Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella)

by Delilah Marvelle

  “It will be fine.”

  “So says a man with a sack full of dry clothing. I have no other clothes!”

  “We will set your gown before the hearth and let it dry.”

  “It will take a whole day to dry a gown like this,” she muttered.

  “Fortunately for you, we do not travel for another two.” Konstantin turned toward her, still wringing out his own linen shirt and paused, skimming her from shoulder to feet. Her wet, velvet dress clung seductively to every luscious curve of that body. Glorious, full breasts beckoned as they pressed against the wet fabric of her bodice.

  She looked half-naked.

  Damn. He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek before blurting, “Might I ask why you followed me? Knowing I was bathing?” He had to know the answer to this one.

  “I didn’t know you were bathing,” she argued. “For heaven’s sake, it’s three o’clock in the morning! Who bathes at such an ungodly hour?”

  “I do.” He shrugged. “I could not sleep.” Not with her in the room. Sadly, masturbation was a very necessary evil. It was how he survived without a woman for as long as he had. He had never been one for prostitutes and the women he was interested in either snubbed him or never gave him more than a night due to their fear of their family finding out they were involved with a ‘criminal’. When it came to women, it was obvious he was going to need that one hundred thousand to lure in what he wanted.

  “You didn’t even lock the door when you left,” she grouched as she wrung out section after section of her skirt in between uneven steps. “Fortunately, we seem to be surrounded by decent people. I met a man next door to ours. He was incredibly pleasant.”

  “I am certain he was.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She kept walking unevenly against the weight of her gown, the fabric dragging and dragging against the stone path.

  Following the glistening stream of water she’d trailed, Konstantin smirked and fell into stride beside her knowing she clearly needed help. “Turn toward me.”

  She jerked to a halt. “Why?”

  “You are barely walking.” He knelt before her, grabbed up heavy sections of her wet gown and started twisting water out of the velvet. He focused only on the task. And not that he was back to looking at her legs. He twisted and twisted and wrung the material around her gown harder until eventually half its weight was diminished.

  She watched him from above and eventually said, “I find it difficult to place the sort of man you are.”

  He glanced up, releasing her gown. “Hm? What do you mean?”

  “You appear to be a gentleman and are impressively well spoken in the English language and yet you don’t even wear a cravat.”

  He’d been accused of that before. “I had a rather unusual upbringing. My father was a privileged gentleman who veered off the respectable path.” He made sure not to mention how.

  “Have you ever been married?” she prodded.

  He rose to his feet, straightening. “No. Why do you ask?”

  Those prim features wavered in the shadows of the garden. She shrugged and looked away. “I was curious, is all.”

  By God. Was it possible she was actually interested in getting to know him? As a person? As a man? This was a first. And he didn’t even have one hundred thousand in his pocket yet. “Uh…I was engaged once. When I was younger. She was from a decent family but my father didn’t approve. He was very protective. So he hired a few men to investigate her life and it was discovered she was seeing three other men. It hurt but I got over it. Since then, I was involved with a few women but it always ended with my face against a floor. I make poor choices when it comes to women. I want the moon but can only afford peat moss.” He tapped at his head. “I am not very nimble.”

  Her eyes caught and held his. “I find that difficult to believe, Mr. Levin.”

  “So says the woman who is not involved with me. Hardly helpful.”

  A bubble of a laugh escaped her.

  He smiled and leaned in. “Tell me more about yourself. You said you have a son and three daughters. Which, in truth, astounds me. What are their ages and names?”

  She smiled as if he had finally introduced a topic she could gush about. “John is my eldest and the one I came into Russia for. My second eldest is Giselle. She is sixteen. Abigail is fifteen and then there is my youngest, Juliet.” Her tone softened. “She is thirteen and is always at the cook’s elbow. There isn’t a thing that child won’t eat.”

  He searched her face. Listening to her made him realize just how little he had seen of life as a man. He missed having a family. Here he was at thirty and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but all the fists he had dodged. “They sound endearing.”

  Her smile widened. “They most certainly are.”

  That smile said it all. She was part of a happy family. The sort a man rarely saw. “I take it you were happily married, as well?”

  Her smile faded. She looked away. “Whilst I am close to my children, my husband and I were not so fortunate. Which was to be expected. He married me for my youth and I married him for his money.”

  His brows went up. “I am rather surprised. You appear to be a bit more passionate in nature than to settle for anything less than what beats in your heart.”

  She didn’t look at him. “The heart does not pay bills, Mr. Levin. My mother married for love and it taught me well. Whilst my father was titled, he had very little to his name. We struggled to keep creditors from our doors all our lives and lived off the generosity of relatives who openly mocked us. One relative, in particular, wanted me to marry his son as if I owed him my hand in matrimony for all of the financial assistance my father had been given. I did not want that for myself and therefore settled on a relatively better man. Above all else, I wanted financial stability away from my relatives.”

  “Judging by your tone, you seem unhappy with the decision you made.”

  She shrugged. “My husband was not unkind. He was a much better man than my cousin who used to try to force himself on me. My husband also knew when to be generous.”

  “Yet he was not generous enough to make you happy.”

  She said nothing.

  He quietly waited for her to say something else.

  She didn’t.

  Which meant this conversation was at an end. He gestured toward the side door leading into the inn. “We should sleep. ’Tis late.”

  She blinked rapidly, nodded and hurried past, the soft scent of her perfume clinging to the night air. She made her way into the inn, up the narrow stairs leading to their room.

  Konstantin dragged in a ragged breath, inwardly savoring that beautiful scent and raked back his damp hair several times in an effort to remain calm. He strode up the narrow staircase after her until he reached the landing and the door leading to their room. He flicked a finger against the sleeve of her wet gown. “You cannot stay in this. It needs to dry.”

  She puffed out a breath. “I know.” She pulled out the brass key from her bosom and paused, blinking down at the slightly open door. “I thought I locked the door.”

  Shite. Konstantin pushed her back and away. “Go downstairs,” he whispered. “Now.”

  Although she scrambled away, she whispered back, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Quiet. They could still be in the room.” He creaked the door open and peered into the darkened room, noting the coals in the hearth barely glowed. Nothing moved. No one was in the room. He paused. “Are you certain you locked the door?”

  “Yes.” She held up the key and wagged it. “I locked it. I know I did.”

  He opened the door wider to better see into the room. Dim light slithered further in. Although no one was in the room, he sensed something wasn’t right. “Stay where you are.”

  She froze.

  He strode toward the oil lantern on the side table and stumbled against something at his feet. He kicked away a bundle of material from around his foot. Was that his sack? He
headed toward the side table beside the bed and stumbled against something else on the floor. His shirt? He caught himself on the bed with a hand.

  Grabbing the flint box, which he was now able to make out, Konstantin struck it and held it to the wick of the oil lantern on the side table. When the wick lighted, he shifted the glass back onto the brass holding and turned.

  Strewn across the floor were his clothes, his undergarments and everything else that had once been neatly organized in his wool sack. Everything lay scattered as if someone had been looking for something.

  Someone had picked the lock.

  He scrambled to the loose floorboard where he had hidden his money and pried it open. A breath escaped him seeing the small leather satchel with bank notes and coins. Releasing the floorboard and hitting it back into place, he paused, scanning the room.

  Only one thing appeared to be missing: his watch.

  It was not on the sack where he had left it or on the chair where his coat and waistcoat had been moved to.

  His pulse roared as he swung toward her. “Someone picked the lock. Which I will admit is fairly easy to do.”

  Her eyes widened as her hands gripped the wet fabric of her gown hard. “Did they take anything?”

  “My watch.” He grabbed his dagger off the bedside table and unsheathed it. Jogging toward the open doorway, he glanced left and right but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You said you were talking to someone. A man.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did you know what room he emerged from?”

  She hurried in beside him and pointed to the door next to theirs. “There. But I don’t think he—”

  “Stay here and bolt the door.”

  “Bolt the door? You don’t mean to—”

  “Stay in the room.” He stalked toward the door she had pointed to and using his boot, hit the door, rattling it several times against its hinges.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, leaning out of the doorway.

  He glared. “He saw you leave the room. He was clearly waiting for an opportunity.”

  She glared back. “Whilst I am not looking to defend a man who offers a woman a cigar and cards in the hopes of garnering her attention, you don’t know if he picked the lock. It could have been anyone.”

  Oh, no. He knew the way these criminals conducted business. He’d grown up in it.

  The door swung open.

  A hefty young man with a yellowing linen shirt pulled over his trousers peered out. He froze, his blond, wavy hair falling into his eyes and said in harried Russian, “I took nothing.”

  Konstantin tightened his hold on the dagger. “Which means you took something. Where is it?”

  “Mr. Levin,” Lady Stone called out in exasperation. “Is it necessary to point that at him?”

  “Yes, it is necessary,” Konstantin called back in riled English. “Now stay in the room!”

  The man edged out and glanced toward Lady Stone, his blond brows popping up. He glanced toward Konstantin. “I met her earlier. Is she your wife?”

  “My wife?” Konstantin echoed. “No.”

  “Your sister?”

  “No, she—”

  “I love the British.” The young man’s tone purred. “They are my people. Tell her my cousin went to Truro for work in Cornwall. Everyone there was very generous. It changed his life. Has she ever been to Truro? What is her name? Tell her I work as a mason and am available. Tell her I am willing to learn English.”

  Konstantin lowered his blade in disbelief. Why was he suddenly jealous? “I came to your door, not to make formal introductions but to inform you we were robbed.”

  The man winced and scrubbed his head. “Ach. Yes. That. I will admit, sir, I… I went into her room looking for…for a stocking of hers. I collect them. But I took nothing else.” He gestured toward the disheveled area behind the door. “Search my room.”

  Jesus. The man was a bloody deviant. “You went into our room looking for her stockings?”

  The man hesitated, as if realizing his stupidity. “The door was open.”

  Konstantin grabbed the man by the shirt and slammed him into the nearest wall, causing the sconces around them to jump. “Unfortunately for you, my stupid friend, my watch is now missing. So tell me. Where the hell is it? Where did it go?”

  “I…I do not know,” the man choked out. “I did not take it. I only took a garter!”

  “A garter? You bloody took her—“ Konstantin pressed the tip of the knife into that throat and through gritted teeth bit out, “I want the garter and the watch. Or you are dead. And I will warn you, I fucking mean it.”

  The man’s eyes widened.

  “Mr. Levin!” Lady Stone bustled toward him. “Let him go! ’Tis obvious by the way he is panicking he didn’t take your watch.”

  Seeing his blade pricking into the skin of a breathing person, and in front of a woman, no less, Konstantin’s hand trembled. This was who he used to be. Not what he wanted to be. Damn it. Konstantin released the man with a shove and stepped back, trying to remain calm. “You have until morning to give both back,” he growled out in Russian. “Or I will find you. And God help you and your cousin from Truro when I do.”

  The man stumbled back into the room and slammed the door, bolting it from inside.

  Konstantin hissed out a breath. Never mind the garter, how in hell was he going to get his watch back? He veered toward Lady Stone. “He picked the lock to steal one of your garters.”

  Her chest rose and fell in visible breaths. “What? Why?”

  “Apparently, he took a fancy to you. Next time, I suggest you not initiate men you do not know.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Should I include you in that list of men? Because your behavior was uncalled for. The man was defenseless and had no means of protecting himself against your blade. He wasn’t even trying to fight you!”

  His lips parted. A man breaks into their room for her garter, takes his watch and somehow he was the villain. He shook his head, stalked past her and back into the room. She wouldn’t be the first woman to treat him like this. He was always the villain. Never the hero. Always the villain.

  Depositing the blade back onto the small rickety table beside the bed with a clatter, he kicked his belongings bit by bit into one pile and as calmly as he knew how, said, “Setting aside your garter, that watch is all I have left of my father. And now I may never get it back.”

  She lingered in the open doorway as if ready to leave. “What I just saw was a very different man from the one helping me.” She stared. “Who are you really, Mr. Levin? Why do you carry a blade?”

  He said nothing.

  “You had best tell me.”

  “It is best you do not know.”

  “Tell me.” Her voice quaked. “Before I walk to Saint Petersburg on my own. Don’t think I won’t. After what I just witnessed, I deserve an explanation.”

  He momentarily closed his eyes, knowing he had no choice but to explain. Before she did walk to Saint Petersburg. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. It was every woman all over again. He re-opened his eyes. “Like my father before me, I used to protect influential criminals from being killed by the government. I have been doing it since I was eighteen.”

  Her lips parted.

  “It paid well,” he argued. “And the community of men involved were dependable and decent. We were like brothers. It only ever got rough when we were on assignment and had to travel with whoever we were commissioned to protect. But I am no longer doing it. I grew tired of people always thinking the worst of me. Especially women. Do you think good, respectable women want to marry into a life where the husband gets shot at? Far from it.” He adjusted his shirt. “Which is why I am going to London. I am being given a chance to be what I should have always been: a better man. I am trying to be a better man.”

  “You call putting a knife to a man’s throat trying?” she echoed.

  He swiped his face. “I have never killed anyone. I have bruised and bloodied peop
le beyond recognition, as my job required, but I have never killed anyone.”

  Her expression stilled. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

  “Because if I told you, you would have never allowed me to help you. And you needed help. I needed you to trust me and given who I am, women never do. ’Tis always a dilemma.”

  She remained quiet.

  God only knows what she thought of him now. “I am not going to hurt you. It is not who I am. Now please. Close the door and allow us both to get some sleep. It is late. You can yell at me in the morning.”

  She puffed out a breath. “I am not going to yell at you.” Closing the door, she locked it with the turn of the key and wandered over to the chair where his coat and waistcoat were. “In truth, I feel partly to blame. I was looking at your watch earlier and left it out on the chair.” She paused. Quickly leaning behind the chair, she lowered herself to the floor and swept something up with a clatter. Rising again, she turned toward him and held up his watch by its silver chain. “It must have fallen.”

  He swallowed in disbelief and collapsed onto the bed beside him, pasting his hands against his face. Not only had he threatened an idiot at knifepoint, he had also confessed to being a criminal and now he looked stupid.

  He heard her bare feet pad over to him.

  Keeping his hands against his face, he refused to look at her.

  A soft breath escaped her. “We all do things we regret, Mr. Levin. And it is fairly obvious you wish to move away from your past. I cannot and will not hold that against you.” Her tone was genuine and yielding.

  It was not a tone he expected from her after what she had just witnessed and what he had shared.

  Konstantin lowered his hands and glanced up at her.

  Her long wet hair clung in lopsided sections to the sides of her concerned face.

  It was like meeting who she truly was.

  His throat tightened. “I vow unto you that I have never killed anyone. It is not who I am.”

  She leaned in and whispered, “I believe you. And your confession is enough for me to understand the sort of man you really are. Most men try to paint themselves as being more. Not less.” Taking his hand, she gently clasped the cool metal of the watch against the palm of his hand. “Know that despite your past, you have a friend in me after everything you have done for me. You didn’t have to help me but you did. It says a lot about you.”