“Because I can.” He straightened and turned back to her. The fire was blossoming with life, the logs crackling now and then with purpose. He glanced at her shroud and then walked over and withdrew a white lawn shirt out of the wardrobe. He handed it to her. “So you can sleep in something clean.”
“Thank you.” She held the shirt to her chest as if it was a shield. “But what about you? Don’t you want to change?”
“I will after I bathe.”
She looked at the tub in the corner and back to him.
He was already heading out the door. “I have spare clothes and a washtub in the servant’s quarters as well.”
She blinked. “You are prepared for every eventuality, aren’t you?”
He took one step toward her. He wanted to inhale the fresh scent of her, so that he might dream of something sweet and pure this night. “I leave nothing to chance, Miss Davies.” He allowed his focus to travel slowly down and back up her form. “Especially auctions.”
CHAPTER7
Fleur jumped up when the door shut behind Mr. Porter. She wasn’t certain what might happen this evening but neither did she have the courage to ask him what to expect before he left. All she knew was that she was tired of wearing this horrid shroud.
She ripped it off of her and tossed it into a corner, hoping it might rot. She donned the shirt that he’d lain out for her. Although it was a bit shorter than she would have liked, the hem coming to her knees, and the material too thin, leaving little to the imagination, she supposed that she ought to get used to showing off her body in such a way if she was, indeed, to become a courtesan.
However, considering she was still a virgin, she wasn’t quite at the seduction phase of her new title just yet. She was still uncomfortable being naked in front of anything but a washtub, and although she had tried to discover self-pleasure, the effect was sadly lacking.
She walked over to the window and hugged herself. Although she couldn’t see anything but the back mews of the house, she imagined that she could see Harriette’s residence. She wondered what her brother thought of her ill treatment, but then, Flavian probably didn’t know what had happened. He might believe that his twin was perfectly content, not knowing that she’d been party to an illicit fight that evening, and that the man she might soon share a bed with was nothing but an enigma, a mystery she might never fully solve.
His house was empty of anything that might resemble something personal, but surely there was a clue to how he truly was—if he could be someone that she might trust.
Fleur opened a few drawers, but found nothing. Then again, this didn’t seem like anywhere he spent much of his time.
She walked over to the door and opened it cautiously. He hadn’t told her that she couldn’t explore, so she took that as permission to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Although it was late, there was certainly no way that she would be able to sleep when her mind was whirling.
She grabbed the candle he’d left. Apparently, he knew his way well enough that he hadn’t needed it to find his way downstairs. Or else he had the keen sight of a wild animal.
Taking a deep breath, Fleur decided she would keep her curiosity on the upper floors. She didn’t want to risk running into Mr. Porter and having to explain what she was doing, that she was hoping to find enough evidence to prove that he wasn’t some sort of murderer.
With those intense, silver eyes, she could almost believe it might be true.
She certainly couldn’t rest easy with that image flashing in her mind.
Fleur tried the door of the room opposite hers. It opened easily but unfortunately, there wasn’t a single thing inside. Not a candlestick or bedwarmer to speak of. The ramshackle rooms that she’d been in earlier that evening had been rather sparse too. She wondered if this was how all of his residences appeared—empty, devoid of any sort of permanence.
She wanted to be terrified at the idea, but instead, she found herself overwhelmed by sadness. Mr. Porter must live a very lonely life if he didn’t care about staying in one place long enough to try to set down some roots.
The rest of the doors in the hallway revealed the same thing.
Nothing.
Except for one.
It was the last door at the end of the opposite hallway. Fleur anticipated it to be like the rest, and for the most part, it was just as cavernous as the others, but it was also the only room on that particular wing. For a moment, she paused as she surveyed the grand architecture. Hand painted walls and gilt edging rose up to a plaster ceiling with decorative medallions that held large and intimidating gold chandeliers. A row of windows took up one entire wall and Fleur knew this must have been a ballroom at one time. She could almost picture a scene where the swirled marble floor was filled with colorful swirling dresses and tailored suits from a decade gone by.
She reached out and trailed a hand down some of the trim, closing her eyes as she tried to go back in time and recreate the wonder that this house must have known at one time. Now, it just seemed neglected, sorrowful.
Or rather, it would have if it wasn’t filled with several canvas paintings strewn along one wall. Some were partially covered with sheets as various brushes and palettes were tossed in a corner. With a thin layer of dust over everything, it was as if the owner didn’t care if they returned to the partially finished landscapes or not. Some were just sketches of various parks and buildings about London, but others were from various cliffs. With the ocean spread out in the distance and waves crashing upon the rocks with the tide, Fleur knew these could be highly sought after works if they were completed.
She walked among the pieces for a time and then turned her attention to the single canvas on the easel. This was the only thing that looked as though it might have been disturbed in recent weeks because it was free of dust and there were vivid colors peeking out from the corner of the covering.
Fleur reached out a hand and pulled the sheet away.
What she saw caused her to gasp.
