Page 37 of The Devil’s Waltz

Chapter Nineteen

The problem with falling asleep at odd hours, Annelise thought, was that you woke at odd hours.

Ever since she’d set off on this ridiculous rescue mission her sleep had been fitful and uncomfortable, and it was no wonder she managed to drift off in the strangest of circumstances, including sitting right in front of her direst enemy.

She woke briefly when Mrs. Browne came to check on her and bring her a tray of food.

She clucked over the cut foot and rebandaged it for her, had the men remove the tub and generally fussed around her in the most delightfully maternal way.

Annelise had never known a mother, and her older sister, Eugenia, was somewhat lacking a nurturing streak, at least where her siblings were concerned.

Wrapped in comfort and a full stomach, she fell back into a deep sleep only to wake up at some godless hour and lie staring at the dying embers of the fire.

She lay there wondering what time it was, when, as if in answer to her unspoken question, a clock chimed somewhere in the bowels of the house. Three times. At least something in this place was still in decent order.

The main disadvantage to lying in bed, sleepless, is that all one’s worries came flooding back to haunt one, and were magnified a thousand times.

At three o’clock in the morning Josiah Chippie was a deranged murderer, Hetty and William certain to die in a carriage crash, and Christian Montcalm was the devil incarnate.

It was the damned ceiling fresco, she thought, rolling over and punching the pillow. Even in the darkness she knew it—she didn’t have to see it to remember each lascivious detail. As long as Christian’s ancestor looked down at her in the darkness it was no wonder she couldn’t sleep.

When the clock struck four she gave up, lighting the candle beside her bed, and started looking for something, anything to read.

Mrs. Browne had cleaned and dusted the room well, but its state of disrepair was impossible to disguise. If she had needle and thread she could mend some of the tears in the cushions, but there was nothing, and if she didn’t find something to occupy her mind she’d go mad with worry.

The house was silent, and she knew where there were books, hundreds of them.

She could find her way there quite easily, snatch one or two, and be safely back in her bed before anyone in this sleeping house realized it.

She had no idea where Christian’s bedroom lay, and she didn’t wish to.

Besides which, he’d probably drunk himself to sleep, the profligate wretch.

Just a short little foray through the silent house and she’d be set.

She stepped into the hallway, the candle flame doing precious little to pierce the inky darkness. Her foot caused her little trouble—just a slight tenderness protected by Mrs. Browne’s more efficient bandage, and she only limped slightly as she made her way down the broad oak stairs.

The library was to her left, easy enough to find, and though the floors were cold beneath her feet, she moved slowly, afraid she’d bump into something unexpected.

There was still just the embers of a fire burning in the fireplace, adding a touch of light that was needed. She went first to the shelves on that side of the room, lifting her candle high, squinting in the darkness at the titles.

“The novels are on the other side of the fireplace.” His voice came out of the darkness, and she let out a little shriek, dropping the candle, plunging the room into darkness.

She froze, terrified that he was somewhere around her like a shapeless monster, about to pounce, her imagination going wild, when she saw his shadow move in front of her, and a moment later he’d lit a candle from the dying fire.

He didn’t even glance at her—simply turned around and began to light the tapers in an elaborate candelabrum, bringing too much light into the room, illuminating him far too clearly.

His hair was loose—much longer than she’d realized, and he wore nothing but breeches and a white shirt that was unfastened at lacy cuffs and collar.

And halfway down his chest. He looked rumpled and faintly grumpy—as if he’d been roused from sleep.

“To what do I owe the honor of this midnight visit, dragon?” he inquired mildly enough.

“I would think it would be obvious enough,” she replied nervously. “I was looking for something to read.”

“You came to the right place. You also woke me up and I always have trouble falling back asleep. You’ll have to entertain me.” He dropped into a chair with languid grace, looking up at her out of his extraordinary eyes. The eyes of a devil.

Annelise jumped. “Certainly not!”

“You have a very suspicious mind, Miss Kempton. I meant conversation, nothing more. Clearly you’re having trouble sleeping, as well. So sit down and tell me what you think of my decrepit gothic manse.”

She was torn. On the one hand, she wanted to bolt for the stairs, secure in the belief that he’d make no effort to stop her. On the other hand, his very lack of interest ensured her safety. She hesitated.

He sighed, as if he found the whole thing very tiresome. “Miss Kempton, I promised on my honor that I will manage to behave myself. I’d hardly take advantage of a defenseless young woman under my own roof.”

“Of course you would,” she said, moving toward the chair. “But since I’m not a defenseless young woman I have little doubt that I’m safe.”

He smiled. It was an unnerving smile, as if he found her amusing. He didn’t bother to contradict her, the swine. “Even so,” he said. “You’re still safe. Why are you limping?”

“I cut my foot.”

He frowned. “Was something left lying about? That’s unlike Mrs. Browne, but?—”

“It was my spectacles,” she said, sinking into the chair. The same one she’d fallen asleep in before, but this time sleep was far too elusive.

“Ah, I wondered what had happened to them.” Apart from curiosity he seemed unmoved. She was marginally prettier without her spectacles—her gray eyes were her best feature. But he seemed uninclined to tell her so. “How do you manage to see?”

She didn’t even consider not lying. He would know far too well what she was lying beneath in that grand bedroom, and she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Unless, of course, she was attaching far too much importance to herself, and he wasn’t even vaguely interested in where she slept.

“I can manage a few feet in front of me,” she said. “After that everything is a blur.”

Now, why did she think he didn’t believe her? “Pity,” he murmured. “Piquet?”

“I’m not playing cards with you. And what are you doing down here anyway? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Ah, but someone else is already sleeping in my bed,” he replied, shuffling the cards as he disregarded her protest. “And for some reason I doubted you’d feel like sharing.”

“I’m in your bed?” Annelise shrieked.

“Exactly where you belong.” His smile was devilish. “When I sent Hetty and her champion off I told you I didn’t have the beds for you all. The rest are mouse-eaten and mildewed—Harry dragged them outside to burn them.”

“I can’t sleep in your bed—it’s...it’s indecent!”

“Not without me, it isn’t. Don’t worry—the sheets are clean.”

“But what about the bed where Hetty and William...that is...”

“Where they what? You never struck me as someone who’d shy away from plain speaking. What did they do in that bed?” His voice was lazy.

“Stop goading me, or I won’t play cards with you,” she said.

“Blackmail,” he said. “It always works. And their mattress went the way of the bonfire too. You’re sleeping on the second best—Bessie did some quick work to make it usable, but the rest were beyond her talents.”

“That’s a relief at least.”

“You mean you feel better lying in my bed than Hetty’s? I’m charmed!”

“Be quiet and deal.”

“I should warn you,” Christian murmured. “I’m very lucky at cards, and I intend to win.”

“Why would you care? It’s not as if we’re wagering any money on the outcome. I have none.”

“True enough. But playing cards without wagering is a waste of time and no fun at all. There are things to wager besides money—you suggest the stakes.”

She didn’t hesitate. “If I win, you send your man as far as he needs to go to hire a carriage for me. I don’t care if it’s all the way to Bath.”

“Agreed, though I rather hate to put a lame horse on the road. As for what I want...” He let his voice trail off as his eyes swept over her.

“Don’t even think it.”

“Now, how can I help what I think?” he replied. “What is that thing you’re wearing, by the way? It’s surprisingly...diaphanous.”

“Behave yourself. It belonged to your esteemed aunt.”

“And looking at you in it makes me feel positively incestuous.” He dealt the cards with swift, casual grace, the lace on his unfastened sleeves dripping down over the cards. Making it far too easy for him to cheat.

“Why don’t you roll up your sleeves,” she said. “I’d prefer to get a clear look at your hands.”

He held them out They were a gentlemanly white, long fingered and elegant. Hands not suited for hard labor. Hands suited for playing cards and drinking wine and touching a woman....

“They’re very graceful, aren’t they?” he said with pride, admiring them. “I’ve been told my hands and my eyes are particularly pleasing. Though there are other parts of my anatomy that are equally gifted....”

“Stop it! Do you accept my wager?”

“Of course, my pet. And if I win, I want a kiss. No more, no less.”

“No.”

“But yes,” he said, giving her his devilish smile. “I think my terms are very reasonable. I could have asked for far more, and instead I’m content with one little kiss from the lady. What do you have to lose?”

He was far too amused by all this. “I thought you made it clear that you no longer had any use for me.”

“Now, what gave you that impression?”

“Perhaps the fact that you abducted my charge.”

“Such provincial thinking, dragon. I’m perfectly capable of juggling two women or even three.”