Page 9 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

L ucius woke at the ridiculous hour of eight.

In the morning.

In a cold and dusty chamber.

He supposed he should feel fortunate that the linens had been changed, but that was the extent of the hospitality he’d been afforded.

Lucius had no illusions that his task in securing an annulment would be easy and had arranged for his valet, Graham, to follow with his trunk and services.

Two days, he figured, with the deluge of rain.

He shucked the coverlets and padded on bare feet to a basin filled with—of course—icy water.

He dashed his face and shivered. The infernal rain hadn’t let up a bit.

He grabbed a towel and heard a clank. “What the devil?” He snatched up his trousers and shrugged into them.

It seemed to be coming from the adjoining door, but it was locked.

Throwing a shirt over his head, he eased the main door open and peered down the hall.

Lighted sconces showcased dark wood freshly polished.

Something he hadn’t noticed the night before.

The annoying and incongruous sound echoed through the halls that sounded suspiciously like… water flowing through… pipes!

But the only other door along this corridor was the countess’s chamber.

He backed into his room and cocked his head to one side.

The sound seemed to be coming through the sitting room.

He moved through the hall to his wife’s sitting chamber.

From there he moved to his sitting room and eased the door open.

Correction. What used to be his sitting room had been converted to an elaborate bathing chamber.

His body quivered with anticipation. He stepped inside, taking in the copper tub and clay pipes that rose through the stone floor.

The modest-sized room still retained its small hearth.

A fire blazed in the grate on the far end of the room.

The other end held a full-length mirror framed in gold leaf.

A folding screen with a floral pattern of soft spring colors allowed privacy for changing.

A wood cabinet with intricate carvings that reminded him of the crown moldings in the newly remodeled library, obviously built by the same individual, took up another wall.

He took in the total ambience she’d created. A world of mollifying luxury and in this one confined space. Steam wafted off water scented with mint and lavender, enticing the self-centered arse he was.

He dropped his trousers, stripped off his shirt, and stepped into pure, heated bliss.

*

Meredith pulled her wrap about her and glanced out the window.

The rain was relentless and didn’t appear as if it would stop anytime soon.

The heavy onslaught mirrored her heart. It was difficult to swallow past the constriction in her throat.

She hadn’t slept a wink the entire night.

The sudden appearance of her absent husband hadn’t helped matters.

She was at a loss as to what to do to ease the Trenwiths’ sorrow.

Or, perhaps it was her own she wished to ease.

Tommy had been an inquisitive child, always sneaking off.

He’d been most impatient to follow his father and his brother to work in the mines.

Something that was beyond her understanding.

Her vision blurred. The unnecessary loss of life was like a knife in her soul.

The depth of Elise Trenwith’s grief was unfathomable.

Meredith went to the escritoire and dashed off a note for Agnes to relay to Mrs. Verity.

She would deliver a basket herself. And while she was at it, she would pay a little visit to that horrid Mr. Thornfield.

After ringing for tea, she went through her sitting room to the bathing chamber where the steamy air seeped beneath her skin and clouded her vision. She retrieved a towel from the cabinet, then released her wrap and dropped it to the floor. She went to the tub—

“Good morning, m’dear.” The low, husky resonance held the growl of sleep and startled her so completely, she tripped, sending her towel flying from her arm and floating through the air to land with a plop in the tub.

And she nearly followed. “How utterly modest of you,” he said without an ounce of remorse.

In fact, the smile she heard in his voice infuriated her.

“That is my bath, you cur.”

“Is it?” He shifted, gripping the sides of the tub and made to stand. The towel hung on his… his—

“No!” She backed away. “I’ll return later.” She snatched up her wrap and struggled into it, muttering, “I vow, I’ve never known a man of the aristocracy to rise before noon.”

His voice reached through the steam. “It’s a first for me to be sure. By the bye, my dear, what lovely breasts you have—”

She slammed the door, cutting him off. Oh, the blasted blackguard. Heat infused her body from her toes up, hardening her nipples, flaming her face. She stomped through her sitting room to her bedchamber, startling poor Agnes. “Where’s the tea?” Meredith demanded.

“I sent for it, milady. It hasn’t come yet.”

“Did Mrs. Verity receive my note?”

“Of course, ma’am, er, milady, but I had to read it to her on account she, um, well, she said she didn’t have her glasses.”

Good heavens, Meredith had forgotten the woman’s stubbornness in learning to read. “Fine. I’ve a basket to deliver,” she snapped. “I’ll wear the brown habit.”

“But your bath, milady—”

“Has been invaded. My dress, if you please.”

*

Lucius grinned and reveled in the water’s warmth.

What an inventive little thing his wife was proving to be.

And with such a luscious body—then the thought of her head on the shoulder of her “steward” invaded his mirth.

A likely story indeed, he decided. That Mr. Ashcroft mirrored her platonic musings was highly unlikely.

Ashcroft was a man of an eligible age, near Lucius’s own of four and thirty, he’d guess. A fact that raised his doubt regarding her explanations. He would never raise another man’s son as his own.

Lucius gripped the sides of the oversized copper tub and came to his feet, sloshing water over the sides with a sudden urge to visit Perlsea Keep’s newest steward.

Just to discern the man’s true reasons for being in Cornwall; to defend Pender—his—property.

The Keep . It was the Keep he was determined to defend.

It was a surety that Ashcroft wouldn’t have Perlsea’s best interests at heart.

Again, the image of his wife’s head against the man’s shoulder stabbed through him. No. It definitely wasn’t the Keep’s interests in which Ashcroft was thinking.

Without Graham’s attention about, it took Lucius but ten minutes to dress and head down to the morning room. “Bartlett.” He greeted the footman he’d left behind three years prior.

“My lord.”

“I see you didn’t abandon her ladyship and dash back to London.”

Bartlett grinned. “No, sir. ’Tis been a challenging yet rewarding position. I thank you for the opportunity.”

Lucius eyed him, gauging his sincerity. “Opportunity, eh?”

“Oh, yes. Lady Perlsea—er, pardon, my lord—Lady Pender has worked wonders in her time here.”

With a stiff jaw, Lucius inquired, “Is there coffee?” He took a chair at the head of the table. A steaming brew was poured and placed before him. “Do tell.”

“Ah, well. She’s started a school for the village children. And made remarkable improvements in the Keep—er, apologies, my lord, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no. The place was in abhorrent condition. Go on.”

“The kitchens have been improved, along with the new bathing chamber. Saves the servants time in hauling heated water. The library, of course. And, the new steward. Well, he’s not new any longer, I s’pose. Mr. Ashcroft has worked to keep the workmen from trampling the grounds.”

“He’s the one hiring the servants? From what I recall, only the Veritys had been in residence.”

“No, sir,” he hedged. “Her ladyship handles the hiring.”

Lucius’s gut tightened. “What else does this Mr…”

“Ashcroft. He don’t operate like a regular steward. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my lord. He gets things done, he does, but…” Bartlett’s voice lowered as if he feared the walls had ears. Though in this monstrosity, it wouldn’t surprise him. “He don’t talk like an ordinary chap. Too posh.”

“Too posh,” Lucius repeated slowly. “And just where does the posh chap reside?”

Bartlett’s brow furrowed as if the question confused him. “Why, in the steward’s cottage, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Lucius murmured. “And his office?”

“Off the kitchens, sir. Her ladyship affected changes there as well.”

“I believe I’ll pay the man a visit after I break my fast. How’s the cook?”

“Smashing, my lord. I’ll bring you a plate. Lady Pender instructed the kitchens not to bother with a sidebar as it was just…” Bartlett’s ears turned red. “I’ll, um, hurry back, sir.”

By the time Lucius finished eating, he was spoiling for a fight.

And he had a pretty decent idea of where to locate one.

He strode through the halls and down a flight of stairs where he found the man in question sitting behind a weathered oak desk that had been polished to a shine.

Prominent scratches and worn edges spoke of its age.

The top was cluttered with ledgers, estate maps, and stacks of London broadsheets that should have been tossed out long ago.

His wife hadn’t quite managed to rid the room of its musty odor, but Lucius sensed a purpose that spoke of something deeper than this man of business projected.

Without so much as a knock, Lucius entered.

The man leaned back in his chair with an assurance that upset the equilibrium. “Ah, Lord Pender. I anticipated a visit from you, just not first thing.” His manner was indeed “posh” as Bartlett had said. Only the wired-framed spectacles detracted from the air of nobility.

Lucius leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “You held my wife in your embrace for all the village to see,” he said. “How did you expect me to react?”