This had to be remedied. He must gain a chaperone for her.
But who could he trust with one who could very likely turn back into a ghost?
“Ah-ha!” he shouted, startling Jackson. “The witch!”
“What are you going on about, Chri—my lord?” snapped the
butler.
“The witch. Tabitha. She will make the perfect chaperon for
Contessa.” He began pacing back and forth, his fingers rasping over his evening
growth of whiskers. “She will not be startled if…” His words trailed away as a
maid entered with service for tea.
He had to be careful with what he said aloud. Especially
here, in this cozier dwelling. The last thing he needed was for one of the
servants to overhear talk about a ghost.
“I see you have a guest, m’ lord. I will go and fetch
another cup and more scones.”
“Please bring two more cups, my dear.”
“As you wish, m’ lord.” The girl set the tray on the table,
curtsied and then scurried from the room.
“Scones?” said Tessa, beaming brightly at the prospect of
another food to try, and gliding into the drawing room to join him. Until that
change in topic, Contessa, it seemed, had remained distracted by everything in
the entry hall.
“Come, you’re my partner in crime,” he muttered softly to
Jackson, and motioned for the old man to join them, then closed the doors
behind him.
Christian observed that his butler didn’t quite know what to
do with himself. He stood bug-eyed while plucking at a button on his waistcoat.
“Chris, are you certain about this? Do you really want,” his speech dropped to a
faint whisper, “a witch to
live
with us?”
Apparently still uninterested in their hushed conversation,
Tessa seemed content with exploring the books on the shelf. Quietly she was
touching the raised texture on the bindings, lifting some from the bookcase,
opening them, passing her now naked fingers over the paper and then moving on
in like manner. He’d never seen anyone so curious. It was like watching one who
had lost the sense of sight only to then suddenly regain it. And as he thought
about it, certainly that was the case. Except it was the sense of touch she’d
been deprived of, and smell, he realized as she lifted a thick volume to her
nose, taking in the essence of leather.
“Jackson, can you suggest anyone better?” he asked in
continued low tones, not wanting to disturb Tessa’s exploration.
The old man shook his grizzled head.
“She must have a chaperone.”
“Yes, I do believe it should be so then.”
“Then you will send out a runner to go and find Tabitha and
bring her to me?”
The maid returned with two more cups and a plate full of
scones.
“Right away, my lord,” said Jackson, attempting to use the
arrival of tea as an excuse to escape. Christian didn’t see the need for Jackson to rush when the elderly fellow was serving just as well as a temporary chaperone.
Besides needing to keep a third party in the room, he wanted to thank him for
his loyal service and friendship. Plus, it appeared Jackson was still suffering
from shock after seeing a living, breathing Contessa. Jackson stared at her as
though some sort of zombie lurked along with them in the room. Yet terrifying
to look upon, she certainly was not.
“Sit, old friend. Relax for a moment and have some tea with
us.”
“I am but a servant—my lord.”
“Hogwash. Sit, I said.”
Without further argument Jackson lowered with some
reluctance into the wingback chair to his right. The cushion on Christian’s
left sank as Contessa settled her weight next to him, peering eagerly past his
chest at the offered refreshment on the table between himself and Jackson. He
began serving up tea and a scone for her.
She watched, her chin resting on his shoulder as he poured
out. But just as he’d done so, he’d hesitated with one lump of sugar hovering
above the liquid. Somehow he doubted she would like her tea more sweetened as
he did his own, and dropped in four cubes instead of two, then added milk.
Stirring, he twisted and passed the cup and saucer to her. She reached for it,
but he said, “Oh, you may remove the gloves, darling.” He hadn’t noticed until
then that she’d put them back on.
With reddening cheeks, she rose upright, stripped her hands,
bashfully tugged at her shortened sleeves and then accepted the steaming cup.
Accounting her actions, he realized that in her day women
most likely did not wear such revealing sleeves. And while she would remove the
long gloves to touch something, she was obviously uncomfortable without her
arms being covered. But she’d appeared fine about it earlier at the ball, even
when he’d kissed her and held his naked palm against hers…. His gaze shifted to
Jackson, and then he understood. She was comfortable around him, but no one
else. He couldn’t help but feel flattered. She trusted him.
“Careful, loving, it is hot,” he said as she lifted the
drink to her lips.
Chapter
15
Hot
and Cold
Contessa hesitated, her mouth poised just above the tea,
feeling the steam brush against her face, warming her flesh. She moved it away.
She did not want to burn herself, and wondered how long she needed to wait
before she could taste it. Her gaze shifted to the scone Christian was
preparing. It looked like a flat bread of which he was spreading a creamy white
sort of butter on top.
She had thought he meant to eat the yummy-looking item and
was a little surprised when he set it on another plate and passed it to her.
“For me?”
“Of course. A proper gentleman always serves his lady before
himself,” he said, with an emotion she’d seen earlier passing through his dark
gaze. Was it guilt again? She could not fathom what he had to feel guilty
about. He’d been so kind to her, so accepting of her, and taking such good care
of her.
She set the teacup and saucer down, then reached for the
little triangle-shaped bread, and bit into it. She moaned. It was warm,
delightfully crusty on the outside, deliciously tender on the inside, and quite
tasty. The buttery substance on top had melted into it, and whatever it was,
she loved it.
When she finished with that, she set the empty plate aside
and reached for her tea again, hoping it had cooled enough. Just before taking
a sip, she looked up and saw with a bit of shock that both Jackson and
Christian were watching her. “That was lovely,” she said. “What was the white,
creamy—?”
“Clotted cream.”
“Oh, I am quite fond of clotted cream.” She finally tipped
the teacup to her lips and tasted the tea. It was better than she expected it
would be.
“How is the tea?” Christian asked.
“I’m enjoying it as well, thank you.”
“We’ll be spending a couple of nights here, if that is all
right with you. I hadn’t planned on returning to Krestly Castle until later in
the week.”
“Oh, yes. I-I would not want to interfere with your plans,
Christian.”
He smirked and that dimple appeared in his cheek. “My plans
were to research your name. And was that truly the name of you parent’s
estate?”
“Yes.” Why she’d suddenly remembered it then, she did not
know. It seemed her past was coming back to her a little bit at a time.
“Would you like another scone before retiring?” he asked,
setting down his empty plate.
No, she was full. “Please,” she said, unable to resist
another taste of the clotted cream.
He prepared another for her, and when she was finished, he
rose, reaching out his hand for hers. “Come, I’ll escort you to your
bedchamber.” As they exited through the doorway, Christian added, “Jackson, you will join us?”
“Yes, my lord.”
They led her to a wide staircase which curved up to the
second level, then along a paneled hallway and stopped in front of a door made
of dark-red wood. He twisted to face her. “I hope you will sleep well, and if
you need me, I will just be in the next room.” He motioned forward to another
door.
“Thank you for today, for dancing with me, for the fine food
and drink. I am deeply grateful.” She licked her lips, remembering that
fruit-filled pastry, the first item she’d eaten.
Christian looked like he was about to kiss her again. She
knew it was not truly appropriate but, even so, she could not stop herself from
wanting him to, and looked away feeling her cheeks heat because she was also
hoping he
would
. What was wrong with her?
With the fingers of his left hand gently curling around her
upper arm and the fingers of his right covering the handle, he opened the door.
“May you have the sweetest dreams,” he muttered just before pressing a soft
kiss to her cheek and leading her past the threshold.
Contessa hesitated, not knowing exactly what to do with
herself, and he nudged her farther into the chamber by pressing onto the small
of her back, then pulled the door shut.
“Goodnight,” she replied in a little voice.
Only knowing he’d heard her when he responded in a much
bigger voice with, “Goodnight.”
She listened as the sound of his footfalls drew away from
her chamber in one direction and Jackson’s in the other. The sound was followed
by a short pause of silence and then the sound of his door opening and closing.
Then more silence.
She looked about the chamber. It was spacious, although much
smaller than the ones in Krestly Castle. It was decorated with teal fabrics and
more of the dark, ornately carved woods as she’d seen in the entryway. And it
was so cold. She shivered and hugged herself, moving closer to the bed.
Frowning, Contessa realized she was not sleepy, but knew not
what else to do with herself, so she began unlacing her gown and kicked off her
slippers.
She heard the sound of a door opening again, and then the
door to her chamber flung open. With a little shriek, Contessa snatched closed
the laces of her gown and watched wide-eyed as Christian stalked to the
fireplace and began stuffing logs into it.
After one glance over his shoulder, in which his eyes
rounded just like hers, he said in a choked sounding voice, “I a-apologize. I
realized how cold my chamber was, even with a fire within the hearth, and knew
yours was likely colder. I fear I should have remembered to tell the maid that
you would be staying, but I neglected that bit of information. Again—” his
words halted when he looked her way another time, and focused on her fisted
hands at the front of her gown. “Again, I apologize.” He swallowed hard, his
Adam’s apple working with the action. She watched it bob, and then he turned
back to his work. “I apologize,” he said for the third time, “I shouldn’t have
barged in like that. The maid had gone to bed already and I didn’t want to
disturb her, so I will start a fire for you.”
“Thank you,” she managed in a nervous tone.
Christian’s shoulders sank with regret it seemed. But he
said nothing more as he arranged the wood and then drew a little stick across
the stone of the hearth. The action was followed by a little whooshing sound
and then light exploded in front of him, causing his outline to be gilded with
flickering yellow. That…that was not flint!
Without thinking about how it had happened, Contessa found
herself right next to him, lowering to her knees. “How did you make fire so
easily?” she asked watching in awe as he ignited some tinder that he’d tucked
in around the wood.
He leaned back with the wooden stick between two fingers,
shook it back and forth and the flame went out, leaving a trail of smoke
twirling upwards. “This is a match.”
“A match?”
“Yes, it’s simply a stick where the end has been coated with
flammable chemicals which will burst into flame when dragged across any hard
surface.”
Again, his explanation made no sense whatsoever. “Oh,” she
said, just then realizing where she was, and how close he was to her.
As the fire licked around the wood, crackling, she lifted
her hands to feel the warmth.
“Would you like to try it?” he asked, holding out another
match to her.
She took it, her fingers brushing against his. Again,
Contessa trembled, and it certainly was not from the cold. “What do I do?” she
asked.
“Just drag this end along the stone.” He pointed to the
coated end.
After doing what he said, she watched in startled amazement
as that whooshing sound preceded another burst of light before it flickered and
shrunk to a smaller flame. “Wow,” she breathed, as the little fire devoured the
thin stick.
Christian slid two fingers into his mouth, withdrew them and
pinched out the flame. His dimple was showing. “Careful now. If you let it get
too low, it will burn your fingers.”
“How did you put it out like that without burning yours?”
“The moisture helped, and I was quick about it.”
“Oh.”
His gaze shifted lower, and she remembered her state of
being undone.
She gasped and lunged to her feet, desperately gathering the
front of her gown. The match fell and clattered on the stones in front of the
fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she blushed fiercely.
Christian stood also, his height such, that he had to look
down at her. “Your chemise was still fastened, no need to worry.”
The words were obviously meant as comfort, however, they did
not offer much at all.
He sighed, and the dimple was gone. “I’ll go now. Sleep
well.”
“Yes, sleep well, Christian.”
He paused at the door when she said his name, but didn’t
turn back. Instead he grasped onto the door handle as though it were his saving
grace and left hastily.
With her chin dropping, she considered her level of
indecency. He was right, she was still covered. She finished disrobing and then
paused when she reached for the laces of her chemise. She had not a night rail
to sleep in. “I suppose my chemise will have to do.” Contessa reached to turn
down the covers, climbed into the cool bed and shuddered some more.