TheCharmer (9 page)

It only made him more handsome, damn it. His thick dark hair fell over his brow in a mess that made Rose think of running her fingers through it. His fine shirt was soon streaked and wet and it clung to his broad shoulders and muscled chest like a lover's hands.

Distracted from her mopping, Rose watched him as he passed his burden up the line, making those muscles ripple and flex before her eyes. Her mouth went dry. He didn't look like a lord now… and yet he did, more so than ever.

She could imagine him at the Etheridge estate, right out in the fields with the cottagers, or perhaps doing something highborn and manly with elegant long-legged horses… or something tiring and heated that would require him to doff his shirt on a summer's day.

The sun would shine on him—the sun always shone in the country, at least in her imagination—and his skin would glisten golden in the light and he would call to her—

"Rose?"

She jerked back to the moment, blinking rapidly and, yes, fry it, swallowing the saliva that had collected in her mouth at her stimulating thoughts. Collis stood before her, the real Collis, who would tease her mercilessly should he ever discern her thoughts—or, worse yet, would pity her impossible, inappropriate yearnings. She cleared her throat. "Um, yes, what?"

He grinned. "Woolgathering? You? Can't be."

"No! I was… I was thinking of a way to get the mat out to the alley as well." She had been earlier, anyway. "I think we ought to cut it up and stuff the lot into sacks, so we don't drop straw throughout the school."

He nodded. "Good idea. I'll send someone for sacks. In the meantime…" He reached one hand toward her. Bemused, she watched it come. What—?

Collis took her mop from her grip, tucked it under his bad arm, and reached for her hand with his other one. He turned it over and frowned. "I thought so."

She ought to snatch her hand back. She ought not to let him touch her, it interfered so with her thinking. Instead, she left her hand where it was, cradled in his as he peered down at her palm.

"You've given yourself blisters," he said accusingly.

"I have not!" Now she snatched it back. "I don't get blisters. My hands work hard."

"Not anymore," he pointed out. She looked down at her own hand. There were three blisters in the crook of her thumb and fingers, sure enough. Apparently, her light kitchen duties and weapons work didn't cause the same wear as dawn-to-midnight cleaning had. She looked back up at him in surprise. "I haven't had a blister in years."

"You're not a housemaid anymore," Collis reminded her. "You're a spy, and far too good a one to ruin your hands mopping." He thrust the mop behind him when she reached for it. "No, your swabbing chores are over for now."

"I have to help with all this. I'm half to blame!"

"Well, then consider your half mopped. I'll do the rest."

She gaped at him. "You?"

He nodded. Then his eyes began to twinkle and the corners of his lips curved up. Her toes curled up as well.

"I do think you ought to change, however," he said with a knowing grin. "You'll catch your death."

Mystified, Rose followed his glance down to see that her bodice was soaked through from wringing out the filthy water collected by the mop. The elderly fabric clung to her breasts even more tightly than Collis's shirt clung to his muscles. To make matters worse, the chill air—it had to be the air, because if it was her vivid daydream of Collis she was going to have to die
right now
—had crested her nipples into diamond points that left nothing to the imagination.

"Oh!" She folded her arms tightly over her chest, giving him an angry glare. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

He leaned close. "You're lucky I ever said anything at all," he whispered with a deep chuckle in his voice.

Then he stood back and hefted the mop. "You can hunt down the sacks and direct the stuffing and hauling. I'll clean behind you all."

And he did. She watched him closely for the next hour as she commanded the clearing of the tattered, burned, soaked mat. Properly covered by a dry apron, of course. He mopped industriously and very, very badly—holding the handle like a knight at a joust, with the butt tucked under his bad arm—but he mopped.

Finally, the room was cleared. Cleared did not, mean clean, however. There was a sooty grime over every surface and the floor had gone slimy with it. There was a great deal more to do in the arena, but Rose felt the kitchen needed doing first. The students had to eat, after all.

Perhaps they didn't blame her, for no one said a word, but if they didn't, she certainly blamed herself aplenty. Especially after suffering through the bland and awful porridge that was all that could be managed for dinner.

But everyone was exhausted. So she bid them all good night and reassured Collis that she was going for a hot bath as soon as she'd put away the last bucket. She frankly wanted him gone, for he was flustering her to no end with his wet clothing and his disarming helpfulness.

It wouldn't do to be disarmed by him. She mustn't forget who he was, nor who she was.

No, that wouldn't do at all.

Alone, she threw herself into the restoration of the kitchen itself. She stayed there, taking out her remorse and confusion with scrub brush and vigor until after the others had long gone to bed.

Finally satisfied that she had removed the last of the smoke damage from the plaster walls, she hung her pail over the now-shining copper sink. The kitchen would be usable tomorrow, and the fresh whitewash could go up as soon as the plaster had dried. Penance accomplished.

She treated herself to a cup of chocolate, melting the rich-smelling shard of waxy cocoa in the steaming water from the kettle, stirring slowly and wearily as the chocolate liquefied and swirled beneath her spoon.

Chocolate was a recent passion of hers. She'd never tasted it before coming to the club.
Cocoa
came dear enough to be reserved for those with silver to spare and certainly hadn't been for the likes of Rose-the-housemaid, at least not in the
Wadsworth
household.

Kurt kept her supplied with it, through
Ivory Coast
sources it was best not to ask about, and she shared it with the other students on occasion. Only the girls truly seemed to like it—the boys were much more interested in tea and coffee.

She poured her bitter concoction into a sturdy mug and washed her pot efficiently. Then she filled a pitcher with half-hot, half-cool water for her washing, put it on a tray with her mug, and left the kitchen at last.

The arena beyond was bare now but for the lonely rack of swords. Even the cork target had been ruined by the soaking and had been pulled from its tacks and disposed of.

The students had been assigned the job of stitching and stuffing the new mat from sailcloth to be delivered tomorrow. Rose fought down the relief she felt at leaving them to it while she gallivanted off on her first mission. She ought not be so eager. Honor though her first assignment ought to be, she knew it was truly a test. A test she could not pass without Collis Tremayne's help.

The stairs were many to her room in the gables and she felt every one as she had not since her days in the
Wadsworth
household.

Rose entered her small attic room and set her tray aside. She didn't see anyone, for her head was bent as she untied her apron and began unbuttoning her bodice. A quick wash from the bowl on her washstand would do for now. As she turned to hang her apron on a peg, a hand came down on her shoulder.

Her apron fluttered up with a damp slap to cover her assailant's face. "Wha—oof." A kick to the stomach knocked him nearly to his knees. "Oh,
crikey
, that hurt," he gasped through his muslin mask, clutching his midsection.

"Collis?"

As he staggered, fighting for his breath, Collis was gratified to hear surprise in Rose's voice. At least this attack hadn't been personal.

Of course, the fact remained that she had unmanned him in seconds. Again. He peeled the clinging apron from his face, forcing himself to stand upright despite the ache in his gut. Rose stood before him, eyes wide and concerned. He couldn't help it. His eyes dropped to the parted placket of her bodice and held there.

Smooth, fair skin, elegant collarbone, and that lovely secret valley between her small, high breasts, just made for a man to rest his head… and her nipples were hard again. His throat closed and heat swept him. He raised his gaze to meet her curious hazel one.

Collis's eyes were like hot coal. The storm-cloud gray had darkened like the threat of lightning. The thunder came from her own heartbeat as it suddenly occurred to her that they were alone together in a room, in the dark of night. The last time that had happened, they'd nearly burned the school down. This time, Rose wondered if it were she who was due to combust. He was so close to her, in this tiny attic room with such a conveniently available bed and everyone else in the place sound asleep—

Her thoughts went to places she'd sworn she'd never go with Collis Tremayne. Maybe with someone, someday—someone like her—but not him, not perfect, highborn, unattainable Collis. Try as she might, she couldn't forget his body on hers last night, the feel of his golden skin beneath her hands, his hard chest pressed to hers, his muscled thigh pressing between hers—

Feels like me heart's fit to burn through me ribs.

Or perhaps a bit lower…

Damn him. Damn Collis with his teasing eyes and his wide shoulders and his perfect taut rear.

And damn her body for betraying her like this. She'd sworn never to let a man put her in such a state again. For all these years, she'd managed to keep her vow. Not since those few eternal weeks during which Louis Wadsworth had turned her inside out with his twisted attentions had she been even slightly interested in a man. She'd suppressed her earthier feelings completely and successfully.

Until Collis Tremayne had swaggered into her life. Now she was prone to fits of unseemly imagination and inclined to embarrassing displays of bodice… well,
displays. May as well hand 'im the keys to me safe box and play 'im a tune whilst he unlocks it
.

The bloody hell of it was, part of her truly liked that idea. Part of her, an animal creature she'd not acknowledged in so very long, wanted to drop her shield, beckon to Collis, and let him in. That dizzying possibility kept her breathless for one long moment. Naked Collis in her bed.
Oh, crikey
. She was fairly sure Collis knew his way around a woman, and even more sure that she'd enjoy every moment of that journey… but then what?

He was a charmer, a rotter, a man who went from woman to woman like a bee in a garden full of flowers.

Well, she for one refused to be just another forgotten bloom.

Collis was trying very hard to ignore the sudden awareness of Rose's scent. The room was full of it, a subtle blend of woman and flowers and… soap? Strange and luring and oddly, perfectly Rose.

Rose—who wanted nothing to do with him and made no bones about it. And truly, did he want anything to do with Briar Rose? Sharp as one of her own thorns and as cutting if you let her.

No, she was simply a female in a too-small room and it had been far too long since he'd been this close to a bed and a woman at the same time. Especially not one with her bodice undone. Shaking himself like a dog shedding water, at least inwardly, he closed off those longings.

No, he was simply sadly in need of a rogering, that was all. He took a deep breath anyway. She truly did smell good.

"Are you all right, Collis? Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all." He would not gasp in front of her. He would not. To hide the way his chest rose and fell, he crossed his arms, then delivered a naughty grin. "Your… ah…"

She remembered her buttons then and quickly did them up, looking away from him. Collis averted his gaze as well. He tilted his head to indicate her mug. "Is that chocolate? Having trouble letting go of childish things, are you?"

"Is it childish? Perhaps it is, to you." She looked away. "If you're all right, then why don't you leave? I've had all I can stomach today."

Collis grunted. "Do you think I'm here for the view?" All right, perhaps not the best retort, considering what he'd been viewing. "We've something to sort out, you and I."

Taking her cup, Rose sank to sit on her cot. She looked bored. "I've an idea. Let's sort it out tomorrow."

"No. Tomorrow I will be occupied with the first steps of infiltrating the target's house. That's why I must make this very clear to you now." She was slumping further every moment. Not the usual reaction he received when alone in a bedchamber with a woman. "I am in charge of this mission."

She gazed up at him, her usually serene brow furrowed innocently. "Why?"

He stopped. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why are you in charge? I think we ought to be equal partners." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "After all, my induction depends as much on this mission as does yours."

"But—"

Rose had had enough. The last person she wanted to banter with that night was Collis Tremayne, charming, difficult, and all-around confusing gentleman. The last place she wanted to see
anyone
was in the tiny haven of her room. Yet there he was, looming and ridiculously handsome. Appalling as it might seem, she was going to have to forge some working relationship with him in order to graduate.