Page 19 of Angel of Mine (Most Imprudent Matches #4)

Nineteen

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON, JUNE 14, 1816

CELINE

Just how early was too early to bother a man at his place of business? And how exactly did one go about that if she wasn’t staring through his office in a borrowed uniform?

Such were the essential questions I pondered between bites of toast and sips of tea. I made a half-hearted effort with the morning paper, but it was a thoroughly wasted exercise, distracted as I was.

I rarely bothered to dress before breaking my fast, and this morning was no exception. Instead I wore only my night dress and wrap. It was, after all, one of the greatest advantages of my solitary lifestyle. Even in spite of Bouvier’s most fervent insistence on the inappropriateness of the habit.

I was, however, planning to wear a fetching sage morning dress for my visit, whenever I deemed it late enough. I was all but certain it would be thoroughly appreciated by a certain shy, occasionally charming solicitor.

I couldn’t help but imagine the way his eyes would crinkle in that astonished way. I’d never seen another like it. The naked admiration was clear in that expression. I found it made my heart give a little skip every time I saw it.

My reverie was interrupted by a fierce pounding at the front door. On instinct, I rose and walked to the hall, heedless of my state of undress. All I could see was the back of Bouvier as he tried to keep someone out. My stomach dropped before I heard the familiar tenor of his voice.

“Let me in, damn it! It’s urgent!”

“Sir, it is not an appropriate hour for callers. If you will wait?—”

“What part of urgent are you not understanding? I need to see her. Now.”

“Let him in, Bouvier,” I called down the hall. Both men froze before turning. Bouvier offered me nothing but a disapproving tut and raised brow. There was an “ I told you so ” about my state of undress just as soon as we had a moment alone. Little did he know, William’s reaction was hardly a deterrent.

He was frozen in eye-crinkle astonishment and, if I was not mistaken, a fair bit of arousal, given the severe bob of his throat as he stared at me. It was a heady thing, to be gazed at with such adoration.

That was the only explanation I could offer for my next suggestion.

“Come with me?” I asked with a nod toward the stairs. His head dipped with no real thought behind the gesture. All of his former urgency seemed to have died away at the sight of me. I ought to be concerned about whatever had him so distressed, but really, how was I to think of anything other than the reverence with which he stared?

I didn’t know if I had ever been more conscious of the way I moved up the stairs. Or the footsteps behind me. At the landing, I turned, waiting for him to join me. When he did, I grabbed his hand in my own and tugged him along to my dressing room.

There, I found Jane laying out my recently pressed gown and stockings. She was startled at the sight of my company but made an exemplary attempt at a curtsy when I dismissed her. Though it had been some years since a man had been in my dressing room, she wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the concept.

William, on the other hand, was entirely unfamiliar and quite uncomfortable with the concept, given the stiff way he held himself and the way his eyes darted from object to object around the room.

“Would you care to sit?” I asked with a gesture toward the settee. He approached and sat with a stiff sort of formality, his back ramrod straight and jaw clenching and unclenching with uncommon regularity.

After several minutes, I broke. “Are you quite all right?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I bit back a smile. It would not do to find amusement in his discomfiture, no matter how endearing.

“You said you had urgent business?”

“Yes—well, no—I mean, it is urgent, but not so urgent that it could not have waited for you to dress.”

I stifled a giggle at his expense. “It is not as though I am naked, William. Honestly. I’m more clothed than Adriane was when she found me. Clearly you’ve seen women in their night dresses before.”

“No—I mean, yes. I have. Obviously. But not like that.” He nodded toward my form.

“I’m not certain I followed you around that bend…” That was a lie, I was baiting him for compliments in the worst possible way.

“Lord, I’m such a…” He tossed his head back on his neck and stared at the ceiling as though it had answers to all of life’s questions. As if the Lord would actually answer him. “I can’t do this.”

“What? No! William, I was just teasing.” He lolled his head back down with some effort, his sharp eyes finding mine with a haunting intensity before slipping closed with a shake.

“I— We— She was sick. She was unwell, and I never… And she didn’t look like that, and her gowns weren’t so… It wasn’t so terribly difficult not to… And you’re…” He abandoned yet another sentence with a sigh before bringing his hand to his forehead and dragging it across his face.

Somehow, I was fairly sure those half-finished sentences were compliments. They were certainly more intoxicating than the most poetic declarations of love and lust could ever be. And if I was understanding his statement fully, he and Adriane had never… Had he ever?

Each time we kissed, it was like a revelation to him. But the way his lips worked over mine... Surely such a thing could not be achieved on instinct alone. Right?

Regardless, he came here on an errand of some urgency. If his words and demeanor were to be believed, the urgent matter was not in his breeches, however much that fact might disappoint me.

“All right, what I’m gathering from that is that you would feel more comfortable if I were fully dressed. Yes?”

He exhaled a shaky breath between nods.

“Very well,” I whispered. Unable to resist, I leaned down to him. His eyes slipped shut and his chin tilted up, still eager for my attentions in spite of his discomfort. I pressed a soft kiss to his lips before dropping one, then another on his closed lids. My efforts earned me a quiet gasp as I pulled away, thrilling me in an entirely self-satisfied way. “I am going behind the screen. Don’t peek.”

I slipped behind the screen with my gown and stockings. This would have to be done alone since I had dismissed Jane for the morning.

I could not resist the urge to let the fabric of my wrap brush against my night dress as loudly as possible in the silent room. I made no claims of sainthood after all. I pulled my chemise from its place on the hook and donned it. My stays proved more challenging. Fortunately, I wore half stays a la paresseuse with this gown and could fasten them well enough myself. Stockings and petticoat donned, I slipped the sage muslin overtop.

That was where my talents ended. The long line of dress hooks would defeat me.

“William?”

“Yes?”

“I need some assistance.”

“Would you like me to call your maid back?”

“Or you could…” I trailed off. Confident now in the numerous layers of fabric between us, I stepped from behind the screen. He still had his eyes respectfully shut. “It is merely the dress, if you don’t mind?”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing enticingly. “No. No, I don’t mind.”

“Very well. You’ll have to peek I suppose.” And he did. His eyes found mine with astonishing accuracy. They had hardened to the darkest of navies. He rose slowly, stretching his limbs out while I turned to offer the line of hooks down my back for his fingers.

He started at the bottom, near the base of my spine. Though there were at least three layers between my skin and his hands, and his fingers did not stray, it felt as though there was nothing between us.

Nearly halfway up, he ran into the obstacle of my hair. His touch was featherlight as he gathered it and swept it across my shoulder gently. He continued on, his feet pressing closer with each hook. By the last one, I could feel his warmth against my back and his breath caressing my neck.

I had lost the upper hand in this. And I was fairly certain I did not want it back. Far too quickly, he finished the last hook. His hand slid around my shoulder, holding me steady while he dropped a fevered kiss to the back of my neck, just above the line of hooks.

“There,” he breathed.

Uneasily, I pushed my hair back and moved to attend to my coiffure, to add some distance, to gain my bearings. I reached for the silver brush resting on my vanity as I sat. His hand found it seconds before my own.

“Let me?” His voice was low and graveled and oh so delightful. If he spoke like that always, I would be able to deny him nothing.

Even as I nodded, I expected him to start from the top of my head and rip the brush through, taking all my tangles with it. Instead he grabbed a curl, pulling it through his fingers, studying it.

“Spun gold,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. He settled the brush at the end of the lock, pulling it slowly through before moving up an inch and repeating it.

And then I remembered where he likely gained familiarity with the care of long hair. The hurt for him was overshadowed by the warmth I felt at such reverence. And both were dwarfed by the bone-melting satisfaction that came with each pull of the brush.

Far too soon, he finished. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head as he set the brush aside before turning back to the settee. He left me at the vanity, bereft and desperate for more.

I spun on my stool and caught sight of his back—an enticing back at that. His shoulders were tight and unnaturally high on his frame. I caught my lip between my teeth to keep back the pleased grin at the way I had discomfited him.

Shaking the thoughts away, I recalled the reason for his presence. “Downstairs, you said you had something urgent to discuss?”

It was as though I had doused him with water. The languid, calm, sensuality disappeared. In its place the distressed posture and expression.

“Celine, love. Someone broke into my office last night. I think— I suspect— The killer, they know we’re searching for them.”