Part 5 (1/2)
”Boxly, have the carriage taken around and the trunks removed,” Kesseley said. ”Make sure Miss Watson's belongings are brought to the lavender chamber.”
”Very good, my lord.”
Several footmen now swarmed the carriage and the butler hurried down the steps to direct them. Kesseley reached over and pushed the door shut, then turned and gazed at Henrietta.
”Do you approve?” he whispered.
”Oh yes.” She smiled, taking his hands into hers. Then, without thinking, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed the edge of his jaw. The rasp of male skin tingled her lips.
She quickly stepped back, careful to keep her eyes from his face. ”Thank you,” she said, the words almost lost in her breath. She thought perhaps he hadn't heard, until he brushed her cheek with his fingers, then ran his thumb under her chin and lifted her face.
”My pleasure,” he replied. ”Shall I show you to your chamber?” Something hot and deep pulsed in her most private place, as if he had suggested not only showing her the room, but her bed-and what was was that bulge in his pantaloons? that bulge in his pantaloons?
Oh heavens. This was temporary, she told herself, just excitement from the trip. She loved Edward. She wasn't supposed to have these feelings for other gentlemen, especially Kesseley. He was like her brother. It was all wrong and quite disturbing.
He studied her face, that twinkle in his eyes now burning as bright as Sirius. Nor could she allow him to have feelings for her, she reminded herself. For a second, she had lost sight of her mission. Get Edward back and find a perfect, wonderful, loving wife for Kesseley. She stepped away, sliding her chin from his fingers. But when he held out his arm, she had no choice but to take it. She kept herself rigid, making sure no additional parts of their bodies touched, as he led her up the stairs to the third floor.
He opened a squat white door at the back of the landing, and sweet lavender-scented air wafted into the hallway.
”After you.” He bowed.
She and Samuel walked into a snug room, like a little hideaway. Immediately the hound rolled on his back and squirmed about on the cream-colored carpet. Lavender paper with a subtle leaf pattern covered the walls. A commode draped in white muslin had been set with an oval mirror, washbowl and pitcher. Centered on the back wall was a gray marble fireplace flanked on either side by two square windows curtained in soft white and lavender floral chintz and before the fireplace stood a pet.i.te oak writing desk and cus.h.i.+oned chair.
The room continued behind the stairs where the ceiling slanted, forming an alcove over a tiny bed that was hidden behind cotton drapes embroidered with tiny flowers. On a pet.i.te round side table, fresh lavender sprigs rose from an etched crystal vase.
”Where did they get lavender so early in the year?”
”It's a secret. I can't tell.” He winked.
”Thank you, Kesseley. I always wanted to come to London, and this...” she gestured about her room, ”...is perfect.”
He didn't reply, just gazed at her, a softness in his deep gray eyes. Oh no.
”Well, I-I guess I should freshen up or umm...something,” she stammered, suddenly painfully nervous.
He turned and pulled the servants' bell. ”Ring if you need anything, and I'm next door, so you can always bang on the wall.”
”You're next door!” Henrietta gasped. That shouldn't be proper. That shouldn't be proper. He laughed, clearly amused by her discomfort. He laughed, clearly amused by her discomfort.
”Would you like a bath brought up?”
Bath! She couldn't be naked with him just a wall away! What if a servant accidentally left the door open and he walked by and saw her? Yet her blood quickened at the thought of him studying her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her belly, her thighs, the same way he now gazed at her face.
”Umm, no thank you. I'll j-just use the washstand.”
A young woman in a crisp starched dress appeared at the threshold.
”Please bring up some fresh water for Miss Watson,” he said.
”As you please, my lord.” The servant curtsied.
”Come, Samuel.” Kesseley clasped the doork.n.o.b and waited for his hound to amble out of the room, then shut the door.
”And send up the bath for me,” she heard him call after the servant.
Oh worse! The image of naked Kesseley with water running down his wet sinewy arms flashed in her head. The image of naked Kesseley with water running down his wet sinewy arms flashed in her head.
”What is happening?” she squeaked.
She pounded her head with her palms, trying to clear her head. No luck. No luck.
Think of something else. Anything.
She hurried to the opposite wall and peered out the window down onto the little bricked courtyard. Stone walls ran down a small alley, part.i.tioning courtyard gardens and mews. Below, a man lifted her trunk from the parked carriage, while another servant unhitched the horses and took them aside to be brushed.
She moved to the writing desk and lifted the top, finding a neat stack of stationery and a book. Volume I of The Secret Suitor The Secret Suitor by Mrs. Alexander Fairfax. This was her third novel and not one of her best, but still very good. Strange it should be here. She never imagined Lady Kesseley would approve of Mrs. Fairfax, much less have her novels available to guests. She set the book aside for later and pulled out a piece of stationery, sat down, crossed her legs very tightly together and began composing a letter to her father. by Mrs. Alexander Fairfax. This was her third novel and not one of her best, but still very good. Strange it should be here. She never imagined Lady Kesseley would approve of Mrs. Fairfax, much less have her novels available to guests. She set the book aside for later and pulled out a piece of stationery, sat down, crossed her legs very tightly together and began composing a letter to her father.
Next door she heard a muted heavy thud, like an iron tub being dropped on the floor, then the gurgle of water and footfalls. She tried not to envision Kesseley removing his clothes, letting them fall to the floor, revealing his smooth hard chest, the taut lines of his thighs-his s.e.x dangling between his legs like Michelangelo's David. David. But the image got stuck in her head, like a bee trapped in the house, buzzing on the windowsill. But the image got stuck in her head, like a bee trapped in the house, buzzing on the windowsill.
Her knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on her pen, forcing herself to concentrate on each word she wrote.
We have arrived in London. It was a long- There was a quiet rap at her door. She jumped, causing ink to splatter all over her letter.
”Yes?”
The servant had returned with a fresh pitcher of water. Behind her, the male servant from the courtyard had Henrietta's trunk hoisted on his back. He dumped the trunk on the floor, then staggered out, red-faced, taking deep heaving breaths. After the maid had poured water into Henrietta's washbowl, she knelt beside the trunk and began removing Henrietta's belongings.
Across the wall, she heard the thlunck thlunck of Kesseley stepping into water. He let out a deep ”Ahhhh.” In her mind flashed an image of his strong chest sinking into the water. of Kesseley stepping into water. He let out a deep ”Ahhhh.” In her mind flashed an image of his strong chest sinking into the water.
Henrietta thanked the servant and s.n.a.t.c.hed her lap desk from her trunk, stuffed her letter and The Secret Suitor The Secret Suitor inside it, then hurried downstairs. Let the servant put her clothes and belongings where she may. Henrietta could straighten it out later. She just had to get away from the sounds of Kesseley bathing. inside it, then hurried downstairs. Let the servant put her clothes and belongings where she may. Henrietta could straighten it out later. She just had to get away from the sounds of Kesseley bathing.
Back on the first floor, she cautiously opened the door to a suns.h.i.+ne-yellow parlor with a magnificent vaulted ceiling. An expansive unlit chandelier hung down. The crystals caught the light streaming from long arched windows, breaking up the colors and casting small rainbows about the room.
She took a dainty rosewood chair by the windows and drew her little scuffed desktop onto her lap.
She had to get a wife for Kesseley, if just to get rid of these strange feelings. She loved Edward, after all, the poet who composed love sonnets. Not Kesseley, whose idea of fine art was commissioning portraits of his favorite dogs.
And Edward had a London house, as well, she reminded herself. He might be there this very moment.
With Lady Sara.
Ugh. Henrietta opened her desk and set to work on her project to transform Kesseley.
Kesseley stood, bathed and shaven, in fresh pantaloons and s.h.i.+rt, gazing out the window onto Curzon Street. He could not see a single tree, just stone, iron, cobble and a maid twirling a mop outside her employer's door. The air was acrid, choked with coal, sticking deep in his throat.