“Practicing your charm?”
“I do not need practice.”
“Perhaps not.” She eased her arm away from him. “Maybe I am the one who has forgotten.”
He leaned into her. “I would be happy to teach you.”
The corner of her mouth formed a half-smile. “Oh, I am sure that you would, sir. No doubt you have coached many a lady in the fine art of flirtation.”
That did not sound like a compliment. “I am sure you would make my best pupil to date.”
“And what would be the fee for such an instruction?”
“A kiss,” he said, throwing out caution and betting on instinct.
“A steep bargain.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d raised the stakes too high. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a lower offer. “What would you care to spend?”
“You assume, sir, that I need you to teach me.” She stood up and smoothed out the blue muslin of her dress. “It has been a while, but I think it will all come back to me.” She winked at him before going to the bell pull.
When Sally came a minute later, Violet instructed her to bring in a fresh pot of tea and buttered crumpets. Then she whispered something in the girl’s ear that Kit could not make out.
“I’m afraid this water is far too cold to be of use now.” She poured the water from the silver tea service into a basin, presumably to use later for washing.
“Is it time for a bath?”
Though he could see the color on her cheeks, she spoke calmly. “Now that you are awake and fully coherent, I think you will be seeing to your own needs.”
“What if there are places that I cannot reach?” He used his best schoolboy voice.
“You can call a footman. Or my butler, Avery, will see to it. He has assisted with cleaning your wounds before.”
“He has not your tender touch.”
“I think you can manage.”
Her long stare did nothing to ease the ache of his arousal. Though he wanted to climb from the bed and pull her close to his body, he could not get out from the blankets without her seeing his erection. It was a bit too soon for that, unfortunately.
“I can make do.”
“Am I to feel pity for you, sir?” Her dark lashes fluttered, contrasting with her creamy white skin.
“Yes.”
A tall, broad man entered the room. He was thick and muscled, no doubt accustomed to hard work or vigorous exercise. Kit would expect to see a man like this in the alleys of town not here in a refined country house wearing a neat black jacket and trousers.
Violet smiled brightly and Kit felt like he’d been jabbed in the ribs. Who was he to her? Not her husband, obviously, but Kit sensed something intimate from their glances.
“Kit, this is Charles Avery, my butler and steward.”
“Glad to see you are feeling better, my lord.”
Kit sat up straighter in the bed. He looked down and realized his shirt was crumpled and no doubt his hair was an untidy mess, but he would not let the other man get the better of him.
“I am quite well due to the kind ministrations of your lady. I am told you were of use in my injury. Such service will not go unnoticed.” Where was his bloody purse? In fact, where were his clothes? Surely he had not arrived dressed like this?
Before he could ask about his things, Avery replied. “You are most welcome, my lord.” Kit would have to wait to inquire about his personal effects. The last thing he wanted to do was act like a whining dandy. It was important to assert his strength straight away.
Avery turned to Violet. “Is there anything else that my lady requires?”
“Sally will see to our repast. You may return to your duties. Thank you, Avery.”
Perhaps Kit was mistaken about there being some intimacy between Avery and Violet. She gave him no long looks and her dismissal was polite but firm. If there had been something more, she would have looked back when Avery exited the room.
“What is he to you?” Kit nodded his head toward the door to indicate the man who’d left. He wanted to be certain that whatever had passed between Violet and her butler was platonic not amorous.
By the look of her furrowed eyebrows, she had no idea what he meant. “You and your manservant seem well acquainted.”
“We met in the war,” Violet replied. Her flat tone invited no questions. “It is because of Charles Avery that I survived. I would give that man my life and he would do the same for me.”
“Do you love him?”
Her sigh pained him to hear. “As I do my brother, Westley, yes. But not in the way a woman loves a man.”
Avery was not a rival then. “Good.”
“I take it you are satisfied.”
“Yes. I have no interest in women who belong to another man. I wanted to be sure.”
Her wry smile returned. “And you are quite sure of yourself, are you not?”
“Always.”
Before she could reply, Sally appeared with more hot water and crumpets. Violet poured two steaming cups of tea as Sally buttered the soft rounds of bread. Kit’s mouth watered. If his head wasn’t pounding from the loud clatter of cups and plates, he would have jumped out of bed to snatch a crumpet.
Instead, he waited patiently, despite his grumbling belly.
He was rewarded when Sally set down a tray in his lap. The first taste of buttery heaven made him close his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. He was not a religious man, though he attended the required number of Sunday sermons. But today he was grateful for the God that could make a woman as striking as Violet Laurens and the cook who could make a crumpet better than any he’d ever tasted.
He devoured the snack like a starving man in the trenches.
“Slow down, sir, or you shall surely choke!”
Kit shook his head and stuffed another morsel into his mouth. Then he licked his fingers.
When he saw her eyes watching him, he tore off another piece, then sucked each finger deliberately, loving the way her eyes widened and her lips parted with every movement he made.
“You should try some. It’s wonderful,” he said, noting she’d barely sipped her tea. Her scrumptious crumpets remained untouched. He debated on stealing one from her plate.
Violet licked her lips, her gaze on him rather than the food. “It certainly looks tasty.”
The glimpse of her pink tongue sweeping over her mouth was enough to get him hard all over again. So much for his self-control. He’d managed to tame his lust when Avery had entered, but now he was a randy buck and she the innocent doe he wanted to capture.
“Do that again and I shall give you something appetizing to feast on.”
Violet pressed her lips together.
“I merely tease,” he lied. “I am far too occupied with my new loves, Miss Butter and Lady Crumpet.” He took a slow bite, then let his tongue slide over his lips as hers had done. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” She took a bite of the food from her own plate, kissing and licking her fingers afterward, just as he had. He bit back a groan. “You see, while you attend to your ladies, their darling husbands have come to kiss me.”
“Clever woman.”
“I lead by your example.” She took a sip of her tea, never taking her eyes from him.
“Then I have managed to teach you a bit of flirtation after all.”
He planned to teach her a lot more if she would let him. For now, he would take things slow, get her used to him. By the time he recovered, she would yearn for every touch, every whisper, every kiss. He would give her that and more.
Chapter Five
Violet scrawled in her ledger, staring at the figures. Kit had gone through two hens, three loaves of bread, a lamb, a side of bacon, and a pheasant in two days. Mrs. Norris had spent as much in one week as they normally spent in a month.
“He eats more than a goat, yet stays as fit as a racehorse.”
“’Tis a good sign, my lady,” Mrs. Norris replied. “If he were poorly, then he’d eat less t
han a bird.”
“Remind me of that when he goes through our stock of cows next.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”
Avery stood in the passage carrying two large brown satchels. “You asked for his lordship’s belongings?”
“Yes,” She turned to Mrs. Norris. “I will double the budget this month, but keep a daily tally of what we use. We may need to haggle with the butcher for a better price.”
“I will bring Sally with me. All she has to do is smile at him and he’ll cut the price in half.”
“Very good.” She gave Mrs. Norris a few coins. “Let us go and check on Kit.”
When they got to the room, Kit was standing in front of the mirror examining his head wound. He fingered the small scab on the side of his face and tried to angle his head to see the gash on his crown.
“What are you doing, sir?” He flinched when he saw her glowering at him.
“My head feels like a hundred horses are galloping through it.”
“It is better if you do not touch the injury.” The wound looked better at least, but if he picked at the scabs, it would increase the chance of infection. “Avery, set down the bags and help me get Kit back to bed.”
“I can manage on my own.”
“You need to be resting.”
He made a face, but walked back to the bed and sat down. He wore a white shirt and cravat, but no dressing gown. She’d seen him without a stitch on, but even now his state of partial dress was enough to send her thoughts in a dangerous direction.
“Do you need more laudanum?” she asked as they draped a thick green blanket over him.
“No.” He shivered. “I’d rather not turn into a dimwitted sloth if I can help it.”
“You are in pain. Why brace yourself for battle if you can avoid the war altogether?”
Her gaze went from his eyes down to his mouth. She stared for a moment, then caught herself.
“Because I refuse to give anything or anyone that kind of power over me.”
Why would he say that? He’d nearly died. There was no shame in resting until he could recover.
“Have you been able to remember anything new?”
He frowned. “I see bits and pieces in my mind, faces and various places I’ve been, but I am no closer to finding out who I was.”
Violet glanced at Avery, who went to get the satchels. He laid the brown leather bags down on the bed.
“We have brought something that might help you. I do not know why I didn’t think of it sooner. You had two satchels tied to your horse the day we brought you home. Maybe there is something inside that could help you remember.”
“The girls brought the items I was wearing the day of my accident, but I meant to inquire about the rest. Thank you for delivering these.”
Avery unbuckled the first bag and pulled back the flap. Violet was curious to see what Kit had brought with him. Was his journey a day’s jaunt or a long one? She suspected it was a short trip or he’d have traveled in a carriage.
The first item Avery retrieved was a small fleece blanket. The satchel also held one change of clothes, two pairs of gloves, and black dress shoes. When Avery pulled out long strips of cloth, everyone seemed puzzled by it.
“Do you recognize this?” Violet asked.
Kit fingered the cotton strips and wound them around his palms. “I remember having these on my hands.”
“What were they used for?”
“I am not sure.”
“Perhaps the other bag will hold more useful items. Avery?”
“I took the liberty of placing his lordship’s watch and purse in this satchel.” Avery dug inside of the bag and pulled out an engraved gold fob watch and a small purse filled with coins and bank notes.
“D.C.K.,” Kit read. “What in the hell does that mean?”
Violet took the watch and fingered the letters. She turned the watch over to look at the engraved image of Apollo. The craftsmanship was excellent. Only a wealthy man could afford such a watch.
“Perhaps it is a family heirloom?” Violet suggested. “Maybe it belonged to your father or an uncle?”
Kit took the watch back and stared at it. “I wish I could remember, but it means nothing to me.”
The next item in the bag was a wood pipe. When Kit put it in his mouth, he grimaced. “This is not mine,” he said.
“How can you be so sure?” Violet asked.
“The smell is awful. Sickeningly sweet.”
“Perhaps another heirloom?” Violet suggested. This was not going well. Kit didn’t seem to recognize anything.
* * * *
Kit put down the pipe. It couldn’t be his. Why would he keep it if it was not his? Was Violet right, did it belong to someone close to him? He ran his hands over it again, searching for a memory, for anything that might explain it.
He saw the flash of an older man with gray hair in his dark beard and hazel eyes. But then it was gone as fast as it came. Who was he?
When he looked at the clothes, the watch, he saw another man’s things. The only thing that he remembered were the strips of cloth. He could see himself binding his hands, flexing his fingers to get the right level of constriction. In one memory, they were clean and white, in another, spots of blood stained the fabric.
A cobalt flask was placed into his hands. The cap was gold plated and the body painted with gold leaves. Unscrewing the cap, he took a sniff. Whiskey.
“Do you remember this one?” Violet leaned forward, watching him expectantly.
“A flask is a flask. It means nothing to me save that there’s whiskey inside of it.” He hated seeing the look on her face every time Avery retrieved another possession. She wanted him to remember, but his memories were vacant.
“There is paper and writing implements, dice, a knife, and elsewhere I have your pistols and sword.”
Before he could ask for the pistols, Violet spoke. “Is there a seal with the writing utensils? Maybe that would give us another clue?”
The sound of Avery’s hand rummaging through the bag reminded him of the sound of dice rolling in a cup. He missed the sound of cards shuffling and dice rolling across the table.
God’s teeth, this was hopeless. The only things he remembered were utterly useless. Thus far, all that he gathered from his things was that he liked drinking and gambling and he had the money to do both.
Violet looked at the seal ring for a moment before handing it to him. There was no crest or initials on the seal. “Hand me the wax,” he ordered. Avery struck a match for him and lit the wick of the wax stick. The liquid poured over the parchment, pooling like blood. Kit pressed the seal down and a ram’s head was revealed.
He stared at it for a while. As he suspected, his mind conjured nothing but blackness. The image created no memory.
“This is fucking pointless,” he said and threw the ring across the room. Why couldn’t he remember? Was there a reason he did not want to? He looked at their wide-eyed faces and realized he’d just sworn in polite company.
They were only trying to help him. “Forgive me,” he said.
When Avery went to fetch the ring, Violet squeezed his hand. “You can stay here, Kit, for as long as you need to. It does not matter if you remember everything today, next week, or in two years.”
He returned the squeeze. “Do you mean that, angel?”
“Yes.” This time, when he looked into her honey colored eyes, they were warm. He could delve into their depths and never come out. Perhaps there was reason to stay a while.
* * * *
Kit threw down the peeling and weathered copy of the Canterbury Tales. It was the third book he’d tried today. He’d picked up a volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies and started Hamlet three times, before giving up. He’d gotten through Macbeth, but only because it was dark, bloody, and foul, like his mood.
It had been ten days since his fever had broken, yet Mrs. Norris and Mr. Avery would not let him venture farther than the chamber pot. Yesterday,
he’d bribed Adam, a footman that he played cards and dice with, to sneak him down to the stables, but Mrs. Norris caught him at the foot of the stairs and shooed him back to bed.
He could do nothing without the servants interference. If he was thirsty, they brought him water. If he was cold, they sent one of the girls in with fleece covers and woolen blankets. If he wanted ale—or God’s blood, the neat burn of whiskey—Avery took care of it.
What he could not have was fresh air. He could not put on his jacket and trousers and walk downstairs and take breakfast like a man. No, he was confined to this stupid bed. Twice he’d filled the room with feathers in a fit of thrashing pillows, which only caused him to feel like his head was being smashed into pieces.
The only bright spot in the whole mess was her. His exquisite Violet. One look, one touch, one velvety word from her and he was a tamed puppy dog. She came to him most mornings for breakfast and again for tea and dinner.
If he didn’t see her several times a day, he would have killed someone. Namely, the insipid doctor who insisted that he stay abed like an invalid.
His head fucking hurt. Almost every minute of the day. Except when she was here and he was too distracted by the desire to take her into his arms and make love to her. Now, he lived to make her smile, to see her laugh, or for those brief moments of the day when she touched him. He competed against himself for more of her affection.
Today, she’d only stopped in briefly for breakfast. Instead of an hour, she only lingered about a quarter. He hoped she would come back for tea. Kit could send for her, but then she would assume something was wrong. Well, it was bloody wrong, but he was not a child. He was restless, irritable, and needing something more interesting to do than counting the flowers in the gray wallpaper.
He paced the room, his loose tunic hanging over his trousers. Though he could not go anywhere, he still sometimes wore his trousers. Being stuck in a night shirt and dressing gown every day reminded him that his only scenery was the large oak bed, an old table that while oiled and polished, had one leg that had been chewed down by some kind of dog, an armoire painted with Oriental leaves, a red and blue Indian rug, and a faded black leather trunk that he could not open. The one thing that changed was the winter sky peeking through the large window. It went from white to silver in the daytime to slate and charcoal in the evening.
A Marquess for Christmas Page 6
