“Oh, now you must be exaggerating.”
“Perhaps a little, but my opinion of her has not changed. Nor will it ever.”
“She said she was coming to visit you. What will you do?”
He groaned, not answering, and tugged her into the bakery.
Chapter 18
Nineteenth Century London
Christian watched as Tessa considered the wide variety of pastries available with her usual, yet charming, expression of total wonder. In fact she devoured everything in his world with that same sense of awe. While he had allowed a great deal of leeway, he’d spent the day tugging her away from things trying to keep her on task.
She’d been fascinated with the lampposts, asking how they were lit at night as she ran her slender fingers along the cool wrought iron of the posts. The multitude of shops on Bond Street drew her interest as well, along with their many goods. She’d spent much of the day fawning over porcelain dolls in their frilly satin dresses, touching the fine fabrics of table linens, and smelling the wide range of imported fruits available at open market. Even the red post boxes seemed to fascinate her, also spurning many more questions about the mail system, which, he was certain, she did not have in her time.
The woman behind the counter of the bakery didn’t seem to mind explaining each sweet as Contessa continued with her inquisitive exploration of nineteenth-century London.
After hearing everything described, he hadn’t expected Tessa to step back and peer at him with distress. When she said nothing while drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and plucked at the fabric of her gloved fingers, he realized—she couldn’t decide what she wanted.
Well, he could fix that. Christian turned to the woman and said, “We’ll take one of everything, if you please.”
The woman was delighted with that and began boxing up one each of about thirty different items.
Tessa gasped. “Oh no, Christian! You cannot! I—”
He silenced her with two leather-encased fingers against her perfect lips.
Tessa simply stared at him, in shock, he was sure. In truth, he was shocked with himself as well. Of course Christian knew at this rate he’d already spent nearly half of his advance on her. He’d most certainly hear complaints about it from Jackson. But he didn’t care, and as he considered her in that perfectly proper day dress, Christian couldn’t bring himself to feel any regret. He would move this along, make certain his mother was pleased with his engagement and resume his usual allowance until, in the far future, he inherited everything. His finances would be fine….
That evening as they settled into the drawing room at his townhouse, Christian lifted a sausage pastry from one of the boxes lined up on the table and bit into it. The flaky crust crumbled onto his lap and he brushed the mess to the floor, slightly irritated with the fact that Contessa had paid little attention to him since they’d returned.
“Would you like a bite?” he offered partly because he knew a gentleman would share what he knew was the last one, and partly as a shameless tactic to gain her regard.
After a long pause, a much too long one, Tessa lifted her chin and asked. “What was that?”
He presented the flaky morsel. “Would you fancy a bite?”
Tessa cuddled the open book he’d purchased for her to her chest and peered at the meat-filled pastry, her lips twitched with something that showed a lack of interest. “What is in it?”
“Sausage.”
She shook her head. “I favor the cheese pasties over the meat ones.” Then she lowered the book from her bosom to continue reading.
Something akin to the taste of jealousy settled onto his tongue, and again fighting for her awareness, he said, “Ah-ha! So you’re the bandit who ate those.”
After another pause, in which it took far too long for the words to sink in, she emitted a soft giggle and blushed prettily at his teasing. To his great distress, she kept her cute little nose tucked between the pages.
As a grudge against Jane Austen developed in his gut, Tessa continued to present a lovely picture next to him on the settee with her legs curled up and her bare feet tucked beneath her. The firelight bathed her in a glow of warmed honey. She caressed the open page as she finished reading it and then turned to the next.
“Are you enjoying Emma?”
With obvious reluctance, her face lifted toward his, and he was drawn into the burnished jewel tones of her bewitching eyes. “Oh, aye,” she breathed, oblivious to his apparent obsession. “It is so romantic. And I’m learning much about your time: the way of society, the way of courtship, and the way of speech. ‘Tis truly fascinating.”
“Would you like another sweet?” he asked, presenting one of the bakery boxes. Deep down he knew it was another impolite attempt to snatch her eyes from the words, but gently nudged the fingers curled lovingly around the volume anyway.
“I had better not, Christian. If I continue indulging like this I will surely become ill.”
He sat the pastries back onto the table. She emitted a pleasant hum as her interest returned to the novel. That delicate sound did strange things to his insides.
Christian passed his gaze over her relaxed form, and he was once again overwhelmed with the corporeal sight of her. If he could just steal her interest from the printed tale…. Of course he knew he’d done a good thing by buying the book for her because clearly she was enjoying it immensely, but at the time he hadn’t suspected how much it would enthrall her. And how much that would trouble him. This just didn’t seem fair at all.
He bent closer and closer until every inhale was laced with the essence of a living, breathing Tessa. And apparently, she’d found Emma’s scented soap in the water closet. The innocent fragrance of roses was now drenched in that spiced honey he’d noticed around Tessa before. It made him want to consume more than baked goods.
Carefully he gathered her jaw in his palm, turning her to him. His thumb moved along her warm flesh, and his fingers feathered over her fluttering pulse. And when those emerald eyes rose to meet his brown, it seemed he could not pull himself from the idea of snatching another kiss.
Deep down, Christian knew it was…unfortunate that Jackson had left them alone. Even her naivety charmed him, for he could see Contessa knew not that she sat with a hungry man even after having gluttonized himself along with her on baked goods. Christian understood, as he moved toward her sweet mouth, that he truly was no better than that prince. He understood the temptation she must have presented to Dominic Renard. But as the book slipped from her fingers and her haloed-head rocked to the side, he also knew he’d won the battle against Miss Austen, and that dear, sweet Contessa trusted him, and that she would allow him freedoms she would not have given the prince. The knowledge only elevated his guilt.
The sound of someone clearing their throat saved her from him, and he jerked upright, the back of his neck heating. He tried to rub the flush from his nape to no avail. Alas, Jackson had thoroughly managed to snuff out the tension sizzling between him and Tessa.
Jackson gave Christian a chastising glare and then announced, “Mistress Tabitha Tuttlepot is here to see you, sir.”
“Brilliant timing,” grumbled Christian, with not a little chagrin.
“I daresay,” muttered Jackson.
Christian returned the book to Tessa’s hands and stood. “Please show her in, would you?”
Jackson nodded and stepped away only to return a moment later followed by the petite witch. Today she was not dressed in black as she’d been when she came to Krestly Castle, but in a dark plum. The color set fire to the rebellious red ringlets crowning her heart-shaped face.
She nodded in greeting as her sharp gaze passed briefly over Christian before flying to Contessa, and landing hard. Those unruly ringlets shook wildly, almost as though stirred upon by magic, making her look just like the witch she was.
Tessa, who was still curled upon the settee, book in hand, stared quietly, her eyes wide with confusion. He should have explained this first…
.
Christian spoke, attempting to mask his concern. “May I present Contessa…”
“No,” Tabitha breathed weakly, “tell me it is not so.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” he whispered, hoping the maid wasn’t anywhere nearby.
“What have you done?”
“I…eh, what do you mean, ‘what have I done’? She is alive. It is a miracle.”
Tabitha took several moments drawing air in and out slowly, as if struggling to regulate her breathing, then asked, “How did you discover her name?”
Contessa answered, “I recalled it in a dream.”
“I see.” Tabitha took several turns about the room, muttering to herself in some peculiar witch-like language, then halted in front of him with murderous intent sparkling within her peridot eyes.
He was forced to take a step backward. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
“Now what do you mean?”
The witch waved a wrinkled hand in his face. “The past is the past. We cannot change what has been done.” Turning to face a bewildered looking Tessa, she changed the subject, “Jackson tells me you’re in need of a chaperone for Lady…Ghost.”
“Yes, Contessa cannot be without one if she is to live with me.” He did not miss the fact that Tabitha flinched when he spoke Contessa’s name aloud. And he wondered what it was about until he remembered what she’d said the last time they met. I will not speak her name. She is in danger.
“Please, Tabitha, have I done wrong—?”
“As I just said, the past is the past. We must live with the consequence.”
“What consequence is that? Is Contessa in danger?”
Instead of answering, she said, “I will be her chaperone.”
Dear Lord! Had he put her life at risk by carelessly uttering her name? And a completely different kind of guilt unfurled within his chest. He seized Tabitha’s feeble upper arm. “Tabitha, please, have I made a mistake? I must know. Is she in peril because of me?”
The fragile woman exhaled. “In truth, I do not know.”
“But you said—”
“I recall quite well what I said. However, do be soothed in the knowledge that I only had the impression her name should not be spoken.”
“And you warned—”
“Again, it was only an impression.”
He got the impression she wasn’t telling the full truth and was about to argue it further when she said, “Either way it does not matter, my lord. What is done is done. You need me to be her chaperone. I can help as others cannot. I will do my utmost best to protect her.” The witch’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk. “No matter what threat surrounds her.”
Folding his arms across his chest, his gaze shifted to the object of his temptation before returning to fix Tabitha with narrowed eyes. “Do not make me the villain. You’re here because of me,” he argued softly enough that Contessa wouldn’t hear, even if the witche’s suspicions were correct.
Chapter 19
Return
She could not hear what they were saying, but it did not appear as though the topic was anything cheerful. Contessa had caught the part about her being in danger; this made her desperate with curiosity. And it most definitely did not help as both of them kept glancing at her with expressions of worry etched upon their faces as they whispered. She realized she was gripping the book so tightly it was starting to hurt. Contessa forced her fingers to relax.
“Christian?” she queried, unwilling to remain quiet any longer.
After three short strides, he was kneeling down in front of her taking her hand into his. “Darling, what is the matter?”
“That is what I would like to know. Am I in—is there a problem?”
Tabitha settled into Christian’s vacant spot next to her. “Now, now, my sweet, do not fret. We will take care of you.”
“But I heard you—”
“The witch has told me that she only had the impression you were in danger,” added Christian, his tone slightly mocking.
Tabitha’s smile wilted, she cleared her throat. “Either way, love, you have nothing to fear. You have me and…Lord Sparks to look after you.”
The way the witch said that, Tessa sensed the wee woman perceived she was more capable of protecting her than Christian. He cringed as though his pride had taken a direct hit. She remembered Dominic from her dream and knew Christian’s strength would be needed in facing the prince, but she sensed more darkness about him, as though muscular power was not all that would be required to defeat him. She shuddered.
“But, Christian” –she gripped his hand tighter— “he is a killer.”
“What’s this?” asked Tabitha.
Tessa turned to her. “The one who did this to me. Prince Dominic Renard.”
“And you know he’s the one who murdered you?”
“Well, no…”
“How do you know about him?”
“The dream…”
“I believe he’s dead,” said Christian. “He has to be.”
“Right,” said Tabitha.
The witch and the earl continued to debate the best way to protect her and the tension thickened to the point she was physically weary of it. She gathered up her book, a butter biscuit, and made for the door. “I think I shall retire.” She’d kept her fingers curled around Christian’s and had expected him to escort her as he’d done the other night.
But Tabitha interrupted, “As your chaperone, I will take you.” The witch gathered her hand from Christian and tucked it into hers.
“But…. Might I have a moment alone with him, please?”
Silence hung between them for a moment or two as Tabitha swept a critical gaze over Christian before releasing her and swishing away with a flutter of her skirts. “I will be just outside,” she said, pulling the doors closed behind her with a sharp snap.
After watching the doors with a handsome scowl, Christian twisted to face her. “What is it, Tessa?”
Her eyes passed over his dimple-naked cheek and she realized she missed his smile, which he had not presented even once since Tabitha had arrived.
“Why do I need a…Tabitha for a chaperone? I thought Jackson—”
“—cannot help you in all the ways a woman can.”
“He is right, love,” said the witch through the door. “Modern gowns are too fussy and very difficult to get on and off by yourself.”
After first rolling his eyes, he smiled. She touched the divot that appeared, smiling too.
They gazed at each other for several silent moments, before Christian said, “I’ve been aching, Tessa…”
Tessa suspected he spoke in subtle tone so Tabitha would not be able to continue eavesdropping. “Aching?” she echoed, just as softly. “Do you have a bellyache for the foolish way we have been overindulging?”
With a low chuckle, he dropped his whisker-shadowed chin and shook his head. Then his expression shifted, his face lifted, and the focused looked he fixed on her was almost palpable. His eyes darkened with an intensity she’d seen a few times now, and it always preceded a kiss. Oh. She exhaled. That is what he was aching for.
Her hand fell away from the bristly texture of his cheek as Christian gathered hers between his palms and then, quite abruptly, planted a firm kiss upon her forehead.
His mouth then traveled a whisper-soft path of kisses to her cheeks, and nose, and chin, thoroughly snatching any breath left in her lungs. Christian’s caress passed briefly over her lips before he moved to her neck…then the door opened and he released her. His right hand flew to his neck as he massaged his nape. It seemed to her he was in the process of feigning innocence, but he only succeeded in appearing guiltier.
Tessa watched him, marveling at how he’d managed to kiss her without scraping her flesh with his afternoon growth.
Christian cleared his throat. “There are things Tabitha can help you with which I or Jackson cannot. Plus,” he whispered, as the witch advance
d toward them, “she won’t swoon if you happen to go transparent again.”
That did make sense, she supposed, and she allowed Tabitha to take her to the bedchamber.
The room glowed with amber-colored light from the fire and the heat of it wrapped around her like a big cozy blanket. She began to fathom that she just might sleep much better than she had the other night—dreaming of butterfly kisses from the Earl of Krestly Castle.
She was distracted from those comforting thoughts by the near daunting task of being extracted from the lovely day dress and the complicated contraption Tabitha called a corset. It was not at all like the much more comfortable garment she’d worn in her day which only consisted of a stiffened fabric, not strengthened with bone and metal. Nor did hers pinch as much as this modern girdle did.
“Lift your arms, my sweet,” Tabitha cooed as she drew a luxurious new night rail over her frilly camisole and drawers.
The silk had been warmed by the fire and she realized, as the smooth, petal-soft material ghosted along her flesh, that silk had been a common fabric of her wardrobe—because it was another familiar sensation….
The next morning she was reminded of how the clothing was practically impossible for her to have done herself. Tabitha had to tug and tie and button her up into the traveling dress Christian had purchased for her. Of course the result was flattering, but Tessa was worried about spending the day in a rocking carriage trussed up like she was. It seemed she was going to have a dreadfully uncomfortable morning.
“I will say that I am impressed with His Lordship’s taste in fashion,” said the witch as she pinned a cameo upon the blond lace which trimmed the cobalt blue jacket made of soft velvet.
“He spoils me,” she said.
Tabitha chuckled. “He certainly does! He’d best be careful before your pretty head swells.”
Fair Maiden Page 14
