The Earl of Her Dreams (10 page)

She would not let his charm wash over her. She would not.

His hand brushed her arm.

“What are you doing?”

His body leaned over hers, his face next to hers, cheek to cheek.

“I’m listing the names of the guests for you.”

She focused on the paper and not the tingles zipping through her body.

“Don’t forget to list the servants, although I don’t know the names of those who are traveling with the guests.”

He cocked his head toward her, the edge of his lip lightly brushing hers. “Servants? What do you mean? Why should we list the servants?”

She was so distracted that she could barely focus on the conversation—his lips were a breath away, the heat of his body scorched hers. “They are staying in the inn too.”

“But servants…serve.” His full lower lip grazed her cheek.

“And they don’t commit crimes?” she whispered.

He reached down and rested a hand on her thigh, tugging the durable fabric in the same way he was pulling her reactions. “Well, I suppose the odd trouser theft here and there. Father always claimed the servants were not to be trusted. I suppose that’s why I always want to trust them.”

She disengaged herself and turned to look him full in the face.

“Christian.” She paused, committing to memory all the remarks about his father so she could surreptitiously question him about them at a later time. His statement also confirmed that he was wellborn and that he had had servants at some point. “It’s not that your father was right, but the servants have just as much reason to commit a crime as anyone.”

“Gordon did act might shifty when he was talking to us at the stables.” Christian straightened, tapping his chin, and suddenly Kate was unsure if he was having her on or not.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she decided to go along with the conversation in case he was serious. “There you go.”

“On the other hand, Gordon reported the body. Why report it? Better to leave it hidden instead. Mr. Wicket was willing to write off Janson as leaving early.”

“There is that.” She missed the heat of his body and cursed herself for the thought.

“What about Mr. Wicket then? Awfully convenient. Perhaps he found out what a churl Janson really was.”

“And then objected to his daughter being involved?”

Christian nodded, then shook his head. The man was nearly impossible to read. When he was feigning carelessness he might be dead serious, and when he acted serious he might just be having her on.

“Wicket just doesn’t strike me as a very good fabricator. I think he truly thought, or hoped, that Janson was a right fine bloke.”

“But remember, not everyone held that sentiment. Lake seems to believe that many of the servants shared his disdain for Janson. Mary was very close-faced whenever Janson was around, and Janson made no bones about his feelings for both Lake and Mary. If he had, I wouldn’t have overheard them. Lake was incensed.”

“So that brings us back to Lake.”

“Everything does seem to circle back to him.”

“Wouldn’t we have heard him leave his room?”

She raised a brow. “Didn’t I use that argument about Freewater, to no avail?”

“I can’t seem to recall.” His eyes were wide and innocent.

“I bet you can’t,” she muttered. “But in any case, Lake’s door was well oiled. He startled me when he silently entered the room today. And you slipped in unnoticed as well.”

Christian absently nodded. “There is that. And Lake could have hired Tiegs or one of his bodyguards.”

He paused.

“Or Tiegs could have done it on his own. He seemed to know Janson, and Janson appeared intimidated by him, even frightened.”

“We should probably search Tiegs’s room next.”

“I agree.”

Kate finished the list, writing down servants’ names or descriptions if she didn’t know their names. The Crescents had brought a maid and valet.

Just as she was writing out the last name, the chimes struck midnight. Twelve strikes of sheer helplessness. The quill wrenched across the page, creating a second jagged line in its path. Two,
three, four. Kate closed her eyes and leaned forward, determined not to let Christian see her reaction. Seven, eight, nine. The quill snapped and she felt strong fingers pry open her grip and remove the broken pieces. Twelve.

She inhaled deeply and after a few moments forced herself to look up. Christian was staring at her, an unreadable look on his face. His fingers turned the broken quill pieces, staining the edges of his finger pads.

Christian tilted his head, his eyes intently watching hers for something—just as they had earlier, watching for something she didn’t understand.

“What now?” she forced herself to say.

“Now we go to bed.”

Kate reached for the counterpane. There was no way she could continue their dance after all of Christian’s touches and the unwanted memories from the chimes.

Christian stayed her hand. “Kate, I’ll sleep on top of the sheet. Just…just don’t argue.”

She was about to do just that, but fatigue set in. She might as well share the bed, his bed. It wasn’t as if her reputation would be any worse if someone discovered her ruse. They would assume the worst anyway.

She hadn’t slept well last night or during the
previous month. And as he looked at her, she saw comfort and something else in his eyes. Something she needed.

She nodded and slipped between the covers, fully clothed, and nestled up against the wall. Christian, true to his word, arranged the covers so that he lay on top of the sheet, and in contrast to the night before, stayed fully clothed. He maintained a respectful distance, but she could still feel the heat from his body seeping through the thin sheet and into her own. Tomorrow she’d figure out all the conflicting emotions. For now she’d sleep.

She awakened three hours later, thrashing in the throes of another nightmare. But comforting arms pulled her closer, and she calmed in the warmth and safety of the embrace.

A vague alarm sounded as gentle fingers caressed the hair at the nape of her neck. But the concern was buried between layers of bliss. Skillful fingers stroked her skin, and warmth lulled her to a peaceful sleep.

C
hristian propped his chin on his hand as he halfheartedly stirred his dark tea.

It had been a long morning. They had risen and checked all around the outside of the inn, into the nooks and crannies, retracing steps and examining angles from the gallery to the ground. The winds had stopped blowing and the villagers had gotten to work sweeping and clearing the roads and opening everything back up for business. Christian had been forced to let Mr. Wicket allow the villagers
to come in for a spot of tea or bowl of stew, as was normal. Luckily they were on the outskirts of town, and only a few had ventured in, people still sticking close to home due to the drifts.

The male servants had been drafted into clearing the roads so that the post could get back running. Christian had tersely threatened them about revealing information on Janson, his death or the investigation. The eyes of the servants had been too knowing for his piece of mind and sleep-weary brain.

It had been a long, restless night.

From across the table, he watched Kate sip her sugared tea. He didn’t know what to think about her nightmares last night and the night before, but it was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about them.

Kate had thrashed every hour on the hour. Finally, at three, he had given in to his instincts by pulling her against him and holding her. Never having been consoled himself, he had been quite unsure how to go about soothing someone else. Kate’s back had been damp with sweat, but her skin had been cold, even under the layers of clothes and covers.

Ever since he had laid eyes on her two days ago something had been calling to him. But what?

She wasn’t his usual style. Not at all. She was entirely too forthright and uninterested in playing games. But for once he found that playing games with a female was the last thing on his mind. The only problem was he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do
instead
.

He had looked at her that first night wearing her boy’s garb and head wrap, a slightly lost look in her eyes backed by steel determination, and had been unable to look away since.

Loss and determination were emotions with which he was intimately acquainted, so perhaps that was part of the reason.

What he
did
know was that he wanted to discover what was wrong with her. Why she was experiencing such dreadful nightmares. What the devil she was hiding. Where she was going after leaving the inn.
And how she tasted
.

Yes, he definitely wanted to know the answer to that last one.

There were so many unanswered questions, but first he needed to gain her trust. And to make her his. And to fix her problems. Not necessarily in that order. Anthony had always said a burden shared was a burden partially relieved. He didn’t know, as he had never taken the advice himself.

He might be a careless bastard—no, unfortunately for his family not a bastard; perhaps a careless rotter was a better description—but he wasn’t a hypocrite. At least he had liked to think so. Therefore, he had never forced or coaxed anyone into sharing their problems. There were much more pleasant ways to spend an evening, after all.

He watched her clutch her cup in both hands, a grayish cast to her skin. On second thought…

“Found anything useful, Black?” a caustic, unwelcome voice asked.

Christian didn’t take his eyes from Kate as he answered. “Found out you are the cock of the company, Desmond. Other than that, we are still sorting things out.”

Desmond’s hand smacked the table with a loud thud, and Christian turned, not impressed in the least.

Desmond’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you call me?”

“The cock of the company, Desmond. Aren’t you supposed to be the one who is heading to London for a prominent job? Better brush up on your vocabulary skills. You are a weak shill who wishes he were the cock of the walk, but instead are merely a trifling fool.”

That mottled red color did nothing to enhance
Desmond’s complexion, and Christian couldn’t help pointing it out.

“You should watch what you say, Black. Could be that accidents happen twice.”

“Are you threatening me? You wouldn’t be that much of an idiot, would you, Desmond?”

Desmond pushed his hands off the table, rattling it. “On your feet, Black.”

Christian leaned back against the wall, a well-chosen spot to sit in any room, the dining room being no exception. “Now really, Desmond, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

Desmond’s hands clenched at his sides as he lurched toward Christian. Kate stood and blocked his way, putting a hand against Desmond’s chest with surprising force. She glared at Christian, undoubtedly for encouraging Desmond’s behavior. He found himself thinking that even that expression looked cute on her pixieish face.

She turned toward the idiot. “Now, Mr. Desmond, we are in the middle of an investigation. You can’t attack a Runner. Best to just ignore him.”

“Get out of my way, pissant.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed, but she held her ground. “Mr. Desmond, get hold of your emotions.”

“Get out of the way. We all know Lake killed Julius. It’s only this bastard who claims otherwise.
For some reason, he’s dragging out this investigation.” He pointed a knobby finger at Christian.

“That is not true, Mr. Desmond. I too have doubts about Lake’s culpability, as do others.”

Desmond roughly grabbed her arm and Christian pushed away from the wall, all humor extinguished.

“Well then, you must be in cahoots with him too, you feeble excuse for a man.” Desmond shoved her roughly aside.

Christian was on his feet before Desmond’s hand left Kate’s arm. Kate stumbled, but braced herself on the table. Christian grabbed Desmond’s outstretched hand and twisted. The man squawked, dropped to his knees, and tried to evade the crushing grip. Christian could feel skin, muscle, and bone shifting beneath his grasp. With a mere twist he could snap Desmond’s wrist and break his arm.

Desmond was making inaudible gasping sounds. He was looking at the hand Christian held, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Just another twist. That’s all, his father would say.

A slim hand appeared on his sleeve. It didn’t tug or encourage. It just rested on top. Just another twist.

Christian let Desmond’s arm go with a snarl of disgust.

Desmond sank back on his heels, grasping his arm and staring at Christian with utter hatred in his tear-glazed eyes.

“Here now, what’s going on?” Mr. Wicket came bustling over to their table.

Kate rallied. “Mr. Desmond had some questions about the investigation.”

Mr. Wicket’s eyes darted nervously between Christian’s scowl and Desmond’s bowed head and clutched arm. Desmond struggled from the floor to a bench.

“Everything answered now?” the innkeeper asked.

Desmond grunted while Christian settled on a terse nod.

“Good, good. Now, Mr. Kaden, I know you no longer need to work for me since you are aiding Mr. Black, but I need your assistance to draw that map you requested earlier.”

Kate nodded and lifted her hand from Christian’s sleeve. She gave him a searching glance, and Christian returned a careless grin. They were always easiest when he was angry.

She frowned. “Perhaps you would like to accompany us, Mr. Black?”

Christian looked at Desmond’s bowed head. “An excellent idea, do excuse us, Desmond.” He patted him on the head as he passed.

Kate frowned more sharply as she turned and followed the innkeeper.

But really, what did she expect from him? Desmond was a maggot.

Once they were in Wicket’s office the man drew a rough sketch of the first-floor rooms where the guests were lodged.

“And the guests’ names?”

Wicket nodded and began to pen in the names. The common room stretched across the entire south end of the structure, and Christian could picture someone chasing Janson through the room with a bat in hand. Continuing along the west corridor were rooms occupied by Nickford, Tiegs, and Freewater, two of which they had searched the previous day. Christian mentally checked them off while trying to figure out how to search Freewater’s room again without raising undue suspicion. He had been gleeful at first when Freewater had reacted as if he had lost the journal, but if it hadn’t been on his person, then where would it be? The blasted thing had to be in his room somewhere.

Wicket penned in Black and Kaden in the first
full north-facing room, and Lake’s name into the adjacent room to the east. The Crescents’ name was written on the north- and eastern-facing room, the largest in the inn, and the first of the gallery-accessible rooms. Other than the thought that Freewater could have passed the journal to Crescent, their room had held little interest, just like the couple themselves.

Christian would bet their lovemaking—no, copulation sessions—never lasted beyond five minutes, and never took place without the lights being fully extinguished. Of course, they would skip nights with full moons. Imagine the horror.

He caught Kate looking at him peculiarly and realized he had been grinning—a real grin. He quickly replaced it with a lazy smile. With brows drawn together, she turned from him. He momentarily regretted his action, then stiffened. No, he wasn’t going to regret anything. He didn’t need to pass some kind of acceptability test for anyone anymore.

She smiled at Mr. Wicket as he asked a question. Her eyes crinkled in the corners and her mouth quirked a bit to the left. He wanted that smile aimed at him. He wanted her to look at him as she had last night before they went to sleep. With a genuine smile, her eyes lit from within.

Damn it. Damn it! He didn’t want to rely on anyone else’s good opinion. He had long since stamped out the need for approval. He had, damn it.

“Mr. Black?”

“What?” His tone was a bit sharper than he intended, and Mr. Wicket looked unsure for a moment.

“I was just telling Mr. Kaden about the improvements to the gallery. Did you hear me?”

“Yes, of course I did. Please continue.”

He had no idea what they had been talking about, but he tried to concentrate as the innkeeper drew Desmond’s south-facing room as the L-shaped inn curved clockwise around the staircase to Olivia and Francine’s room. Christian tried not to notice the small lock of hair that peeked out from under Kate’s cap when she tilted her head
just so
.

The innkeeper grew more agitated as he labeled Julius Janson’s room, connecting it back to the common room, both having gallery access.

Kate’s head tilted back as a ray of sun pierced through the window and hit her cheek, caressing the rose and cream skin. One bright ray in an otherwise cloudy and stormy day.

Her mouth was moving. Perfect rosebuds. How
was she fooling anyone with this masquerade as a boy?

He shook himself as he realized the innkeeper and Kate had continued the conversation while he had been daydreaming like an infatuated fool. Bloody hell. Might as well call him Lawrence Lake and be done with it.

“What about the ground floor and workers’ quarters?” Kate asked.

Mr. Wicket looked at her oddly, but sketched out both the ground floor and second floor. Christian examined the drawing of the servants’ quarters with interest, thankful to be looking at anything other than Kate. It was a square floor positioned on top of the northwest section of the inn. The Wickets were located directly over the northwest portion above their room and Freewater’s. To the south of the innkeepers’ lodgings was a room in which three names were written.

“Benji, Elias, and Mr. Crescent’s valet stay here?” Christian pointed to the square on the makeshift map.

Wicket nodded. Christian traced his finger to the east of the innkeeper’s room. There were two rooms labeled. Daisy and Bess, the serving wench and cook, respectively, were listed with Mrs. Crescent’s maid, while Mary and Sally’s names
were written on the easternmost room. Marks indicating a staircase were located in the southeast corner.

“And Tom and Gordon stay in the stables?” he clarified.

“Yes, usually.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wicket. This will be most useful,” Kate said, gathering up the papers.

“I only hope you two will catch the fiend who murdered Julius. He was a good man, didn’t you know?”

Christian didn’t, but he refrained from saying so.

“Such a loss. Was hoping that Mary would accept his suit. He approached me about pressing it.”

“When did he do that, Mr. Wicket?” Kate asked.

Mr. Wicket looked surprised, but answered, “The night before last, actually. Right before the taproom fight. I was going to talk to Mary about it the next day, um, yesterday.”

“Mary didn’t know?”

“I think she suspected. Shy girl, my Mary. Think she liked Julius though.” Mr. Wicket looked wistful. “Fine cricket player, Julius was, not sure what we will do without him.”

“I’m sure the team will rally in his fine memory.”

“Good bunch of men, our team. Very spirited. Julius and Donald are two of our best. Now we will lose both.”

“Both?” Kate asked and glanced at a stoic Christian. He must have forgotten to tell her about Desmond.

“Donald is taking a position in London with a barrister. Some connection through his family.”

“Maybe you should recruit Lake for your team. I hear he is a fine player as well,” Christian said smoothly. His sudden concern and identification with Lake was irritating, so he ignored it.

Mr. Wicket’s brows drew together. “Something would have to cause Mr. Lake to move from Lehigh. He is a good player. Not as talented as Julius. Or as spirited. But better than Donald. Always drives Donald something fierce.”

Kate raised her brows. “I thought the rivalry was between Janson and Lake, not Desmond and Lake.”

“Lake’s rival has always been Julius, and vice versa. Donald, as Julius’s friend, has always focused on Lake, but the reverse hasn’t been true. Something occurred last year that really sparked the rivalry between Julius and Lake. I was hoping
things would settle down for Mary’s eighteenth birthday celebration next month.”

Wicket really was blind if he didn’t understand. Mary was a pretty girl, curvy and natural. A year ago she had probably blossomed into the woman she was now. Christian shook his head.