Authors: Kat Martin
“One rarely encounters danger when entering a drawing room, so there is no need for a man to walk in front. It is a gesture of respect to allow the lady to enter first.”
His frown deepened. “Do you have a book on this thing you call et-i-quette?”
“Yes, and reading it is a very good notion. You can study as we go along. I shall fetch the book for you tonight when we return home.”
They left the house—Krista walking in front, Leif behind, carrying his ridiculous sword. It appeared to be the sort men might have used in medieval times, like a Scottish claymore, the handle of ornately carved bone—an impressive weapon, no matter that it was outdated.
When they reached the carriage, she gave him another brief lesson, explaining how a man helped a lady inside, then climbed in and seated himself across from her. Ignoring the warmth of his big hand at her waist as he guided her up the iron stairs, she seated herself, fluffing the skirt of her pale blue day dress around her legs. Leif climbed aboard, so big he filled the seat across from her. And yet, dressed as he was in his expensively tailored clothes, he didn’t look the least out of place in the carriage.
As the vehicle lurched into motion, rolling along the crowded streets toward Piccadilly, she noticed Leif’s gaze strayed often out the window, and realized he was keeping an eye out for trouble.
“Was there fighting on your island?” she asked, suddenly curious why he might have need of a sword.
“There are several different clans on Draugr. One of them covets our land, which is less rocky and far more fertile than theirs. They raid our homes and take our women, steal our cattle. We defend ourselves when there is a need.”
Of course there would be fighting. They were men, weren’t they? “Father says your people are completely self-sufficient. If you don’t trade, how do you get the iron for your weapons?”
“There is enough bog iron in the mountains to serve our needs, enough to make swords, lance points and axes, cooking pots and farming tools.”
Krista didn’t say more, but she couldn’t help noticing how easily he carried the sword, as if the weapon were a part of him. He knew well how to use it, she would wager. Krista shivered. On the surface, Leif might look civilized, but underneath his gentleman’s clothes, he was a warrior—a Viking. That had not changed.
The carriage made its way along Piccadilly, turned the corner onto a side street and dropped them off in front of the brick building that housed
Heart to Heart.
Krista led Leif inside and straight to her office.
She pointed to his sword. “You may store that in here, if you please.” She pulled open the door of an upright chest against the wall that held office supplies.
“I would rather keep it with me.”
“You may leave it in here, or take it upstairs. You certainly cannot carry it about the office. You will frighten the employees witless.”
“Wit-less?”
“It means half-mad. Now put up the sword.”
He grumbled something she couldn’t quite hear, but leaned the sheathed sword against the inside wall of the upright chest and closed the door.
“Now I will show you round the office and introduce you to our staff, then you can start to work.” Yesterday, they had assembled the gazette and tied it into bundles. Today those bundles needed to be loaded into wagons, which would deliver the magazine to distribution points in the city.
It was the perfect job for Leif, among other tasks she had in mind for him.
“I would like to see how your papers are made,” he said as they left her small office, so she took him over to the heavy Stanhope press.
“It was invented by the Earl of Stanhope,” she said. “It is the first printing machine ever designed that was fashioned completely of iron.”
“How does it work?”
She showed him the box of metal type with the letters and numbers they used to print each edition of the gazette, then turned to the heavy cast-iron press. “The machine uses a system of compound levers to increase the pressure applied to the paper. This model has been improved since the first ones came out. We can print up to two hundred sheets an hour.”
Leif was studying the press, examining the heavy piece of equipment from different angles, when Coralee walked up beside them.
“Corrie, this is Leif Draugr. I believe you may remember him.”
Leif turned toward her just then and Corrie’s mouth fell open. She stood there staring, her gaze locked on his impossibly handsome face. Her glance moved lower, over the width of his shoulders, assessing his flat stomach and the length of his long legs.
“This can’t be…It cannot possibly be…”
“Leif, this is Miss Coralee Whitmore. She is managing editor of the women’s section of the gazette.”
“What is an
editor?
”
“It means she oversees a certain portion of the paper, which articles are written, that sort of thing.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Whitmore.”
Corrie just stood there, craning her neck to look up at him. “I—I cannot believe it.”
“It is difficult, I admit, but it is he nonetheless, I assure you.”
“Good heavens.”
“Exactly so.”
Corrie cast Krista an accusatory glance that said,
You never told me he was absolutely gorgeous!
Krista ignored her. “Mr. Draugr is going to be working with us for a while, Coralee. As soon as he has met the rest of the staff, I’m going to put him to work helping Freddie load the bundles.”
Her friend’s gaze returned to his powerful physique. “Yes…I’m sure Mr. Draugr would be very good at that.”
Krista walked past her, continuing to show Leif the office and its staff, introducing him as a friend of her father’s from Norway. Bessie Briggs, the typesetter, looked as if her eyes might pop from their sockets. Gerald Bonner, the printer, looked small and effeminate standing next to him, and Freddie Wilkes, Gerald’s young apprentice, a boy of fourteen with sandy brown hair, stared up at him in awe.
“Pleased to meet ye, gov’nor,” the young man said.
Leif frowned. “Gov-nor? What is this you call me?”
A hint of fear crept into the young boy’s eyes. “It don’t mean nothin’ bad. Honest.”
“It is slang,” Krista explained. “A colloquial—a local expression. Just a casual greeting.”
Leif nodded. “Pleased to meet you, as well, gov’nor.”
Krista rolled her eyes, thinking of the job that lay ahead of her. Turning a Viking into a gentleman seemed an impossible task.
As they made their way toward the back of the building, Leif paused. “Much has been destroyed,” he said of the soot-and-water-damaged back rooms ravaged by the fire. All of the furniture was blackened and burned, and there were soggy, half-charred bundles of magazines strewn about the floor. “When I finish loading your gazette, I will clean up in here.”
Her eyes widened. It was the awful job she had meant to give him, punishment for intruding into her world. That he would volunteer for such a filthy task made her feel shrewish and small. It confirmed things about his character she had already begun to suspect.
“It is kind of you to offer, Leif, but—”
“Someone must do it and this I know how to do.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He reached out and touched her cheek. “Do not worry, Krista Hart. You do not think you need a man, but I will prove that you do.”
She opened her mouth to tell him he was wrong, that she didn’t need a man in the least. Well, at least not for everything, but certainly there were some things she couldn’t accomplish by herself. Having a family was one of them, but for that she would soon have a husband.
An image of Matthew Carlton arose. She needed to make sure Leif understood, but he turned away before she could form the words, and he and Freddie set to work loading the finished bundles.
Pulling off his jacket and waistcoat, Leif tossed them over the back of a chair, untied his stock and removed his cravat. He unfastened the top button on his shirt and began carrying stacks of printed papers to the waiting wagons.
Krista went to work in her office, but it wasn’t long before he appeared in her doorway.
“We are finished with the loading. I will start to work in the back.”
They had loaded the wagons in record time, even though he and Freddie had to carry the bundles through the front door instead of the rear. For the next several hours, she could hear Leif carrying out the debris that filled the back rooms of the office.
“Mr. Draugr is quite a hard worker,” Corrie said as Krista walked out of her office to check on his progress.
“So it would seem.”
Just then the back room door opened and Leif appeared, shirtless, using his expensively tailored shirt to mop the sweat and soot from his face and chest. “I am almost finished,” he said. “I was hoping you might have a drink of water.”
Krista’s eyes fixed on his sweat-slick chest.
“Oh, my,” Corrie said, her gaze going there, as well.
His face was streaked with dirt. His arms glistened with sweat, outlining his powerful biceps, and Krista could see his navel, exposed above the waistline of his trousers, which rode low on his hips.
She swallowed. “Leif, you cannot…you cannot remove your clothing in public. It is simply not done in our world.”
“It is hot in there and I have only removed my shirt.”
“Yes, I realize what you’re doing is very hard work, but…but—”
He grinned. “You are yet a maiden. The day will come when you will not be embarrassed by the sight of a man’s bare chest.” He unfolded the wrinkled, soot-stained garment, shook it out and pulled it over his head. “I am sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn’t…didn’t offend me.” She lifted her chin. “It is simply my job to teach you manners, and that is what I am trying to do.”
His gaze moved down her body. “There are things I wish to teach you, as well, Krista Hart. If it is the will of the gods, mayhap—perhaps one day it will be so.”
Krista couldn’t breathe. He wanted to teach her things, and she knew well enough what those things were. Worst of all, for a single insane moment, she wanted to learn them more than anything on this earth.
But sometime in the next several weeks, her engagement would be announced. She was marrying Matthew Carlton. He was the right man for her, the sort her family approved of, the sort who would make a good husband and father. She had to tell Leif, make him understand. She had to convince him to leave her alone.
She had to convince herself that she wanted him to.
Krista worked in her office the rest of the afternoon, and the moment they returned to the town house, went straight upstairs to her bedroom. Later that night, when she joined Leif and her father for supper, the Norseman was once more clean and properly clothed. But she would never forget the sight he had made, standing in the middle of her office half-naked and covered with sweat.
Her pulse leaped at the thought.
And tomorrow was Saturday. She would be working with him all day, teaching him manners and deportment. Dear God, how would she survive it?
L
eif went in search of Krista on Saturday morning. He had been up for hours, going over the books she had given him last night after supper on the subject of manners. He was well into
The Gentleman’s Book of Etiquette,
though he still was not quite sure how to pronounce the last word.
He sighed as he walked down the hall. The book was dull and boring, nothing at all like the fascinating books the professor had given him on subjects like the heavens, which were filled, he had learned, with planets as well as stars. He had read about great steam-powered boats and mechanized factories that wove cloth into the fabric used to make clothes. One day he hoped to see such incredible things.
He glanced down at the volume in his hand, a book stuffed full of silly rules. How to make a proper bow on first being introduced. How to escort a lady in to supper. There was a section on carriage manners, one on how to behave with people of various ranks: inferiors, equals or superiors.
Bah, it was all ridiculous. A man was judged by how valiantly he fought, whether he was honorable or not, whether he was wise or foolish. Those were the things that mattered.
At least they mattered to him.
But whenever he began to think what a waste of time it was to learn the meaningless customs practiced in this place called England, he remembered the awful months he had spent in captivity, living in a cage like an animal. He would never forget the terrible humiliation, the cruelties he had suffered, how living that way had made him feel—as if he were less than a man.
If he wanted to survive in this place, he had to fit in, had to learn the ways of the people of this land. He had to find a way to earn money if he was ever going to get back home.
The thought made his chest ache. He and his father had parted in anger. Ragnaar hadn’t understood that Leif had no choice but to leave. He was driven to see what lay outside the confines of their island. It was the will of the gods, Leif believed, that had drawn him from his home and brought him to this place.
And what a place it had turned out to be! More fascinating than anything he could have imagined, more challenging, more intriguing. If he stayed a hundred years, he could not glean all of the knowledge this place held. He would stay if he could, but instead he had to leave. He had to return to his homeland, had to fulfill his promise to his father. He had to assume the duties he had been born to.
And yet Leif believed the gods had led him here for a reason, and during the months he had been at Heartland, and the days following his return to London, he had discovered what that purpose was.
The thought made him smile. Returning to the life he had led before would not be so bad, he told himself, for when he went back, he would be taking home a bride. He had met the woman the gods had sent to be his mate in this strange place called London.
Leif had never known anyone like her, this woman, Krista Hart. Proud. Intelligent. Independent. A woman who earned her own way in this difficult world run mostly by men, one who commanded the respect of the people who worked for her, who was as smart as a man and mayhap even more determined. Tall and blond, she was as comely as a goddess, as shapely as Freya herself.
Her image appeared in his head and his body clenched with fierce desire. He was hard an instant later, his need for her nearly overwhelming. During his time at Heartland, he had thought of her often, had awakened in the night, his thick rod painfully stiff and throbbing.
In the stable at Heartland, he had taken one of the milkmaids who had offered herself to him, and after so many months without a woman, the act had been a blessed relief. But even as he buried himself between the maid’s pale thighs, he’d thought of Krista Hart and yearned for her. When he took his pleasure, he remained unsatisfied, and he knew then that no other woman would be able to slake the lust he felt for Krista.
She had been chosen for him by the gods, Leif believed, and he wouldn’t leave this land without her.
He thought of their wedding night and how he would plant his seed deep inside her, thought of the strong sons she would give him, and his rod stiffened painfully. The back of his neck grew damp with sweat and his stomach muscles tightened. He had never felt this unrelenting lust for a woman.
And though she was yet a maiden and did not understand the feelings he stirred within her, Leif believed Krista felt that same fierce desire for him. He would teach her, he vowed. He would awaken her passions and heat her blood until she could think of no other man save him.
He scoffed at the attention paid to her by her suitor, Matthew Carlton. The man was a weakling, not strong enough for a woman like Krista. In time, Leif would make her see that.
Still, the day had not yet come that he could approach her father. Leif respected the professor greatly and he thought the man had developed a certain respect for him. In time, Pax-ton would see that Leif was the right man for his daughter.
In the meantime, he had more to learn, had yet to find a way to earn the money he needed to pay the bride price and buy a ship that would carry him and his future wife home.
As he padded down the hall in search of her, Leif looked down at the book on manners he carried in his hand. He would learn whatever he needed to, would do whatever he must. He would study the book—and listen to the teachings of the woman he meant to claim as his mate.
Leif smiled again. That part, he had begun to believe, he might actually enjoy.
Aunt Abby left for the country Saturday morning. She had a beau, Krista was sure—one of the local gentry—though her aunt had never mentioned the man to her. Earlier that same morning Krista had received a message from Matthew Carlton saying that something important had come up and he wouldn’t be able to escort her to Lord Wimby’s dinner party that night. Matthew hoped she would forgive him.
Sweet Lord, Krista had forgotten all about it. He hoped she would forgive him? All she felt was relief.
But Saturday had arrived and Krista had promised her father she would teach Leif Draugr proper manners and deportment. No matter how difficult the task proved to be, that was what she intended to do.
To that end, she dressed in a simple yellow gauze day dress with roses embroidered round the hem of the full gathered skirt, and left the safety of her bedroom. The morning was slipping away. There was no way to put off the task any longer.
Heading down the stairs, she spotted Leif striding along the hall in her direction, long legs carrying him with purpose. A copy of
The Gentleman’s Book of Etiquette
was clutched in his hand, one of several volumes she had purloined from the study last night, including
A Gentleman’s Guide to Proper Attire,
and a volume called
The Unsuitable Suitor,
which dealt with masculine-feminine relationships, courtship and marriage—a book she thought might prove exceedingly useful.
Leif halted in front of her. “I was afraid you had forgotten.”
If only she could. “I haven’t forgotten. I just…I thought I would give you some time to look through the books.”
“I am reading this one.” He held it up, and she noted he had made a very good start. She wondered how late he had stayed up last night poring over the pages.
“There is much to learn,” he said. “I do not understand why you need so many rules.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you the answer, only that the rules developed over hundreds of years.”
He glanced down at the leather-bound volume, then looked at her. “Where should we begin?”
Krista tried not to get caught in the depths of those crystal blue eyes. “I have been thinking about that. Follow me.” Turning away, she started for the dining room, Leif’s heavy footfalls pounding on the marble floor behind her. She walked into the room and over to the long mahogany table, which was already set with china and silver for the evening meal.
“How far have you got in the book?”
“I am reading the section on paying calls in society.” He cracked open the volume to the spot his finger had been marking. “‘Morning calls—so designated on account of their being made before luncheon—are, strictly speaking, afternoon calls, as they should only be made between the hours of three and six o’clock.’” He looked up at her and grinned, showing the tiny dimple in his cheek. “Very useful information.”
Krista rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it is, but for now, since you have very few acquaintances in London on whom you might pay a call, let us turn to something a bit more practical.” She stood near one of the twelve carved, high-back chairs. “Pretend we are here for supper. After the man escorts the woman into the dining room, he pulls out her chair and helps her into her seat. Let’s try it, shall we?”
He offered his arm as she had shown him before, and they took the last remaining steps to the table. Leif pulled out one of the chairs and Krista sat down, fluffing her skirt around her feet.
“Now sit down beside me. Keep in mind, you might be seated anywhere at the table, depending upon your rank. At a formal supper, there would be a place card with your name on it.”
Leif nodded, seated himself very properly.
“All right, now we are going to learn correct table manners.”
A hint of rose appeared in his cheeks. “You wish me to use this thing called a
fork.
” He was embarrassed. She had never seen him that way before and thought it rather charming.
“Using a fork is the way people eat in this country. You have eaten like a Viking long enough.”
“I am a Viking,” he said.
“Yes, but that is beside the point. You are here now. Using a fork is the proper way to proceed.”
“I have tried. I cannot seem to master the bloody thing.”
Her eyes widened. “Wh-what did you say?”
“I said I cannot seem to master the bloody—”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why did you—”
“Because a gentleman does not speak that way. At least not in front of a lady. Who taught you that word?”
“I heard one of the milkmaids say it.”
“A milkmaid said that?”
His flush deepened and suddenly Krista had a suspicion she knew why.
“She was talking to a cow. I liked the sound of the word.”
“Did you also like the milkmaid?” Krista asked mildly, though she was feeling an odd sort of pique.
Leif looked straight into her face. “She took care of my needs, that is all. It was you I wanted, even as I lay between the milkmaid’s legs.”
Krista opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. She moistened her lips, which suddenly felt dry as cotton. “Leif, you mustn’t…mustn’t…A man doesn’t say those things to a lady.”
“Why not, if they are true?”
“It just…It simply isn’t the proper thing to do.”
“Does it say so in the book?”
Sweet God!
“I doubt it very much. You will simply have to trust me in this.”
He smiled, a flash of white in his handsome face that made her breath catch. “I trust you, Krista Hart,” he said softly, his eyes locked with hers. “In time, I pray you will learn to trust me.”
Something fluttered in her stomach. It was strange, but in some ways she already did. He was honest to a fault, and she felt safe with him as she never had with another man. Leif would not harm her. She thought of the sword he carried when he accompanied her to the office. He would protect her at any cost, perhaps even with his life.
Her mind zipped back to the milkmaid, and a vision appeared of them lying together, Leif making passionate love to her. Jealousy mingled with an erotic image that made Krista’s pulse leap. Sweet God in heaven! Of all the men in London, why did she have to be attracted to this one?
“All right, let’s get back to the business at hand,” she said brusquely, taking a firm grip on a situation that seemed to be spiraling out of control. “I will show you the proper way to use a fork.” Picking up the largest of the silver forks on the left of the place setting in front of him, she placed it in his big hand.
“You use your right hand for most things, do you not?”
He nodded. “But I can wield a sword with both.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
He frowned, clearly not understanding.
“Never mind.” Rising from her chair, she moved behind him, leaned over his shoulder and took hold of his hand. It was large, strong, masculine, and warm to the touch. She ignored the little tremor that ran through her. Separating his fingers, she rested the fork in the correct position, then wrapped her fingers over his. Leif looked down at their joined hands, turned in the seat and pulled her onto his lap.
“Leif!”
“You make my blood run hot, Krista Hart.” She tried to get up but he held her there, her bottom nestled against his hard thighs. “Can you not feel what you do to me?”
Good heavens!
Even through the layers of her skirt and petticoats she could feel the thick, hard length of him. The man was huge! Her face turned scarlet. “Let me go this instant, Leif Draugr!”
He released her and she jumped to her feet, her whole body trembling. “You have to stop this, Leif. You cannot behave this way. It simply is not done!”