Aggravated with his baser urges, Stephen ignored the stirring he felt at seeing the woman in a somewhat transparent scarlet negligée. The gown, obviously from her wedding trousseau, would have been purchased before she’d learned of her husband’s betrayal. It was most definitely not designed for a debutante. The bodice of the gown was comprised of more lace than fabric, and the flimsy skirt caressed and hinted at the lovely curves beneath. Much of her reddish gold hair had escaped the long braid she’d obviously worn to bed and now softly framed her pale face. Her green eyes looked darker this morning as she gazed down at her motionless husband.
“Flave? Are you injured?” Without waiting for an answer, with one hand on the polished balustrade, she ran, barefoot, down the stairs to join Stephen. The silky material of her gown floated around both gentlemen as she knelt on the floor. When Lady Kensington leaned forward to look into Flavion’s face and hold his head, Stephen couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the gap at her bodice. In a somewhat detached observation, he decided that her bosom was perhaps the perfect size; not too small, but pert and firm. Her skin, creamy and flawless.
“Daphne?” Flavion said. “Daphne, love?” In his dazed confusion, he reached up, grasped the countess, and went to pull her down towards him. “Come here, darling, and give us a kiss.”
Stephen groaned.
As though burned, Lady Kensington recoiled and allowed Flavion’s head to drop with a thud on the hard floor. At that, his eyes flew open, apparently realizing he’d been attempting to fondle the wrong woman. Well, not the wrong woman, in truth, but not the one he’d hoped for. The countess sprung up and stepped back.
She didn’t look hurt or even angry. She mostly looked disgusted. Had she jumped back because Flavion had spoken another woman’s name or because he’d spoken at all? Had she been hoping her husband was dead? That would certainly have been an effective revenge.
Stephen looked over at her suspiciously, annoyed again with himself for feeling even slightly aroused by the sight of her.
“Blazing bollocks!” Flavion grunted. “What in damnation happened?”
Stephen frowned. “Language, Flave. There is a lady present.”
“You must have tripped on that carpet at the top of the stairs, my lord. The corner is beginning to unravel. I nearly did the same thing a few days ago.” Suddenly looking contrite, Lady Kensington added, “I ought to have had one of the footman roll it up and move it. I didn’t think…” She bit her lip anxiously. “I’m sorry, Flave. I really am.”
Stephen, more confused than ever, was going to have to rethink his opinion of Lady Kensington. He wasn’t quite surewhathe thought of her. Had she left the tattered carpet intentionally? Was she pretending remorse? If so, she was a damned good little actress.
Stephen helped Flave to his feet, who then stretched and flexed his arms and legs as though testing their functionality. Except for the blood dripping from his nostrils, he seemed mostly unharmed. He must have banged his nose into something when he’d taken his tumble. Yes, a large bump was already beginning to appear.
Flave eyed his wife suspiciously. “I’m quite all right, Cecily. You are speaking with me again, then?”
Stephen watched in wonder as Cecily’s countenance changed from compassion and concerned to defensive and haughty. Again, he sensed the sizzling that burned just beneath her outward calm.
“Only for a moment, to make sure you weren’t dead,” she said in a clipped voice. “Now, if you’d both excuse me, I’ll return to my chambers.” With that, she deliberately lifted her nightgown and carefully ascended the stairs, the transparent crimson material wrapped tightly around her slim thighs and backside.
She was naked beneath her gown.
Both men’s eyes trailed her every step until she reached the top and disappeared down the hallway. Afterward, they each glanced over at the other. But whereas Stephen had been admiring the sight of Cecily climbing the staircase, Flavion’s eyes were narrowed with an expression of blatant distrust.
“I think she pushed me,” he said suddenly. “Damn, Stephen. Daphne was right.”
Cecily, eager toavoid a meeting with either Flavion or his cousin, donned one of her new day dresses and arranged to meet Rhoda and Sophia for some shopping. She was buttoning the top of a pelisse that had been delivered earlier that morning just as Mr. Nottingham stepped into the foyer from the study.
He’d obviously spent some time with his valet since she’d seen him earlier this morning. Although not elaborate, his cravat had been neatly tied and his face freshly shaven. His eyes were shadowed though, as if he hadn’t much sleep the night before. His jacket was clean and pressed but well worn. He wore no lace, and his waistcoat was a solid color — no golden embroidery as Flave always insisted upon.
Suddenly nervous and more than a little embarrassed, Cecily gave a great deal of attention to sliding her fingers into the matching kid gloves she’d purchased the day before. “Your cousin is not suffering any lingering discomfort from his fall this morning?” she asked casually, concerned for Flavion’s health despite herself.
Mr. Nottingham stood with his legs firmly planted, his hands behind his back, and watched her intently. He seemed to lack any of the nervousness that had attacked Cecily. “He appears to be the same as ever. I can’t imagine a knock on the head doing much damage to Flave,” he said with a vacuous expression on his face.
Cecily was uncertain as to whether or not he was taking a jab at Flave again. She liked when he did that.
Nonetheless, she had been after a quick escape, and his rather imposing personage blocked her way effectively. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have an appointment this afternoon, and I do not wish to be late. I won’t be here to hold tea for you, but I shall return for dinner. Do you have plans to go out this evening?” she asked hopefully.
He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what she was saying; rather, he was looking her over from head to toe. “Is that a new ensemble, Lady Kensington?” His expression did not bode good tidings.
“It is,” she said proudly, “and my appointment, in fact, is with my modiste, who happens to be much sought after, and very dear. So again, if you’ll excuse me, I must be leaving now. Madam Chantal holds appointments open for no one.” She took a step toward the door, but he still refused to move. Suddenly she stood very close to him and was forced to look up in order to see his expression.
“I’m afraid, my lady,” he said in a dreadfully serious voice, “that you’ll have to allow another customer your allotted time, after all. Would you spare me a moment and come into the study? I’d like to discuss a rather worrisome situation with you.”
Without her consent, Mr. Nottingham took her arm and steered her through the large double doors that led into the study. Cecily was too stunned to do anything but traipse alongside him.
“Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair that sat across from the desk. Then he seized a large stack of papers from a nearby shelf and returned to stand directly in front of her. Seated as she was, he appeared somewhat menacing. She jumped, startled, as he dropped the entire bundle of them into her lap. Without saying a word, he strode away from her toward the empty hearth and stood stiffly, hands behind his back. Giving her some time, apparently, to glance at what he’d given her, he waited a few moments to speak.
“I assume you can read, and I assume you can add,” he said caustically before pivoting around to face her again. “But I won’t force you to do the math, as I’ve already taken care to do so myself.” He then walked back behind the desk and sat down in Flavion’s chair as though he were the Grand Earl himself.
