The Earl of Her Dreams (14 page)

K
ate’s breath caught as he slowly opened her shirt as if he were unwrapping a package he had been waiting to receive. Smooth fingers pulled the shirt open and ghosted over the skin revealed.

“Modified stays. Ingenious, that,” he said as he lightly turned her over so that he could remove her shirt and stays.

She had made the stays herself based on an old Elizabethan design to completely flatten the front of her figure.

“Well, I
am
posing as a tailor,” she quipped, though her voice was husky as Christian’s fingers worked.

Christian finished undoing the latches and pushed both edges to the side, where they flopped on the bed. He picked up the edge of the modified undershirt and pulled it slowly up her body. She rose a bit so that he could pull it off fully and the shirt got stuck under her freed breasts, pulling them upward, the cotton creating a friction on her nipples as he tugged.

He placed a kiss on the back of her neck and she arched up, the shirt finally coming free.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, quickly discarding the shirt, and running fingers through her short, silky hair.

His fingers continued down her neck to her shoulder bones, pushing her down into the mattress, her bare breasts rubbing against the underside of the stays that still lay beneath.

“You have a long, strong neck. Silky-smooth skin covering inner strength.” He placed a kiss at her nape. “A determination of character, perhaps?”

His fingers ghosted over her shoulders. “Strong yet delicate shoulders and arms. Far too delicate to belong to a boy. Far too strong to belong to a submissive lady.”

He straddled her suddenly and pressed lightly against her lower body, where a good concentration of the heat in her body had pooled. He rocked into her as he continued massaging her back and arms, and she couldn’t help but press further into the bed beneath, seeking something.

“Mmmm, we must do something about these trousers, Kate. They are all wrong on you.”

She made to flip over but he held her in place. “No, no, that would be too easy, and not at all the real game we are playing.”

She stiffened and he placed a gentle kiss at her nape once more. “A real game, Kate, not a diversion.”

She relaxed as he bestowed light kisses and gentle touches. His finger strokes became stronger and bolder as he brushed them down the sides of her body, lightly brushing her breasts and pulling his fingers beneath her and down her stomach. His fingers made short work of her trouser catches, and she found the trousers slipping off her body quickly.

He nipped her hip, startling her. He laughed low in response. “I could feast on you all night, Kate.”

The air hit her exposed flesh, and she didn’t know what to do. She was suddenly self-conscious and buried her head in her pillow. He gave a low
laugh and ran fingers up her calves, over the sensitive backs of her knees and to her thighs. He spent a few moments kneading the flesh of her thighs.

“I’ll let you hide for the moment, Kate. But not for long.”

His fingers moved up her thighs and touched her between them. She jumped and ended up half on her front, half on her side. He chuckled and took advantage of her new position, which was more open to him. Dragging both hands up so one was in the front of her body, one in the back, they converged on the spot where the heat collected.

Her eyes shot open as he began to massage her there, a different type of massage. Playful and demanding in turn. Her body began to move against him, responding to the tune his hands created.

He flipped her completely onto her back, and she arched upward as he captured a breast in his mouth, the fingers of one hand quickly rediscovering their warm target, his other hand holding her close. A stream of sounds continued issuing from her mouth as he pulled on her breast with his mouth, and his fingers and thumb found spots inside and outside her she never knew existed.

He released her breast. “You taste as delicious as I thought you would. Like raspberries.” He
licked her other breast playfully and then moved his body up so that he was nuzzling her neck, her chin, her good ear. He sucked on her earlobe, his fingers still working their magic, his body pressed against her providing breathtaking friction to the rest of her body as he rocked against her.

He shifted, and a small puff of warm air entered her scarred ear. Kate jerked upward as her body exploded. Christian captured her lips, swallowing the moan and panting cries she couldn’t keep inside.

She couldn’t stop shaking, and he pulled her against him and tried to tuck her under the covers at the same time. She didn’t know how to tell him that she wasn’t cold. She was far from it. The shivers that racked her body had nothing to do with the cold.

She looked up to find him watching her in the faint moonlight provided by the open drapes. A lazy fondness mixed with something else in his gaze. “You should see yourself in release, Kate. It’s gorgeous. I won’t let you leave the lights off next time. Perhaps I should fashion a looking glass to the ceiling so that you can see for yourself?”

Kate didn’t know how to respond. So she threaded her hands through his hair, drew him toward her, and kissed him instead. His lips
tasted as she imagined moonlight would taste. Smooth and mysterious, with a bit of the chilling shivers of a cloudless night.

He responded until they pressed against each other, trying to get closer and omit space that was already not present. Christian was the one to pull away, although he did it with reluctance.

“Let’s let you recover. I’ll be back in a second, sweet Kate.”

She watched him dress, putting on just enough so that he was decent. He winked, and she knew she must look quite wanton, even in the mostly dark room. She was spread naked across the sheets, but she couldn’t dredge up an urge to move.

“I’ll only be a second. Don’t move an inch.”

It was a request she was happy to follow. Although that didn’t stop her from arranging things so that he wouldn’t be able to see her scars should he come back with a lit lamp.

Christian strode from the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Kate’s darkened features in the throes of passion flashed through his brain, and he decided that he wasn’t going to need to spend much time behind the common room screen relieving his own pressure.

He could have sated his lust back in the room
with Kate. He knew he could have. And with any other woman, he would have. What was different about this one?

With Kate he wanted to do things right. So, well, perhaps “right” in the strictest sense would mean marriage before consummation, but…wait a moment…had he just thought of marriage?

Yes, the thought certainly had appeal. And imagine the look on his father’s face if he brought home a ragamuffin dressed in boy’s clothes. Not that Kate was a ragamuffin out of those clothes; no, not in the least. In fact, just thinking about her smooth skin, her milky flesh…Christian picked up his pace as he entered the common room and headed for the privacy screen. He wanted to feel that silk again. He moved his hands to the buttons of his trousers. To slip into—

Christian tripped over something, and an ear-piercing wail shrieked through the room. He stumbled into the wall and caught himself at the last moment, jarring a piece of the wallboard with the side of his hand.

“What the devil?” He pushed himself back off the wall and turned to see Nickford rush in with his lamp, his nightcap askew, his feet bare. Mrs. Wicket, surprisingly enough, was right on his heels in full dress, followed by Olivia Trent in an entirely
too revealing nightrail, and her companion, Francine, buttoned up to the neck.

“Where is it, Mr. Black?” Nickford was bouncing from foot to foot, whether from excitement or the cold floor, Christian couldn’t tell.

“Where is what, Nickford?” he snapped, good mood gone but body still aching.

Christian bent down to examine the cord—
cord!
—that was tied from the screen to the door, waiting to viciously topple any guest who entered. There were strange little things hanging from the cord, and Christian had to bend farther to see them.

Most of the rest of the inn’s occupants tumbled in, piling on top of the ones in the door.

“What is it?”

“Has there been another murder?”

“What was that racket?”

“Can’t a person get a decent night’s sleep around here?”

Nickford continued to bounce from foot to foot and look around excitedly. “I caught the ghost!”

Christian considered the multiple ways he could commit murder as he gazed evenly at Nickford’s excited countenance. “Pardon me, Nickford, but I believe I heard you just say something about catching a ghost?”

“Oh, dear me, yes. I rigged everything up just so. Should have caught it this time.”

Christian plucked the cord and it twanged violently as the attached bells hideously jangled. “You tied a cord with bells to a privacy screen. A privacy screen, may I add, that any guest in his or her right mind might want to use? And then you left it here in the dead of night for anyone to trip over?”

“Oh yes, the ghost makes the rounds this way. Couldn’t tell anyone and tip the ghost off to what I was doing, now could I?”

Everyone was staring at Nickford with expressions ranging from curiosity (Olivia) to horror (Benji) to humor (Tiegs) to disapproval (Crescent). Christian saw Kate standing in the back, dressed again and fiddling with her head wrap.

He sighed. And he had had such pleasant intentions with an empty common room, privacy screen, and thoughts of Kate’s delectable body. Now he had none of the above; well, thoughts of Kate’s delectable body still loomed, but—he looked down at his trousers—the immediacy was gone.

Mrs. Wicket stamped her foot on the floorboards. “What have you done, Mr. Nickford? What is this about a ghost?”

“There’s a ghost that haunts this inn, Mrs. Wicket,” Nickford said in an earnest voice. “I’ve
been taking samples and running tests. There’s a ghost sure as I’m standing here.”

“Of course there’s a ghost, Nickford.” Christian rubbed a weary hand across his face. No journal, no Kate, no peace. “Mrs. Wicket’s the ghost. You said so yourself the other night.”

Nickford rocked back on his heels. “Ah, but that has yet to be proved. I was attempting to do just that, only I caught you instead!”

Christian didn’t deign to reply. It was useless to state the obvious and tell Nickford he was off his rocker. He did notice Olivia Trent giving Nickford a thorough once-over. Dear God. Could this week get any stranger?

“Good job, Mr. Nickford. Everyone can now go back to bed.”

No one moved.

Christian gave Mrs. Wicket a deadpan glance.

“Everyone out! To bed, to bed.” The innkeeper’s wife started shooing everyone back into the hall.

Everyone shuffled out, people casting glances between Nickford, Christian, and Mrs. Wicket. There were also some leers given to Olivia Trent’s scant outfit, which merited a second glance by any standard.

“Oh, Mrs. Wicket?” Christian asked.

“Yes?”

“Could you send Sally in?”

“Of course.” He didn’t look to her for the reply, still content to give Nickford the evil eye.

Sally appeared a moment later and Mrs. Wicket left to complete her rounds, or at least that was what Christian assumed she was doing. Mr. Wicket scurried off after her.

Kate remained, as did Nickford. Christian sent him a pointed glance.

“Ah! I need to get my experiment journal to make some notes.” He skipped off.

Sally gave them a small smile.

“Sally, could we talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Of course, Mr. Black.”

She seemed overly skittish around Christian, preferring to stick close to the open common room door. Christian gave Kate a pointed look, so she began the questioning.

“Did you clean Julius Janson’s room and change his drapes?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Kaden.”

“Why?”

Sally shuffled her feet. “They were dirty and I was told to.”

“Who told you to?”

“Mrs. Wicket.”

“She told you to clean and change the drapes?”

“Yes, sir.”

Christian looked thoughtful, so Kate plowed on. “What did you do with the old drapes, Sally?”

“I gave them to Tom, sir.”

“Why?”

“Tom disposes of things we can’t fix.”

“You tried to clean the drapes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“I was told to, sir.” She started to look scared. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, sir. I was just doing as I was told.”

“I know, Sally,” Kate tried to soothe. “We just have to ask you a few more questions since we noticed them missing.”

Sally was the weak link in the servants’ chain. Kate knew it, Christian most definitely knew it, and Sally seemed quite aware of it as well.

Christian leaned forward and Sally leaned back almost unnoticeably, looking ready to bolt. “When did Mrs. Wicket tell you to clean the room?”

“That morning,” she whispered.

“And the drapes?”

“I couldn’t get the stains out, so she sent Tom to pick them up.”

Christian’s eyes grew sharper. “Did Mrs. Wicket tell that to you, or did Tom?”

“Well, Tom did. But that’s not unusual, sir.”

“Hmmm…”

Sally started to look even more uncomfortable, and Kate sought to reassure her. “You aren’t in trouble, Sally. Did you hear anything the night Julius Janson was murdered?”

“He was upset about something. Demanded an extra towel around two in the morning.”

“You saw him at two in the morning?”

“Yes, sir. He was on the gallery smoking. I brought him the towel and he snarled at me. I went back inside.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Did you know Mr. Janson?”

“Yes. He stayed here a few times. He was always after Mary.” She bowed her head. “He wasn’t a very nice person, Mr. Kaden.”

“Do you know anyone who’d want to kill him?”

Sally paused, but then shook her head, not looking up. “I hope it doesn’t make me a bad person, sir, but I’m glad he won’t get to Mary.” The words were faint, but Kate heard them clearly. It seemed as if all the servants were in agreement on that point.