Regency Rogues: A Winter's Night. Elizabeth Beacon
Читать онлайн книгу.
to think about right now.
‘Ah, I thought so. I knew there had to be more than one back stairway down to the vast basement there must be under the house,’ he whispered as a jib door Eve hadn’t even thought to look out for opened under his probing fingers and showed her once again that he was a lot more composed than she was after that earth-shaking kiss. It had seemed about to make her world anew for a wild moment and perhaps it was only one on a long list of such sweet encounters for him. Didn’t soldiers have a sweetheart in every town they passed through? The contrast between dashing Mr Carter of the 95th Rifles and the shabby clerk she’d met that night at Derneley House made her wonder if there might be other versions of this complex man for her to discover, if she dared to look.
At least the narrow stair he’d found was lit by the occasional ensconced candle, she saw with a shudder. The bareness and gloom behind the narrow door made her feel as if the walls might press in on her, but this was what maids endured every day of their lives so their employers could enjoy the privacy and luxury of nigh invisible service. If she and Verity had been born to poverty they might be the ones labouring every hour God sent at this very moment; enduring the insecurity and danger that went with being young and female in such a household. Instead they were stumbling down the bare wooden stairs in Mr Carter’s wake and Eve couldn’t let her fear show with Verity between them and her fragile young shoulders shaking so hard she was clearly on the verge of hysteria.
‘Oh, Eve, thank God you came.’ Verity launched herself at Eve once they reached the bottom of the cramped stairway and it opened into a grim little stairwell with gloomy corridors stretching four different ways. A storm of frightened tears threatened until Carter bowed as if Verity was a lot more grown up than she appeared right now and bade her a smooth, ‘Good evening, Miss Revereux.’
‘You’re Eve’s Mr Carter, aren’t you? I remember you from the park.’
‘Maybe I am then, but we really must get out of here before midnight when everyone is obliged to take their masks off, you know? If we meet any servants on our way, we shall have to pretend to be a very scandalous trio indeed. You and your cousin are going to be my pretty ladybirds for the night. Do you think you can act such a wild part? I know it’s a lot to ask after all you witnessed tonight, but I really don’t want to be dragged back into that ballroom and made to unmask, do you?’
‘No,’ Verity said with such a fervent shake of her head Eve wondered once again exactly what she had seen tonight.
‘Very well, you only need endure this pretence for a few more minutes and then we’ll have you out of here and back at Farenze House as if you were fast asleep all the time,’ he said with a grin Eve caught herself being fiercely jealous of.
She wondered at herself again when he draped an arm round each of their shoulders and hugged her so close every inch of her skin felt man-warmed and prickly and responsive to him and him alone. Heaven forbid Verity felt even a hint of the sizzling excitement that was running through her like wildfire. At least that notion sobered her sharply enough to seem cool when he looked down at her with one raised eyebrow, as if to say, Needs must when the devil drives, so don’t blame me.
‘Is my scar visible?’ he asked prosaically and she gave an almost wifely sigh and raised both her own brows at his unexpected vanity. ‘I don’t want us to stand out in any way but the obvious,’ he whispered as if he had read her mind and couldn’t believe she thought him so shallow.
‘Set me free,’ she demanded and reached up to ruffle his unruly hair until it curled as far as Mr Carter had left her length enough to work with. As she pushed and pulled it to hide the mark of his ordeal at Waterloo her hand shook as the reality of how close he’d come to death hit home and made her eyes water at the thought of never being able to know him at all. Reminding herself she couldn’t afford to fall in love with this mystery of a man, she stood back and eyed her handiwork critically. His hair had felt as intriguing as she thought it might the first night they met. Soft and at the same time full of life and she still wasn’t quite sure if it was more gold or brown in the dim light, any more than his eyes could decide between the same colours as they watched her with a question in them that had nothing to do with how unmemorable she had managed to make him.
‘That’s better,’ Verity said in a whisper that barely wobbled at all, so at least she was beginning to recover some of her usual spirit.
‘And don’t push it out of your eyes when you’re not thinking and ruin my handiwork, will you?’ Eve chided him. And how had she let herself notice that he did exactly that when he was distracted? They had not met enough times for her to need two hands to count them on and she was picking up on his habits as if he was her lifetime study. This silliness really would have to stop. ‘And you had best lean some of your weight on me and do your best not to limp as well,’ she added briskly.
‘I suppose I must,’ he said ruefully. ‘Now if you will both loosen your laces and ruffle your own hair and try to look a lot more undone than you are right now, ladies, I think we will be able to get on with this private masquerade of ours and have you both safely back home before the clocks strike midnight.’
Two hours could drag by on broken wheels or be so full of incidents it was almost impossible to believe so little time had passed since she set out, Eve mused. Verity even seemed to be enjoying the joke now. She unbuttoned her velvet jacket and undid the laces of her shirt so it would gape open to prove she really wasn’t the uninformed youth her breeches argued. If this charade reignited her step-cousin’s adventurous nature, Eve supposed she had to be glad, even if she didn’t want Verity thinking such folly should ever be repeated. She would just have to find a way to calm her down when they got home, lest Verity wake half the household with overwrought high spirits. Eve felt cool air on the exposed upper slopes of her own bosom as she did as Carter asked as well. Very adult emotions shivered through her when his gaze followed the soft stuff of her borrowed gown as it fell open, then he lingered hungrily on the last remaining slice of ribbon that left her shift straining on the edge of decency between her breasts, as if he badly wanted to undo it and explore even more of her than he already had.
‘That will have to do,’ she told him severely, because she badly wanted him to as well and that was wrong in so many ways she could hardly count them.
‘At least that much temptation should distract any healthy males we happen to meet on our travels,’ he said as if that was all that mattered, and he was right, wasn’t he?
Luckily most of the servants were still upstairs waiting on the company and the kitchen maids too busy in the scullery to see aught but steam and a mountain of dirty dishes and pots and pans. Which only left a chef sitting at the smaller table in the kitchen and trying not to fall asleep in the remnants of one of his own creations and a pastry cook to be shocked by the quality sneaking out through their domain with a few flustered giggles from the so-called ladies and a bad-dog smirk from a happy-looking gentleman who was stealing away from this wild party with a woman under each arm.
‘Lucky dog,’ the chef said with a regretful sigh and a jaded look at the bridling cook, as if to say some men had all the luck tonight and he wasn’t one of them.
‘Devils the lot of them and just look at that brazen hussy flaunting her legs and everything else she has like some doxy in the Haymarket,’ the cook said in disgust. ‘All of them no better than they should be and yet they calls themselves quality, disgusting is what I say they are.’
Verity giggled delightedly and Eve gave Carter an angry nudge to let him know he would have to put more of his weight on her shoulders if he was to pass as a run-of-the-mill rake and not a limping one. ‘La, but he’s even more drunk than I thought he was,’ she hissed at Verity in a stage whisper, hoping any sign of a stagger in his step would seem to be from too much alcohol and not war.
‘Let’s hurry up then, before he finds another bottle and climbs into it for the night,’ her devious little relative by marriage replied in the affected tones of a lady intent on being very unladylike indeed and daring the world to stop her.
Eve managed a false titter and even wiggled her hips so provocatively the chef ought to remember her walk and not Carter’s,