“You’re quite good at the kissing as well. In case you were unaware.”
“I’m glad to know you think so. Especially since I quite enjoy kissing you.” I tilted my head, awaiting his lips. “Oh, I’m not going to kiss you tonight. As you said, you’re overwrought and I would like to be certain that the next time you’re feeling unstrung, there’s no question that it’s due to my kisses.”
I blinked, slowly coming to terms with the realization that I was not about to be ravished.
“William! That was quite… charming.”
“It’s been known to happen on very rare occasions. I think the knowledge that you’re so exhausted that you likely won’t remember any of this is making me brave.” He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to the knuckles. “I would not become too accustomed to it if I were you.”
“I like it. I like you shy too. But you should be brave more often.”
His only answer was a chuckle as he bent to place one last kiss on the place where my neck and jaw met. The place that already bore his mark.
“Goodnight, Celine. Sleep well.”
I was left standing alone in my study, once again finding my world shaken to its foundations by this man. And I had nothing but warring feelings of arousal, trepidation, and exhaustion for company.
Eighteen
HART AND SUMMERS, SOLICITORS, LONDON - JUNE 14, 1816
WILLIAM
What I was doing wasunethical in more ways than I could possibly count. I absolutely should not be digging through contracts and ledgers from clients on behalf of my… whatever she was. Not in the harsh light of day and certainly not in the middle of the night like a common criminal.
I laid abed for an hour, perhaps two, before I could take it no longer and snuck down to the office to have a hunt. No matter how many times I told myself I was only using the Rosehill ledgers for the research Xander requested, it was impossible to separate the tasks. Particularly in the silence of my candlelit office.
Thus far, all I’d gleaned was that Lady Davina had been causing expensive mischief since before she left the nursery and that Her Grace’s modiste bill was large enough to fund a small principality. As a courtesy title, the Rycliffe documents, properties, and contracts were so wrapped up in the rest of the Rosehill estate that separating them was nearly impossible.
I managed to discern which Hasket man’s abysmal handwriting belonged to Gabriel and made a list of those entries. I created a separate list for any dealings with anyone whose name or title began with a W, regardless of the handwriting. The effort was unlikely to be sufficient and my complete disinterest in thetonwas serving me poorly in this venture.
It didn’t help that I was seemingly permanently distracted by thoughts of Celine. Of her shining hair and sun-kissed skin. Of her eyes, kind with a lived-in sadness behind them. Of the spiced vanilla and floral scents that wrapped around her, drawing me in. Of her graceful form wrapped in silk more luxurious than any I’d touched. Of her seemingly endless patience with my foibles.
The feeling was a strange one, this stirring of attraction, interest, longing. Seemingly reciprocated for the first time in my life. Which was absurd. I had more than a decade of experience loving Adriane. But even at the end, she never loved me. Not really. She loved to toy with me. She loved to use me to attract Gabriel’s attention. She loved that I came for her, saved her, cared for her. But it was never real love, desire, or yearning. Not for me.
Only now, years later, could I see the cracks. I suspected the experiences gleaned over a lifetime were to blame for my perpetual astonishment at Celine’s easy affection. I could not reconcile this woman, with her friendly open demeanor, against Gabriel as I knew him.
She loved him though, that much was clear. That knowledge chaffed more than I would readily admit. Another woman that I— another woman I had tender feelings toward who loved that man. Jealous as I was, it was nowhere near enough to prevent me from seeking her out, courting her, and anything else she might deign to allow.
But I could ruminate on my burgeoning infatuation without wasting every candle in the place, so I gathered the documentsinto a haphazard pile. I doused the candles and bundled the paperwork in my arms, then locked the door behind me before making the trek upstairs to my apartment.
As usual, the lamplight from the open window was sufficient and I did not bother with a candle. I tossed the paperwork on my desk next to Celine’s mask, the one I really ought to return the next time I saw her.
I collapsed on my bed, still in shirtsleeves and britches. And promptly fell asleep, my dreams filled with sweet laughter and eyes the color of the forest.
I startledawake at an irritating and incessant pounding at my door.
“Will!” Kit’s voice was muffled through the thick wood. “Will! Open up!”
Rolling to my feet was more instinct than command because the fog of sleep still hung heavy.
I ripped the door open with an irritated, “What?” Only to be met with a frazzled partner, his dark hair disheveled and eyes wild.
“Thank the Lord. You’re all right?”
“Of course, why would I not be?”
“You’re usually downstairs by now, and when I got in and saw the place had been ransacked…”
