Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (7 page)

Cecilia’s eyes fluttered open. A lone candle in the far corner of the rented room and the red burning coals in the small hearth dimly pushed back the late-night shadows. She turned against the linens, her travelling gown making it difficult for her to move. Pale moonlight beamed through the narrow, dirt smeared window.

She couldn’t sleep.

Pushing herself up, she paused, realizing Mr. Levin was not in sight. The lone chair he’d been sitting in had been pushed back. His coat, waistcoat and pocket watch were draped over his wool sack in the shadows a few feet away from the door.

Cecilia slowly scooted out from beneath the linens, pushing the linen away from her gown so it wouldn’t tangle. Her stockinged feet landed on the uneven wood floors. She cringed knowing the floors were rough. Her silk stockings would never survive.

She yanked up her gown and scrambled to remove her garters since Mr. Levin wasn’t around to see it. Although she managed to untie both of her garters, her corset made it impossible for her to roll them down far enough to even try to yank them off her feet. Huffing out a breath, she tossed the garters onto the bed and made her way over to the wool sack draped with Mr. Levin’s belongings. She picked up his pocket watch from the pile to check the time. She paused, its weight surprising her as the chain unraveled and swayed against the side of her hand. Oddly, her fingers tingled. It was as if she were touching something incredibly special.

Noting words were etched on the back of the silver casing, she turned it up and squinted at the faded letters. It was written in English.

“Eternally yours at midnight,” she whispered.

What could it mean? Usually, a name or initials were engraved on the back of a watch. The silver was heavily tarnished, hinting it was old. Clicking open the dented casing, she blinked at the uneven hands, realizing it was almost three in the morning.

Shutting it, she gathered up his clothing from atop the sack and carried his coat and waistcoat over to the chair in an effort to tidy the room. She hated when things were unorganized. Draping everything onto the back of the chair, she carefully set his watch onto the seat, centering it and then glanced around the empty room again. If it was three in the morning, where was he? She hurried over to the closed door. Seeing the key had been left in the lock, she pulled it out and opened the door.

He had forgotten to lock the door.

Peering out into the candlelit corridor, Cecilia hesitated and stuck her head further out beyond the doorway. The creaking of the old inn was all she could hear. She froze.

A stocky young blond male smoking a half-cut cigar leaned against the peeling wall beside an open door next to her own. His yellowing, linen shirt was open to the waist, revealing a fit chest, and his stained wool trousers were barely affixed to his hips as if he had just finished entertaining every last woman in town. He inclined his head toward her in a gentlemanly manner and lifted his cigar to full lips. Dragging in a long, indulgent puff, he slowly released the smoke he’d drawn in through his nostrils and his mouth as if he were making love to it. He smiled and said something conversationally in Russian.

She blinked. “Uh...forgive me, sir, but I don’t speak any Russian.”

The young man’s brows popped up. “Ah.” Sticking his cigar into the side of his mouth, he scrambled to tidy his appearance by sweeping back his hair from his eyes. He removed his cigar, cleared his throat and edged closer, brokenly offering in a heavy Russian accent, “Woman is…English?”

His English was certainly better than her Russian. “Yes, sir. I’m English.”

He dashed out his cigar against the frame of the door and shoved it into his trouser pocket. Opening the door to his room, he swept a hand toward it, his eyes brightening. He pointed at her and then cupped his hand and pretended to drink from it to indicate that he was inviting her into his room for a drink.

She cringed but sensed he was actually trying to be nice in the only way a twenty-year-old could. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to—”

He yanked out his cigar from his pocket and held it out, offering that instead.

A startled laugh escaped her. “No, thank you, sir. I don’t smoke.”

He tucked away the cigar and hurriedly pulled out a deck of cards from his other pocket. He held up the warped deck and gestured to her and them himself, asking if she wanted to play.

Another laugh escaped her. “Whilst I appreciate all the generous offers, I am actually looking for someone.” She tried to slow her speech in the hopes that he would understand. “Did you happen to see a gentleman leave my room? Do you know where he went?”

He squinted at her, shoving the deck of cards back into his pocket. “Man?”

“Yes. A man.” She tapped at her hair. “Dark hair. Did you see him?”

He held up his hand high over his head and then hit each arm as if to demonstrate Mr. Levin’s tall, muscled frame. He gestured down the corridor. “Outside.”

Thank goodness there was a sighting. “Bolshoe spasibo,” she offered. Thank you was the only Russian word she did know.

He pointed at her, grinning. “Russian.” He wagged the tip of his fingers, insisting she say more in his language.

Something told her he would keep her in the corridor all night if she let him. “I’m so sorry, but I really should find my travelling companion.” She smiled, closed the door behind her and locked it with the key, clutching it. “I wish you a good-evening, sir.”

He hesitated and then pointed to himself. “Markov.”

The boy was adorable. “Thank you for the wonderful conversation, Mr. Markov.”

He inclined his head twice, searching her face. Falling against the wall beside his door, he slowly held up a wistful hand.

Russian men certainly were nice. It made a woman want to get lost in Russia. She swept down the narrow corridor in the opposite direction. Her feet grew colder against the rough wood as she hurried down the staircase. She winced, feeling splinters digging into the soles of her feet and glanced behind herself, shoving the key from the room into the bosom of her gown to keep herself from dropping it.

Coming to the bottom of the main stairwell, she scanned the dilapidated hall of the inn whose iron sconces hung crookedly from the uneven walls. It was eerily quiet. The main hearth filled with coal which had earlier seen countless people gathered around it, glowed on its own.

Clutching the folds of her skirt, she noticed an open side entrance leading into the darkness. She hurried out through that door. “Mr. Levin?”

The crisp, night air frilled the skin beneath her gown with gooseflesh. Her stockinged toes suddenly sunk into icy, thick mud. She groaned, jumped toward the stone path and darted into a barren side garden. Fortunately, it wasn’t freezing outside and the snow was completely melted. “Mr. Levin?” she called out again. “Are you out here?”

There was no response.

Oh, God. What if something happened to him?

The night was remarkably still as a full moon sat high, casting a vibrant white glow across the shadows. Unnerved breaths escaped her, frosting the air as she hurried into the garden past a small stable illuminated by the brightness of the moon. Earthy smells filled her nostrils as horses quietly neighed, some poking out their shadowed heads, acknowledging her presence.

She glanced around the isolated mossy grounds and large, shadowed trees and paused. A faint, golden glow from the planked crevices of a small wooden bathhouse greeted her.

She blinked. Was he…
bathing
?
At this hour
?

She gripped the fabric of her gown. Pinching her lips, she envisioned his broad back and wet, flexing muscles covered in soap and his black hair dripping and hanging into those green eyes. Given the bulk of his arms that had strained his travelling coat, she was quite certain there was plenty more attached to whatever she could envision. It was time to go.

Scuffing steps from behind made her snap toward the sound.

The shadow of a very large man resembling a gorilla emerged from the stables. He staggered and made his way toward her. Slurring something in Russian, he unbuttoned his trousers and shoved the flap of his trousers down. He yanked out a stubby cock.

Her eyes widened as the hairs on her nape stood on end. She darted straight for the door of the bathhouse. “
Mr. Levin
!” She prayed to God he was in that bathhouse. “
Mr. Leviiiiin
!”

Upon hearing his name in English through the haze of sleep he had unknowingly succumbed to after a
very
successful session of masturbation where he’d imagined Lady Stone doing all sorts of things to him, Konstantin sat up, sending a whirling splash of water around the massive wooden tub. He glanced toward the plank door of the bathhouse. The influence of the hot water and the lone candle waving inside the glass-encased lantern had lulled him into a sleep he hadn’t been able to find earlier.

Had he imagined Lady Stone yelling for him? He’d certainly imagined her yelling beneath him in pleasure a moment ago. He surged to his feet, water streaming from his naked body. Climbing out of the massive tub, which took some effort given its size, he snatched the towel the innkeeper had provided him and got out.

The door to the bathhouse banged wide open as Lady Stone skidded inside. “
Mr. Levin
! A man…he…
help
!”

His heart pounded in utter disbelief as he smacked the towel against his exposed cock. The colder evening air licked his wet skin as he stared wordlessly down at Lady Stone who was almost on top of him.

She frantically pointed toward a man outside of the bathhouse.

T
he man was urinating.

The oaf peered at them from over his shoulder and sniffed loudly, finishing his business with an unrefined tug of his trousers. Staggering away, he slurred something in Russian about horses defecating too much and disappeared back into the shadows of the stables.

Konstantin eyed Lady Stone. “You are safe.”

Her full breasts rose and fell. “I…I’m so sorry.” She edged back and back, her stockings visibly muddy. She stared at the towel he barely bundled against his lower half and tried to grab the door to close it but kept missing because she was too occupied with looking.

He officially felt attractive.

She smacked her hands over her entire face. “I can’t believe you’re—” She jerked toward the narrow open door but slipped against the wet boards. “
Ah
!”

He jumped toward her and grabbed her by the waist hard to keep her from falling and hitting her head against the nearest plank wall. He stumbled against the wetness of the floorboards, realizing he had dropped the towel. Though he tried to balance himself with his own weight, he couldn’t.

They fell back.

Turning his body to better take the impact, he savagely held onto her to keep her from getting hurt as the wooden ledge slammed against the back of his legs, stinging his flesh.

He tipped backward with her into the water.

She screamed, trying to grab for something other than him as soap suds and water rose up around them from the large round tub like a massive wave crashing to shore. Liquid warmth drowned out both air and sound upon impact, dunking them both.

He couldn’t breathe as water rushed up his nostrils and burned his throat.

Konstantin scrambled to sit in the tub, sputtering out water and yanked Lady Stone up and out of the water by her arms. He coughed, trying to get the water out of his throat.

“
Pffff
!” She blindly staggered on her knees in the water between his well-spread legs.

He sucked in a breath knowing his cock was fully visible through the soapy water and that she was between his legs.

Her hands pushed away pasted strands of long dark hair from her forehead as water cascaded from unpinned sections that flopped down onto her shoulders. Pins plunked into the water one by one by one. She stumbled and steadied her hands against his bare chest.

She stilled, her velvet gown billowing around them as it covered almost every inch of the water. Except for where he and his cock were.

Her glistening face was now barely inches from his own.