Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (8 page)

“Do not look down,” he offered in a low, cautionary tone.

She intently held his gaze. “Duly noted.”

For some reason, she wasn’t scrambling to get out. She also wasn’t removing her hands from his bare chest. In fact, he felt those slim fingers slowly tighten their hold.

Konstantin searched her face, trying to remain calm. Her long dark hair floated around their waists in the water along with her gown. She looked very different. She looked less prim and more provocative.

He lowered his eyes unwittingly to her wet, parted lips, feeling trails of warm water trickling down his face and chin from his own hair.

The rustling of water and their unsteady breaths were the only sounds.

Her lips parted as she searched his face.

It was as if she was waiting for him to do something.

His cock hardened. He could feel his erection pointing rigidly toward her in the water, demanding she be the one. And although, yes and yes, he wanted to grab her and fuck her until all the water left the tub, he knew that would be taking advantage of a woman who had just been drugged and robbed barely thirteen hours ago. Hardly a nice thing to do.

He leaned back, trying to regain control over his lower half. As casually as he could manage, he rasped, “Do you require assistance getting out?”

She searched his face. “Uh…no. Thank you. No, I…” She glanced away and fumbled to get out of the wooden tub. The weight of her gown kept pulling her back. She stumbled against him in the water.

Konstantin steadied her. “Close your eyes. I have to get out.” He rose and pressed both hands to his erection, trying to cover it.

She glanced up at his nudity, her eyes jumping to his protruding erection.

He shot her an exasperated look. “I asked you to close your eyes.”

She slapped her hands over her face.

And he thought women of status were respectable. Ha. Climbing out, he snatched the towel up from the wet floorboards and used it to dry himself, wishing his erection would subside.

He scrambled to gather his clothes, yanked on his linen shirt and donned his undergarments and dark wool trousers, before shoving his feet into his boots without stockings. Fully dressed, Konstantin approached the tub she still sat in and held out a hand. “Allow me to assist you out.”

She pressed her hands against her eyes. “Are you dressed?” she primly asked.

“Does it matter?” he chided. “You have already seen everything.”

She winced. “Forgive me for that.” She opened her eyes somewhat sheepishly and seeing that he was, in fact, dressed, quickly reached up and grabbed his hand.

He grabbed her other hand and yanked her up in one swoop, his muscles straining against the weight of her wet gown which was dragging her in the opposite direction. “It would be much easier if you removed your gown.”

“There is no need. I will manage.”

“But the weight of the water is going to—”

“I will manage, Mr. Levin.” Holding his hand, she stumbled out of the tub and onto the floorboards, spraying water everywhere.

He scrambled back, realizing sections of his clothes were now drenched and sticking to his skin. He huffed out a breath in exasperation and released her hand. “I will wait outside whilst you…
manage
.” Shoving open the door of the bathhouse, he stepped out into the pale light of the moon. Shaking his head, he lifted his linen shirt from against his skin and wrung out whatever he could.

She staggered out after him, dripping wet. She groaned, clutching at her clinging skirts and then smacked her sides, the sound as wet as she looked. “My only gown is soaked.
Soaked
.”

“It will be fine.”

“So says a man with a sack full of dry clothing. I have no other clothes!”

“We will set your gown before the hearth and let it dry.”

“It will take a whole day to dry a gown like this,” she muttered.

“Fortunately for you, we do not travel for another two.” Konstantin turned toward her, still wringing out his own linen shirt and paused, skimming her from shoulder to feet. Her wet, velvet dress clung seductively to every luscious curve of that body. Glorious, full breasts beckoned as they pressed against the wet fabric of her bodice.

She looked half-naked.

Damn. He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek before blurting, “Might I ask why you followed me? Knowing I was bathing?” He had to know the answer to this one.

“I didn’t know you were bathing,” she argued. “For heaven’s sake, it’s three o’clock in the morning! Who bathes at such an ungodly hour?”

“I do.” He shrugged. “I could not sleep.” Not with her in the room. Sadly, masturbation was a very necessary evil. It was how he survived without a woman for as long as he had. He had never been one for prostitutes and the women he
was
interested in either snubbed him or never gave him more than a night due to their fear of their family finding out they were involved with a ‘criminal’. When it came to women, it was obvious he was going to need that one hundred thousand to lure in what he wanted.

“You didn’t even lock the door when you left,” she grouched as she wrung out section after section of her skirt in between uneven steps. “Fortunately, we seem to be surrounded by decent people. I met a man next door to ours. He was incredibly pleasant.”

“I am certain he was.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She kept walking unevenly against the weight of her gown, the fabric dragging and dragging against the stone path.

Following the glistening stream of water she’d trailed, Konstantin smirked and fell into stride beside her knowing she clearly needed help. “Turn toward me.”

She jerked to a halt. “Why?”

“You are barely walking.” He knelt before her, grabbed up heavy sections of her wet gown and started twisting water out of the velvet. He focused only on the task. And not that he was back to looking at her legs. He twisted and twisted and wrung the material around her gown harder until eventually half its weight was diminished.

She watched him from above and eventually said, “I find it difficult to place the sort of man you are.”

He glanced up, releasing her gown. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“You appear to be a gentleman and are impressively well spoken in the English language and yet you don’t even wear a cravat.”

He’d been accused of that before. “I had a rather unusual upbringing. My father was a privileged gentleman who veered off the respectable path.” He made sure
not
to mention how.

“Have you ever been married?” she prodded.

He rose to his feet, straightening. “No. Why do you ask?”

Those prim features wavered in the shadows of the garden. She shrugged and looked away. “I was curious, is all.”

By God. Was it possible she was actually interested in getting to know him? As a person? As a man? This was a first. And he didn’t even have one hundred thousand in his pocket yet. “Uh…I was engaged once. When I was younger. She was from a decent family but my father didn’t approve. He was very protective. So he hired a few men to investigate her life and it was discovered she was seeing three other men. It hurt but I got over it. Since then, I was involved with a few women but it always ended with my face against a floor. I make poor choices when it comes to women. I want the moon but can only afford peat moss.” He tapped at his head. “I am not very nimble.”

Her eyes caught and held his. “I find that difficult to believe, Mr. Levin.”

“So says the woman who is
not
involved with me. Hardly helpful.”

A bubble of a laugh escaped her.

He smiled and leaned in. “Tell me more about yourself. You said you have a son and three daughters. Which, in truth, astounds me. What are their ages and names?”

She smiled as if he had finally introduced a topic she could gush about. “John is my eldest and the one I came into Russia for. My second eldest is Giselle. She is sixteen. Abigail is fifteen and then there is my youngest, Juliet.” Her tone softened. “She is thirteen and is always at the cook’s elbow. There isn’t a thing that child won’t eat.”

He searched her face. Listening to her made him realize just how little he had seen of life as a man. He missed having a family. Here he was at thirty and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but all the fists he had dodged. “They sound endearing.”

Her smile widened. “They most certainly are.”

That smile said it all. She was part of a happy family. The sort a man rarely saw. “I take it you were happily married, as well?”

Her smile faded. She looked away. “Whilst I am close to my children, my husband and I were not so fortunate. Which was to be expected. He married me for my youth and I married him for his money.”

His brows went up. “I am rather surprised. You appear to be a bit more passionate in nature than to settle for anything less than what beats in your heart.”

She didn’t look at him. “The heart does not pay bills, Mr. Levin. My mother married for love and it taught me well. Whilst my father was titled, he had very little to his name. We struggled to keep creditors from our doors all our lives and lived off the generosity of relatives who openly mocked us. One relative, in particular, wanted me to marry his son as if I owed him my hand in matrimony for all of the financial assistance my father had been given. I did not want that for myself and therefore settled on a relatively better man. Above all else, I wanted financial stability away from my relatives.”

“Judging by your tone, you seem unhappy with the decision you made.”

She shrugged. “My husband was not unkind. He was a much better man than my cousin who used to try to force himself on me. My husband also knew when to be generous.”

“Yet he was not generous enough to make you happy.”

She said nothing.

He quietly waited for her to say something else.

She didn’t.

Which meant this conversation was at an end. He gestured toward the side door leading into the inn. “We should sleep. ’Tis late.”

She blinked rapidly, nodded and hurried past, the soft scent of her perfume clinging to the night air. She made her way into the inn, up the narrow stairs leading to their room.

Konstantin dragged in a ragged breath, inwardly savoring that beautiful scent and raked back his damp hair several times in an effort to remain calm. He strode up the narrow staircase after her until he reached the landing and the door leading to their room. He flicked a finger against the sleeve of her wet gown. “You cannot stay in this. It needs to dry.”

She puffed out a breath. “I know.” She pulled out the brass key from her bosom and paused, blinking down at the slightly open door. “I thought I locked the door.”

Shite. Konstantin pushed her back and away. “Go downstairs,” he whispered. “Now.”

Although she scrambled away, she whispered back, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“
Quiet
. They could still be in the room.” He creaked the door open and peered into the darkened room, noting the coals in the hearth barely glowed. Nothing moved. No one was in the room. He paused. “Are you certain you locked the door?”

“Yes.” She held up the key and wagged it. “I locked it. I know I did.”

He opened the door wider to better see into the room. Dim light slithered further in. Although no one was in the room, he sensed something wasn’t right. “Stay where you are.”

She froze.

He strode toward the oil lantern on the side table and stumbled against something at his feet. He kicked away a bundle of material from around his foot. Was that his sack? He headed toward the side table beside the bed and stumbled against something else on the floor. His shirt? He caught himself on the bed with a hand.

Grabbing the flint box, which he was now able to make out, Konstantin struck it and held it to the wick of the oil lantern on the side table. When the wick lighted, he shifted the glass back onto the brass holding and turned.

Strewn across the floor were his clothes, his undergarments and everything else that had once been neatly organized in his wool sack. Everything lay scattered as if someone had been looking for something.

Someone had picked the lock.

He scrambled to the loose floorboard where he had hidden his money and pried it open. A breath escaped him seeing the small leather satchel with bank notes and coins. Releasing the floorboard and hitting it back into place, he paused, scanning the room.

Only one thing appeared to be missing: his watch.

It was not on the sack where he had left it or on the chair where his coat and waistcoat had been moved to.

His pulse roared as he swung toward her. “Someone picked the lock. Which I will admit is fairly easy to do.”

Her eyes widened as her hands gripped the wet fabric of her gown hard. “Did they take anything?”

“My watch.” He grabbed his dagger off the bedside table and unsheathed it. Jogging toward the open doorway, he glanced left and right but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You said you were talking to someone. A man.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you know what room he emerged from?”

She hurried in beside him and pointed to the door next to theirs. “There. But I don’t think he—”

“Stay here and bolt the door.”