Page 14 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

W rexham Hall came slowly into view as the overgrown trees of the lime alley gradually gave way to a wider, open space set before the red-bricked Tudor home Kieran had inherited with his title. Just a little further, and they’d be able to see it in full.

‘The trees have been neglected,’ Kieran groused, eyeing the lime alley with disappointment. The branches had grown overhead until the two sides had joined, forming a full, dense canopy.

‘They’re good trees,’ Celeste commented. ‘Look how thick those trunks are, and how sturdy the branches. A boy would love to climb up them.’

They’d been doing this all morning since they’d left the inn—commenting on their new surroundings for conversation. They’d crossed over the border into Wales amid a mist that had them discussing how the air felt as if autumn had arrived overnight. They’d made the short journey to Wrexham, noting how its unique topography contributed to the thriving town, set as it was between the Dee Valley and the Welsh mountains. The town itself had offered endless conversational openings as they’d passed St Giles church and the storefronts on the main street that promised an enjoyable shopping trip in the near future. What they didn’t talk about, however, was what lay between them or last night.

Kieran understood the reason for it. Last night had been a moment out of time. Their lovemaking had reflected that in its fierceness, its tenderness and in the disclosures it had engendered. He was still reeling from it this morning. Never had he shared so much with another or wanted to. But Celeste had a way of pulling one’s secrets out with her quiet questions, her calm demeanour and her empathy.

Now that the journey was nearly done, the carriage grew quiet, their stream of trivial conversation sputtering. He’d chosen to ride inside with her, wanting to keep their presence as anonymous as possible until decisions could be made about next steps. That was the other reason they’d tacitly opted to bury the morning in small talk—there were decisions to make, and difficult discussions to have. What did come next? Would she stay here with him at the Hall? If she stayed, how would that work? Or would he find a way to help her disappear safely into the mist, where Roan couldn’t find her?

He knew what he’d prefer—that she stayed—and he knew why. In part it was because he’d be able to better protect her if she was with him. But that wasn’t the entire reason. He simply wasn’t ready to let her go. He wanted more nights like last night. He wanted more time with her. It was selfish, given that even more time with her would come to an end. He could not keep her. The concept sounded immature and childish: one did not ‘keep’ another person. One especially did not keep Celeste, who’d already endured life as Roan’s very kept ward. She would not appreciate the tenor of his thoughts.

Kieran slid a glance in her direction while she was busy peering out of the window at the lime alley. She would want to go; he was certain of it.

‘The trees will be spectacular in October, decked out in their autumn foliage.’ She flashed him a nervous smile from the window as the coach left the lime alley behind. ‘I wonder what the house will be like inside.’

‘Hopefully better than the lime alley.’ Although it likely wouldn’t be much better. The earldom of Wrexham had reverted to the Crown three years ago, and since then the estate had lain in unattended repose. He’d sent Matt and Eric on ahead to warn the staff they were coming. The staff was skeletal at best, according to his grandfather’s information. They’d be scrambling at present. He did regret springing himself on them, but he hadn’t known he would be coming.

The coach made a half-circle in the drive and pulled to a halt. Kieran was surprised to see that the minimal staff had taken pains to turn out for him. He’d not expected anyone to pay much attention to their arrival. They stood straight and ready on the steps, which was more than he could say for the lime alley.

‘The staff awaits,’ he said in quiet tones to Celeste. ‘We’d better be on our best behaviour and wait for Bert to set the step.’ Otherwise, he would simply have hopped out.

Celeste’s hand flew to her hair, worried. ‘How do I look?’ She’d put her hair up in a loose twist this morning, having little success at retrieving her pins from last night’s revels. She gave her travelling ensemble a futile brush with her hand and grimaced. It was the same ensemble she’d worn the day he’d taken her around London—the day they’d fled. That seemed a lifetime ago and the dress showed it.

He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. ‘They’ll understand that travel comes with its rigours.’

Her eyes went wide, questions flying as Bert’s boots crunched on the gravel drive outside. ‘We have no luggage. They’ll think it’s strange. Do they know who you are?’

‘They know. Grandfather has been in contact with them.’

‘You’re the Earl, but who am I?’

Yes, how the hell would he explain her ? She couldn’t be a sister. A cousin, maybe? No; someone he met on the road? No; that wouldn’t work unless she was leaving.

Bert opened the door and Kieran stepped out, turning back to hand down Celeste. A tall, thin man came forward and bowed.

‘I am Trafton. My lord, my lady, welcome to Wrexham Hall. We are privileged to have you in residence—’

‘I am not Lady Wrexham.’ Celeste’s words interrupted the butler’s obviously rehearsed speech. He’d probably been working on it since Eric and Matt had arrived and thrown his household into chaos.

‘My pardon, I misunderstood.’ He looked to Kieran for direction. ‘When I heard there was a lady travelling with you, I assumed you had married…’ He was faltering and Kieran came to his aid.

‘My brother was the one who married. Perhaps you’ve confused us; it is easy to do.’ But that still did not explain Celeste’s presence. Kieran improvised hastily with the first thing that came to mind. ‘This is my fiancée, Miss Celeste Sharpton.’ It was a good explanation for Celeste’s presence. It would be less scandalous for a fiancée to have travelled with her intended and, even if someone did protest its appropriateness, the promise of impending nuptials forgave any transgressions.

Trafton was instantly relieved. ‘Congratulations, Miss Sharpton; my lord.’ Trafton beamed. ‘When is the wedding to be, if it is not too bold to ask?’

‘It is not too bold, but no date has been set. We needed to see the condition of the estate first,’ Kieran said smoothly, aware that, while his answer had impressed and pleased his new butler, Celeste was quietly bristling behind a pasted-on smile. A sixth sense told him there was going to be hell to pay for this. He wished that sixth sense also would tell him when.

* * *

She was going to make him pay and she would, just as soon as she could find him. Not only had he involved her in the fiancée ruse in front of his staff without her permission, he’d left her in the care of the housekeeper—a very voluble Mrs Hanson—while he’d gone off with the steward to look over the estate. She had not seen hide nor delicious, dark hair of Kieran for hours now. If he thought he could avoid a reckoning through absence, or that she would cool down if given enough time, he would find himself in error. And if he thought she was going to preside over his household for him as a result of her sudden promotion to fiancée, he would be wrong there too.

Celeste paced the length of her newly aired chamber, her anger simmering. Not surprisingly, Mrs Hanson had put her in the countess’s suite, which conveniently adjoined the earl’s—just one of the many consequences of Kieran’s hastily constructed ruse. At least now she could listen for telltale sounds next door that heralded the return of her errant supposed fiancé. Aha! Voices… She strode towards the connecting door, prepared to give him a rather large piece of her mind, and halted. He wasn’t alone. Drat. She could not scold him for this in front of the servants. The canny man was probably counting on that, too.

Mrs Hanson bustled in; gowns draped over her arms. ‘Good news, miss, I’ve found a trunk of the former Countess’s things. They’re a few years out of date, and perhaps a bit loose around the waist, but Enid is an excellent hand with a needle and we can take them in until your own wardrobe can be settled.’ Apparently, confronting Kieran would have to wait. The housekeeper meant well, and Celeste would not vent her spleen on the undeserving.

At last, Mrs Hanson departed, taking a gown they’d decided on for supper to Enid, the maid. Celeste dusted her hands on her skirt. Time to deal with Kieran. This time, she was in luck. His room was quiet.

She burst into the room, armed with her indignation, ready for battle. ‘What in Hades were you…?’ She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes mesmerised by the sight before her: Kieran in the tub, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck exposed. His hand moved beneath the water and she felt her cheeks heat with curiosity and embarrassment—not embarrassment for him, but for herself. She was invading his privacy. The universe was not on her side today. Perhaps she ought to retreat. No. This was too important. She had to stand her ground. She cleared her throat.

‘Excuse me, I’ve interrupted.’

Kieran opened his eyes and sat up, unfazed by the intrusion. In fact, if she had to guess, he welcomed it. ‘You’re only interrupting memories of last night.’ Damn him. Damn him for looking so good in the tub and damn him for putting her in this position and for being unbothered by it. That last restored some of her righteous indignation.

‘No, you don’t get to brush this off. I’ve been angry with you all day.’ She knelt by the tub, her voice low and terse. ‘What were you thinking to declare I am your fiancée? Do you know what you’ve done?’

‘It was all I could come up with that was plausible. I couldn’t say you were my sister.’ He reached for a washcloth and soap, lathering up one muscled arm.

‘Plausible? Impossible is more like it!’ She fumed. ‘You’ve made it so that I can never leave, not without causing a scandal.’

Kieran’s washing stilled. ‘Were you going to—leave? Nothing had been discussed.’

They’d wasted their time this morning, hiding behind small talk, running away from the remnants of the night. They should have been discussing what would happen at Wrexham.

‘Eventually. My leaving is inevitable and I thought it was assumed between us. Now, in the matter of two sentences, you have Trafton and Mrs Hanson thinking a wedding is in the offing as soon as the estate can be repaired. I can’t leave. You took that away from me without my permission.’

His wet fingers laced through hers, his dark eyes solemn. ‘I see. It’s not the ruse you mind, it’s the lack of permission.’ It wasn’t a question and it stole the intensity of her anger—a very effective strategy for defusing a situation. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that when she was the one being defused.

‘Yes,’ she admitted with a sigh. If she couldn’t be angry at him…

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. ‘We should have discussed it. I do apologise for that. Do you think you can live with it?’

She probably could, all too well. That frightened her. It would make it that much harder to leave him when the time came. He could not fully appreciate the fantasy he was asking her to step into or the kind of dreams it fed—old dreams, impossible dreams, from a girlhood before she’d realised the nightmare she lived in.

‘How long do you think we have before Roan comes?’ She reached for his washcloth. It was hard to stay angry at him. ‘Here, lean forward and let me do your back.’

He bent, giving her access to the smooth muscles of his back. ‘It’s hard to say. Being out here means we’re safe, but it also means we’re blind. Based on what you’ve told me, I think four or five weeks, if Roan comes himself. Sooner if only his men come. They’ll be back in London now, waiting for Roan’s instruction and resupplying. I’ve sent Eric with a letter to Caine. He left this afternoon.’

She smiled. ‘Eric has had no rest. We just got here.’

‘He’s hardy and he’s used to it.’ Kieran flexed his shoulders.

‘You’re tight.’ She began to massage his neck. ‘Mrs Hanson asked about the menus for the week. I helped her with them. I hope you like braised mutton, fresh green beans and baby potatoes. I also counselled her to open a red wine so it could breathe.’

‘That sounds delicious. Oh, that feels good…’

He gave a moan of appreciation and she moved on to his shoulders, a little wave of domestic pride sweeping through her. This was what it would be like to be his wife, his lady in truth. She would sit beside him as he bathed, talking about their days. She had to remind herself this was purely fantasy, not just for her but for him. A Horseman’s days were not always like this. Kieran Parkhurst was no more a country gentleman who spent his days riding his acres than she was a countess planning menus.

Kieran rose in the tub, giving her an unadulterated full-frontal look at him as he sluiced himself off. Her mouth went dry and her eyes suddenly found themselves unable to look away from the muscles of his thighs and the phallus between them, ruddy, long and still in an interrupted state of semi-arousal. Her mind froze on one thought: magnificent; he was absolutely magnificent. There were certainly worse fates than pretending to be this Earl’s fiancée, far worse fates indeed. But there were also potent fantasies, and that was what worried her. Potent fantasies were the hardest of all to leave.