Heart of Honor (6 page)

“Of course,” said Stephen Ward. “Just let me take a few quick measurements and then we will decide on what styles might suit your friend. From there we can choose the fabric and colors that will be best for him. Once we are finished, you can take him next door to Menkin’s Millinery for whatever hats he may need, then down the block to Beasley and Hewitt for boots and shoes.”

The shopkeeper rolled his dark eyes. “I daresay Mr. Draugr is a very lucky man. Just think, by the end of the day he will be the proud owner of an entirely new wardrobe.”

An entirely new wardrobe,
Krista thought sullenly—and she and her father would be footing the bill. The least Leif could do was show a bit of gratitude.

Instead, he grumbled and growled through the entire fitting, complaining about the uncomfortable tightness and the scratchiness of the fabric.

“On Draugr, men’s garments are made to be comfortable,” he told her father, then fixed his blue eyes on Krista. “And the women’s clothes here are even worse. How can you work in such confining garments? I would think they would cut off the blood to your head.”

Krista paused in her task of sorting through dozens of fabrics and styles, and tossed him a glare. “This is the way civilized women dress. It is the…the…” She didn’t know the Norse word for fashion, wasn’t sure there was one. “…the proper way to dress. Most men find the way we look attractive.”

She refused to admit he had a point, that she particularly hated wearing the ridiculously uncomfortable whalebone corset that cinched in her waist and forced her body into the fashionable hourglass style of the day.

Leif’s eyes ran over her from head to foot, took in her small waist, paused for a moment on her bosom, then returned to her face.

He made a slight inclination of his head. “I concede the point, lady. But I believe your beauty has little to do with clothing. In fact, you would be far more attractive without any clothes at all.”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe he had said that, and right in front of her father! And the way he was looking at her…No man of her acquaintance would ever dare to do so.

Her father cleared his throat and spoke to Stephen Ward. “As my daughter has said, she has a great deal left to do this afternoon. If we might hurry this along a bit…”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The tailor rushed to complete the fitting, his apprentices lending a hand.

“Mr. Draugr will need the garments very quickly,” Krista told him. “For your trouble, we will be happy to pay whatever price you deem fair.”

Ward’s small eyes gleamed at the prospect. “Yes, well, I can certainly see the urgency. We can have the garments ready for the initial fitting three days hence. The outfits should be completed by the end of the week.”

“Very good,” her father said, looking extremely pleased. “We shall return three days hence.”

They left the shop, stopped by the hatters, then the bootmaker’s down the block. They were finished at last and back in the carriage, Leif lounging like a big, sultry lion in the velvet seat across from her. The coach returned her to the narrow brick building that housed the offices of
Heart to Heart
and her father escorted her inside.

“What time shall I expect you home?”

“Matthew has asked me to attend the opera with him tonight. I’ll need time to get ready. I hope to be home by six.”

The professor nodded, but somehow seemed distracted, perhaps even worried, and she wondered if it might have something to do with the hot looks that had passed her way from Leif Draugr’s side of the carriage.

H
er Majesty’s Theater in Haymarket was lavish, with crystal chandeliers, red velvet draperies and gilded sconces along walls covered in red-flocked paper. A sea of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen filled the seats, the crowd rising now in the pit below the boxes as the performance came to a close.

For the occasion, Krista had chosen a gown of amethyst silk, the bodice riding low on the shoulders, with rows of gold lace that swept across the front and displayed a modest glimpse of her bosom. The full skirt, cut in a deep vee front and back, was the height of fashion, the gathered overskirt of matching lace tied up with amethyst bows.

The opera drew to a close, the orchestra music fading as the curtain came down. The crowd applauded loudly, and seated next to Krista and Matthew in the viscount’s very elegant box, Lord Wimby shouted, “Bravo!”

An older man with iron-gray hair and a ruddy complexion, his lordship was there with his much younger wife, Diana, the two of them acting as chaperones for the evening, since Krista and Matthew were as yet unwed.

Matthew rose from his chair and helped Krista to her feet. His hand found her waist, settled there, and he urged her toward the red velvet curtain that closed off the box.

“Michael Balfe was wonderful, Matthew,” she said of the composer. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He smiled. “The pleasure was mine, I promise you.”

“Matthew usually prefers to spend his evenings doing something a bit more exciting,” Diana said, flashing him a smile Krista couldn’t quite read.

“His father and I try to encourage him to the finer pleasures in life,” Lord Wimby said. “We shall expect you to be a good influence, as well.” His eyes twinkled at his reference to them as a couple. Krista was still trying to think of her and Matthew that way.

As they moved out into the hallway, Diana spread her black feathered fan and stirred the air in front of her face. “The opera was splendid, wasn’t it? I do so love music. I could listen for hours. There is nothing I find more entertaining.”

Gowned in dark-blue-and-black-striped silk, her auburn hair swept into a cluster of curls on each side of her face, Diana Cormack, Viscountess Wimby, was an extremely beautiful woman.

“You love music,” her husband agreed with a soft smile just for her, “but you also quite enjoy the theater.” It was obvious the man was enamored of his younger wife, a widow he had married just last year.

“You’re right, darling.” Her blue gaze lit for a moment on Matthew. “I should have said there was
almost
nothing I would rather do.”

They left the box and made their way downstairs to the line of carriages pulling up in front. It didn’t take long for the viscount’s fancy, four-horse coach to arrive, and soon they were bowling along the busy streets, returning Krista to her town house.

Still, it was nearly midnight by the time she arrived at her residence in St. George Street and Matthew escorted her up to the door. Since the servants had all retired, she used her key to gain entry, then turned to bid him good-night.

Matthew surprised her by pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Krista. We’ll have to do this again very soon. I’ll stop by in a day or two so that we may discuss it.”

Krista merely nodded. She wished she knew how she felt about Matthew Carlton. Each time they were together, she became less certain. Perhaps time would bring the answer. She closed the front door and turned toward the stairs, then spotted the glow of a lamp down the hall, shining through the open door of her father’s study. Presuming he was either working late or had forgotten to blow out the lamp when he went to bed, she headed in that direction.

As she stepped inside the study, she saw that it wasn’t her father, but Leif’s blond head bent over the mahogany table in the corner, and her feet came to a sudden halt.

He was holding a pencil in one hand, gripping it as if it might escape, working to copy the shape of the letters her father had written down for him. She must have made some sound, for he set the pencil aside, shoved back his chair and rose to his feet.

“So…you are finally home.”

Her chin inched up. Why did the man always manage to annoy her? “The hours I keep are hardly your concern,” she said, though the Norse words she chose were far plainer.

He tipped his head toward the window. “This
friend
of yours…you stay out with him until late into the night?” A lantern burned beside the front door and she realized he must have seen her with Matthew.

“We went to a…a—” she how no idea what word might best describe an opera “—a place where music was played, and we were not alone.”

“You say he is a friend, but I think he is more.”

She ignored the remark. Matthew had merely kissed her cheek, hardly enough to deserve recriminations, and certainly not from Leif. Instead, she walked behind the table to look at what he had been studying. She saw the letters he had written again and again, improving with each of his efforts.

“Father is teaching you to write the alphabet. Once you know the letters you can learn to read. Do you know what that word means?”

He nodded. “In ancient times, our people used sagas to record those things they wanted to pass from generation to generation. Then the priests came. They taught my people the written word and about your Christian God.”

“So you are a Christian?”

He shrugged those powerful shoulders. “On Draugr, we have our own religion. It is a mixture of your Christianity and our belief in the ancient Viking gods.”

“I see.” She wanted to ask him more about the place he had come from, but the hour was late and she saw that Leif was watching her, his gaze burning into her in that way that so unnerved her.

“It is getting on past midnight,” she said. “I think it is time we both went up to bed.”

His blue eyes sharpened. “Aye, lady, if that is your wish. I would like that above all things.”

She wasn’t prepared for the quick movement that propelled her into his arms. She gasped as his mouth came down over hers. For an instant, she was too shocked to push him away. Then the heat of his kiss, the brush of his tongue sliding over her lips, urging her to open for him, sparked a wave of heat that turned her mind completely to mush.

Her stomach tightened and warmth floated out through her limbs. His lips felt soft yet firm as they moved over hers, and her eyes slid closed. Her heartbeat quickened, his hard body pressing into hers made her nipples tighten beneath the bodice of her gown, and her bones seemed to melt into his.

Then his hands moved lower, down over her hips until he cupped her bottom through the layers of her gown, and her eyes flew open.

Dear sweet God! For the first time, she realized exactly what Leif was about—that she had somehow erred in translating her simple wish to retire, and he believed she was inviting him into her bed.

She started to struggle, pressed her palms against his granite-hard chest and tried to push him away. With obvious reluctance, Leif ended the kiss an instant before her father walked into the study.

She was breathing a little too hard and so was he, and she could feel warm color washing into her cheeks. Her father glanced from one of them to the other and his eyebrows slowly lifted.

“I came to check on Leif,” he said to Krista, “to tell him it was time for him to go to bed.”

Her color deepened. “Yes, well, I was trying to tell him that same thing.” She kept her gaze carefully fixed on her father. “Unfortunately, I said it wrong and Leif misunderstood.”

The professor’s eyebrows climbed even higher as her meaning grew clear.

“It—it really wasn’t his fault,” she said. “I mistranslated the words and he got the wrong impression.”

The professor flicked a glance at Leif, who stood there stoically, not understanding a word. “I see.”

“You said yourself things are different where he comes from.” Why she was defending him she couldn’t begin to say. Perhaps it was only fair, since, in truth, she had returned his kiss, at least for a time, and found it not the least unpleasant. The thought made her face heat up again.

Dear Lord, she was being courted by Matthew Carlton, considering the possibility of sharing a life with him. What on earth was wrong with her?

“I would like to know what you are saying to your father.” Leif’s gaze pinned her where she stood.

“I told him what happened, that you misunderstood what I was trying to say.”

“That is correct,” the professor agreed, speaking Leif’s language now. “My daughter was merely trying to suggest that you and she retire upstairs for the night.”

The glitter of heat returned to Leif’s eyes. “That is what she said. It is the custom here, then, for a man to share his daughter with a guest?”

“No!” they said in unison.

Her father cleared his throat. “What we both meant to say was that the hour is getting late and you need to get some sleep. That is
all
we were trying to say.”

His face fell. Then he straightened, making him look even taller than he usually did. “I am sorry, Professor. I meant no insult to you or your daughter.”

“I’m certain you didn’t, Leif.”

“I will admit that I would like to have her in my bed. Any man can see she is a woman of great beauty and strong passions. Once I have learned your language and customs and am able to make my own way, mayhap I will make you an offer for her.”

Krista bit back a gasp and her father made an odd choking sound. He seemed to be groping for words. “Y-yes, well, we both appreciate your interest, Leif, but I think Krista may already have plans of her own.”

“She is your daughter. It is up to you to decide what is best for her. But now is not the time. I have nothing to offer and no way to provide for her. When the time is right, mayhap we will talk again.”

Her father looked to her for help, but Krista couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t believe time will alter things.”

Leif’s jaw firmed. “We will see,” he said simply.

Krista fixed her attention on the professor and forced herself to smile. “Come, Father. As you say, it is time for all of us to get some rest.” She took his arm and guided him toward the door. “Good night, Leif,” she said, her smile still carefully in place, and disappeared out the door.

Krista couldn’t sleep. Good heavens, was the man completely mad? Make an offer for her! Ten cows, perhaps, or maybe twelve sheep? That was what a Viking warrior did when he wanted a wife. Indeed!

Still, he had called her a woman of great beauty and strong passions. She had never thought of herself as either of those things, and it made her feel strangely feminine, womanly in a way she never had before.

As she lay in bed, unconsciously her fingers came up to her lips. Leif might be a barbarian, but he certainly knew how to kiss. Perhaps that was it. The man was wild, primitive. Perhaps his untamed desires aroused something wild and primitive in her.

Whatever the reason, she had discovered something about herself tonight, discovered that she was indeed a woman, one with the same physical desires as other women. It was a revelation worth the outrageous kiss, though
that,
she vowed, was never going to happen again.

The week slipped into the next. Krista rarely saw Leif, who was ensconced from early morning until late into the evening in the study with her father. They even took their meals there, declining to join her, probably her father’s attempt to spare her from Leif’s lack of table manners.

Still, it was obvious the professor was beginning to think a great deal of him.

“The lad is amazing,” he said proudly one morning as she prepared to leave for work. “I have never known a more determined pupil. He is smart as a whip and his memory for words is astounding. In the course of a day, he manages to do all the work I set out for him, and master an entire new list of vocabulary words.”

Krista could see how hard Leif worked. He remained in the study long after the household had retired for the night, and was already at his studies by the time she came down in the morning. He was fastidiously clean, but now he finished in the bathing room long before she was even out of bed.

During the week, the professor twice accompanied Leif back to Stephen Ward and Company for fittings on his wardrobe. As promised, the clothes were delivered late in the afternoon of the following Monday. As soon as they arrived, Leif went up to his room to put them on; Henry, her father’s valet, hurrying to assist him.

She didn’t see Leif again for more than an hour. Matthew Carlton had dropped by on the way to his early evening fencing lesson, and Krista was en route to the drawing room to greet him when she spotted Leif and her father’s little valet walking down the stairs, Henry preening at the job he had done on the man he considered the professor’s protégé.

Krista halted at the sight. For a long moment, she just stood there staring.

Dressed in a pair of dove-gray trousers, a light-blue waistcoat embroidered in dark-blue silk and a navy-blue frock coat, he moved with surprising grace for a man of his size. His hair was freshly combed, a rich golden color, his face lightly suntanned, bringing out the blue of his eyes. He was the son of a Viking chieftain, and in that moment he looked every inch a man of aristocratic blood.