Whisper of Magic (23 page)

“It will be a sad future if they are all run by men like
Lansdowne,” she said curtly. “Children will be ruined by the hundreds. I do not
think I like the idea of this machine used in such a way.”

“Progress has its pitfalls,” he admitted.

A point they argued until they reached the last posting inn
before Wystan.

***

Exhausted by travel but exhilarated by lively discussion,
Celeste gazed in dismay at the derelict tavern sign and muddy carriage yard of
the next night’s inn. She had enjoyed the company of Lord Erran this past day.
But this inn . . .

“How much farther is it to Wystan?” she whispered as Lord
Erran assisted her from the post chaise.

“Too far to reach before dark,” he said apologetically. “We
will have to ride the last miles on horseback unless there’s an oxen cart
available.”

The inn was not a prosperous one. The men lounging outside
did not appear to be of the reputable sort. She clasped Lord Erran’s arm and
murmured, “Perhaps you ought to call me your wife. I think we had best leave
the rich cloak bundled up.”

She had left it off in order to play the part of maid, and
she was shivering already in the cool dusk. Even Lord Erran’s look of concern
could not warm her. That he listened to her was a miracle and eased her fear
somewhat as he negotiated with the innkeeper over the inn’s one available
chamber.

Instead of abandoning her in the room while he oversaw the
baggage unloading, Lord Erran gave coins to the post boy to make certain all
the bags were carried up.

Celeste grimly studied the small chamber, then set to work.
She unpacked the clean linen, ordered a maid to bring fresh blankets, and
stripped the bed.

Taking the stack of old woolen blankets reluctantly provided
by their landlord, Lord Erran shut the door and leaned against it. “There are
bugs?” he asked warily.

“I will take no chances with slovenly housekeeping. Help me
turn this mattress.”

He flipped it easily. She covered the fresh side with a
layer of blankets and her own clean linens. She threw the graying flowered
coverlet on a laundry heap with the old sheets and replaced it with the clean
blankets. She wrinkled her nose over the flat pillows. “I suppose we shall have
to use my petticoats again.”

“I apologize for the accommodations,” he said, still
watching her with caution. “The place has apparently deteriorated since any of
us have been up here.”

“Is this part of your brother’s estate?” Knowing they would
have to share that bed, Celeste couldn’t quite meet his eye but busied herself
with examining the threadbare drapery for spiders.

“On the outskirts, I believe. Until Duncan’s accident a few
months ago, none of us but him has had reason to visit. We’re still learning
the extent of his holdings and attempting to deal with them. I’m to be his eyes
and ears while we’re here.”

“Well, it’s not to be expected that an outpost as rural as
this would be profitable. But if Ashford entertains guests with any frequency,
this doesn’t appear to be a hospitable introduction, especially if your guests
are expectant mothers.”

“I’ll make note of that and see what Dunc suggests. It’s
quite likely Lady Aster will ask to come to Wystan someday, and she’s not one
to remain silent,” he said with a hint of humor.

Unable to think of any further excuse to study a window,
Celeste steadied her pulse and turned around. Lord Erran was leaning against
the doorframe, arms crossed, looking windblown and elegant. “It is good to know
that some English ladies are willing to speak out. We do not have that so much
on the island. We are too isolated, I believe.”

“Do not think that English women are much different. I
sometimes think it’s only Malcolm women who operate independently of men and
believe they have an equal right to be heard. I disagree on many levels, but my
thoughts on the matter don’t count.”

She dared cast His Arrogance a scowl. “Because your thoughts
on the matter are worthless. Perhaps women are more than equal, and men are the
boors who don’t realize it.”

“Apparently, anything is possible,” he said with a verbal
shrug, continuing to lean his wide shoulders against the frame. “I don’t wish
to leave you alone in here. I’ve ordered supper and warm water and more coals.
What can I do to make you comfortable with the situation?”

“I brought it on myself, so I cannot complain.” In fact, she
was so amazed that he asked, that she almost suggested she be the one to sleep
elsewhere. Except she really didn’t want to be parted from the annoying
gentleman. That was weak of her, she knew, but she had limits. “I’ll be fine.
Perhaps you could teach me one of your English card games?”

***

Having watched the lady defrost and relax over a
reasonably edible supper and a watered jug of ale, Erran played his last card,
literally.

Celeste studied her hand, looked at his, and laughed in a
manner that would have stirred his lust even if he couldn’t see her. But after
these days in close proximity, Erran could see her with his eyes closed—and he
wanted her more than anything else in his life, no matter how hard he tried to
push her and her nonsense out of his mind.

He was a doomed man.

She moved her last button toward the center of the small
table holding the cards. “I lose. What is my forfeit?”

“Forfeit?” As if he could think clearly when a mahogany
strand of hair brushed her rosy cheek, white teeth flashed behind ruby lips—and
a clean bed waited three feet away.

“You do not do forfeits if you lose a game?” she asked,
tilting her head with a curiosity that appealed to him too much.

With any other woman, he would have considered the question
flirtatious, and he would have responded outrageously. But this one—while
looking like all the temptations of Eve—was wearing governess gray and buried
in three layers of shawls with a heavy cloak over her knees. Besides, she was
an innocent and had no idea how seductive her velvet-lashed, blue eyes could
be.

“I cannot take money from a lady who has just learned the
game,” he protested. “That would be the same as cheating.”

He didn’t
think
he’d influenced her with his voice when he’d taught her the rules, but he
wouldn’t be comfortable taking her few coins even if he knew for certain that
he hadn’t. He said the first thing that came to his overworked brain. “How about
a kiss as forfeit?”

He regretted that insane response the moment he said it. He
would start believing in the devil shortly and swear Old Nick had made him do
it.

To his shock, she shrugged and leaned over the table. “One
kiss for five buttons seems fair,” she said.

Not waiting for a second offer, Erran leaned over and
pressed his mouth to her primly pursed one.

The explosion was as powerful as he’d feared—and hoped. She
gasped. He touched a hand to her jaw and guided her closer to sip from ruby
lips and tease them into parting.

The table between them kept anything but their mouths and
hands from touching. Erran kissed her tenderly, stroking the beautiful cheek
he’d longed to touch from the moment he’d seen her. Unsteadily, she caressed
his sideburns and whiskered jaw—and pressed her mouth closer.

He inhaled her unusual floral scent, tested the silken
texture of her skin, and nearly knocked the table over to get at her. He
touched his tongue to hers, and she moaned, then grabbed his shoulder for
support.

He did knock the table over then. It tumbled to one side,
and he circled his arms around a waist so slender he feared she’d break if he
squeezed too hard. He felt broad and blocky and no more than a crude ruffian
against her willowy grace, but that didn’t stop him. Celeste was in his arms,
at last, and instead of fighting him, she wrapped her fingers around his neck
and tugged him down to her height.

She was tall enough that he didn’t need to lean far. He
plundered her mouth and felt her breasts rising and falling rapidly against his
waistcoat. He ran a hand over the soft curve of her buttocks, crushing skirt
and petticoats. She didn’t hesitate but inched closer, until his arms were full
of heaven.

He took a step toward the bed.

A knock pounded on the door.

At the rap on the door, Lord Erran hastily released her,
and Celeste stepped away, horrified at what they’d just done. What
she
had done.

Covering her bruised lips, still shaking with the desire
he’d ignited, she hurried behind the dressing screen while his lordship
answered the door. She heard the maid offer hot water and ask if there was a
problem with the table. She flushed, knowing others had heard the crash. After
his curt reply, the door shut again, but she hadn’t pulled herself together sufficiently
to dare step out of hiding.

“I shall go down to the tavern and give you time to wash and
prepare for bed,” he said curtly from the other side of the screen.

He behaved as if what they had done was nothing, a momentary
aberration easily forgotten—a forfeit, as he’d asked. Celeste couldn’t find her
tongue to reply.

She’d always considered herself a pragmatist without a
romantic bone in her body. She’d allowed boys to kiss her just to see what it
was like, but mostly, it had been silly and sometimes unpleasant. Those had
been boys. Lord Erran was very much a man, and she shivered with the sensuous pleasure
he’d initiated.

After she heard the door close again, she took a deep breath
and stepped out to find the water pitcher while it was still warm. She had
survived worse disasters. She would muddle through this night somehow, no
matter how deeply she had embarrassed herself.

Her saving grace was that she was pretty certain his noble
lordship had enjoyed that kiss too.

By the time Lord Erran returned, smelling slightly of ale,
Celeste had yanked her hair into a loose braid, wrapped in her warmest
nightshift and robe, and cocooned herself in linen and wool covers. She’d set
aside another sheet and blanket on the other side of the narrow bed for her
companion.

She had left a lamp burning behind the screen and lay in bed
with her back to the room to give him privacy. She heard him struggle out of
his coat and move a chair to hang it over. He’d had his linen washed and
starched at the last inn, but it had been sadly rumpled this past day. She was
fairly certain they had no such services in this outpost, so he’d be draping
his neckcloth over the coat, and possibly his waistcoat.

She tried not to conjure images of his muscular frame in
only shirtsleeves and trousers, but it was impossible not to. A chair creaked
as he sat down to tug off his boots. He’d worn short ones, which she assumed
were easier to remove without a valet.

She heard him splash water into the basin. She’d scrubbed
the cracked china clean and had left him half the water. She hoped it was
enough. Did gentlemen shave in the evenings? Probably not when sleeping alone.
But tonight?

He didn’t spend long behind the screen, so presumably, he
hadn’t attempted shaving in the dark. She held her breath as she heard his
unshod feet treading the creaking floorboards. To her puzzlement, after
flinging more coal on the grate, he crossed to the door and seemed to be
knocking about with the fire poker.

She peered over her shoulder. “What are you doing?” she had
to ask.

He’d propped their table against the door and jammed one end
of the poker into the door opening beneath the bar. The table supported the
other end. “The door crack here is wide enough for a blade to slide through. I
don’t want anyone lifting the bar from the other side. The poker prevents them
from reaching the bar.”

“Oh, I’d never have thought of that.”

“Precisely.” He turned off the lamp and started rooting
about in the dirty blankets and sheets she’d thrown to the floor. The maid
hadn’t offered to remove them, and Celeste feared the servant fully intended to
put them back on the bed in the morning.

“What are you doing now?” she whispered.

“I’m not testing my willpower,” he said gruffly.

Celeste had to study this before translating, then felt a
lamentable thrill at this acknowledgment that he was as stirred by base desire
as she was. Still, she could not let him suffer for her insistence on sharing
this journey. “Then test mine. You cannot sleep on that cold floor. I’ve put
pillows down the middle and given you your own blankets.”

She could feel his towering physique looming over the bed.
Rather than quiver in fear, she daringly turned over to look up at him. She
could just make out his broad outline in the dark, but she realized her error.
He was not as small as she, and the bed was very narrow.

He seemed to still be wearing shirt and breeches as he
lifted the covers. “Thank you, I think. I am not accustomed to sharing any bed,
except briefly, under circumstances I will not describe to a lady. I do not know
what a lady expects.”

She could well imagine what he didn’t describe. She was
thankful he came to bed smelling only of ale and not of the cheap perfume of
the women in the tavern. “I don’t want it to be awkward between us, if that’s
still possible. I’ve never had a gentleman friend, and you’ve made me feel at
ease.”

He grunted as he tried to fit his broad body into the narrow
space. “I do not cultivate lady friends,” he said with a hint of exasperation.
“There is no purpose in it. Ladies expect marriage, and I cannot even offer
them a home. Beyond that, I grew up in a male household. I have no idea what
ladies expect of me.”

His heavy weight bent the mattress and Celeste savored the
nearness of his solidity. She felt sheltered enough to consider what he was
telling her rather than feeling afraid. “You grew up with no ladies about at
all my lord?”

“None respectable,” he admitted. “And I think you could drop
the title under these circumstances.”