Page 17 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

H e was losing her. It was not something Kieran was used to. He wasn’t in the habit of women telling him it was over—quite the opposite—and now he didn’t know what to do, only that he must do something. He ran a hand down the oak surface of the banister on his way to the study. His fingertips trailed over the smooth, polished sheen of the wood in idle acknowledgement that even the banister bore her stamp. In the time they’d been here, Celeste had managed to put her mark on this space, and on him as well. Just as he’d predicted.

When had it happened that he found himself thinking beyond the weeks here, thinking into a future that he’d not thought of or dared to dream of for years since becoming a Horseman? Yet, her presence had called those dreams of home and family to life. He didn’t quite understand it. He’d been with women, beautiful women; women he’d met under varying circumstances, both tame and risk-laden. It had never been a problem to leave them when the time had come. There’d been women he’d missed more than others, but there’d never been a woman he’d wished had stayed. Until her: until Celeste Sharpton. How like fate to play such a cruel trick. The one woman he wanted to stay was the only one who wouldn’t.

In the office, he went to the big desk that already felt like his—also thanks to her. Celeste had gone to the stationer’s in Wrexham and ordered stationery with a majestic, curlicued ‘W’ embossed on thick, cream paper. Kieran smiled to himself, remembering how she’d come home from that particular visit to town, laden with packages. He’d thought she’d gone dress shopping. Wasn’t that what women usually did? He’d been surprised to discover all the packages were for him: stationery, calling cards and a beautiful round brass ink-well supported at its base by four bent-backed Atlases at the cardinal directions.

‘Because that’s what you do, Kieran.’ She’d sat on his desk and wrapped her arms around him. ‘You hold up the sky for all of us, whether you are Wrexham or Parkhurst.’ She’d kissed him, long and hard, whispering, ‘I missed you today…’ And he’d not been able to resist giving the desk a proper baptism.

Kieran scraped a hand over his face. Would he think about that every time he sat here? It would be hard to get work done, or hard to concentrate. He needed to be able to do both today. Perhaps this was a reminder as to why he made a habit of never engaging his feelings in relationships. Sex did not require it, his women did not require it and the dark edge of diplomacy certainly did not require it—preferred the opposite, in fact.

Celeste had engaged his feelings whether he’d willed it or not and now he was back to the question he’d started with: how had that happened? How had she slipped beneath his guard? Why was he so ready to throw away his standards, or the code of conduct that had kept him safe all these years? Why was he ready to forget the lesson from Leipzig for a woman who didn’t want to stay, and who would choose to give him up? She’d said as much yesterday on the picnic blanket even as she’d touched him, roused him, her eyes telling a different story than her words.

Kieran took out the precious list of names with its rough edge where she’d torn it. He looked at the list with new eyes today after their heated discussion on the picnic blanket. It was a tool for revenge, something that could eat him alive under the guise of seeking justice. Was she right? He couldn’t deny that the names on the list were meant to be tracked down, if not by him, then by others in his grandfather’s network. He’d sent Bert with a copy of the names to his grandfather in the hope that Grandfather would recognise them or have some insight into who they were. He’d also sent the list for safekeeping in case…Roan made it to Wrexham and the worst happened so that he couldn’t deliver the list to his grandfather in person.

From a desk drawer, he took out an exquisite leather-bound appointment book with his name etched in smart, tiny gold letters on the lower right-hand corner of the cover, another thoughtful present from Celeste. He opened to the front, which contained a full calendar for each month, and made another mark. September had come and gone. October was underway. He closed his eyes. His five weeks were up. The time had flown. A reckoning was closer than ever.

He flipped through the book, coming to the pages where he might record his appointments and notes for each day and re-read them. He’d been tracking Roan as best he could, estimating when the man would land in England and how long it would take him to journey from the coast to London. London would slow him down but it would be a necessary stop. It was the last place Celeste had been seen. Roan would retrace Celeste’s steps, perhaps stopping at the boarding house. Kieran did not expect the landlord and his wife to be loyal. Roan was too persuasive for that, but he did hope the landlord and his wife were safe.

It would be difficult for Roan to gather information about the Horsemen. London was empty and Roan couldn’t move around in the open. Any whiff of his presence in the city would bring the law. It would take him a little time to learn the Horsemen had been given titles and estates. Then, he’d have to decide—would this be a divide and conquer action? Had Celeste and her Horseman gone to Barrow, to Cheshire or to the estate in Sussex? He may well come to Cheshire. The question was how many men would he bring and when?

He tapped a finger on the diary page. Soon…any day…today…tomorrow… Unless…what a powerful word that was. Hope sprang eternal. He did have some hope in Casek and Worth, as he’d told Celeste. They’d captured Roan the first time a few years ago and put him on trial. But Roan had powerful friends in the Duke of Amesbury’s family and justice had not prevailed. Roan had escaped to Brussels and continued to operate as usual. If anyone could stop Roan, it would be them. He’d have no way of knowing immediately, though, if Worth or Casek had any success, just as he had no way of knowing if Roan was on the road right now, coming for him and the woman he cared for, or if he’d already been caught. It was a damned helpless feeling to be so blind, not knowing if help or hell was riding down the road.

He was missing his brothers keenly, not only for help with Roan but for advice regarding Celeste. He did not want to lose her but how did he convince her to stay when there were so many reasons for her to go? All of her arguments were valid. If they were to let logic dictate their decisions, he ought to let her go. What he wanted from her and for them was beyond logic. Ironically, it would require a leap of faith from two people who did not operate from a position of faith and trust, and who had in fact been betrayed by those very things in the past. In order to be together, they both had to break the cycle.

There was a knock and Celeste peered around the edge of the door. ‘May I come in? I need your opinion.’ She was all smiles as she twirled in front of his desk, the skirts of her gown belling out in a feminine swirl of deep russet silk. Matching slippers with tiny black bows peeped from beneath. ‘Do you like it?’ She flashed him an expectant smile.

Did he like it? Dear Lord, he was rock-hard at the sight of her. The modiste in town had outdone herself. The bodice was tight and streamlined to show off her slim torso in contrast to the billowing fullness of the skirts—on which fabric had not been spared to make deep, luxurious folds. He pretended to give the gown serious contemplation, letting his gaze drift over the tiny sleeves, the scoop of the neckline and the way her breasts pushed upward, making no secret of their fullness and their firmness. He knew how those breasts felt. Even now, his hands itched to fit themselves to her and to fill themselves. He gestured for her to give another spin. Lord, he loved that skirt, never mind that such full skirts were not quite the fashion.

‘Well,’ he drawled, teasing. ‘After giving the dress full consideration, my only concern is the bodice.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Her hands went protectively to her midsection, her eyes showing genuine concern, and he regretted teasing her.

He came round the desk and put his hands on her hips, luxuriating in the feel of her beneath the smooth folds of silk. ‘Can you breathe in it? I can nearly span your waist with two hands.’

‘You have very large hands,’ she flirted, her worry starting to fade.

‘I do. I have other large parts as well, which leads me to my second concern,’ He gave a wicked grin. ‘That gown fastens down the back. It will take for ever to get you out of this.’

Her green eyes sparkled. ‘You’re not meant to get me out of this. You’re meant to dance with me in it.’ She gave him a smile and a twirl and he thought it had never felt so good to please someone, to spoil someone, as it did her. ‘The gown is for the harvest ball.’

She held out the skirts and bit her lip in that characteristic way she had when she was unsure. ‘You do like it? The bill should arrive later today. The dress was a bit dear, but I wanted to be certain we made a good impression. It’s your first official formal outing as Earl of Wrexham.’

She smiled up at him and he drew her close. In that moment, he didn’t care what the gown had cost. ‘I can always sell my ink stand if needs must.’ He gave a husky laugh. ‘I am holding autumn come to life in my arms. I can hardly put a price on that.’

He bent his mouth, capturing hers in a lingering kiss, the forbidden wish springing to mind—that she was his wife, that this was for ever and that Roan would not be riding down the road to wreck this. Let him try , the Horseman in him roared with fierce protectiveness. A Horseman protected what was his, and fought for what was his, and this chestnut-haired, russet-gowned beauty was his whether she liked it or not. Heaven help Roan if he laid a hand on anyone under his protection.

Kieran’s hands tightened at her waist and she stepped back. ‘Careful, you’ll crush the fabric and then I will look like a smashed pumpkin,’ she scolded with a coy smile. ‘Give me half an hour to get out of it and then come upstairs. I’ll have something more…practical on.’ She tapped him on the arm. ‘That should give you enough time to finish whatever I’ve interrupted. Back to work with you.’

She was off in a silken swish of russet skirts, leaving a trail of hyacinth promise in her wake. How would he be expected to work after that ? Coupled with the fact that she expected him to sit back down at the desk they’d vigorously christened not so long ago.

To his credit, Kieran did try. He did sit down at the desk. He did stare at the list before putting it away. He was starting to resent it and how it stood between him and happiness. He started a letter to his grandfather but his mind wandered to other more important considerations: was this what it had been like for Caine when he’d fallen for Mary? Had it been impossible to keep his mind on work? Had he been desperate to keep her, fearful she would leave? And even more fearful that she would have to leave; that the relationship was impossible? Had he wondered if this, at last, was love and what to do about it? Had he wondered how to fight it and then realised he didn’t want to fight it but that he wanted to join it?

Kieran rose from the desk and checked his pocket watch. He had just enough time to visit the family vault. If Celeste wanted them to make a good impression, the future Countess of Wrexham, ruse or not, needed something more than a pretty sea-glass pendant from a village fair or her mother’s pearls. People would expect it and, if it happened to compel her to revisit her thoughts about staying, and about making their situation more reality than ruse, so be it. He was not opposed to fighting with all the weapons in his arsenal to convince her to stay.

* * *

‘You do not fight fair,’ Celeste murmured, her hand trailing over the topaz necklace at her throat, the bed-sheet riding low on her hip. This afternoon had been decadent—lovemaking, jewels and Kieran lying unabashedly naked beside her in the aftermath.

‘Who said anything about fighting? Are we fighting?’ Kieran protested with false innocence. ‘You were the one who insisted we make a good impression, that’s all. People will expect us to put the Wrexham vault on display. They will think I am miserly if you show up in anything less.’ He grinned.

She felt her resistance start to slip. She ought not let him spoil her like this—like a husband spoiling a wife—especially after yesterday’s discussion. It might give him the wrong impression—that her resolve was wavering and that she was indeed reconsidering. She might give herself the wrong impression too—that the future he laid out was possible and that her reasons for resistance could be overcome. She must remain resolute; it was for the best.

‘I feel positively wanton wearing jewellery while I lie abed naked in the middle of the afternoon, like someone’s wicked mistress.’ She laughed softly.

‘Good.’ Kieran reached for the box. ‘Try the bracelet.’ He helped her with the clasp, his fingers skimming her skin in tiny strokes that set the want loose within her yet again. ‘The set is quite the heirloom. It’s part of the original estate, dating back to the fifteen-hundreds.’

He adjusted the bracelet and held up her wrist to the light, letting the stones dance and change from red to russet in their gold settings. They would look dazzling with her gown. ‘It’s made from Imperial Topaz, found in Brazil and acquired during some early exploration efforts. The first Earl of Wrexham had the stones cut into shapes of leaves as a wedding gift. He and his wife were married in the autumn, so it seemed appropriate.’

‘Sold.’ Celeste leaned back against her pillows with a laugh, studying the bracelet. ‘Have you ever thought of selling jewellery if dark diplomacy doesn’t work out? I’m sure Rundell’s would hire you. All you’d have to do is put a bracelet on a woman’s wrist, run your fingers over her skin and tell her a story. Husbands would hate you.’

He leaned close, gently screwing an earring onto each ear. They were long, slim dangling affairs and he turned her chin this way and that, smiling in satisfaction. ‘I wanted to see how they’d catch the light. Stunning…’ He breathed.

‘You should definitely not sell earrings.’ Every husband in London would call him out.

‘Well, I’d keep my clothes on, of course.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘I only take them off for my special clients.’

‘I don’t think clothes would change your sales.’ She laughed. ‘You’re just as charming with them on.’

‘Is this your way of saying you like the set, or your way of saying you like me ?’ He drew her close, kissing her neck. Very soon, conversation would be de trop —again—not that she minded. There were worse ways to pass an afternoon and she did not want a repeat of yesterday.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up into his face, at those beautiful dark eyes and that thick, wavy hair that was always in disarray. ‘You’re shameless, fishing for compliments, Kieran Parkhurst. You know very well that I like you.’ She more than liked him. He’d shaken her world, forced her to test her assumptions about her future. If she wasn’t careful, he’d upend that world.

Enough to stay…?

The words lingered unspoken between them. She didn’t want them to come to life and wreck the peace of the afternoon. Celeste draped a leg over his hip and levered herself upright, catching him by surprise.

‘We’ve already done you on top this afternoon. This time, I’m on top.’ She lifted her hands to her hair and let it fall through her fingers, watching his eyes go wide, watching all thought recede until she had his full attention here and now. The afternoon was safe again, she was safe again, her priorities still intact. There would be no more talk of leaving or staying, or of the future that was quickly becoming the present.

Celeste moved over him, letting her breasts brush his chest, the topaz teardrop of the necklace dangling between them. ‘You will have to tell me,’ she whispered, ‘how the jewels look when I do this…’ She sat up and moved back, lowering herself onto him. She moved her hips with a coy smile, sensing she was in control for the moment. ‘Well?’

His Adam’s apple worked as he looked up at her. ‘They look good.’ His hands bracketed her hips as he caught on to her game. ‘Try moving up and down.’ He sucked in his breath as she moved on him. ‘Oh, yes, now they look even better.’ He levered himself up to steal a kiss, his abdomen muscles flexing. ‘Now, how about we make those jewels bounce?’

‘You are a wicked man.’ She laughed, fully enjoying herself as he became an active participant in the seduction.

He grabbed her around the waist and flipped her beneath him. ‘I am, and I am all yours.’

Her one thought as climax claimed her was: if only this could be true; if only this could be for ever, maybe then a compromise would be worth it. Or maybe, he was right—no compromise would be needed between true partners. Maybe, with Kieran, things could be different, but only if she could be different. Nothing would change unless she did, and he did. They would have to change together for it to work. That would take a leap of faith.