Fair Maiden (17 page)

Lady Spencer then dipped in her direction, and Contessa
attempted to do the same by rising. But again, Christian prevented any such
action as his fingers curled more protectively into her shoulder. She looked at
him and noticed his charming dimple was nowhere in sight. Yet Lady Spencer was
practically beaming at him, whilst fluttering long lashes.

Contessa was slightly confused.

Almost as abrupt as his nod had been, Christian fished some
coins from his pocket and tossed them to the table. He captured her upper arm,
gently tugged her to her feet, linked her fingertips around his bicep and made
to leave. “Lovely to see you, Lady Spencer. Good day,” he muttered.

And now Lady Spencer looked confused as she said,
“Christian, Mother said we are coming to visit you very soon.”

He halted, and looked in “Mother’s” direction. Contessa
followed his gaze and noticed the woman seated at a table not far behind her
daughter, grinning with an odd hunger creating lines around her mouth.
Returning her gaze to him, she noted the ripple of muscle along his jaw, and
thought she could hear his teeth grinding. “I see,” was all he said as he
continued his angry march toward the door.

“What was that all about?” she asked once the cool air of
late afternoon surrounded them. Shuddering as gooseflesh sprang up along her
arms and legs, Tessa rubbed her palms over her sleeves. “And why would you not
let me curtsy? Was I not expected to—?”

“Are you chilled?” he asked, starting to shrug out of his
jerkin…er…coat.

“No, Christian. Truly, I am not cold.”

He considered her for a moment, and then instead of
stripping, he draped a heavy arm over her shoulders. “She doesn’t deserve
anything from you. You are above her,” he said, nudging her closer to his heat.

“How can you know? Did you discover something about me?” She
gathered a fistful of his clothing. “Christian, tell me.”

They neared the bakery, and he halted in front of it. “I’m
sorry, but no, I did not find anything new, which confuses me. There should be
some record of your parent’s estate.”

“Then why?”

His shadow fell over her, swallowing her, as he looked
earnestly down into her face. “Sweetheart, even if you were the lowliest of
servants you would be above her. Yet you must be from nobility if you’d been
able to indulge in chocolate
daily
in your time. Her heart is blackened
with her selfish—cunning—manipulative ways.”

“Oh, now you must be exaggerating.”

“Perhaps a little, but my opinion of her has not changed.
Nor will it ever.”

“She said she was coming to visit you. What will you do?”

He groaned, not answering, and tugged her into the bakery.

Chapter
18

Nineteenth
Century London

Christian watched as Tessa considered the wide variety of
pastries available with her usual, yet charming, expression of total wonder. In
fact she devoured everything in his world with that same sense of awe. While he
had allowed a great deal of leeway, he’d spent the day tugging her away from
things trying to keep her on task.

She’d been fascinated with the lampposts, asking how they
were lit at night as she ran her slender fingers along the cool wrought iron of
the posts. The multitude of shops on Bond Street drew her interest as well,
along with their many goods. She’d spent much of the day fawning over porcelain
dolls in their frilly satin dresses, touching the fine fabrics of table linens,
and smelling the wide range of imported fruits available at open market. Even
the red post boxes seemed to fascinate her, also spurning many more questions
about the mail system, which, he was certain, she did not have in her time.

The woman behind the counter of the bakery didn’t seem to
mind explaining each sweet as Contessa continued with her inquisitive
exploration of nineteenth-century London.

After hearing everything described, he hadn’t expected Tessa
to step back and peer at him with distress. When she said nothing while drawing
her bottom lip between her teeth and plucked at the fabric of her gloved
fingers, he realized—she couldn’t decide what she wanted.

Well, he could fix that. Christian turned to the woman and
said, “We’ll take one of everything, if you please.”

The woman was delighted with that and began boxing up one
each of about thirty different items.

Tessa gasped. “Oh no, Christian! You cannot! I—”

He silenced her with two leather-encased fingers against her
perfect lips.

Tessa simply stared at him, in shock, he was sure. In truth,
he was shocked with himself as well. Of course Christian knew at this rate he’d
already spent nearly half of his advance on her. He’d most certainly hear
complaints about it from Jackson. But he didn’t care, and as he considered her
in that perfectly proper day dress, Christian couldn’t bring himself to feel
any regret. He would move this along, make certain his mother was pleased with
his engagement and resume his usual allowance until, in the far future, he
inherited everything. His finances would be fine….

That evening as they settled into the drawing room at his
townhouse, Christian lifted a sausage pastry from one of the boxes lined up on
the table and bit into it. The flaky crust crumbled onto his lap and he brushed
the mess to the floor, slightly irritated with the fact that Contessa had paid
little attention to him since they’d returned.

“Would you like a bite?” he offered partly because he knew a
gentleman would share what he knew was the last one, and partly as a shameless
tactic to gain her regard.

After a long pause, a much too long one, Tessa lifted her
chin and asked. “What was that?”

He presented the flaky morsel. “Would you fancy a bite?”

Tessa cuddled the open book he’d purchased for her to her
chest and peered at the meat-filled pastry, her lips twitched with something
that showed a lack of interest. “What is in it?”

“Sausage.”

She shook her head. “I favor the cheese pasties over the
meat ones.” Then she lowered the book from her bosom to continue reading.

Something akin to the taste of jealousy settled onto his
tongue, and again fighting for her awareness, he said, “Ah-ha! So you’re the
bandit who ate those.”

After another pause, in which it took far too long for the
words to sink in, she emitted a soft giggle and blushed prettily at his
teasing. To his great distress, she kept her cute little nose tucked between
the pages.

As a grudge against Jane Austen developed in his gut, Tessa
continued to present a lovely picture next to him on the settee with her legs
curled up and her bare feet tucked beneath her. The firelight bathed her in a
glow of warmed honey. She caressed the open page as she finished reading it and
then turned to the next.

“Are you enjoying
Emma
?”

With obvious reluctance, her face lifted toward his, and he
was drawn into the burnished jewel tones of her bewitching eyes. “Oh, aye,” she
breathed, oblivious to his apparent obsession. “It is so romantic. And I’m
learning much about your time: the way of society, the way of courtship, and
the way of speech. ‘Tis truly fascinating.”

“Would you like another sweet?” he asked, presenting one of
the bakery boxes. Deep down he knew it was another impolite attempt to snatch
her eyes from the words, but gently nudged the fingers curled lovingly around
the volume anyway.

“I had better not, Christian. If I continue indulging like
this I will surely become ill.”

He sat the pastries back onto the table. She emitted a
pleasant hum as her interest returned to the novel. That delicate sound did
strange things to his insides.

Christian passed his gaze over her relaxed form, and he was once
again overwhelmed with the corporeal sight of her. If he could just steal her
interest from the printed tale….  Of course he knew he’d done a good thing by
buying the book for her because clearly she was enjoying it immensely, but at
the time he hadn’t suspected how much it would enthrall her. And how much that
would trouble him. This just didn’t seem fair at all.

He bent closer and closer until every inhale was laced with
the essence of a living, breathing Tessa. And apparently, she’d found Emma’s
scented soap in the water closet. The innocent fragrance of roses was now drenched
in that spiced honey he’d noticed around Tessa before. It made him want to
consume more than baked goods.

Carefully he gathered her jaw in his palm, turning her to
him. His thumb moved along her warm flesh, and his fingers feathered over her
fluttering pulse. And when those emerald eyes rose to meet his brown, it seemed
he could not pull himself from the idea of snatching another kiss.

Deep down, Christian knew it was…unfortunate that Jackson had left them alone. Even her naivety charmed him, for he could see Contessa knew
not that she sat with a hungry man even after having gluttonized himself along
with her on baked goods. Christian understood, as he moved toward her sweet
mouth, that he truly was no better than that prince. He understood the
temptation she must have presented to Dominic Renard. But as the book slipped
from her fingers and her haloed-head rocked to the side, he also knew he’d won
the battle against Miss Austen, and that dear, sweet Contessa trusted him, and
that she would allow him freedoms she would not have given the prince. The
knowledge only elevated his guilt.

The sound of someone clearing their throat saved her from
him, and he jerked upright, the back of his neck heating. He tried to rub the
flush from his nape to no avail. Alas, Jackson had thoroughly managed to snuff
out the tension sizzling between him and Tessa.

Jackson gave Christian a chastising glare and then
announced, “Mistress Tabitha Tuttlepot is here to see you, sir.”

“Brilliant timing,” grumbled Christian, with not a little
chagrin.

“I daresay,” muttered Jackson.

Christian returned the book to Tessa’s hands and stood.
“Please show her in, would you?”

Jackson nodded and stepped away only to return a moment
later followed by the petite witch. Today she was not dressed in black as she’d
been when she came to Krestly Castle, but in a dark plum. The color set fire to
the rebellious red ringlets crowning her heart-shaped face.

She nodded in greeting as her sharp gaze passed briefly over
Christian before flying to Contessa, and landing hard. Those unruly ringlets
shook wildly, almost as though stirred upon by magic, making her look just like
the witch she was.

Tessa, who was still curled upon the settee, book in hand,
stared quietly, her eyes wide with confusion. He should have explained this
first….

Christian spoke, attempting to mask his concern. “May I
present Contessa…”

“No,” Tabitha breathed weakly, “tell me it is not so.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” he whispered, hoping the maid wasn’t
anywhere nearby.

“What have you done?”

“I…eh, what do you mean, ‘what have I done’? She is alive.
It is a miracle.”

Tabitha took several moments drawing air in and out slowly,
as if struggling to regulate her breathing, then asked, “How did you discover
her name?”

Contessa answered, “I recalled it in a dream.”

“I see.” Tabitha took several turns about the room,
muttering to herself in some peculiar witch-like language, then halted in front
of him with murderous intent sparkling within her peridot eyes.

He was forced to take a step backward. “Is something the
matter?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

“Now what do you mean?”

The witch waved a wrinkled hand in his face. “The past is
the past. We cannot change what has been done.” Turning to face a bewildered
looking Tessa, she changed the subject, “Jackson tells me you’re in need of a
chaperone for Lady…Ghost.”

“Yes, Contessa cannot be without one if she is to live with
me.” He did not miss the fact that Tabitha flinched when he spoke Contessa’s
name aloud. And he wondered what it was about until he remembered what she’d
said the last time they met.
I will not speak her name. She is in danger.

“Please, Tabitha, have I done wrong—?”

“As I just said, the past is the past. We must live with the
consequence.”

“What consequence is that? Is Contessa in danger?”

Instead of answering, she said, “I will be her chaperone.”

Dear Lord! Had he put her life at risk by carelessly
uttering her name? And a completely different kind of guilt unfurled within his
chest. He seized Tabitha’s feeble upper arm. “Tabitha, please, have I made a
mistake? I must know. Is she in peril because of me?”

The fragile woman exhaled. “In truth, I do not know.”

“But you said—”

“I recall quite well what I said. However, do be soothed in
the knowledge that I only had the impression her name should not be spoken.”

“And you warned—”

“Again, it was only an impression.”

He got the
impression
she wasn’t telling the full
truth and was about to argue it further when she said, “Either way it does not
matter, my lord. What is done is done. You need me to be her chaperone. I can
help as others cannot. I will do my utmost best to protect her.” The witch’s
mouth curled into a knowing smirk. “No matter what threat surrounds her.”

Folding his arms across his chest, his gaze shifted to the
object of his temptation before returning to fix Tabitha with narrowed eyes.
“Do not make me the villain. You’re here because of me,” he argued softly enough
that Contessa wouldn’t hear, even if the witche’s suspicions were correct.