To their credit, except for a twitching brow or two, his staff remained remarkably composed at his declaration.
After making the obligatory introductions, Pierce motioned to Broomsfield. “Please help Burroughs with the team, then seek your bed.”
“Aye, sir.” Hitching his mouth into a grateful, sideway smile, Broomsfield toddled toward the waiting team.
Assessing Bianca with an acute glance, Mrs. Digby stepped forward. “My lord, as we were unaware you were coming, I fear only the lord’s and lady’s chambers are prepared.” She sent the maids an apologetic look. “I can have another chambered readied, but it will take an hour or two.”
It was well past midnight already, and Bianca could barely keep her eyes open. The maids exchanged bleary gazes, and one yawned behind her hand.
“Miss Salisbury can use the prepared chamber for tonight, and move to another tomorrow.” Pierce intended to prove his agreeableness to his ward straight off. “Is that acceptable to you, Bianca?”
Bianca threw him a disconcerted look. “Why, yes. I should hate to be an imposition.” She offered Mrs. Digby a cautious smile. “I can ready the other chamber myself tomorrow. No one need wait upon me. I’m used to fending for myself.”
“Tut. No need for that. You are a guest and will be treated as such.” Mrs. Digby signaled the maids. “Be off with you. I expect the fires lit by half past five as usual.”
“Yes’m,” they chorused before bobbing shallow curtsies and scampering back inside the manor.
A few minutes later, Pierce stood just inside the lady of the house’s chamber. He’d never actually been within its walls before, and he scrutinized the pretty, feminine room with a critical eye. Finding nothing amiss other than the coverlet and draperies clashed with Bianca’s bright hair, he gave her a weary closed mouth smile.
Hound’s teeth, he was tired.
“I trust you’ll be comfortable here, Bianca. Should you need anything, the bell pull is just to the right of the fireplace.” Pierce indicated the rose and gold tasseled cord.
Bianca nodded a bit distractedly, her focus on the door between her chamber and Pierce’s. “Mrs. Digby? Might I trouble you to lock the connecting door, and take the key with you to prevent any speculation about untoward behavior?”
Pierce cursed silently. He ought to have thought of that too. No wonder Bianca had looked so taken aback when he’d suggested she use this bedchamber.
“But of course.” Mrs. Digby beamed her approval and hurried to do as bid. “What a lovely, upright young lady, your ward is, my lord.”
Mrs. Digby emphasized the word ward, making it clear she would permit no skullduggery beneath Halverstone’s corbelled vaulted roofs. Pierce might own the building, but Mrs. Digby controlled the goings on within its four-story stone walls.
Once the door had been locked, the handle tested thrice—just to be sure—and the key attached to the chatelaine at Mrs. Digby’s waist, the housekeeper waited at the door. She clearly wasn’t budging until Pierce quit the room as well.
“Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour of Halverstone. Goodnight, Bianca.” Fatigued to his marrow, Pierce stifled a yawn.
In the process of removing her bonnet, Bianca paused. She seemed quite lost, poor thing. “Goodnight, my lord. Mrs. Digby.”
Good of her to include the housekeeper. Bianca had found an ally there already.
Pierce closed the door and was brought up short by Mrs. Digby, arms akimbo and mouth pursed, blocking his path.
“I’m not going to ask how that young woman came to be your ward, my lord.” She slid her attention to the carved door behind him for an instant. “But even I can see she’s an innocent with a good heart, and I’ll not have any shenanigans under my watch.”
“I assure you, nothing disreputable will occur. We are only here to keep Miss Salisbury safe from her former guardian.” He half-held his breath lest God smite him for the brazen lie. Yes, he wanted to keep Bianca safe, and yes he found her enticing, but something far more powerful and compelling about her had awakened his interest.
“Hmph. Well, I do hope you know what you’re doing.” After leveling him a starchy stare, Mrs. Digby’s featured softened. “I’m to bed, my lord. Unless you need something else?”
“No. No. You’ve lost enough sleep already.” Exhaustion weighting his very bones, Pierce entered his bedchamber to find Popplewell puttering about. “I’ll undress myself. You’ve had a long day too. Seek your bed.”
Popplewell sniffed his disapproval, but proceeded to the doorway nonetheless. “Very well, my lord. I hope you don’t intend to make a habit of this, however.”
“Never fear. Your position is secure,” Pierce assured him, while untying his neckcloth.
“You have a visitor. I tried to move it, but it hissed and swatted at me.” The valet pointed a knobby finger at the bed upon which lay a contented calico cat. With a stiff nod, Popplewell departed.
And left the feline behind.
His way of wreaking revenge, no doubt.
Once stripped, Pierce swiftly cleansed his teeth, then fell into bed. The cat gave an annoyed yowl, but rather than jump to the floor, glared at him with her one green eye and one blue before prancing to the foot of the bed and making herself comfortable once more.
Pierce was simply too tired to care. Releasing a half-sigh, half-groan, he closed his eyelids. A pair of solemn, cinnamon colored eyes floated across his mind before sleep claimed him.
Sometime later, a muffled cry roused Pierce from his slumber. He raised his head, angling his ear toward the attached chamber.
Had Bianca cried out in her sleep?
Another distressed sound echoed through the wall separating their headboards.
Was someone in her room?
Fairfax?
His blood congealed in his veins.
Pierce tossed the bedcoverings aside, and as his feet met the carpet, snatched his banyan from the end of the bed. After quickly tying it at the waist, he drew open the bedside table’s drawer and blindly searched about for the key he prayed was still there. Gripping the cold metal in his palm, with long, swift strides, he crossed to the adjoining door.
Taking care to turn the lock as soundlessly as possible, he slipped the key into his silk robe’s pocket and toed open the door. A thread of moonlight filtered through a crack in the window coverings. He searched the room for an intruder and finding no one, released his breath.
Bianca still thrashed about in her bed, whimpering.
“Shh, my sweet,” he whispered.
She’d be livid to know he possessed a key and that he’d dared to enter her bedchamber without permission. But he couldn’t ignore her suffering. Treading carefully in the dark chamber, lest he bump into furniture and stub a toe or awaken her, he crept toward her bed.
What tormented her so?
Bending over, he touched her shoulder with two fingertips. “You’re safe, Bianca. I’m right next door, and I promise no harm will come to you.”
She sighed, turned onto her side, and tucked one hand beneath her cheek. Her hair splayed out across the pillow. Why wasn’t he surprised she didn’t plait the mass at night? Or had she simply been too tired to fuss with a braid before retiring?
He caressed her cheek.
One kiss. That was all he wanted. One to reassure and comfort her.
Even as he dipped lower, his conscience chastised him.
Fiend. Opportunist.
“You needn’t fear any longer, my pet. You are mine to protect now.” Grazing his mouth over her soft lips, he breathed in her scent, and she sighed again, snuggling deeper beneath the bedclothes.
Reluctant to leave, and not sure he understood why, Pierce stood beside her bed for several minutes more. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed three of the clock.
So much for getting a good night’s sleep.
Just to be certain no one could enter her chamber uninvited, he checked the window latches and the lock to the balcony door. Finding it unsecured, he
slid the bolt home. The scraping echoed loudly in the now silent chamber.
Yawning, and with one last look at Bianca, he shook his head. Winning that minx had set his life on a new course. A path he suspected he had little control over.
Six days later, Bianca rested her forearms on the balustrade of the balcony and took another bite of strawberry preserve covered toast.
Unaware that she was observing him overhead, Pierce, attired only in a shirt and black pantaloons, practiced his fencing moves on the flagstone terrace below. His boots clacked and clicked as he lunged and thrust, his sweat dampened ebony hair clinging to his temples and forehead. That tempting thatch of black hair at the vee of his collar appeared every now and again as he twisted and turned.
She felt quite the voyeur as she spied upon him each morn. Perhaps she made a noise or her shadow alerted him, but he suddenly glanced upward, and her stomach tumbled over itself.
Caught at last. A wonder he hadn’t discovered her sooner, truth to tell.
A knowing grin tipped his mouth as he bent into a courtier’s exaggerated bow. “Good morrow, my fair lady,” he called up. “How did you sleep? Have you broken your fast?”
“I slept well, thank you, and I just breakfasted here on the balcony. It has such a lovely view of the grounds.”
And their owner, too.
Perusing the landscape, she brushed the crumbs from her hands. Once she’d slept in the adjoining chamber and unpacked her scant belongings, there didn’t seem any point in moving to one of the other rooms and causing the servants more work. Besides, this quaint balcony overlooked a charming gazebo and a large pond. Bianca enjoyed eating breakfast, reading, or taking tea here.
Pierce wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Will you honor me with a walk again today?”
“That would be lovely. What time?”
“In thirty minutes?”
“I’ll meet you on the terrace.” They’d fallen into a routine of taking a stroll together before noon each day and playing a game of chess or reading in the library in the afternoon. She leaned far over the rail and called to him just before he entered his study directly below her room. “I expect you to allow me a rematch today. I nearly won yesterday.”
“I can deny you nothing, my sweet. A rematch it is.” He gave her a saucy salute and disappeared inside.
She sighed and stood upright. Pierce acted the most charming of hosts, and her resolve to resist him spiraled lower and lower. Why did he have to be such a rapscallion? If he weren’t, if he offered her respectability…
But he didn’t.
That afternoon, sitting across from him, Bianca pressed her forefinger to her lips and narrowed her eyes in concentration as she studied the chess pieces. Unlike Uncle Sylvester’s set, this expensive chess set was of French origin. She’d claimed the yellowed ivory pieces while Pierce played with the red.
“I am going to win today, Pierce.”
“Perhaps. You’re a worthy opponent. Your uncle taught you well.” He exuded relaxed masculine confidence, drat him.
“We played often,” she said, still studying the board. “Did your father teach you the game?”
“Actually, Lenora did. She also taught me to fence.”
That gave Bianca pause, and she shot him a surprised glance. “She did? Somehow, I can’t see Lady Timberly wielding a foil.”
A low chuckle rumbled forth, and he winked as Miss Millie, the pregnant tabby rubbed against his calf. “Well, she might have hired the master who instructed me.”
“You did that just to break my concentration, you bounder.” Bianca shook her finger at him. “It won’t do you any good—”
The cat leaped onto the chessboard, scattering the pieces hither and yon.
Pierce let out a guffaw and scooped Miss Millie into his arms, hugging her to his chest and dropping a kiss atop her head. “That’s my girl. You saved me from a humiliating defeat.”
Bianca pursed her lips and flopped back into her chair. “I swear she did that on purpose, the jealous vixen.”
“Has she reason to be jealous?” Sincerity replaced his hilarity, and he tilted his head, his dark-eyed gaze probing.
Caught off guard, more by the sudden rush of emotion his question caused than the inquiry itself, Bianca shrugged, then stood. “As if I’d be gullible enough to admit such a thing to you.” She bent and gathered the pieces nearest her. “Besides, who is envious of a tubby, ragged-eared cat? Certainly not I.”
He lowered his mouth to Miss Millie’s ear. “Me thinks the beautiful lady has a valid point. I also think I should help pick up the mess you made.”
In a thrice he kneeled beside Bianca and helped collect the ivories. They reached for the last piece at the same time and bumped heads.
“Ouch,” he grunted and sat back onto his heels.
“Ow,” she yelped, slapping a hand to her head. Her focus dropped to his coat. “Your jacket is covered in cat hair. Popplewell will have an apoplexy.” She dropped to her knees before him. “Hold still so I can remove the worst.”
She bent her neck to avoid those penetrating eyes and brushed at Pierce’s shoulders and chest. Stupid thing to have volunteered to do, for touching him caused all manner of other sensations to reverberate through her.
To his credit, Pierce held stock still, hands at his sides. Despite his promise that they would share more kisses, he’d acted the perfect gentleman this far. Attentive and polite, the model of decorum, he’d ensured her every need was met while never straying into taboo territory with as much as a suggestive look.
Nonetheless, the room fairly crackled with sensual electricity. At least she thought so. Given his immense experience, he mightn’t be as aware.
As she picked hair after hair off his coat, she wished she wasn’t so conscious of him breathing into her scalp. Of late, her body had become a foreign entity. Peculiar sensations and yearnings she could neither identify nor had the scarcest notion what to do about assailed her.
This close, his cologne enveloped her, and she admitted to herself she was envious of the cat. For the wanton thing made no pretense about her affection for Pierce, and he readily caressed the demanding feline.
Still, Bianca was determined not to fall prey to his practiced ways and redoubled her efforts to be immune to him. So what if he smelled splendid, possessed chiseled cheekbones, and had a muscular chest? Her growing fascination was at best imprudent, she scolded silently. A flush of awareness heating her cheeks, Bianca finally sat back. “I fear that’s the best I can do. The hairs cling to your coat.”
Pierce cleared his throat, then cupped her shoulders. “Bianca, I—”
“Sir, there are two gentlemen to see you. They claim you hired them in London.” Digby didn’t as much as bat an eye upon finding his employer and his ward kneeling on the floor together.
“Thank you, Digby. I will see them in here.” Pierce stood then extended his hand to help Bianca up.
She would rather not touch him again. She didn’t trust her reaction, but she couldn’t very well lumber to her feet with the butler looking on. Placing her fingertips as lightly as she could in Pierce’s palm, she allowed him to assist her.
“Shall we play again tomorrow?” He smiled, his white teeth a startling contrast against his olive skin. “I’ll make sure Miss Millie does not interrupt us this time.”
Bianca should say no. No good could come of her budding feelings. But she nodded nonetheless.
She wasn’t any different from her mother after all, was she?
Pierce snipped a final rose stem and placed it in the basket dangling from his arm. Satisfied with the two-dozen blossoms he’d cut, he dropped the clippers inside the basket as well.
Whistling, he headed for the house. Another amiable week had passed, and he quite liked the domestic routine he and Bianca had fallen into. Appreciated the peace and slower pace of country life, too. Most especially, he enjoyed Bianca’s witty company.
He lifted the basket
and sniffed the roses. These were for her. What a sentimental sot he’d become. Almost daily he found an excuse to give her something. A feather, an agate, a special volume from the library, a ribbon for her hair, or quite often as he did today, blooms from the gardens.
She adored flowers, and he cherished the radiant smile that lit her eyes with joy when he presented another bundle to her. He suspected he could hand her a fistful of weeds, and she’d respond with the same enthusiasm.
As he strode toward the house, he examined the balcony she so favored. The balcony from which she’d spied upon him each morning that first week. Now, she simply situated her chair next to the balustrade and watched her fill.
Three days ago, he’d nearly strained his groin showing off for her.
A few minutes later, he found her in the drawing room. Actually, her singing led him to her. Halverstone often rang with her clear alto voice. A voice he’d come to cherish, whether she was speaking to him, laughing at Miss Millie’s antics, or crying out in her sleep as she continued to do on occasion.
When he entered, she glanced up from the flowers she was picking the spent blossoms from, and her face broke into a winsome smile. “More flowers, Pierce?” She pointedly looked at three other vases filled with cuttings from the gardens.
“Yes. It gives me pleasure to give them to you.”
She accepted the basket, and after setting it on the marble-topped table, lifted a pink rose with yellow edges to her nose. “They smell divine, don’t they?”
“They do.” He rested a hip against another table and crossed his arms. “Can you leave that and the fresh flowers for a servant? I have a surprise for you.”
Setting the rose down, Bianca shook her head. She’d done something different with her hair, and the new style became her. “You really mustn’t keep spoiling me, Pierce. It gives the wrong impression. I’m sure the servants think there’s more between us than a mere guardianship.”
She considered a gift of flowers from his garden spoiling her? And no one had better dare infer anything improper between them. He’d taken utmost care that their interactions were above even stringent Mrs. Digby’s reproach.
Earl of Wainthorpe Page 10
