it quite that way…"

Her hand tangled in my cravat, and she pulled me down to my knees before her. She cupped my cheek with her free hand and traced the bone with her thumb.

"Thank you," she whispered just before capturing my lips in a kiss.

I had absolutely done something right—though what it was, I had no idea. I wasn't going to quibble over details while her tongue was tracing my lower lip, seeking entrance.

I was not unaware of our positions, of my proximity to the heat of her that I was desperate to taste for a… third? Or would it be the fourth time? Last night was a blur of silken flesh, lust-filled moans, and unbearable ecstasy.

If my hands wandered to her hair of their own volition, who could blame me?

Apparently Jane, if the irritated groan from the doorway was any indication. I wrenched my lips from Celine's while her lady's maid stomped over to the table and thumped the filled vase onto it.

"You do her hair then!" The woman whirled around and stalked away, slamming the door.

Celine caught her lower lip between her teeth, desperately trying to hide a smile. My laughter was bubbling beneath the surface, only to escape in an inelegant snort. Celine's quickly followed, although it was more delicate.

Slowly we managed to settle. "Well, I suppose I have a coiffure to arrange." Another laugh burst from her, and I had to duck to hide a pleased smile.

I rose and stepped behind her to examine the damage I had wrought. Honestly, Jane was overreacting. I had left Celine in much worse states than this.

Still, best to start with a good foundation. I slipped out the pins Jane had already placed, and set them beside the others scattered across the table.

"You're not really going to?" Celine asked, her lips pursed in a perfect O of surprise.

"Well, I can hardly do more damage than I already have. If it's rubbish we can take them out and beg Jane's forgiveness."

She raised a brow at me in the mirror, her lips pressed into an indulgent smile.

Free from pins, I untangled her curls one by one with my fingers. Celine collected the disorderly pins, topped with glinting baubles, while I worked and dropped them into a little pile.

Task completed, she turned to the flowers. One by one she placed them in the vase, arranging them thoughtfully. It seemed that they were an acceptable choice.

I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with my task. I was, however, extremely out of practice. But Adriane's hair had been much straighter and more resistant to taming. That experience worked in my favor. Celine's waves seemed willing to cooperate when I twisted a large mass of them into a delicate knot at the back of her head. I pinned it in place, making every effort not to stab her scalp. Adriane had wailed when that had happened.

In short order, I had the majority of her strands securely pinned back with a few framing her face. Even I could see the style was not quite right, but I thought it was quite lovely on her. Of course, I was hardly unbiased.

Celine observed my progress quietly in the mirror while I worked, handing me pin after pin before I needed to ask.

"Well, I could have done worse, but I don't believe I shall give up my office in favor of becoming a lady's maid. Let me apologize to Jane." Her hand caught my own as I turned to leave.

"Don't. I like it. We both should apologize, of course. But I will keep it, I think."

"Love, it's not the style."

"But it suits me much better than the style." She slipped one of the lilies out of the vase and sliced the stem off with the edge of a nearby letter opener. After grabbing a spare ribbon, she deftly wrapped the stem, all without a word. Finally, she handed it to me. "Will you add this? It matches my gown."

The desire was there to protest, to argue, to insist. The need to spare her this one humiliation was nearly overwhelming. But I had seen resolve in her countenance before, and I knew what it meant. I would be better off arguing with a tree stump for all the good it would do to try to convince her. I tucked the flower between curls and pinned it in place without comment.

No longer distracted by my task, I was able to appreciate the sight of her in her gossamer chemise and nothing else. Her breasts pulled enticingly at the fabric and I was very much regretting fixing her hair when I could have had it curtaining us atop her bed coverings.

"Just noticed, did you?"

"I was busy. I don't suppose we have time to…"

"No, since someone ran off my maid, I need assistance with my stays and gown."

With a regretful sigh, I turned toward the screen where a purple gown and stays hung. I was prepared to follow instructions, no matter how much I regretted the need for her to wear any clothing at all.