Chapter Eleven

C HAPTER E LEVEN

Lady Long-Nose taught Christina all she knew about poetry and beautiful words, but no matter how Christina tried, none of the lessons seemed to stick in her brain.

“Whatever shall I do?” Christina cried.

Lady Long-Nose knew what she must do, for Sabinus would never love her. She gave Christina her own letter and said, “Give him this.”

—From Lady Long-Nose

Julian was transfixed by the scene before him.

Elspeth wore only her chemise and stays, the light from the fire behind her almost revealing her form. The curve of her arse was tantalizingly close to being exposed. He could see the press of her stays into her soft back, the way her arms curved so gently from her shoulders.

And when she turned, her breasts were pushed into beautifully plump mounds. Her chemise was embroidered simply at the neck with blue flowers, and he followed the thread with his eyes. Was that the pink of a nipple? Or was he seeing things he wished were there?

“I’m bathing,” Elspeth said.

It took him a moment to parse the meaning of her words. He blinked. “Your hair is wet.”

“Yes, it is,” she replied kindly. “Wet and rather hard to comb.” She gestured to the curled tangles.

“I could…” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky. “I could comb it for you. Before the fire.”

She merely looked at him for a moment. “I thought you wanted me to stay away.”

He had. He’d said that to her. “I…” His mind was a complete blank. Don’t hold me to my words , he wanted to say. Please let me in.

She held out the comb, and he couldn’t help but think she looked like some innocent Eve, newly born and unaware of her power, offering the apple.

He should walk away.

He meant to walk away.

His hand grasped the comb instead.

Julian took a breath and gestured to the hearth. “If we move closer, your hair will dry faster.”

She nodded, and he dragged over two chairs.

She sat without further word, facing away as he took the chair behind her. He had to hitch the chair closer, spreading his legs to either side of hers, to comfortably reach the cascade of mane before him. Even then he hesitated. This was odd, surely. Elspeth sitting in her underclothes, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft snoring of the mutt. This was something outside the bounds of society—indeed outside his personal experience. To sit close to a woman without sexual intent—though the sensual tension was certainly high; to perform such a domestic act.

To comb her hair.

Elspeth made no move, said nothing at his silence and hesitation. She simply waited. Perhaps she thought of other things. The diary she searched for. Friends in London. Her dog.

But she shivered when he touched her nape, handling the mass of hair to bring it over the back of her chair. “Sit back,” he said, his voice a deep scrape, as if he hadn’t spoken for years.

She scooted until she rested against the back of the chair.

He took a breath and set the comb to her crown.

“No,” she said softly. “It’ll tangle more if combed from the top. Start at the ends and work up.”

He nodded, though she could not see. The tips of her strands were heavy with water. He held them in his palm as he drew the comb through, water dripping to the floor. Did married men do this? Comb their wives’ hair? Not in the ranks of the aristocracy, he was fairly certain. Ladies had maids to perform such services. Only a poor man might hold his woman’s tresses and carefully sort the locks.

Or a man who dearly loved his wife.

Julian blinked, frowning at his work. He was not married. Or in love. So why did he perform this act? Was it a submission? A degradation, acting as her lady’s maid?

But he did not feel degraded.

He felt…

Warm. Warm from the fire, certainly. Warm from the pulse of desire at the sight of her nape, gleaming in the firelight. Her body so close he could see the shadowed cleft of her bottom through the chemise. The soft, rose-scented skin of her shoulders. But warm in another way as well. Her acceptance of his presence. The relaxed, almost boneless way she sat, her neck exposed. As if she trusted him at her back.

As if she thought him a friend.

That was where the warmth came from. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her damp nape. Wanted to turn her around and take her lips. Wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her there, perhaps forever, a bright light for his coiled darkness.

“What do you think we should have for supper?” she asked, startling him from his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, making sure to keep his hands steady so he would not pull her golden hair. “What is there?”

“Wellll…,” she said, drawing out the word as if thinking. “The bread, of course, though I fear it’s gone hard. Some cheese. A sack of potatoes and one of onions. A small bit of ham. The eggs are gone, but we still have oats, thank goodness. Apples. Oh, and I found a lovely cabbage and two turnips this morning.”

Julian’s mind was entirely blank. “I suppose we could eat ham, apples, and cheese.”

She hummed doubtfully. “The thing is, I don’t think that’s enough to fill both of us up.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Red glinted in the soft locks he was combing, her hair curling around his fingers as he worked, like a happy cat napping in the sun.

“Soup.” She bounced on the seat. “Hot soup is lovely on a dreary rainy day.”

He cocked an eyebrow, even if she couldn’t see it. “And you know how to make such a soup?”

“Yes?” She glanced over her bare shoulder at him, a skeptical siren. “Don’t most people?”

He eyed her curiously. “Most common people, certainly. But most ladies? I very much doubt it.”

“Oh.” She turned to face forward again, hiding her expression from him. “Well, I learned cooking and other useful tasks when I was young, lady or not.”

When she was young? Had Ran lost his family’s wealth somehow? Why else would his sister—the sister of a landed duke—be forced to learn how to cook? But perhaps it was some sort of rustic education. A Scottish urge toward self-sufficiency even in the highest ranks of society.

That didn’t sound right, either.

He cleared his throat. “What other things did you learn?”

“The usual.” She waved a hand vaguely. “Geography, Latin, philosophy, arithmetic, Greek, history, and geometry.”

Geometry?

She inhaled. “Cooking, cleaning, sewing—”

Those are feminine tasks at least.

“Hunting, trapping, swimming, and swordsmanship—”

What?

“How to shoot and how to ride a horse. Though”—she sounded wistful—“not how to ride sidesaddle as ladies do here. That looks rather more difficult.”

She rode astride? He’d never seen a lady do such. It simply wasn’t done.

He waited, but she seemed to have run out of accomplishments. “Anything else?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed as if his prompt had made her remember something. “How to pick winkles at low tide. Though I suppose that’s not really a skill. One simply waits for low tide and takes them off the rocks.”

He blinked in confusion. “Winkles?”

She laughed. “Periwinkles. Sea snails, if you like. They’re lovely boiled in seawater. It was one of my favorite dishes growing up.”

He’d stopped combing her hair, staring incredulously at the drying locks in his hands. “You enjoyed eating snails .”

She turned almost all the way around then and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed in the warmth of the fire, her pink lips curved sensuously, her hair falling like a red-gold waterfall over her shoulder. She might’ve been painted by Botticelli, a Venus emerging from the sea.

“Yes, snails ,” she replied teasingly, oblivious to his thoughts. “Snails are delicious. One pokes them out of their shell with a little prick.”

He felt a tightening in his loins at the innocent remark. How could she not know the other meaning to the word?

He muttered under his breath before he could censor himself, “I’d think a large prick would be preferred.”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, her expression completely open.

How could this woman be the same one who had ordered him to perform such lascivious acts this morning? How could she leave him weakened and at her mercy and at the same time become excited by books and oatmeal and snails?

Why did Elspeth enthrall him so?

Elspeth stared at Julian, and for the life of her, she could not read his expression. Was it the winkles? Was he appalled at the thought of eating such common fare? She couldn’t tell.

“I promise,” she said softly, “not to put snails in the soup.”

He blinked at that, his head tilting slightly, as if he were trying to see her in a dim light. His words, though, were dry as dust. “I’m most relieved.”

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh, and his gaze went immediately to her mouth. “Would you like to help?”

“Help what?” he murmured, his gaze unshifted. His eyelids were half-lowered, giving him a drowsy, sultry look, as if the heat of the fire had melted him into a more unrestrained man.

She couldn’t help the pressing together of her thighs. She wanted to lean forward and smell his heated skin. Wanted to open his shirt and lick his throat.

What had they been talking about?

“Soup.” She stopped to swallow. “That is, would you like to help make the soup?”

He considered, and she rather expected that he’d decline. He’d been adamant about staying away from her before. And he’d had a cook to prepare his food for him. Perhaps he considered cooking beneath him.

She held her breath.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice, surprising her. “I think I’d like to discover how to make soup.”

Her smile couldn’t be contained, spreading over her face, bunching her cheeks, proclaiming her happiness to all. “Oh, good.” She felt her hair. It was nearly dry. “Are you done combing?”

“Ah.” He looked at the hand holding her comb as if he’d forgotten it was there. “No, not yet. Nearly, though.”

She turned to present her back and felt his fingers at the crown of her head, parting, sifting her hair. He was gentle as he worked the comb through her tresses. Her hair was fine and apt to tangle, and she’d been left in tears many a time when she was very small and a servant dressed her hair.

Julian was slow, thorough, as if combing her hair was an important job to him. Even with the heat of the fire, she could discern his warmth against her back and know it came from the man, not the fireplace. She held as still as she was able, luxuriating beneath his hands.

A creak from his chair alerted her that he’d shifted, but his breath against her ear was a surprise nonetheless. “Done now.”

The scent of limes and cloves enveloped her, and she took a moment to come to her senses. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

She gathered her hair and braided it swiftly into a simple tail over her shoulder.

Elspeth glanced from her own braid to Julian’s, as ever neat and orderly down his back. “We match, don’t we?”

“My tail could never be as beautiful as yours,” he said, looking at her intensely. “Your hair holds all the colors of firelight.”

She could feel a flush of pleasure spread up her cheeks. “Thank you.”

For a moment, they seemed locked in time, her gaze caught with his.

Then Plum rolled over with a groan.

“Erm…” She blinked, feeling as if she were waking from a deep sleep. “Soup. Yes. We’d better start the soup.”

She rose, smoothing out her crumpled chemise, which made her realize she was still in her underthings. “If you could fetch some onions and potatoes from the larder?”

He gave her an odd look but went to the larder readily enough.

Elspeth hurried to the kitchen table and drew on her still-damp padded petticoat, tying it about her waist as swiftly as she could. Her skirt at least was dry.

She had only one arm in her jacket when she heard a masculine throat clear. “Would you like help?”

She yanked the jacket together in the front, knowing that her face must be red as a radish and her hair coming down again.

“No, no, I’m quite capable,” she replied breathlessly.

And she was because her sturdy dark-blue linsey-woolsey fastened up the front, unlike a lady’s gown, which either had laces in the back or had a stomacher to pin. A maid or several were required for a lady’s toilet, and even though Elspeth was a lady, she was quite fond of dressing herself.

She finished pinning together the bodice and looked up.

Julian was watching her, a slight frown between his brows. “Won’t you be cold away from the fire?”

She glanced down at her bosom. Without her kerchief the bodice was quite low, exposing almost everything above her nipples.

“I’m sure I’ll be just fine,” Elspeth replied, her voice higher. He’d already seen her in just her chemise, of course, but somehow having her skirts and jacket on made the same expanse of bare skin feel more exposed. “I’ll just fetch the ham, shall I?”

She darted into the larder and blew out a breath. Silly! Ladies wore gowns much lower than hers at every London ball. She had no reason to be so shy before Julian Greycourt. He was an experienced man and probably inured to women’s breasts.

She pushed away from the larder door and found the remains of the ham hanging in a corner, as well as the turnips and cabbage, and then had a peek at Mrs. McBride’s herbs and spices. Salt, pepper, and a sprig of dried parsley should do nicely.

She brought the lot to the table, where she found Julian frowning at the potatoes as if they’d given him a terrible insult.

“What shall I do?” he growled at the vegetables.

“Peel and chop, of course,” Elspeth replied cheerfully. “But first can you half fill a large pot with water from the cistern?”

He went to find a pot without a word.

Meanwhile Elspeth found Mrs. McBride’s knives in a cupboard drawer and took them out, testing their sharpness against the edge of her thumb. Nodding to herself, she brought them to the table.

Julian was back with the pot of water, and Elspeth hung it over the fire. “Now,” she said, straightening, “do you know how to peel potatoes?”

He arched an eyebrow, looking the very epitome of an aristocrat, which she took to mean no.

Her lips twitched. “I’ll show you.” She turned to march to the table and sat, gesturing to the chair next to hers. “Sit next to me.”

“You’ve taken to ordering me about rather easily,” he murmured as he lowered himself to the chair. His broad shoulders brushed against hers.

His words made desire coil in her belly. She darted a cautious look at him. “You liked it before.”

He scowled at a potato. “That was in the bedroom.”

“And the bedroom is different?” He seemed to draw boundary lines around himself that she was supposed to understand, but they were invisible to her.

“Yes.” The word was clipped, and for a moment Elspeth thought it would be the only answer. Then he grimaced and said with seeming reluctance, “What happens in private and in the bedroom is entirely different than the everyday.” He shot a severe glance at her. “I am not some weakling to be ordered about.”

“No,” she replied softly, “you are not.”

She was rather astonished, in fact, that he thought he had to make that point plain to her. He was one of the strongest men she knew. He guarded his family without them entirely realizing. Kept himself apart and aloof from his sisters even though she knew it must hurt him.

After all, as John Donne wrote, “No man is an island, / Entire of itself.”

Elspeth shifted in her seat and asked diffidently, “I hope you don’t mind me instructing you?”

“No, I…” His scowl was replaced with lips pressed together until he continued, “No. Just as long as you…” He seemed to search for the right phrase.

“Just as long as I don’t hold you in contempt?” she asked softly.

“Yes.” His glance was an edged ice shard. “That.”

“Well, I don’t,” she replied gently. Then she picked up a potato. “The main thing to remember when peeling is to take as thin a piece as possible. Otherwise you end with a large pile of peelings and a very small potato.”

She used a paring knife to deftly make a paper-thin slice and then handed the knife over.

Julian took it, and in silence, they both peeled potatoes, Elspeth glancing over every now and again.

“This one is green,” he said, his nose wrinkling.

Elspeth suddenly wondered if he’d been a picky lad in the nursery—one who would refuse his egg if it was too runny. She could imagine him wrinkling a tiny aristocratic nose.

She cleared her throat. “Pare away the green part if you can, otherwise leave it out. It’ll spoil the soup otherwise.”

She indicated where he should cut on the potato in his hand, and as she did so, her fingers brushed against his. Her nerves seemed to light at the touch, her fingers almost tingling, and she snatched back her hand.

But he caught her hand, holding it gently in his own.

She swallowed, looking down at his larger fingers around hers.

“Thank you,” he said, sudden and gruff, “for teaching me.”

His grip tightened before he let her go.

She curled her fingers against her palm as if she could keep the feel of his skin within her grasp, and said huskily, “You’re quite welcome.”

They resumed their task, but Elspeth caught herself watching Julian out of the corner of her eye. He was such a strange, complex man. This afternoon she’d thought they’d never speak again, and now they sat comfortably side by side. Yet he was contained, a part of himself always hidden. If she asked, would he consider her a friend?

Did he have friends?

Or only women he paid for a night? What a lonely life his must be, if so.

Once the potatoes were done, they chopped the onions—rather tearfully—as well as the cabbage and turnips. Elspeth threw them all along with the ham into the pot and adjusted its position over the embers so that the soup simmered gently.

She turned to find Julian watching her, his gray eyes unfathomable in the firelight.

“I’ve tried resisting you,” he murmured, his voice deep. “Tried and failed.” He closed his eyes as if in despair. “Elspeth, tell me what I should do.”

She walked to him and framed his face with her hands. “Stay.”

And then she kissed him.

Her kiss started so innocently, a simple brush of lips against lips. But then she widened her mouth, and he couldn’t withstand her temptation. He pushed into her mouth, deepening the kiss even as he felt her gasp.

She pulled her face from his.

He started to follow, but she placed a palm between them. “No.”

She must have seen the outrage he felt because she smiled, a small, secret smile. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

And then she walked away, her skirts swaying provocatively. Was she playing with him?

“Sit down,” she ordered without looking at him.

And he obeyed.

The fire haloed her head in a golden glow as Elspeth bent over it. She might’ve been a magical being, her arts arcane, but then she turned, and her smile was quite human.

She set the table, bringing the wine, apples, bread with melted cheese, and soup, and then sat opposite him. “What do you think? Tell me.”

The question was ambiguous, but he said only, “A feast fit for kings.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in her husky voice, smiling, “but you haven’t tasted my supper yet. I think you’ll change your tune.”

He couldn’t care less about the food, truly. All he wanted to do at the moment was sit and watch her.

“Eat,” she said softly, gesturing at the food.

Julian examined the soup. Thick chunks of cabbage and potato with smaller bites of ham swam in the broth. He’d never been served such a plain meal, but the aroma…

His first spoonful was too hasty, nearly searing his tongue, but it was worth the salt of the ham, the homely but oddly satisfying cabbage, and the familiar feel of potato. The whole was exquisite.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

Elspeth looked up, her cheeks a deep pink from the fire and perhaps his compliment. “Oh, I’m glad you like the soup. It’s simple, but sometimes the best dishes are.”

He tilted his head in consideration. “I’ll not argue with that.”

He watched her smile to herself. Her hair was a nimbus, escaping her loose braid and curling about her face and ears. As she leaned over her meal, her breasts pushed dangerously against her bodice, swelling as if they might escape confinement entirely. Her skin was luminous in the firelight, the palest of pinks, shining like satin.

Julian could, if he tried, look at her without bias. See that she was plumper than was considered pretty. Shorter than was elegant. With a face that many would think ordinary. Someone who might be lost in a crowd.

But to him she was the sun in the sky, shining more brightly than anything else on earth.

He should be uneasy at such attraction. She was neither like the aristocratic ladies of London whom he encountered every day nor like the prostitutes he hired covertly on occasional nights.

Elspeth was a woman apart, unique unto herself.

“Have some of the bread and cheese,” she said, pushing the plate nearer to him. “I tried toasting the cheese on top of the bread. I can’t tell if both are better this way or apart.”

He transferred a piece to the plate beside his bowl and sawed it apart with a knife and fork before taking a bite. The bread was crisp, the cheese salty and soft.

Elspeth was waiting anxiously for his verdict, her face serious. “Well?”

Julian swallowed. “Good.”

She sat back as if satisfied, but she continued to regard him as he ate.

He glanced up after his next spoonful of soup. “What is it?”

She blinked as if recalling herself. “I was just wondering if your conflict is because it’s me.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

She leaned forward as if on impulse. “You don’t know the women you usually hire, correct?”

“Ah.” He took a sip of wine before setting the glass down. “I don’t know if we should—”

“Tell me.”

He stared at her. “We’re not in the bedroom.”

“No,” she said, selecting an apple. “We aren’t. If you don’t want to play, don’t answer me.” Her gaze suddenly caught his. “But I will be disappointed.”

He swallowed. “I don’t know them.”

She nodded. “But you know me. You know the woman who orders you about. I’m a person.”

Then he understood what she’d been driving at. “And you think it makes a difference to me?”

“It must.” She held her apple out to him. “Please cut it.”

He took it and wondered if she had thought about the symbolism. Of course she had. Elspeth was far more clever than he’d first given her credit for.

She watched him prepare her apple. “I think the reason you are so unsure of me is because you know me. When you open to me, it isn’t to a stranger you’ll never see again.”

Too clever. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know such things about himself.

He offered her the plate of apple slices.

She looked at it consideringly, her ruby lips drawn together in a moue. “Would you like some?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling hot.

She took a slice, biting into it, making her lips slick. “Here,” she said, holding the same slice out to him.

He took the offering and ate it as she watched. Her eyes seemed to darken.

Silently, she took another slice of apple and bit into it. This time he accepted the slice without her having to ask.

In this way, they shared the apple, eating it all, sweet and tart.

The fire popped.

“I do not understand you,” he blurted like a callow boy.

Her mouth curved, glistening in the candlelight from the wine. “Don’t you?”

He shook his head, unable to take his eyes from her. “Elspeth,” he whispered, “what shall I do with you? You blow your horn, and all my walls crumble to dust. I am left exposed and confused, racked with a terrible longing.”

She smiled then, and in the candlelight, that smile was as old as the Garden. “Then let me comfort you and bring you peace.”