Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

" I have to go," she said.

Even though she knew this was the right thing to do, her heart twisted at the thought of leaving him. Her beloved. Her knight in shining armor.

"No, my darling." He held her against him, his heartbeat steady and strong. "You must stay. Trust me to protect you."

"I am nothing but trouble," she said fretfully. "I will not be a burden to you."

"You could never be a burden. You, my sweet rose, are my salvation."

His kiss was gentle and convincing. Even as she lost herself in their passion, a shadow fell over her soul. She looked out the window and saw her nightmare coming up the drive. Terror welled as she saw moonlight glinting off a pistol. Then came the violent pounding on her beloved's door…

"Xenia?" Ethan looked up in surprise when she entered his bedchamber through the hidden servants' corridor. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."

That much was obvious. He was ready for bed in his dressing gown, his hair damp and curling from a bath. Already out of breath from rushing here, she felt her lungs strain in part because of his splendid virility…but mostly because he was alive and breathing. The terror of her dream propelled her into his arms.

He caught her against him, holding her tight.

"What happened, love? Why are you so frightened?"

His voice rumbled beneath her ear, as did his steady heartbeat.

Thank God.

"I had a dream," she said shakily.

He stroked her hair. "A bad one?"

She nodded against his chest, feeling muddled. The nightmare had been so convincing, so real. Her pulse was racing, her skin damp beneath her nightgown. She'd been in such a panic to make sure he was all right that she hadn't changed before rushing here. It was only by chance that she'd evaded the guards.

"What was the dream about?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," she said.

"You don't remember the dream?"

"I'm not sure it was a dream."

"What was it then?"

She lifted her head to look at him. "You are going to think I'm mad."

"I won't. Tell me."

Drawing a breath, she said, "It felt almost like…like a memory."

"It isn't unusual to dream about things that have happened to us."

"But it wasn't my memory. I think…I think it was someone else's."

Ethan's brows winged. "Whose?"

"I don't know. But she was like me." Xenia bit her lip. "I told you that I've felt a presence in the manor, and now I think it's her—the woman from the dream. She and I…we're alike. She is trying to leave her past behind. And she doesn't want to be a burden to her lover."

"You could never be a burden…" He trailed off. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"He said those exact words," Xenia whispered.

"Er, who did?"

"The lover from my dream. He said, ‘You could never be a burden. You, my sweet rose, are my salvation.' But someone was coming after her, and she was frightened because now he was in danger too. This good man who was trying to protect her. It felt so real, and I…I thought it was you, so I had to come see…"

"I'm fine, pet." Ethan cupped her cheek. "But I think I know what the problem is."

Having spoken her fears aloud, she knew how batty they sounded.

"Do you think I have a screw loose?" she said in a small voice.

"I think you are overtired," he said firmly. "With Daisy gone, you've had more on your hands, and you've had to train the new maids as well."

True to her word, Mrs. Sommers had sent over her nieces Molly, Mary, and Millie, and Xenia had spent the day getting the trio on board. The girls were young and a bit flighty. On the bright side, their boundless energy and tendency to flirt with the footmen gave the staff something to talk about other than Bloody Thom.

Xenia bit her lip. "You don't think it's, well, strange that I feel as if I'm having someone else's memories?"

"This is because of what Mrs. Sommers said, isn't it? About Thomas Mulligan and his supposed lover? You think you are dreaming about her memories?"

Beneath his shrewd gaze, she gave a small nod. "The lover in my dream, who could be Mulligan, calls her his sweet rose ," she said hesitantly. "I think…I think that might be her name: Rose . When I first arrived, I found a beautiful hairbrush in my room, far too expensive for a servant to own, and there's a rose carved on the back. I think maybe it was a gift from her lover. Oh, and the first time I went into the village, Mr. Walford greeted me by the name ‘ Rosalinda' —"

"Do you think it's possible that you are more observant than most and making connections between coincidental events?" Ethan spoke without judgment. "Building on tales that you've heard?"

It was in her nature to do those things. She was a storyteller, after all. Moreover, she couldn't deny that the dreams she'd been having had a lot in common with her own past and fears.

"It's possible," she admitted.

"All jests aside, I do want to keep an open mind. While I do not believe that my enemy is supernatural, I do trust your instincts," he said earnestly. "If you believe the history surrounding Thomas Mulligan and how he died is somehow relevant to what is going on presently, then perhaps we could obtain the address of Mrs. Sommers's sister in Manchester and write Mr. Walford. Perhaps his reply will shed light on the matter."

She adored him for taking her seriously, even though he might not agree.

"Thank you," she said softly. "That would ease my mind greatly."

"With all this talk of ghosts and curses, it's no wonder you are on edge. I am too."

"You are?" She studied him. "One would never know. In fact, you seem to be rather sure of yourself and what needs to be done."

"It's a trick I learned when I was performing. Never reveal your nerves to the audience."

"Pretend until it's true," she said sagely. "But you don't have to hide your nerves from me."

"I know." His gaze was as warm as the firelight. "You are one of the few people I can be myself with, Xenia. All evening, when I was with the fellows, I found myself missing your company. I am glad you came to me, and I want you to know that you always can."

His sincerity caused her heart to pitter-patter. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her to the chesterfield. He went to pour them glasses of port, then sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled against him, sipped the sweet, fruity spirit, and felt much more the thing. She was grateful that the master suite was down the hall from the guest chambers, affording them some rare privacy.

"You heard about my day," she said after they set down their glasses. "How was yours?"

His lips curved, as if he, too, appreciated being able to share a mundane moment. He told her about Rawlins's report. Apparently, the investigator had spoken to Harlow, who denied going anywhere near Bottoms House. Rawlins had advised Ethan to leave things be for now. On a more positive note, the Hirschfield brothers had finished renovating the stables and gazebo, and Ethan had hired a groundskeeper.

"I also worked on my composition," he said casually.

It was so like him to save the most important news for last.

"How is that going?" she asked.

"Could be better, could be worse." He paused. "I was hoping you might assist me tomorrow. If you have time in between your duties."

"I think my employer will allow it," she said, smiling.

He raised his brows. "He might even give you a raise. There is a lot of work to be done."

"Getting started is the hardest part. I am certain it will go easier once you are back at it."

"Canning said the same thing. We're in the same boat, him and I. His novel has been stalled for years, and he wants to really give it a go and finish it."

"It must be nice to have friends who are also artists," she said wistfully.

"Yes. We've supported one another through the highs and lows. Back in the day, the fellows attended my concerts, and I went to their exhibitions and readings."

While Xenia had eyes only for Ethan, she could imagine that the three handsome gentlemen must have stolen more than a few hearts.

"You must have been popular," she teased.

"We were."

No false modesty there.

She couldn't help but inquire, "With the ladies especially?"

He arched a brow. "Are you asking about my past lovers?"

Admittedly, she was curious. Of late, she'd found herself thinking about the relationships he'd had in the past…and whether he'd been in love.

"Was there anyone you were serious about?" she asked tentatively.

"I had casual liaisons. Nothing lasting. I was also engaged, but that ended when we discovered we did not suit."

As she digested that information, he asked, "Why don't you ask the question that is really on your mind?"

"What question is that?"

"You want to know if I have been in love."

She took the bait. "Have you?"

"No," he said solemnly. "Not yet."

His emphasis on "yet" and the way he squeezed her shoulders made her toes curl.

"My parents, you see, have always been unfashionably and madly in love," he went on. "Their relationship sets a high bar for the rest of us. One day you'll meet them, and you'll see what I mean."

I am going to meet Ethan's parents?

Yearning and fear wrung her insides. On the one hand, she wanted to meet the rest of Ethan's family…to know the people who were closest to him. On the other, she was his servant, and they were having an illicit affair. While they'd managed to hide their relationship from his na?ve young sister, his parents might not be as easy to fool. They would undoubtedly disapprove of her and might even insist Ethan break things off.

Why are you worrying about Ethan's parents? You'll probably have to run before you get a chance to darken their door. Don't fool yourself into believing that this affair can last.

"What about you?" he asked.

She blinked, so absorbed in her inner conversation that she'd lost track of the actual one.

"My parents fought constantly and if they were ever in love, it didn't last?—"

"Not your parents, pet. You. Have you been in love?"

She hesitated, but their intimacy felt so good that she didn't want it to end.

"I thought I was in love once," she admitted.

"With that follower you mentioned?" he asked intently. "Tell me about him."

"He was, um, a writer. I admired his passion for his craft and wanted to help him succeed." She glossed over the details of how Tony had asked her to perform his erotic stories. How he'd used her and how she'd willingly let him do it. "But he had troubles…vices he couldn't escape. He owed money to some villains, and the long and short of it is that he was eventually found dead."

"By Jove." Ethan tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. "I'm sorry for the pain that must have caused."

"He was too young to die," she agreed sadly, "and he left behind a brother who grieved for him. I wish I could have helped him?—"

"When a man is in the grip of vice, no one can help him but himself."

Ethan's jaw was taut, and remembering everything he'd gone through with his brother, she laced her fingers with his.

"I've come to accept that." She released a breath. "And the fact that while I was infatuated with him, he wasn't interested in me. He just liked being admired."

Her cheeks burned with humiliation at her own folly. Would another man's indifference make her seem less worthy in Ethan's eyes? Would it make him realize that she was no one special?

"He was a fool," Ethan said.

Relief heated her eyes. "I was a bigger one."

"You are not a fool." He thumbed away a tear wending down her cheek. "What you are is too tender-hearted for your own good."

"I realize now that I was in love with the idea of being in love. All that novel reading, I suppose." She tried for a smile. "I promise I have learned my lesson. I shan't be silly where you are concerned."

I may be in love with you, Ethan Harrington, but I'll keep it to myself.

"I don't want that promise from you."

Her breath jammed. "You…you don't?"

"I want you to be you , Xenia." His intensity was spellbinding. "Your brave, sweet, and naughty self. I don't want you to hold anything back with me. Your follower might have been blind, but I'm not. I see how special you are, and I want to know you, not just in the biblical sense. I care about you, and for my part, I don't want to limit what is happening between us. Do you trust me, pet?"

Her heart pounded against her ribs, but it was a sweet pain.

"I trust you more than I've trusted anyone," she said.

"Then I need to teach you to trust me completely. To show you that you are, and will always be, safe with me. No time like the present for a lesson."

At his dark, seductive tone, anticipation unfurled.

"What sort of lesson is this?" she asked coquettishly.

"What did I just say about trusting me?"

Odds bodkins, she loved it when he got stern.

"Now stand up and undress," he said. "But do it slowly. I want a show."

With a shiver of arousal, she rose. He remained where he was, with one arm across the back of the sofa, sleek as a panther in his black dressing gown. He played lord of the manor with such arrogant veracity that she would have been intimidated if not for the playful glint in his eyes. His expression dared her to participate in his naughty game, and she'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

As she was wearing a shapeless nightgown, giving a sensual performance wasn't the easiest. Yet if she excelled at anything, it was making do with what she had. Having observed how her light-skirt colleagues titillated audiences, she resolved to do the same. She began by lifting her hair above her head, letting it fall slowly. His gaze followed the strands where they landed, caressing her breasts and hips. Seeing that she had his attention, she smoothed her palms over her chest, cupping her mounds through the worn flannel.

"Are your nipples hard, pet?"

His casual tone made them harder.

"Yes. I wish your hands were on me."

"I shall be touching you soon enough." He sat back, comfortable as a king on his throne. "Carry on."

She obeyed, running her hands over her rib cage and the indentation of her waist. She traced the flare of her hips and the curves of her thighs and bottom. Bending, she reached for the hem of her gown.

"Pull it up slowly," he ordered. "Reveal one beautiful inch at a time."

Somehow he made her feel beautiful. As if she wasn't a housekeeper lifting a shabby nightgown but a siren shedding silken veils for her master. She drew her hem up bit by bit, her blood thrumming as his sensual commentary continued.

"Such pretty toes," he said. "And those calves, they gripped my hips so nicely when I rubbed my cock against your slit. Did you like that, pet?"

Her hands trembled at the memory, and she almost lost her grip on her nightgown.

"Very much," she said truthfully.

"Keep going, love. Show me what a fortunate man I am."

Her heart racing, she raised the material higher. When she exposed her sex, his eyelids lowered halfway, and his voice had a guttural edge.

"By Jove, you're a tempting piece. I can see your dew on that lovely red hair of yours. It makes my mouth water. Do you know why?"

Blood rushed under her skin; she felt hot all over. "Because you want to taste me?"

"More than taste," he chided. "Pet, I am going to eat you like you are my last meal."

Blooming hell. When she squeezed her thighs together, she felt the slickness of her arousal.

"You like that idea, I see." His eyes had a wolfish gleam. "We'll get to that once I finish enjoying my show."

The sizeable bulge in his lap confirmed his appreciation. Knowing that she'd brought about his aroused state emboldened her. She turned around, giving a saucy wiggle of her bottom. When he let out a ragged breath, she felt a heady rush of accomplishment. Unbuttoning her nightgown, she drew it over her head and let it fall on the ground. She kept her back turned to him, covering her chest with her arms, throwing him a flirty glance over her shoulder.

"My naughty girl is showing off," he said with approval. "You know how beautiful and special you are, don't you?"

Her throat swelled. "I feel special when I'm with you."

"You are special always," he corrected. "Turn around, please."

She did, letting her arms fall to her sides. She'd never felt more exposed, yet when he raked his flame-hot gaze over her, she didn't feel embarrassed or shy…she felt coveted . As if she belonged to Ethan, and he to her. The intensity of the feeling blocked out everything else.

"You are a feast for the eyes," Ethan said. "You know that, don't you?"

I do. Because of you.

"Yes, sir," she replied demurely. "But the only eyes I care about are yours."

"Such pretty words." He crooked a finger at her. "Time to see what else that talented mouth of yours can do."