The Bed and the Bachelor (13 page)

Still, she hesitated. “Are you . . . that is . . . are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Of course,” he lied, fighting off another wave of exhaustion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

A faintly startled expression crossed her face before it cleared as abruptly as it had come. “No reason. I–I shall get your coffee.”

Retrieving the tray, she left the room.

A savage yawn took hold the moment she departed, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes as he pressed a fist to his open mouth.

Plague take it, I’m tired,
he thought, as another yawn followed the first.

Maybe if he put his head down on the workbench and closed his eyes for a few minutes, he would feel refreshed. But somehow he sensed a nap wouldn’t help this time. He needed his bed and sleep, not work and coffee.

Still, he forced himself to concentrate on his work for a couple of minutes more. Finally, though, with everything but the need to sleep forgotten, he lurched to his feet and went to the door.

C
offee!
Sebastianne murmured under her breath as she walked downstairs and along the servants’ hall to the kitchen.
Zut alors,
but he ought to have been passed out by now! Instead, she walked in to find him working, of all things, and looking far too alert for comfort. He might have seemed a tiny bit sleepy but not enough for her to proceed with her plan.

Resisting the urge to fidget, she set down the tray on the kitchen table and told Finnegan to put the kettle on to boil while she went to grind the coffee in the stillroom.

Had she given him enough of the sleeping powder, she wondered? She’d been relieved to see that he’d drunk all the wine, yet he seemed little changed. Perhaps he needed a higher dose? Then again, she didn’t want to give him too much. The idea was to mimic a deep, heavy sleep, not put him into a stupor so intense it would be obvious he’d been drugged.

She’d counted on his passing out at his desk, which would look to any of the other servants as if he’d decided to sleep again in his workroom.

Instead, he wanted coffee!

By the time the beans were ground and steeping in a pot of boiling water, she decided to add the other half of the sleeping powder to his coffee. Surely he wouldn’t drink more than his body would tolerate before he lost consciousness, she assured herself. And once he did, she would be able to put the rest of her plan into action.

Arranging the coffee service on a fresh tray, she carried it to the dumbwaiter and set to working the pulleys.

When she reached his workroom soon after, she lifted her hand to knock. As she did, she noticed the door standing ajar. Pushing it wider, she stared at the empty interior.

Lord Drake was gone.

Chapter 12

“H
is lordship has retired for the evening,” Waxman told Sebastianne nearly an hour later, as the two of them stood in the corridor not far from Lord Drake’s bedchamber. “I have seldom seen him so weary. Clearly his work has left him exhausted.”

If only Waxman knew that
work
had nothing to do with what had exhausted Lord Drake. But the valet was better off believing what he would instead of the truth.

As it had turned out, an additional dose of the sleeping draught hadn’t been necessary, the drugged coffee growing cold in its pot. Once she’d realized that Lord Drake had gone upstairs to bed, she’d carried the coffee service back downstairs. Rather than risk one of the staff rewarming it to drink, she’d tossed the brew down the wastewater drain and rinsed out the pot. She’d waited several minutes, then gone up to check on Lord Drake.

Yet as relieved as she was over the fact that the sleeping powder had produced the desired effect, she found herself in a quandary over how to proceed. In all the scenarios she’d run through her imagination, she’d never thought Lord Drake might take the draught, then walk upstairs to his bed!

Bon Dieu!
Now what was she going to do?

Well, she decided with a sigh, as she made her way up to her own room on the fourth floor, there was nothing for it. She would have to slip into his bedchamber later and slip out again, completely unnoticed.

After a great deal of inner debate, she decided to bathe and change into her night attire as she always did in the evening. If luck should fail her, and she happened upon one of the other servants on her way to or from Lord Drake’s room, she would simply tell them she’d been unable to sleep and was headed to the kitchen for a cup of warm milk.

Once she’d finished her ablutions, donned her nightgown and robe and brushed her long hair, tying it at her nape with a plain blue ribbon, she stretched out on her bed to wait. With only a few minutes remaining until midnight, she knew it was still too early to sneak downstairs. Jasper and Lyles always made a last check of the house around this time, securing the windows and doors before seeking their own slumber.

Closing her eyes, she relaxed.

She came awake on a gasp, her gaze darting to the watch she’d laid on her side table. Peering at the hands by means of the single lighted candle in its holder, she saw that it was half past one in the morning.

Everyone should be abed and fast asleep by now.

Swallowing against a sudden lump lodged at the base of her throat, she tucked her bare feet into her slippers, picked up the candle, and made her way quietly from the room. Careful to make no noise, she closed the door at her back.

The house was dark and silent, save for the soft ticking of the tall, mahogany casement clock in the second-floor hallway, as she made her way across the Aubusson hall runner that led to Lord Drake’s suite of rooms. She shivered, not from cold but nerves, the wax-filled case, with which she would make an imprint of the key, heavy as an iron bar inside her robe pocket.

Thankfully, Waxman didn’t sleep anywhere near his master. The valet’s room was one floor below and at the back of the house, which meant that she wouldn’t have to worry about waking him and being discovered as she carried out her plan.

And then she was at Lord Drake’s door, the candle flame flickering slightly inside her quavering fingers. Aware she dare not delay, she turned the knob and stole inside.

The room was dark, the curtains pulled tightly against any light from the street outside. At first she didn’t see Lord Drake, his long form swathed in shadows. Then she walked forward, the candlelight pouring in a gentle wash of illumination over his recumbent form, where he lay beneath the sheets in a huge, cherrywood tester bed.

Deeply asleep, he showed no signs that he was the least bit aware of her presence. He lay on his back, one arm flung outward across the sheets, while the other rested against his chest.

His very
naked
chest.

It was broad and firmly muscled, a veritable work of art, with dark golden curls scattered over its taut plane and downward in a narrow line that ran over his flat stomach before disappearing enticingly beneath the sheet.

Unaware of her actions, she stepped nearer and raised the candle higher in order to get a better look. As she did, she vaguely registered the slender gold chain and brass key nestled among those tantalizing curls. But she paid it little heed, too entranced with the sight of Lord Drake to think of aught else.

Then he inhaled, his chest rising and falling on a swift breath.

She jumped, her gaze flying to his face to see if he had awakened. But he slept on, oblivious to everything but his own dreams. Studying him, she couldn’t help but notice the light stubble that shadowed his strong cheeks and jaw, nor the almost boyish quality to his features, relaxed now from their usual musings and preoccupations.

Forcing her gaze away from his handsome visage, she reminded herself why she’d come to his room—and it wasn’t to admire Lord Drake, no matter how deliciously appealing he might be. Besides, she cautioned herself, she didn’t know how long the sleeping draught would keep him in its hold, so she had no time to squander while she proceeded with her mission.

Relying on stealth and a huge measure of caution, she set down her candle on his night table, then turned to inch as close as she could to the bed. Taking care not to jostle the mattress, she pressed even closer and leaned over Lord Drake.

Her heart thundered violently in her ears, so loud she feared the pounding would bring him awake. When it didn’t, she drew a soundless breath and willed her hands not to tremble, perspiration bedewing her skin in a light, slippery sheen.

Bending closer still, she slid her fingers over the clasp on the chain around his neck—thankful the fastener had slipped forward so it wasn’t located behind his neck.

Then she unfastened it.

Ever so slowly she eased the chain and its precious cargo away from his chest, lifting both key and chain free in a single, graceful move. Clutching them to her own chest, where her heart beat like wings, she waited to see if Lord Drake would awaken.

But he slept on, mercifully oblivious, courtesy of the powerful sedative effects of the sleeping draught.

Stepping carefully back, she reached again for the candle, then crept across the room toward a small table-and-chair arrangement, where it appeared he sometimes read. Setting down the candle again, she found a flat bit of space, then dug inside her robe pocket for the leather case.

Making an imprint of both sides of the key proved far quicker and easier than she’d dreamed, the wax she’d prepared just right for the task.

Expelling a quiet breath, she patted her forehead dry with the handkerchief she also kept inside her pocket, then folded the cloth in half and wiped the key clean on the other side. The brass gleamed in the candlelight, winking as if it were in on the plot.

She suppressed a renewed wave of guilt that made her stomach as sour as a freshly squeezed lemon and returned the key to the chain. Placing the handkerchief and the leather-bound case with its precious imprint back in her pocket, she took up the candle once more. Turning, she gazed across the room at Lord Drake’s recumbent form.

Nearly done,
she assured herself as she studied him sleeping in the dark.
Just get this chain fastened around his neck again, make it safely back to my bedroom, and no one but me will be the wiser.

Buoyed by her success, she padded soundlessly across the carpeted floor and set about reversing the process she’d done a brief time before.

Her fingers were steady and dry, her heartbeat working at a more moderate pace as she bent over Lord Drake and slid the chain cautiously back around his neck. The key nestled lightly against his chest as if returning to its home. The fastener clicked closed, and she was just drawing away, when he moved, his hand flashing up to catch hold of her wrist.

She glanced up and stared—straight into his open, grass green eyes. A silent gasp burned inside her lungs, her pulse leaping like a rabbit trapped inside in a snare, her mouth as dry as a desert.

Bon Dieu, how long has he been awake? More importantly, how much does he know?

She waited for his accusations to begin, fearful of the questions he would ask and the answers he would force her to tell.

But he said nothing; he just stared.

Only then did she notice the odd glittery sheen to his gaze, his eyes curiously unfocused and confused. Incredible as it might seem, she began to wonder if he was truly awake at all.

Deciding to test the theory, she gave a slight tug at her wrist, hoping he would let go. But his grip tightened, not painfully, but enough that she realized it was unbreakable—for the moment at least.

He stared at her, his gaze sweeping her face as if trying to make sense of her presence. “It’s you,” he murmured, his words thick and raspy.

A shiver ran through her, an unwanted awareness mingling with her anxiety. “No, it’s not,” she said nonsensically. “So why don’t you release me and go back to sleep?” she told him in a soothing whisper, the sort she’d often used to calm her young brothers when they’d awakened from a bad dream.

His brows drew tight, clearly puzzling over what she’d said.

Her pulse knocked hard in her captured wrist, her thoughts racing.
Why isn’t the sleeping draught working anymore?
And what in heavens am I going to do to extract myself?

She needed to convince him this was nothing more than an illusion, she decided hurriedly, and that he needed to forget she was even there.

More than anything, he needs to forget I’m here!

“You’re dreaming, my lord,” she murmured, modulating her tone. “I am nothing but a figment of your imagination. Relax now and drift off to other worlds and other women besides me.”

But rather than closing his eyes and sinking back to sleep, a slow, devilish smile moved over his lips. Without warning, he tugged her closer so that she half lay across his warm, bare chest. “But I don’t want other women,” he said huskily. “I only want you. I’ve had this dream before, of you lying here in my arms, in my bed. So come and let us share another night of passion, my beautiful, bounteous, Anne.”

He’s dreamed of me?

Before she had time to react to that amazing revelation, he cupped a wide palm behind her head and took her lips. She gasped, trembling beneath his possession as he plundered her mouth with long, rapacious kisses that sent her senses spinning.

She couldn’t think, the pleasure he’d promised cascading over her in a deluge of delicious sensation. Odd as it might seem, it was as if they were lovers already, as though there was no touch too intimate, no need too great.

In the weeks since she’d first met him, she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Lord Drake, to touch him with ardor rather than having to show the indifferent restraint of a servant. But never in her wildest imaginings had she expected anything like this. He’d done nothing more than kiss her, yet she ached all the way to her toes. His touch was pure bliss, more tempting and powerful than any she’d ever known.

Not even Thierry, whom she’d loved to distraction, had made her feel so much. With him she’d known tenderness and delight, but never such deep, yearning need. She’d known desire beneath his sweet caresses, but never this instantaneous abandon that made her long to forget everything but the man in whose arms she lay. Lord Drake was nothing like her husband, yet she felt more in this moment with him than she had in the whole of her life.

The startling realization made her blink as some spark of caution flashed back to life inside her brain.
Bonté divine, what am I doing?
she thought dazedly.
I have to stop now before I let this go too far.

With a gasp, she wrenched her mouth from his, viscerally aware of the damp throb of her lips and the wet heat pooling between her thighs, both sensations urging her to put aside her qualms and let matters proceed.

But she couldn’t, she told herself. She had to make herself remember the reason she’d come to his bedchamber. And it wasn’t to make love!

Drake, however, didn’t seem concerned by her withdrawal. Instead, he tugged her higher against his body while simultaneously sliding one of his large palms down her back. A shiver traced over her skin as he paused to caress the dip at the base of her spine, heat boiling like fire over her as he began gathering the thin material of her robe and nightgown between his fingers, so that both inched slowly up her legs.

She squirmed against him, then froze, abruptly realizing that her actions had simply made matters worse by settling her more firmly atop his erection. Of its impressive size she had no doubt, not with his flesh and her own separated by nothing more substantial than a thin silk sheet and the cotton lawn of her nightclothes.

“My lord, you must stop,” she said on a breathless pant.

“Why?” he drawled, his eyelids heavy with undisguised passion. Angling his head, he pressed an openmouthed kiss against the exposed side of her neck. Then, as if that weren’t devastating enough, he licked her, the tip of his tongue swirling like satin against her skin before roving onward.