Chapter Eleven
Eric had every intention of detesting the rat who had impregnated his mother.
However, seeing as how he was currently in a washroom fit for a king, wrapped in a monogrammed Chesterhill banyan, and feeling kindly sentiment toward the man, it seemed he might not entirely abhor him.
If this wasn’t enough of a conundrum, Eric liked to play charades.
Never in a million years would it have occurred to him that a silly pastime would suit his tastes.
And yet, he had enjoyed the game immensely.
His companions added to the appeal, as did the relaxing effects of brandy, which were heightened since Eric was not typically a tippler.
Additionally, using your body instead of words made it the perfect social activity for an athlete who hated talking.
Eric also quite liked his brother. Imagine being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, then finding out your father had planted his seed in a prostitute.
Instead of trying to have your bastard sibling silenced, you invite him into your home and treat him like a long-lost mate.
His half-brother was a good man indeed, and his wife didn’t have a pretentious bone in her clumsy little body.
Eric chuckled, recalling Emily running into the edge of the side table while trying to frolic like a kitten. It seemed the oldest Coldpepper sister was a handful who enjoyed asking a lot of questions about things ladies were not supposed to take an interest in. Rather endearing, really.
And then there was Juliet Coldpepper.
He sighed. Half of her family name did not suit, because there was nothing cold about her.
She was a burning flame on a dark night, and he, a lost moth.
A pathetic, disoriented moth who was so obsessed that last night, even the sight of her slender ankles and bare toes curling into the carpet had him digging his fingernails into his palm to temper his lascivious thoughts.
When she had linked her arm with his and said, “Shall we go?” a bolt of exhilaration shot through him. Hours later, remnants of her innocent touch still tingled his blood, skin, and bones.
Eric’s mouth had gone dry when Lord Chesterhill said, “…I fear something is worrying our dear Juliet. Normally, she is so full of life. A breath of fresh air. Last night, she seemed utterly defeated.” Perhaps it had been risky to walk into the drawing room like a cocksure fool, thinking she wouldn’t recognize him, but he’d had no other choice.
He had to know for sure if this was the woman who infiltrated his dreams.
For a moment, he thought Juliet recognized him. His panic instantly turned to shame when she cringed. As her gaze softened, his shame gave way to hope.
“By the by, Juliet was recently saved by a knight in shining armor, so we are quite taken with warriors at the moment,” her sister had said.
A cannon aimed at his chest would not make him leave this house if there was the slightest chance that Juliet was taken with him. It did not matter if she had no idea that he was the masked stranger who had come to her rescue, because nothing negated the fact that he was that man.
Hopefully, she thought about their breath mingling as they kissed. If only she was as besotted as him.
After finding out that she might be “taken with warriors,” he had swaggered about more than a humble man should.
He’d even caught her sister’s reaction to him crawling about on the floor.
She had pretended to fan a pretend flame, which he assumed meant she was titillated by his prowling like a sure-footed beast.
Emily was not the only one to have reacted.
Juliet’s eyes had been wide, her mouth open.
Whether it was a display of shock or interest, he did not know.
Whatever the case, these people wanted him to stay with them, and this was an invitation he couldn’t pass up.
They even seemed fascinated by his life as a pugilist. Eric snorted.
Hell, they’d probably cheer him on as he roamed the streets of London, eliminating the human vermin.
Which begged the question, was he simply a diversion to these privileged people? Only time would tell.
Eric removed the banyan and hung it on a built-in hook. Moaning in pleasure, he lowered himself into the warm water. Cold baths might be a preventive cure for sore muscles, but they were not nearly as soothing as this luxurious heat. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
The steam carried every worry and concern he’d ever felt upward and away from him. All it had taken to relax him was an indulgent bath, a few glasses of brandy, a pleasant game of charades, and smiles from a woman he favored.
After falling asleep in the bathtub, Eric arrived at the morning meal late, breathless, and in the same clothing he’d worn the previous day.
He hesitated outside the dining parlor and peered down at his rumpled trousers.
At least his suit wasn’t filthy—yet. He cringed.
If he visited for a few days, his garments would smell like an airless gymnasium.
Alexander was close to his size, so perhaps he could borrow a few items if he humbled himself and asked.
Over the years, he’d pocketed his pride for much less than a crisp shirt.
Unsure of the proper etiquette when running late for a formal meal, Eric cracked the door and peered into the room. The family was seated around the table.
“Good morning, Mr. Stone,” Juliet sang out in her cheerful voice.
If only she’d been watching for him like Abigail did.
Eric stepped into the chamber and stood mountain still, his monkey-long arms hanging by his side. He should probably apologize for his tardiness. However, pardon me for falling asleep in the tub hardly seemed appropriate.
Luckily, his half-brother eliminated the awkwardness, calling, “Good morning, Stone. Have a seat.”
Within seconds, a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, deviled kidneys, and stewed tomatoes was in front of Eric. A footman placed a tray of jellies and butter within his reach and filled his cup with coffee.
“How did you sleep?” Lord Chesterhill asked.
“Quite well,” Eric said as he spread a thick, red jelly on his toast. Hopefully, it was raspberries. However, strawberries would also be delicious.
Chesterhill winked. “Did you enjoy the bathing chamber?”
“Yes.” Eric sank his teeth into his toast. Who cared what kind of berries they were, because they were sweet and melted on his tongue.
His brother grinned. “Tell the truth, mate.”
Truth? What truth? Had his secret identity been discovered? Swallowing, Eric hesitantly looked up from his food.
“You fell asleep in the tub, didn’t you?” Alexander asked.
Juliet gasped, and Emily giggled.
“You wouldn’t be the first guest to fall asleep while relaxing in there,” Alexander said.
“Juliet was in there for over an hour the other night,” Emily said. “I didn’t think she was ever coming to bed.”
Juliet had been in the same tub as him. Naked.
Water beading in her lashes and hair and dripping from her nipples.
Her buttocks touching the same tiles his arse had just touched.
Unable to stop himself, Eric slid his gaze to the beauty across from him.
Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she stared at the remnants of food on her plate.
She probably sensed his libidinous thoughts. Truly, he needed to temper the damnable things.
“How splendid,” Lord Chesterhill said. “It warms my heart when our guests enjoy the amenities.”
“Indeed,” Emily said. “And now, we shall have a splendid family day together?”
If Emily was implying that Eric was family, she and Juliet must know the truth of who he was. If this were the case, he would not fret. They would probably be more comfortable in his presence if they saw him as one of them.
“What is our plan for the day?” Juliet asked. “Are we still considering an outdoor adventure?”
“Yes. I think we should meet in the foyer in about two hours,” Emily said. “Following our constitutional, we shall enjoy tea and cakes in the drawing room. Tonight, after dinner, Alexander can read to us. Mayhap something about a knight who saves a damsel in distress.” She grinned at Juliet.
Juliet glowered at her.
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Sounds like rubbish. May I suggest a tale about a Scottish king who descends into madness and tyranny while being taunted by guilt and paranoia?”
“Oh, I do so love Macbeth,” Emily said, her expression dreamy.
“Why don’t we let one of our guests choose the story?” Lord Chesterhill said.
Even though Auntie had taught him to read, Eric knew nothing about stories, books, and plays.
“What do you say, Eric and Juliet?” Chesterhill asked.
Eric sipped his coffee, giving himself time to think. Luckily, the perfect response came to him. “Please allow Miss Juliet to choose the story.”
Juliet’s lashes fluttered, and she sighed. “I would love to. I shall go to the library later and find something.”
His smile prodigious, Chesterhill nodded enthusiastically. “I dare say, that is a splendid plan. However, I will rest while you young people enjoy the great outdoors. My old bones can no longer handle the cold. I look forward to dinner and hearing all about your afternoon.”
“Of course, Father,” Alexander said. “Eric and Juliet, since you both packed light, if you need to borrow anything for our walk, let Warrington know, and one of the maids shall bring it to you.”
Eric had spent his entire life living with females, and he’d never known any of them to pack “light.” Unless she was running from someone or something. He should have known when he saw her in Mayfair carrying her satchel.
Hell’s thunder! Eric’s coffee soured in his throat. There were two things he had personal knowledge of that might cause a woman like Juliet to run. A scandalous kiss from Knight Roamer and/or her repulsive fiancé. If Eric’s kiss was the cause, he’d never forgive himself for his impulsive behavior.