“Youare the best thing I’ve experienced in my life.” He kissed her cheek, her nose, her mouth.
She curled up against him, needing his warmth. “I like you, too.” She rubbed her palm against his skin at the hip. He was saying something to her, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to worry. She just wanted to love. In this moment, her love for him was all that mattered.
In that fashion, she fell into one of the deepest, most peaceful sleeps she’d ever experienced. She had found where she belonged—beside him. Wrapped in his arms, she dreamed of his kisses, of him saying he loved her and all would be well, that she could trust him.
Yes, trust. Love was trust, and she loved him very much.
The next morning,she woke to find herself in an empty bed.
10
The hour was late. Celeste rarely slept as late as it was now. Nor did she understand why Oliver hadn’t woken her. She rationalized that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her sleep or was being considerate of her reputation and did not want to be caught in her bed. That would not be a good thing. What if Beatrice discovered he had been in her room all night?
A little voice told her Bea would not bat a lash. Or carry tales.
Perhaps he was worried about the servants’ gossip? His staff seemed well trained, but one never knew.
Without summoning a maid, she dressed and quickly braided her hair, not bothering with pins and nonsense. She wanted to see Oliver.
She needed to gauge his reaction to last night. How did he feel this morning? The fear that she’d been just another trophy for a man known for his skills in seducing women reared its ugly head.
The hallway was quiet. She went downstairs to find Beatrice sipping tea in the breakfast room.
Her friend looked up with a bright smile. “You are up early. So was the duke. In fact, he has already left.”
“He left? To go riding?”
“No, he left on some business. He was in quite a hurry and in remarkable spirits. I told him I hadn’t seen him so lively. When I asked what he was about, he said it was a secret.” Beatrice shrugged. “He said he had to leave right that moment so he would be back in time for the ball tomorrow evening.”
Celeste carefully sat in the nearest chair. She nodded when a footman offered to pour her a cup of the strong black tea she favored. She took a deep breath, then released it. She did not touch the tea. She didn’t trust herself to hold the cup steady. “Did he say anything more?”
Had he left a message for her?
Bea shook her head. “Just that he had to dash. I told him you would be disappointed to miss saying goodbye to him. He told me he would make it up to you later.” She held up the page of the paper she had been reading. “Last evening’s paper claims your subscription ball will be one of the top events of the Season. Salcombe’s staff seems to be doing everything right. You will be happy to hear that one editor wrote about how the pensions given to soldiers gravely injured in war are not enough. He recommends that everyone support the charity. Of course, the papers give all credit to Salcombe, but what do we care so long as the charity is a success? Your father would be very proud of you.”
At one time, honoring her father’s bequest had been everything Celeste had wished to accomplish. Now, she listened to Beatrice as if from a distance.
Then she became angry.
He’d left. He’d treated her like some doxy, and not a Harrington of the proud House of Kenbrooks. She pictured taking one of the iron pikes that decorated Fenmere Park’s entrance hall and skewering him with it.
The butler, Avery, entered the room. He carried a folded and sealed note on a silver salver, Muggins following on his heels.The terrier stopped in the doorway, looked around, and then sniffed as if annoyed Oliver wasn’t in the room. He turned and pranced back down the hall. Avery shook his head with a smile and offered the salver to Celeste. “My lady, this is from the duke.”
Relief flooded her. He had not forgotten her. She took the missive and cracked the wax seal.
Oliver had very distinctive handwriting. It was slanted and bold. He was left-handed, she realized. She had not noticed that before.
She looked the note.All will be well. I shall see you tomorrow evening when I return. S.
“Is everything all right?” Beatrice asked.
All will be well.
The words he’d spoken in her dream, and now here was the same promise in his handwriting. What did he mean?
Celeste folded the note, lowered her hand to her lap, and crushed the foolscap in her fist. Relief changed into bitter disappointment. This was all the man had to say after she given him not only her body but her heart? She had expected more. She wanted more.
And the duke had given all he was willing to give, apparently. After all, he was the Dragon, a man who broke women’s hearts for sport. Well, now he had her name on his list. What had been life altering to her had obviously been just another romp for him.
