Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) (9 page)

“Bolt the door? You don’t mean to—”

“
Stay in the room
.” He stalked toward the door she had pointed to and using his boot, hit the door, rattling it several times against its hinges.

“
What are you doing
?” she hissed, leaning out of the doorway.

He glared. “He saw you leave the room. He was clearly waiting for an opportunity.”

She glared back. “Whilst I am not looking to defend a man who offers a woman a cigar and cards in the hopes of garnering her attention, you don’t
know
if he picked the lock. It could have been anyone.”

Oh, no. He knew the way these criminals conducted business. He’d grown up in it.

The door swung open.

A hefty young man with a yellowing linen shirt pulled over his trousers peered out. He froze, his blond, wavy hair falling into his eyes and said in harried Russian, “I took nothing.”

Konstantin tightened his hold on the dagger. “Which means you took something. Where is it?”

“
Mr. Levin
,” Lady Stone called out in exasperation. “Is it necessary to point that at him?”

“Yes, it is necessary,” Konstantin called back in riled English. “Now stay in the room!”

The man edged out and glanced toward Lady Stone, his blond brows popping up. He glanced toward Konstantin. “I met her earlier. Is she your wife?”

“My wife?” Konstantin echoed. “No.”

“Your sister?”

“No, she—”

“I love the British.” The young man’s tone purred. “They are my people. Tell her my cousin went to Truro for work in Cornwall. Everyone there was very generous. It changed his life. Has she ever been to Truro? What is her name? Tell her I work as a mason and am available. Tell her I am willing to learn English.”

Konstantin lowered his blade in disbelief. Why was he suddenly jealous? “I came to your door, not to make formal introductions but to inform you we were robbed.”

The man winced and scrubbed his head. “Ach. Yes. That. I will admit, sir, I… I went into her room looking for…for a stocking of hers. I collect them. But I took nothing else.” He gestured toward the disheveled area behind the door. “Search my room.”

Jesus. The man was a bloody deviant. “You went into our room looking for her stockings?”

The man hesitated, as if realizing his stupidity. “The door was open.”

Konstantin grabbed the man by the shirt and slammed him into the nearest wall, causing the sconces around them to jump. “Unfortunately for you, my stupid friend, my watch is now missing. So tell me. Where the hell is it? Where did it go?”

“I…I do not know,” the man choked out. “I did not take it. I only took a garter!”

“
A garter
? You bloody took her—“ Konstantin pressed the tip of the knife into that throat and through gritted teeth bit out, “I want the garter
and
the watch. Or you are dead. And I will warn you, I fucking mean it.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“
Mr. Levin
!” Lady Stone bustled toward him. “Let him go! ’Tis obvious by the way he is panicking he didn’t take your watch.”

Seeing his blade pricking into the skin of a breathing person, and in front of a woman, no less, Konstantin’s hand trembled. This was who he used to be. Not what he wanted to be. Damn it. Konstantin released the man with a shove and stepped back, trying to remain calm. “You have until morning to give both back,” he growled out in Russian. “Or I will find you. And God help you
and
your cousin from Truro when I do.”

The man stumbled back into the room and slammed the door, bolting it from inside.

Konstantin hissed out a breath. Never mind the garter, how in hell was he going to get his watch back? He veered toward Lady Stone. “He picked the lock to steal one of your garters.”

Her chest rose and fell in visible breaths. “What? Why?”

“Apparently, he took a fancy to you. Next time, I suggest you not initiate men you do not know.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Should I include you in that list of men? Because your behavior was uncalled for. The man was defenseless and had no means of protecting himself against your blade. He wasn’t even trying to fight you!”

His lips parted. A man breaks into
their
room for
her
garter, takes
his
watch and somehow
he
was the villain. He shook his head, stalked past her and back into the room. She wouldn’t be the first woman to treat him like this. He was always the villain. Never the hero. Always the villain.

Depositing the blade back onto the small rickety table beside the bed with a clatter, he kicked his belongings bit by bit into one pile and as calmly as he knew how, said, “Setting aside your garter, that watch is all I have left of my father. And now I may never get it back.”

She lingered in the open doorway as if ready to leave. “What I just saw was a very different man from the one helping me.” She stared. “Who are you really, Mr. Levin? Why do you carry a blade?”

He said nothing.

“You had best tell me.”

“It is best you do not know.”

“
Tell me
.” Her voice quaked. “Before I walk to Saint Petersburg on my own. Don’t think I won’t. After what I just witnessed, I deserve an explanation.”

He momentarily closed his eyes, knowing he had no choice but to explain. Before she
did
walk to Saint Petersburg. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. It was every woman all over again. He re-opened his eyes. “Like my father before me, I used to protect influential criminals from being killed by the government. I have been doing it since I was eighteen.”

Her lips parted.

“It paid well,” he argued. “And the community of men involved were dependable and decent. We were like brothers. It only ever got rough when we were on assignment and had to travel with whoever we were commissioned to protect. But I am no longer doing it. I grew tired of people always thinking the worst of me. Especially women. Do you think good, respectable women want to marry into a life where the husband gets shot at? Far from it.” He adjusted his shirt. “Which is why I am going to London. I am being given a chance to be what I should have always been: a better man. I am trying to be a better man.”

“You call putting a knife to a man’s throat
trying
?” she echoed.

He swiped his face. “I have never killed anyone. I have bruised and bloodied people beyond recognition, as my job required, but I have never killed anyone.”

Her expression stilled. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“Because if I told you, you would have never allowed me to help you. And you needed help. I needed you to trust me and given who I am, women never do. ’Tis always a dilemma.”

She remained quiet.

God only knows what she thought of him now. “I am not going to hurt you. It is not who I am. Now please. Close the door and allow us both to get some sleep. It is late. You can yell at me in the morning.”

She puffed out a breath. “I am not going to yell at you.” Closing the door, she locked it with the turn of the key and wandered over to the chair where his coat and waistcoat were. “In truth, I feel partly to blame. I was looking at your watch earlier and left it out on the chair.” She paused. Quickly leaning behind the chair, she lowered herself to the floor and swept something up with a clatter. Rising again, she turned toward him and held up his watch by its silver chain. “It must have fallen.”

He swallowed in disbelief and collapsed onto the bed beside him, pasting his hands against his face. Not only had he threatened an idiot at knifepoint, he had also confessed to being a criminal and now
he
looked stupid.

He heard her bare feet pad over to him.

Keeping his hands against his face, he refused to look at her.

A soft breath escaped her. “We all do things we regret, Mr. Levin. And it is fairly obvious you wish to move away from your past. I cannot and will not hold that against you.” Her tone was genuine and yielding.

It was not a tone he expected from her after what she had just witnessed and what he had shared.

Konstantin lowered his hands and glanced up at her.

Her long wet hair clung in lopsided sections to the sides of her concerned face.

It was like meeting who she truly was.

His throat tightened. “I vow unto you that I have never killed anyone. It is not who I am.”

She leaned in and whispered, “I believe you. And your confession is enough for me to understand the sort of man you really are. Most men try to paint themselves as being more. Not less.” Taking his hand, she gently clasped the cool metal of the watch against the palm of his hand. “Know that despite your past, you have a friend in me after everything you have done
for me
. You didn’t have to help me but you did. It says a lot about you.”

The chain slipped through his fingers and dangled, swaying from side to side. He hadn’t had a woman poke at his soul in a long, long time. It felt good. She made him feel good. Something he could hardly even do on his own. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She stepped back and glanced toward the low-burning hearth. “Are there more coals?”

Realizing the damp clothing had probably chilled her beyond what he should have allowed, he set aside the watch and scrambled to his feet. “I will add more coals at once, but we need to get you out of those clothes first.”

She trembled.

“Turn around.” He grabbed her waist and spun her around, unhooking the wet, heavy fabric down the curve of her back.

She stilled.

“I promise not to look at anything I should not.” He unhooked the last of her gown down toward her back and tried to even his breathing realizing he was undressing her. He dragged her gown off her cool shoulders and arms, exposing an expensive looking satin corset, a sheer wet chemise and pale skin.

It took every ounce of respect he had for her to keep himself from gaping.

He tugged the sleeves off her arms and yanked the gown down the length of her body, letting it drop to the floor in a heavy, wet heap. Determined to stay focused, he unlaced her corset and tossed it onto the floor as well.

Quickly turning away, so he wasn’t imposing on her state of undress, he pulled the linen off the bed. Wrapping her tightly in it, he rubbed its warmth into her and smoothed away her damp hair from the sides of her face. “Remove your chemise.”

She turned away, slipping out of it beneath the linen he wrapped around her.

Konstantin gathered her clothing and corset and dragged the chair over to the hearth. Adding more coals into the hearth from the dented tin bucket, he laid her clothing out as close to the heat of the glowing coals as safety would allow. “Put your chemise and stockings here by the fire, as well. It should all be dry before we leave for Saint Petersburg the day after tomorrow.”

She plodded over and towed another chair over to the fire, draped her chemise and stockings against it. She softened her voice. “Thank you.”

He nodded and strode toward his clothing he had yet to gather off the floor. He leaned over, picked up one of his linen shirts and tossed it toward her. “That can be your nightdress.”

She caught the shirt with one hand and fumbled to pull it on without losing the linen.

Konstantin swung away to give her privacy. He grabbed his pocket watch off the bed, walked over and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket that was slung over the chair. Pacing back and crouching, he started gathering his belongings and shoving them into his wool sack, realizing his hands were trembling. He continued shoving the rest of his clothes into the sack knowing he was already smitten by a woman bold enough to confess that a man who used to protect criminals was worthy of even having a friend.

God save his stupid soul. Why did she have to be an aristocrat?

Nothing would ever come of it.

Cecilia hesitantly touched the side of her head, her cold fingers grazing long, wet hair which had cascaded from its pins in spiraling, unraveled sections around her shoulders. She gathered her hair, bundled it up, and tightly pinned each section into place using whatever pins she could find lodged in her locks. When everything was secured into a chignon, she let out a breath.