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Chapter Four

B y two in the afternoon, the heir apparent still had not deigned to put in an appearance.

Kitty tried not to grit her teeth as she placed the small vase containing the fresh flowers she’d arranged on the stand at the end of the hall. She breathed in the fragrant bouquet of lavender and honeysuckle, hoping the scent would soothe her frayed nerves.

It didn’t. No surprise there. Someone had worked her into a lather and, maddeningly, that someone was her.

She ought to be ashamed, skulking to her chamber, again, with yet another pathetic excuse.

Let’s see, first, after breakfasting, she’d come to collect her dirties for delivery to the laundry.

An hour or so later, after strolling the private park at the end of the street with the earl, she’d trotted back upstairs to wash.

Later, she returned with the laundered clothing.

Now this. Fresh flowers from the conservatory to brighten up the space. Hah. Since when did Kit concern himself with flowers?

The truth was, she’d made the trek to her chamber for one reason, only. She wanted to know if he’d returned.

Bother, bother, bother. It wasn’t as if she had any claims on the man, nor did she wish to marry him. Problem was, she didn’t have to want to marriage to want…

Oh, that was just it. She didn’t know what she wanted. Except that she wanted him here, and not with anyone of the female persuasion—and especially not with a female over night.

She paced the small space and fumed. The earl napped, leaving her free to read or draw, wander the conservatory or entertain herself with any number of pastimes. But she couldn’t because all she could think about was him, and where in blazes he was.

This morning’s breakfast conversation between several of the maids hadn’t helped. While eating her porridge, she overheard Molly, the scullery maid, informing Cook not to bother with Lord Thurgood’s meal as he hadn’t returned home—again.

Danni, the upstairs maid, added, “Last week he came home with his shirt unbuttoned to here”—she gestured to her sternum—“his cravat hanging loose ’round his neck, and reeking of perfume.”

At Kit’s shocked gasp, both maids broke into a fit of the giggles, and hadn’t reined in their merriment ’til Cook threatened them with a wooden spoon.

“You should follow young Kit’s example, girls, and hush up about the family’s private affairs. The earl won’t take kindly to hearing of gossip spread about his heir.”

Kitty instantly regretted her reaction as she’d likely get no further information out of the staff.

Chastising herself as the worst sort of fool, she opened her door a crack and peeked out.

Zeke’s chamber door remained closed. Perhaps he’d stayed at his club last night. Gentlemen did from time to time, didn’t they?

The tip of her thumb hurt from her incessant nibbling. She yanked her hand from her mouth in disgust, turned from the door—though she left it ajar, and flounced onto her bed with an exaggerated humph.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Light steps. A chambermaid, she’d wager.

But it could be him.

She flew off the bed to peer toward his chamber. His door was open, and beckoning.

In stocking-covered feet she skulked toward his chamber. What if he spots you?

She paused and nibbled her thumb some more, considering. She would say she was on her way to the kitchen. She started forward again. In your socks? She shushed her irritating pragmatist.

Hovering outside the threshold, a giddy sense of danger quickened her pulse and made her palms instantly clammy. She wiped them on her trousers and hinged forward from the hips, inch by slow inch, until she could just see into Zeke’s antechamber—and came nose to nose with the upstairs chambermaid.

She jerked upright, her heart hammering. “Oh, Danni, you gave me a fright,” she said, rapid-fire.

“I could say the same to you. What’re you about, Kit? D’ya need somethin’?”

“I…ah…thought Lord Thurgood had returned. I wanted to have a word. Ah, well, cheerio.” She began backing away.

“A word about what?” came the haughty demand from the top of the stairs.

She froze in her tracks, her mouth suddenly bone dry. Now? Now he put in an appearance?

Her gaze shifted in his direction as Zeke closed the distance between them. A lion stalking his prey.

A magnificent, debauched lion. The upper buttons of his shirt were undone, no cravat in sight. His waistcoat hung open to his ribs. He’d removed his jacket and had it slung it over his shoulder, hooked over his thumb.

Her skin prickled with awareness as her heated blood rushed through her veins, leaving her shaky and breathless and anticipating something she couldn’t name.

His footsteps thumped to a halt directly in front of her.

She noted the golden stubble on his cheeks.

Hadn’t bothered with a shave, eh? And judging by his unkempt locks, he hadn’t employed a comb since rolling out of bed, either.

She wouldn’t have imagined a head of hair could get that mussed in sleep, unless—her heart seized as the truth struck.

A woman had woven her fingers in all that gold silk.

Clenching her teeth against the urge to berate him, her narrowed gaze met his bloodshot, predator’s eyes.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Good morning, my lord.” Danni slipped away, feather duster tucked under her arm.

Traitor.

“I’m waiting.”

She lifted her chin. “I wondered if you had taken ill, my lord, since you missed both breakfast and lunch, and, now that I’ve gotten a good look at you…” She broke off to sniff. “I see I had reason to worry. You clearly didn’t sleep well.”

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Kit, I’m touched.”

Her cheeks flooded with heat. “My concern is solely for the earl’s sake. He expressed concern.”

Zeke inched closer until he loomed over Kit. “Indeed? Where is Claybourne now?”

Alarm spiked through her. Would he actually ask the earl about his supposed concern? She knew her claim to be true, of course. The earl was worried about Zeke, though he hadn’t expressed it in so many words.

“He’s having his afternoon nap, and I’ll thank you not to bother him.”

Zeke surprised her with a grin. “Excellent. That leaves you free to help me.”

“Help you?” She squeaked.

“This saves me from having to send for my valet.” With that, he sauntered into his sitting room, leaving Kitty frozen in place and staring after him.

He disappeared through the adjoining door into his bedchamber. A moment later, his tousled head reappeared. “Kit, I haven’t got all day. Move your arse.”

She bristled at his tone. Then it hit her. She was about to enter his lair to help strip him of his clothes.

She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. But how could she refuse?

Zeke’s eyes narrowed.

“Very well. Although why a grown man needs help undressing,” she muttered under her breath as adrenaline flooded her veins.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing important, my lord.”

Kitty entered his private chamber, giddy anticipation bubbling inside her, despite the alarm bells clanging in her head. She must be mad. Ladies didn’t venture into gentlemen’s chambers, much less help men out of their clothes.

All rational thought ceased at the sight of the large, polished-wood, four-post bed dominating the center of the room. The rich, burgundy velvet coverlet invited her fingers to sink into the fabric.

Without warning, a vivid image of Zeke languishing beneath the sheets sprang to her mind. Her toes curled in her stockinged feet, digging in to the plush carpet.

She pinched her eyes closed and inhaled deeply to clear her mind. Only the room smelled like him. That spicy, clean, masculine scent. A slow burning fire ignited in her belly. Not good.

“First my boots.” Zeke dropped into the armchair positioned before the empty grate, stretching out his long legs.

She swallowed. She was Kit, she reminded herself, a household servant. Time to get to work.

Problem was, she didn’t know exactly how to proceed. Then again, how hard could it be? She squatted before Zeke and tugged. Nothing happened.

“Try unfastening the buckles.”

She glanced up at him and her insides…melted. No other word described the sensation.

He gazed back at her with slumberous eyes. His disheveled hair screamed at her to smooth it. His lips were rose-colored, and swollen, as if he’d spent a good portion of last night kissing.

Someone else.

Her chin jutted downward, and she undid the first buckle with short, angry jerks. Then, using both hands, she heaved—and promptly found herself sprawled on her backside before him.

Zeke threw his head back and roared with laughter.

She wanted to maintain her anger, but his laughter proved contagious and her lips curved up instead of down.

“Why, Kit, is that a smile? I’d begun to think you had no sense of humor.”

When she would’ve resumed her crouch at his feet, he waved her off with an easy grin. “I’ll get this one. I’ll need your help with my garments and I don’t want you to hurt yourself before you hang my things. Speaking of which…” He held out his coat.

She took it without comment, her interest in entering his closet outweighing her ire at his high-handed manner. “This way?”

He grunted his assent.

Once hidden from his view, she held the black superfine to her nose and breathed in Zeke’s scent.

“What’re you doing in there?”

Ever suspicious. She glared through the walls but hung his jacket, shooting the fabric before exiting the closet.

“Kit, how did you come to be in my grandfather’s employ?”

He asked the question with practiced nonchalance, but Kitty noted the way the corners of his eyes tightened as if he prepared to catch her in a lie.

No matter. She and the earl had rehearsed the answer. “I met his Lordship at a house party in the country. Acted as his valet, m’lord.” The gravelly tone she only partially achieved succeeded in scraping her voice box raw. “He liked my services and asked the host if I could be hired away.”

“Evidently your impressive valet skills are rusty,” Zeke muttered. “Whose house party?” He set the second boot beside the first and began removing his socks.

She watched, unblinking, as one, hard-muscled calf appeared, followed by a large, but well-shaped foot.

He dropped the dark wool onto the floor beside his boots and frowned at her.

“B-beg pardon, my lord?”

“Whose house party?” he drew out, louder.

“Lord Hastings’s.” She dragged her gaze from his bare foot. “Baron of Maidstone.” Her grandfather. Kitty and the earl figured neither one of them would forget his name and later be fouled up. Plus, she could describe her ancestral home to a tee if pressed.

“Hastings.” He rolled the name over his tongue as if trying to place it. He stripped off his second sock, then stood, spreading his arms wide. “Help me with my waistcoat. I daresay you’ll be quicker at it than me what with your delicate hands.”

She hung back not at all sure she ought to comply.

“You must be the worst servant I’ve ever—”

“Oh, very well.” She darted forward, tackling his fabric-covered buttons as if the devil himself timed her.

She bent over her work, and tried without much success to keep her fingers steady.

If only he wouldn’t notice how her hands shook she could die a happy girl.

She leaned closer to block his critic’s eye. Almost done now.

An odd scent invaded her nostrils. Her fingers stilled. She sniffed. It almost smelled like…a woman’s perfume.

“Ew-w.” She grimaced and scrubbed her hands on her trousers and glanced up at him.

His eyes twinkled with confounded amusement. “Did something bite you?” He looked down at his half-unbuttoned waistcoat. “I may as well finish. You’re shaking like you overimbibed last night.”

“Not I, my lord. I don’t make a habit of drinking spirits,” she said, voicing her indignation, though she knew she shouldn’t. But really. A woman’s perfume. “Unlike some people.”

He made fast work of his waistcoat, tossing it on his mahogany valet before moving on to his linen shirt. “I’m sure you don’t.”

The emerging golden-hair-dusted bronzed-skin chest, all sculpted muscles and flat plains, utterly fascinated her. Her fingers tingled with the urge to touch. His skin would be supple and warm.

“I’m sure you’re a paragon of virtue. What I’m not sure of”—he paused, whipping his shirt onto the floor at his feet—“is who the hell you are.” He finished on a bellow, his gaze spearing her.

She blinked, startled by his sudden burst of anger. She might’ve seen it coming if she hadn’t been consumed with the man’s naked chest. A chest whose hair tapered into a fine line disappearing under the waistband of his trousers.

Her lips parted so she could draw in an even breath. With effort, she dragged her gaze from his flat stomach.

Zeke stared at her, the corners of his mouth curved downward. “You look very strange,” he said.

“I do?”

“You do.” He cleared his throat. “Whoever you are, I think you’d better leave. I need to get some sleep and I can see you won’t be divulging any information other than what you and the old man cooked up.”

Right. Time to go. She stood stock still, staring at Zeke’s hands, hovering at the waistband of his trousers.

Abruptly he cursed under his breath and stalked to the adjoining door of his suite. With an emphatic sweep of his hands, he said, “Out.”