Page 5 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

K ieran was waiting for her in the morning room the next day, dressed for the day in polished tall boots, snug chamois breeches and a dark-brown jacket that matched his eyes. His presence was decidedly masculine amid the more feminine décor of indigo and yellow. Vases of Blue Star irises bracketed the trays filled with morning breads lining the sideboard, and another vase sat in the centre of the round table, calling attention to the contrast between the room and the man who sat in it. He’d been reading a newspaper but he looked up as she entered and flashed her a smile. The morning had not dimmed his attractiveness, nor had the night exaggerated it.

He rose and set aside his paper. ‘Good morning, Celeste. I trust you slept well? Did you have everything you needed when you woke?’ The morning had also not dimmed his informality. He made free with her first name.

‘Yes, and yes!’ She laughed. ‘Liana is more than capable as a lady’s maid, and I thank you for my valise.’ She’d have said he’d been too kind to fetch it but they both knew kindness had nothing to do with it. Retrieving her bag had suited them both. She wandered to the sideboard and began to fill her plate.

‘Thank you also for the clothes. I do not think I mentioned it last night.’ She glanced over her shoulder with a smile. He was watching her, learning her—did she prefer the brioche or the plum cake? Rolls or toast? ‘I’m rather amazed you guessed my measurements so well on such short acquaintance.’ It was a bit of a lie. She was not that amazed, really. He’d seen through her disguise yesterday simply by paying attention to her hands. Kieran Parkhurst was a man to whom details mattered. It seemed he noticed everything and he used those details to influence his decisions.

Kieran dismissed the effort as being of no consequence. ‘It was necessary. When I realised how little you were travelling with, I knew we had to do something about your wardrobe.’ He smiled again and her stomach fluttered involuntarily. Shame on it.

‘Rest assured, I did not go through your things. I merely judged your need on the amount of luggage you had, or in this case didn’t have. I don’t know a woman in England who could travel with so little—certainly not my sister.’ There was affection in the laugh that followed.

She sat down with her plate and a footman stepped forward to pour a cup of coffee. ‘You’re fond of your sister; I hear it in your voice. Did she decorate this room?’

‘Should I not be fond of her?’ He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘And, yes, she designed this room for us. She said even bachelor homes needed a woman’s touch otherwise nothing sets them apart from rooms at the Albany.’

How right his sister was. ‘Your sister sounds like a wise woman.’ Celeste sipped the coffee, inhaling the comforting aroma, the smell of morning and home. ‘I think it’s wonderful when siblings are close. I also think it is rather unusual, at least in my experience.’

‘What experience would that be?’ Kieran helped himself to a piece of toast from the rack on the table and slathered it with butter followed by a healthy dollop of strawberry jam. ‘I find myself intrigued by your background. I assume you have no siblings?’

His tone was genial, his gaze friendly, but he was interrogating her. There was no harm in answering these questions as long as she didn’t forget what was really happening here—and it would be easy to forget, easy to be flattered by this man’s singular attention and to think that he was asking because he was charmed by her.

‘You guess correctly. I am an only child.’

He took a large bite. ‘I cannot imagine being an only child. My father’s home, Willow Park, is not large. My brothers and I shared two rooms between us. My sister had her own room simply on account of being female. She’s the youngest of the five of us.’

He waved his toast and laughed. ‘We all thought it was highly unfair. How does the baby of the household reckon a private room? But looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. My brothers and I were always on top of each other, inseparable. We still are—inseparable, I mean—although we’re seldom living on top of one another these days.’

There was ruefulness mixed with nostalgia in that comment, she noted with a hint of smugness. He was not the only one who marked details. She found herself smiling. ‘Your childhood sounds idyllic.’

‘Chaotic. We were always up to something; always tearing around the countryside on our ponies, swimming, fishing, climbing. Falling: off horses, out of trees, down hills. You name it, we probably fell from it.’

He grinned and, caught up in the images of his memories, she was careless with her next words. ‘It’s a wonder you all survived.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with the horror of what she’d said.

The joy faded from Kieran’s gaze. ‘We didn’t all survive, though.’ He shook his dark head. ‘Stepan was good at a lot of things. He was good with horses, good with knives, but he excelled at swimming—which is why the irony is not lost on me, and why it is so hard to accept that he drowned.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She could barely meet his gaze. ‘I was thoughtless.’ There was pain in those eyes where joy—real joy—had so recently resided when he’d talked about his sister and his brothers. She hurt too, on his behalf, that something so beautiful had been lost. She didn’t know much about that night in Wapping, only that its outcome had made Roan extremely mad. He might have celebrated in company over the success of bringing down a Horseman, but she’d gleaned from private rants that had echoed throughout the house that, while a Horseman was down, there was no body and the weaponry he’d wished to stop from shipping had still gone to Greece.

‘Are you certain he is dead?’ she asked quietly. She asked the difficult question now out of hope, out of wanting to stanch the pain she’d unwittingly set loose amid the comforts of fresh, roasted coffee and jam-slathered toast. She’d not meant to cause him suffering.

‘I do not know what else we can think at this point.’ Grief edged Kieran’s voice. ‘It’s been two months. There’s been no word from him, and no body from the Thames. The Horsemen have a code: we have sworn to let the others know where we are if we’re ever separated. He would not have violated that. What other conclusions can be drawn?’ He made the argument with hopeless vehemence.

She felt that vehemence to her core, a sharp stab of grief. She’d known it when her own father had died—the hopelessness, the helplessness, the emptiness. ‘When my father passed, it felt as if I’d lost part of myself,’ she said quietly. ‘That I would never be the same again.’

She’d not been old enough when her mother had died for her to remember what it felt like, only that she felt immense sadness. But she remembered vividly the feelings that had accompanied losing her father. He’d been her last anchor to the world of her childhood. She’d had to grow up fast. ‘Not that it’s the same to lose a brother as it is to lose a parent,’ she added hastily.

‘It is different, I suspect.’ Kieran set aside his plate, his toast unfinished. ‘In some ways, we expect to face the death of our parents. We don’t expect to outlive younger siblings. Without Stepan, I feel like the three-legged dog that lived on a farm not far from us—I am minus a limb but I must limp on as best as I can.’

She sipped her cooling coffee to cover the emotion swelling in her throat. Up until now, she’d conveniently set aside the fact that Kieran Parkhurst was a human being, endowed with emotions and feelings, someone who could grieve, who could be hurt by another’s actions. She’d come to warn the Horsemen because they were heroes. She’d not thought of them beyond that. The fallen Horseman had, in her mind, been more akin to a fallen comrade in arms. She’d not personalised him, thought of him as a fallen brother or as a fallen family member.

Her quest had become enormously humanised this morning. The man across from her was no longer just a hero with a mission, or a handsome rake who manipulated charm for his own benefit without meaning a word of it. It had been easy to understand Kieran Parkhurst within the confines of that box. To add the extra facet—brother, family member, mourner—created depths she wasn’t prepared to navigate. It not only reminded her that he was human, but it also reminded her she was human too. And both realisations made her squirm. Being human was painful. Hurting, loving and losing was painful. Being vulnerable was painful.

Kieran slapped a hand down on the table, making her jump, along with the coffee cups. ‘Enough of this, or we’ll spend the day feeling sorry for ourselves,’ he decreed, that charming smile of his starting to play on his mouth. ‘I only began my line of questioning originally to determine if you’ve ever been to London before.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘And you are a sly-boots to derail the conversation.’ He fixed her with his gaze. ‘So, have you been to London before?’

‘No.’ She offered a smile as an olive branch. ‘Although I am quite a connoisseur of boarding schools. I attended the Smolny Institute in St Petersburg for a time, and then, after my father’s death, I finished my education in Austria at the school for officers’ daughters.’ Not because Roan or her father had been officers but because certain people in the Austrian military had courted Roan’s favour.

He raised an appreciative brow. She’d managed to impress him and found she couldn’t resist impressing a little more. ‘I acquired Russian, French and German languages at an early age, all of those being important tools for negotiating life in St Petersburg and Austria and the other places we lived.’

‘Duly noted.’ He grinned. ‘And don’t forget Latin. It seems there is a polyglot among us. It can be useful for navigating London as well. London is one of the most diverse cities in the world, full of people from all over the globe.’ A spark lit behind his eyes. ‘Did you enjoy your time in Russia?’

‘Yes, as much as a girl confined to a boarding school can, I suppose. We had cultural outings, and I enjoyed my friends there. One friend, Nadya, would invite me home with her for the summer holidays.’ He was fishing for something but what, she could not tell.

‘Would you like to have Russian food today? There’s a place in Soho we can go to, but only after I show you the rest of London,’ he added with mock sternness. ‘We must see how London compares to other great cities. Run up and get your hat and gloves; I recall that particular gown came with such things. I’ll have the curricle brought round.’

A day out laughing and talking with this man, having this man’s undivided attention. The prospect filled her with an unlooked-for sense of pleasure at doing something normal. And yet that same sense of pleasure had her hesitating.

‘Do you think it’s safe?’ She’d thought to spend the day wandering the garden, reading a book… In short, pent up in the house under the watchful eyes of the servants, half guest, half prisoner, as had been her existence at Roan’s.

‘I think we’ll be moving around enough that, if anyone is following us, it will be noticeable. We’re just as safe enjoying the sights as we are sitting in this house waiting for someone to fire a shot through the window or break in through the back door.’

She shuddered at the images. ‘Don’t say that.’ But she saw the logic. ‘I’ll be back down with my things.’

Celeste’s hands shook as she gathered her gloves and hat. She didn’t like the last suggestion he’d voiced: that safety was an illusion, even in this elegant house, even with a Horseman beside her. How easy it was to believe one was safe when there were clothes in the wardrobe, a roof overhead and food on the table. In truth, Kieran was right: she was no safer here than she’d been at the boarding house. The only difference was that now she wasn’t alone.

Her hand halted on the banister as she headed back down. That was the real danger—thinking that she and Kieran were in this together as a team. When had that transition happened? She’d certainly not thought that way when she’d gone to bed. Last night, she’d been full of wariness and admonitions, vowing to keep her distance, which meant it had happened over breakfast. Coffee, toast and confidences had built a tenuous connection between them, humanised them to one another, for better or worse.

On the one hand, she wanted to be more than an informant to him; it gave her value beyond her information. But the trade for that was allowing him becoming human to her as well and, drat it all, she liked the humanity she glimpsed in him. She liked the boy who’d run wild with his brothers in the summer, the man who’d pressed too many coins into the water-trough boy’s hand yesterday and the gentleman whose first question was always about her comfort.

He showed his humanity in other ways too. It was there in his touch—a tool he used liberally. She’d lost track of how often he’d touched her yesterday but she remembered how it had felt each and every time. It felt natural, as if he should touch her. It felt comforting and powerful all at once, even arousing, the way she’d always thought a man’s touch ought to feel but had since come to realise often fell short of the mark.

The comparison drew a shudder from her and she pushed the reminder away. Today was to be full of sunlight and opportunity. There was no room for darkness. She’d need her wits about her if she was going to spend the day with Kieran Parkhurst: Horseman, hero, human. He’d clearly planned to propose seeing the sights of London all along—he was dressed for it—which meant today would be conducted on his terms. What did he think to learn? If she was watchful, what could she learn? So far, Kieran always offered something in return.

Celeste pulled on her gloves with a thoughtful grimace, reminding herself of the rules. He wasn’t the first attractive man she’d ever met, although he might be the first she’d actually liked, and a little liking could be allowed—up to a point. She could even flirt with him, also up to a point—that point being when the liking and flirting began to cloud her judgement. At which time, she needed to draw back and restore her objectivity. Well, forewarned was forearmed. At least she’d see the danger now before it was too late.

* * *

It was a delight to see London through Celeste’s eyes—this woman who’d been educated in St Petersburg and Vienna. Her remarks were intelligent and insightful as he toured her first through the British Museum and then the smaller venue of Somerset House, where the summer show would still remain on the walls for another week.

They stopped in front of Constable’s The Cornfield and he thought to test her opinions. Mainly he wanted to know if those opinions were her own or if they were merely a parroting of those of the general populace. The painting had been poorly received by the crowds earlier this spring and as a result it had not sold yet, which was unusual for Constable’s work. As for himself, Kieran rather liked it because of its details, many of which would go unnoticed or unappreciated by the casual viewer. What would she think?

She shook her head when he asked his question. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, I fear. This is not a picture on which someone can pass immediate judgement. If so, it will be found wanting, plain, but it’s not.’ She went silent, her gaze fixed on the painting. ‘Would you allow me a moment?’

Kieran removed himself, taking up a seat on a wide, square ottoman a few paces away to give her space for contemplation. He leaned back on his elbows, taking full advantage of the empty gallery to lounge casually, to study her intimately. He’d like to untie the bow of her hat and remove it—as fetching as it was—so he could see her face. She did like to hide it: the veil yesterday, the wide-brimmed hat today. Perhaps she was aware of how much a face gave away, or perhaps it was her beauty she preferred to conceal. Was her beauty also her bane, something used against her? He would not put it past Roan.

After a while she came to sit beside him, her blue skirts brushing his leg. Her light floral scent—her own scent, the one Luce had retrieved from her room at the boarding house—wafted on the still air of the deserted gallery.

‘I like it. I think a botanist would like it even better, but I don’t know how the general public would possess the skill to evaluate it.’ She began her impromptu dissertation and something roused inside Kieran—anticipation, perhaps? An eagerness to hear what came next? The thrill of knowing that he was about to be treated to something interesting? Or was it the thrill of new attraction, of discovering someone?

She started to build her case and he found himself thirsting for each word. ‘It’s a summer painting, set at summer’s hottest. Water is at a premium. It is the dry season, something that is indicated by the dead tree and the shepherd boy stopping to drink from a roadside pond. He is thirsty, the land is thirsty, as summer reaches its climax.’

Kieran shifted on the ottoman, acutely aware of her choice of word. Did she mean it to be provocative? Not for the first time he wondered if her flirting was intentional. Or maybe it came naturally, like those low, sultry tones that marked so much of her conversation. ‘Also, the botanist will appreciate that all the right flowers are in full bloom; the grasses are at their summer zenith.’

Dear God, he’d never found a discussion of art as arousing as he found this. ‘Are you seducing me?’ It was teasingly asked but seriously meant. Perhaps she was playing a game of her own, trying to equal the scales he’d tilted his direction with a hundred little comforts. He did not want to play that game—a game where she used sex as a bartering tool or currency. Nor did he want it to be a game that she played often. Not that he thought she was a virgin—she definitely wasn’t—or that he even wanted her to be one. Virgins and their timid rules held little appeal for him.

She denied seduction most coyly, her denial all but proving the opposite. ‘Might I not have my own interrogation? I am trying to work you out as much as you are studying me.’

Kieran laughed. ‘I have not interrogated you. I merely asked a few harmless questions at dinner and at breakfast.’

‘There are no harmless questions.’ She slid him a smile and a sideways glance from beneath the brim of her hat and laughed with him.

‘Not even about Constable?’ Kieran could not help but make the argument.

‘Especially about Constable. You were testing me. You wanted to see how deeply my education runs. Do I parrot opinions I’ve been given or have I used my education to critically form my own?’ She gave him a smug look. ‘I trust I’ve passed.’

‘Refreshingly so.’ The education that had been lavished on her had not been wasted even if it had been marked by disruption. Her story at the breakfast table had revealed a girl who had perhaps craved stability but had instead been moved around Europe from school to school and left alone to navigate new languages, new cultures and new people. He and his brothers had gone off to school too, but they’d gone together—he and Caine, and later Stepan and Luce. They’d come home together between terms. He’d not faced school, had not faced leaving home, alone. Family had been with him every step of the way. She’d had only herself. It spoke of enormous courage, perseverance and loneliness.

He rose and offered his arm. ‘Enough of museums for today.’ If they stayed any longer, he’d be tempted to put the walls to other uses than hanging art. ‘How do we compare to the Hermitage?’

She took his arm, the sound of their heels clicking on the hard wood. She flashed him another of her beneath-the-brim glances.

‘ Is there any comparison? The Hermitage is an empress’s private collection. The British Museum is free to anyone with a curious mind. One museum makes learning available to all while another argues that education and learning is not for the masses. I saw a small part of the Hermitage because I attended Smolny—Catherine the Great’s school for girls. But otherwise, unless one is invited to the Hermitage, one will never see the art within its walls.’

He could tell that angered her. ‘Are you a Decembrist, Celeste?’ he whispered, a chuckle rumbling in his chest at the discovery. What a multifaceted delight this woman was. In other circumstances, this would make for a most pleasant affair.

‘There is some irony in that, isn’t there? A Smolny education is meant for aristocrats and yet it fostered in me the preference for a society that promotes the opposite, a society that protects its people instead of raising up the wealthy on the backs of the poor. I am sure Catherine the Great would not be pleased with the results.’ She gave him a wry smile, her eyes challenging him, perhaps seducing him—a thought he found quite palatable. ‘Do I surprise you, Kieran Parkhurst?’

‘Only in the best of ways.’ She was intelligent, beautiful, politically aware…passionate. Did she know how passionate? It was there in her words, in her voice, in her gaze. Was that passion tried or untapped? It was hard to tell with her, and perhaps that was part of her charm, part of her intrigue. What a change she offered from the empty-headed debutantes he’d been dancing about.

‘There are people in London you’d enjoy meeting. Prince Nikolay Baklanov and his wife, Klara. He is from Kuban in the Russian south. He feels much as you do. He owns a riding school in Leicester Square. Klara’s father is the Russian ambassador, and almost a Decembrist himself, although he did not participate in last year’s uprising.’ He made a note of the connection. Klara would be good, discreet company for Celeste.

‘Do you want me to meet people?’ Celeste made a questioning knit of her brows.

‘Do you not want to make friends?’ Kieran held the door for her as they exited into bright sunlight. It was past noon and the day was promising to be as hot as yesterday.

‘Friends imply permanence.’ She opened her parasol and twirled it overhead. ‘I do not know how long I’ll be here.’ Ah, spoken like the boarding school miss who’d been uprooted too many times and who was now wary of investing in such friendships for fear of their inevitable loss. He could lay the blame for that at Roan’s feet.

He helped her up onto the curricle seat. ‘Where will you go?’ She did not answer, which was perhaps for the best. He wanted her to rethink that decision when this was done. To be alone was always to be at a disadvantage. He could help her build a life here. There could be more Constable, more sparring, more discussion. He jumped up beside her on the seat as his tiger ran to the back bench. ‘Hyde Park is next. I think we should cool off with a row on the Serpentine. There’s nothing like being on the water on a hot day.’

He needed to cool down his thoughts as well as his body. Celeste Sharpton was an intriguing novelty in a London devoid of company at present, and a striking contrast to the girls he’d spent the Season with. That was all, he assured himself.

He supposed there was also the residual collateral of his brother’s marriage, which had him more seriously considering the quality of his female companionship. If Caine could find the courage to wed, perhaps Kieran could too. There was no denying that his brother’s marriage had stirred old dreams he’d given up on. But that didn’t mean he should mix business with pleasure. This woman held the keys to finding the man who’d been responsible for Stepan’s death. Celeste Sharpton was business only and that was all she could be.

He dropped a hand to his right side. He hoped the exertions of a row on the Serpentine would help him remember that.