Page 5 of I Never Forget a Duke (The Night Fire Club #1)

W ilton had managed to find a razor, which he gave to Adele to bring to Mr. Smith.

“What if he does not know how to shave?” Adele asked. “Suppose he is a wealthy lord. It is likely his valet usually does this for him.”

Wilton considered. “I shave my own face but I’ve never shaved someone else’s. Do you know how?”

“I can’t say I have ever shaved a man, either. This looks like quite a sharp blade.”

“Yes. Here, I’ll show you.” Wilton demonstrated scraping the blade across his face.

“How do you not cut yourself?”

“Practice.”

“You are not suggesting I shave Mr. Smith, are you? That seems wholly inappropriate.”

Wilton looked chagrined, as though he had actually intended to suggest just that very thing. “You are right, I’m sorry. Bring him the razor, but if he does not remember what to do, ring for me and I will help.”

Adele wondered why she had been appointed to bring this razor to Smith, but she supposed she had made herself his caregiver, as she was everyone’s caregiver in this house.

Wilton was a competent butler, but he was also shy with strangers sometimes.

Something about Smith intimidated Wilton in a way it did not intimidate Adele.

Perhaps it should have and Adele was foolishly naive, but she did not believe Smith would harm her.

She found Smith in the gold salon, reading a book.

“Have you read this?” he asked as she entered the room. He held up her copy of Emma .

“I have.”

“Do you think the anonymous author is a woman?”

“I think she published it anonymously because she is a woman.”

He nodded. “Something about her voice makes me recall how the women of my acquaintance speak, although I of course haven’t the foggiest notion of whom those women might be.” He sighed and set the book aside. “How are you, my lady?”

“Wilton has procured a razor for you.” She held it out in both hands.

He picked it up and examined the blade. “I must say, I am elated at the prospect of looking more respectable, but I am not sure I know what to do. How do men remove their whiskers without cutting themselves?”

“It is curious that you remember how to walk and read but not how to shave. Wilton and I surmised that in your other life, you had a valet who did it for you.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Yes. That seems likely.”

Adele wondered again if perhaps Smith was a very wealthy man.

That was troubling, because as she grew more fond of him, it seemed increasingly likely that they were not even of the same social class.

Not that she harbored any illusions that there might be a romantic connection between them; that was not Adele’s fate and she knew it.

But she could admit to passing fancies where this handsome man was concerned.

Smith walked to the door without explaining where he was going, and everything about him had the confidence of a man who was used to acting on his whims. Adele chased after him, all the way to his bedroom, where he stared at the washstand.

“Perhaps you could help me,” he said, looking right at Adele.

“This is a bit outside of the scope of my normal duties. That is, I take care of an old woman. I’ve never shaved a man before. But Wilton said to summon him if needed.” She crossed the room to grab the bell pull.

“I’d really prefer you did it.”

“That is an extraordinarily terrible idea, sir. I have no experience with a razor. I might slice your head right off.”

He laughed and looked back at the mirror. “All right, I’ll start. I need a mirror, though. And do you have any… shaving soap?”

“Oh. Yes, I know where the earl keeps his when he stays here. I shall return swiftly.”

She tried not to obsess over all the ways Smith could injure himself if he attempted to shave as she went to the earl’s quarters.

She took the old mirror the earl kept there; it had a crack at one corner and some tarnishing, but she figured it would do.

She grabbed the shaving soap from its place there, too.

On her way back down the hall, she passed the countess’s bedroom. “Is that Miss Paulson?” she called out.

Adele sighed and stuck her head in the room. “Yes, my lady. Did you need something?”

The countess lounged in bed as she had for the last week, recovering from what Dr. Willis insisted was just a cold.

Adele wondered sometimes if the countess was not being overly dramatic “Oh, not right now. I would like to ask you to add the bookshop to your rounds in town this week. I am nearly finished with my book.” The countess patted the book on her night table.

“Yes, of course.”

“Can you fetch me something to drink as well? I should like some tea.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of that.”

“Thank you, my girl. That is all.”

“If I may, do you intend to ever meet our house guest?”

“I will when am less tired and more presentable.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. A little sleepy. I think I shall take a nap now. Please close the door on your way out.”

Adele questioned the wisdom of ordering tea if the countess was just going to sleep, although she wondered if perhaps claiming to want a nap was just the countess’s way of dismissing Adele without seeming rude.

Some companionship. When Adele had taken this position, her father and the Earl of Sweeney had argued that they just wanted someone to sit with the countess, and Adele had imagined she’d spend the bulk of her time sitting with the countess as they read books or did needlepoint.

That had been how it was the first few months, but as the countess’s health failed, she seemed less interested in a companion and more interested in someone to wait on her.

She sighed and flagged down a maid. “Please convey to Cook that the countess would like some tea. I have to bring something to Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the maid before reversing course to head to the kitchen.

Adele took a deep breath and headed for Smith’s room. He sat in front of the water basin. A maid must have come by in her absence and put clean water in the basin.

“Apologies for taking so long. The countess needed my attention for a few minutes.”

Smith gave her a long look and said, “No need to apologize. I am an unexpected guest taking you away from your duties.”

Adele placed the soap on the edge of the washstand and took a step away, preparing to supervise while Smith shaved.

He got right into it, probably some old muscle memory telling him what to do, and managed to lather up his face.

He leaned forward and began to scrape the lather away from his face and into the basin.

Adele opted not to speak while he worked. This looked like something that required great concentration.

Well, that, and she was mesmerized.

She couldn’t remember even seeing her father shave, although clearly he must have because he was always clean-shaven.

She watched now as Smith ran the blade down his cheeks and chin, taking lather and his whiskers with it but somehow not cutting himself.

Well, he did manage to nick himself near the base of his chin and a little bead of blood formed there.

He grunted and touched a handkerchief to it, then finished the job.

Every stroke looked steady and practiced.

Adele wondered if learning to shave was part of some ritual all men went through, especially in these days when beards were not fashionable.

Her mind wandered to all kinds of places as she watched Smith work.

She briefly entertained a fantasy in which they shared a bedroom and this was part of his morning ritual.

What must it be like to share a room, share a life, with a man?

She’d thought about it quite a lot when she’d been engaged to Geoffrey but never had the opportunity to even sleep under the same roof as him.

Smith finished the job and patted his face with a towel. He leaned forward and examined his reflection in the mirror. “That is much better. But I missed a few spots. This mirror is not the cleanest. Perhaps you could help me.”

Adele sat at the foot of the bed and looked over Smith’s face.

He had done an admirable job, although he had missed a line of hair near his chin.

He handed her a brush with lather. “Swipe some of this over the parts that still have hair. It will help protect my skin from the blade. Then just lightly scrap the side of the blade along my skin. Act as though your task were just to remove the lather, not to apply much pressure to my face.”

“All right.”

She swallowed and followed his instructions. Performing this task necessitated leaning very close to Smith, close enough to see the fine lines of his face, close enough to smell him. She did as he asked, adding lather and scraping it off.

She did nick him again on her last pass along his chin, although he claimed it did not hurt. She dabbed at his cuts with a wet handkerchief until the bleeding stopped. Then she met his gaze.

He smiled at her. His eyes were so kind and beautiful. The scent of the shaving soap swirled around them, and Adele found herself drawn to it. She leaned a little closer to smell the scent of the soap on Smith’s skin. It was heady.

“I do thank you for your assistance,” Smith said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

The thought passed through her head that he might like a bath next. Perhaps she could help him with that as well…

She laughed to herself and backed away. That was ridiculous. She had no business helping him with anything so intimate. She was not his wife. They barely knew each other.

Adele took the towel and the handkerchief, intending to put them in the bin for one of the maids to take to the laundry later. Her fingers brushed against his hand as she took everything from him. She hated to break the spell, but needs must.

*

Smith watched Adele clean up, something she seemed to have done automatically. He wondered if she did this because it was her job to do so or if she were just the sort of woman who took care of everyone.