Romancing the Earl (21 page)

“No, he’s always been an utter reprobate. It’s why Lady Stratton left.”

“I see.”

Neither his statement nor his expression reflected whether he found the idea repulsive or enticing. Thinking of him participating in Stratton’s lurid entertainments set her teeth on edge. Was she jealous? She was attracted to Norris, but she had no claim on him whatsoever. And wanting to exchange another kiss or two didn’t mean she desired anything more.

She ought not care how he spent his evening. But she did. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

The footman guided them toward a distant corner of the house. “You’re here, miss.” He opened a door to a small but well-appointed chamber.

Grey entered first as Cate turned to Norris. “If I don’t see you later . . .”

His gaze bore straight into her. It felt almost . . . intimate. But that had to be her own fancy. “You’ll see me at some point.”

With a nod, Cate went into her room and wondered where he would be lodging. Would it be in the other wing, where Stratton and his friends’ chambers were located?

Cate closed the door and joined Grey, who’d located their luggage and set about unpacking the bare necessities for their stay.

“Do you think it will be just one night?” Grey asked.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

After a bath and a short nap, Cate felt much improved, at least physically. She was still bothered by what Norris might be doing and how he planned to spend his evening, but strove to expel such thoughts from her head. She had other concerns, such as how they would find the sword once they reached Harlech. She really had no idea what to look for at the castle. She only hoped something would present itself.

A knock on the door quickened her pulse. Was it Norris? He’d said he’d see her later. Had he conducted an interview with the footman?

Cate stood in front of the hearth while Grey went to the door. When she returned alone, Cate quashed her disappointment. “Who was it?”

“A note.”

“For me?”

Grey shook her head. “For me. From Wade. He’s invited me to dine with him.”

Annoyance pricked Cate’s insides. It seemed everyone was to have an enjoyable evening while she was going to spend hers alone. “Will you go?”

Grey shrugged. “Mayhap, but I don’t wish to leave you.”

Cate pushed out a breath. She didn’t want to deprive Grey of a pleasant occasion, particularly if something was developing between her and Wade. “I’ll be quite well ensconced here in my chamber. Are you going to respond to my inquiry now about what’s between the two of you?”

“I’ll let you know later.” Her lips briefly curved into the most charming smile Cate had ever seen on her. But it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, indicating Grey hadn’t wanted her to see it.
 

“I need to get out of this room,” Cate said. “I’ll be back in a while.” She left the chamber and made her way downstairs to Stratton’s library. He kept the handful of medieval manuscripts he owned on display, locked under glass.

She’d seen the books on multiple occasions, but she never tired of looking at the illuminations. And every time she came, he had them opened to different pages. Once, she’d been allowed to look at a few of them out of the glass, but that had been years ago under her father’s supervision. She doubted Stratton would allow her to touch them without her father present. He was the expert and she was just a silly woman.

“Miss Bowen.”

Cate turned at the sound of Norris’s voice. He’d changed his clothing and appeared fresh and handsome, his blond hair waving back from his temples. “How are you feeling?” He certainly looked good. Spectacular, in fact.

“Better, thank you. A hot bath can do wonders.”

“Yes, it can.”

He came to stand beside her at one of the cases. “What is this?”

“This is the de Valery manuscript. It’s the companion to the
Ballads of Gareth,
which my mother owns.”

“The fellow who made that paper I took from Septon’s?”

“Yes, though please don’t advertise that.” The words came out more sharply than she intended. She didn’t apologize, however, because to do so would draw attention to her prickly mood and she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, she changed the topic. “Have you spoken to Dalby?”

“Not yet, but I hope to shortly.”

“Before or after you have dinner with Stratton?”

He jerked his gaze to hers. “Before, I should hope.”

“So you are having dinner with him? Even after what I told you?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but with something akin to confusion, not anger. “I think it’s only polite. I’m certain I can dine without . . . indulging.”

“It’s really none of my business.”

He looked down at the manuscript encased beneath the glass. “No, it isn’t.”

Cate resisted the urge to make a truly unladylike sound. Maybe a growl. It was so unfair that men were free to pursue their sexual needs, while women had to temper their desires until a man deigned to take them to wife. Unless she wanted to risk her reputation. Yet a man could satisfy himself without censure. Mostly—she had to admit that Stratton’s proclivities had cast him into the shadows of Society.

“I see the resemblance to the tapestry document,” he said, surveying the de Valery manuscript. “The writing and the illustration.”

“You’ve a good eye.”
And an unfortunately lush mouth.

She really needed to stop looking at him. How was she going to do that for the next few days? They would be traveling in closer proximity than they had been thus far in their association and as a result would spend far more time in each other’s company. And the more time she spent with him, the more attracted to him she became.

Would she feel this way if she hadn’t kissed him? It didn’t signify, because she
had
kissed him and she couldn’t take it back. Nor did she want to. In fact, she longed to do it again. But for far longer. Maybe even more than just a kiss . . .

Tamping down the desire rushing over her, she moved to another case. Yes, this was better. The air was cooler here and she couldn’t smell the soap he’d used in his bath—sandalwood and pine.

But then he followed her, damn it.

“It seems as though my valet and your companion have struck up a friendship of sorts.”

She decided to be a tad saucy and pretend to be obtuse. “Like our friendship?”

“Er, no. A . . .
tendre
perhaps.”

He saw their association differently. But then it had to be. Their station demanded it. How freeing it would be to be Grey and Wade—able to explore their impulses and feelings.

“They are to have dinner together,” Norris continued. “Wade is being cagey, but I can tell he likes Grey.”

She turned toward him. “Indeed, how?”

He considered the question a moment. “The way he looks at her, I suppose.”

“Do you suppose he’s fallen in love with her?”

Something lurked in the depths of his pale blue eyes, something she suspected he kept deeply buried. “I wouldn’t begin to know what that looks like.”

“Love doesn’t interest you.” She wasn’t sure that was true, but she wanted to see what this man was made of. “Just as marriage doesn’t. Since you don’t plan to marry, will you take a mistress?”

He sucked in breath and promptly choked on it. “This isn’t an appropriate avenue of conversation, Miss Bowen.”

She swayed toward him, shocked by her boldness, but not enough to stop herself. “It is if I’m interested in the position.”

Elijah just barely kept his jaw from hitting the carpet. Had he heard her right?

“I beg your pardon?”

Swaths of pink flagged her cheeks. She turned from him and he lost the dark intensity of her gaze. “Would you mind forgetting I said that?”

He didn’t think he could, not in ten lifetimes. “Why
would
you say that?” And why in the bloody hell would he not do as she asked and immediately forget what she’d said? Apparently his brain wasn’t fast enough to contradict his body, which had flared to awareness the moment he’d walked into the room and found her here.

She moved around the case, putting it safely—and agonizingly—between them. “I was thinking of Grey and Wade and how lucky they are to be able to pursue . . . whatever it is they’re pursuing. I’m a lady. I’m not allowed to . . . feel.”

Bloody hell.

She wanted him. That had to be what she meant. She’d all but propositioned him. But she
was
a lady and he shouldn’t think of her in a sexual way. His gaze dipped to her lips and further south, to the delectable curve of her breast.

Too late.

She gave her head a quick shake. “Please, let’s forget I said anything. I’m going back to my room. Do let me know if you discover anything with Dalby.”

She stalked from the room, her feet carrying her faster than he’d ever seen her walk. And his legs itched to go after her.

Because he wanted her too.

Blood and bones, he couldn’t have her. He turned from the door and willed his cock to stand down. He was half bloody aroused just thinking of her as his mistress. Mistress? He couldn’t put her in the same category as Lily. His former mistress had been the daughter of a convict, a free-spirited woman two years his senior who knew how to obtain her own pleasure as much as give it. She’d possessed a wealth of experience, and confidence had fairly overflowed from every part of her. Actually, he saw a similarity between her and Miss Bowen. What Miss Bowen lacked in experience, she more than made up for in confidence. And that was just about the most damned attractive thing about her.

For a moment he indulged his lust, imagined what it would be like to have her in his bed. She’d be adventurous, he was sure, and guileless. His cock did the opposite of what he needed it to—hardening at the thought of her pleasuring him, for he’d no doubt she would be a fast and eager student.

What the hell was he doing even thinking about this? He cast his head back and inhaled, working to cool his body.

After several agonizing minutes, he’d reined his body under control. He needed to keep his focus: Dalby. He left the library and went in search of the footman. After speaking to Colman, he found the man in the silver closet below stairs.

Dalby was a year or two younger than Elijah, with light brown eyes, thick, dark brown hair, and a rather soft-looking face. His nose was wide, his chin ample, and his mouth flaccid as he worked at polishing a silver ladle.

Elijah lightly cleared his throat as he approached. “Dalby?”

The man looked up from his work. He studied Elijah, perhaps thinking he was familiar but not able to place where they’d met. “Sir?”

“Norris.”

Dalby’s eyes widened and it was impossible to miss the shock and perhaps fear in his gaze, though he did try to settle his features into impassivity. Too bad the attempt was an abject failure.

“My lord.” Dalby inclined his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. His lordship—your brother—was a good man.”

Elijah moved into the small space, but didn’t close the door. “Is that because he only turned you out without a reference instead of taking you directly to the magistrate? I want you to understand that I would have done the latter. I still might.”

Dalby nearly dropped the ladle he was cleaning. He snatched it to his chest before it could tumble to the floor. “Please, my lord, I didn’t mean any harm. I made a poor decision.” He turned a ghastly shade of gray.

“You were caught trying to steal from my brother.” Elijah injected just a bit of menace into his otherwise soft tone. “That is a punishable offense. Did you know I recently returned from Australia? They’d likely send you there for your sentence. Should you survive the journey, I’m sure you’ll find the backbreaking work beneath the blistering sun to be quite a departure from polishing silver.”

The man went from stone gray to snow white. “Please, my lord, I beg you, don’t turn me in.”

Satisfied that he’d put Dalby into a malleable state of fear, Elijah launched his interrogation. “I’ll consider it. However, first, I should like to know how you came to work here without a reference.”

Dalby swallowed audibly. “I was told to come here for a position, my lord.”