Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
As he stepped out of the washroom, his gaze landed on Ariadne as she undid her wrapper. To his surprise, she was not wearing that hideous nightgown but was clad only in her thin but more flattering chemise.
He had never seen a female form that mouth-wateringly voluptuous, or one he wanted more. Her hair was pinned up under a cap, and he greedily took in how the firm, rounded tops of her breasts seemed to quiver in nervousness.
In his mind—as exhausted as he was— he saw those tits bobbing rhythmically with each ferocious thrust he would give her when they did make it to coupling.
He drank in the smooth flatness of her stomach, nipped-in middle and the sinfully rounded curve of her delightful rump.
Arousal burned through him in violent, astonishing waves, fierce and all-consuming, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He forced his hand to let go of the doorknob and tried to gather his scattered wits.
Concentrate on the task at hand, you bloody bacon-brained idiot.
The savage self-castigation did nothing to stop the twisting needs humming through his body.
He pulled the blanket up and asked, “Are you joining me?”
Ariadne slid in between the sheets while he shucked his robe, blew out the lamp, and took his place in the large tester bed. He saw and felt how nervous she was and snorted, “You’re not lying on a bed of nails.”
She giggled and turned on her side, “Is this lesson number two?”
He rubbed his eyes, “Yes. A small one in a different type of intimacy.”
“I believe learning how to be compatible while sleeping is equally as important as other types of intimacy,” he said while reaching for her.
Instantly, she pressed herself into his chest and hips, and instinctively, her free leg stroked up his shin. Tilting her head back, she accepted his kiss. He kept this touch tender, exploring, and not rushing to find a peak.
Pulling back, Cedic slipped his good arm around Ariadne and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her back and hair.
Soon he felt her breath slow and deepen, and, in her sleep, she shuffled and cuddled into his spooning body. He was asleep before he took his next breath.
Cedric awoke to a soft, warm body next to him. He was disoriented for a moment as the odd scent of delicate perfume reached his nose. As he came more fully awake, he caught the lilac scent that only belonged to Ariadne.
He also realized that his bad shoulder was screaming with pain. It was stiff and sore from sleeping on a side he tried to avoid. However, the ache seemed to lessen when he looked down to see Ariadne curled around him like a kitten.
He gently kissed her forehead and whispered to her. “I must get up.”
She slowly opened her eyes, and her sleepy gaze was the most seductive look he’d ever seen. “Is it really morning? I have not slept that well in ages.”
He shifted a little to ease the ache in his shoulder while getting a better look at her, but ended up too close; they were forehead to forehead, nose to nose, and lips to lips.
Apologetically, he pulled away while gingerly sitting up, trying to control the wince from the pain in his sensitive muscle, but it was not enough.
Ariadne followed him and reached out to him, but then drew her hand away. “How can I help?”
Grasping his shoulder, he nodded to a cupboard, “In there is a jar of salve that helps to ease this pain and tightness.”
She slid from the bed and, in the dim light, took the tub from the shelf and hurried back to him. Opening it, her head jerked back for a moment before she leaned in and sniffed. “Does this contain wild lettuce?”
His eyes closed, “I have no idea what the apothecary puts in it.”
She kneeled on the bed and, taking a handful of the concoction, liberally spread it over his shoulder and began slowly massaging it in.
The tight muscles eased, and the singing pain lessened the more she dug her hands into his tight skin, and soon enough, the medicine dulled the pain altogether. For some unknown reason, he did not tell her as the feel of her hands on his skin was so soothing, he wanted to revel in it.
Once, three years after the accident, he’d dared to have women from a discreet club to have a human connection, but the way she had recoiled and gazed at him with pure revulsion, he’d sent them away with extra coin to keep their silence.
From that night, he had not dared to try that again, and the more her hands coasted over his skin, the more he realized how starved he was for simple touch.
“Cedric?” Ariadne sounded amused.
“Hm?”
“You’re drifting asleep,” she said.
His eyes peeled open, and his stomach flipped a little at how easily it had been for her to turn him into a puddle. Turning, he saw her staring at the jar, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, “But wild lettuce is a gentle pain medicine. I know I can do better.”
His brows lifted, “You think so?”
“I know so,” she replied.
Reaching out, he kissed her, “I’d love to see that. Do you want to share breakfast a—”
A brisk knock on the door had both their heads turning to the door. Cedric knew that no one was allowed to disturb him except Hunt, so he said, “Enter, Hunt.”
The butler bowed, “Your Grace, a runner sent word, he caught sight of Lord Moreland at the Bank of England on Threadneedle Street.”
Cedric’s spine shot straight, and his legs swung out from the covers. “How long ago?”
“Half an hour,” Hunt said. “I’ve sent back notice to have the managers stall him for as long as possible, and if not, they will trail him if he gets suspicious and runs.”
“There is not a day that I don’t thank god you think as I do,” Cedric said to his friend. “Ready the carriage. I will be down in fifteen minutes.”
He turned to Ariadne as Hunt left. “You’ll be out of London today?”
“Yes?”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, “Enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t kill Leander,” she told him.
His smile was thin. “I’ll only sprain his neck.”
Stepping into the small waiting room with Clara, an assistant dressed all in stately grey came to greet them. Looking around the small parlor, she noted it did not look that much different from that of a lady’s private sitting room.
That can be designed to make them comfortable.
At the center of the room, sheer ivory panels cascaded from the ceiling, and the couches, all white with jewel-toned reclining cushions, were scattered around the ashwood coffee table. Grey on grey damask wallpaper covered the walls, and a tea service was set out.
“Lady Hamden,” the assistant curtsied. “Welcome. Modiste Redmonde will be around soon. Would you like to have some tea while you wait?”
“Thank you,” Clara said as they took seats around the small tea table.
The assistant served them premium Hyson, and Ariadne took steadying sips.
Her mother had a local seamstress make their gowns for years before Ariadne had to step in and repurpose some of the old gowns for the last years.
Back then, she had not known about the money troubles, but now she saw it crystal clear.
Moments later, the modiste emerged, and Ariadne was delightfully surprised to see that she had soft brown skin and rich dark hair pulled up in a sleep bun. Tall and willowy, the lady wore a simple peach gown that exuded sophistication and poise.
“Lady Hamden,” the modiste said while curtsying. “So pleased to see you again. I was slightly surprised at your note that you would be bringing a guest.”
“Not only a guest but I think your best challenge,” Clara replied with a knowing smile. “Your Grace, Ariadne Greymont, may I introduce Teresa Redmonde. She is the one behind all my gorgeous gowns.”
The modiste gave Ariadne a one-over look which missed nothing. “I am honored to welcome you to my humble salon, Your Grace. How may I assist you?”
“I need some… er—” she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “…unmentionables.”
“I see,” The dressmaker gestured to a door behind her. “Please. Come with me and let us see what the best options for you are.”
She followed the modiste down a corridor and emerged into a fitting room with a semi-circle of tall mirrors and a raised platform. “Please remove your dress and the clothes beneath it,” she said.
“Everything?”
The modiste took out a measuring tape while nodding. “Everything.”
Cheeks as hot as seaside stone at midsummer, Ariadne proceeded to strip off her outer layers and soon her travelling petticoat, and then asked, “Can you help me get this corset off, please?”
The modiste blinked, “Forgive my fright, Your Grace, but I was not aware ladies still wore those death traps.”
Still, the modiste helped her out of her corset and lay it down with the rest, only for her to be ordered to remove the chemise too. With no choice, she removed those too and wrapped her arm around herself, utterly self-conscious.
“Good,” the modiste did not blink an eye, “We can start now.”
Cedric strode into the bank with so much force that two clerks scurried out of his way and headed to the long counters staffed by clerks and tellers clad in formal attire.
With a long sweep of his head from left to right, Cedric realized Leander was gone, but Hunt had his men trailing Leander, so either way, he was going to catch the blighter.
“Where is the supervisor?” he demanded.
His glare must have caused panic because in less than two minutes, a man was gesturing him into his office.
“What may I do for you, Yo—”
“Leander Graymont.” He railroaded over him. “What did he do today?”
The supervisor began to visibly sweat, and his eyes grew shifty. “I am not sure I can disclose such details, Your Grace. I should defer to the court of directors—”
Cedric did not have time for this. “How much did he bribe you with to look the other way?”
“B- Bribe? Oh, no—no, Your Grace, I could not ever take such a thing—”
“Ten pounds?”
“I cannot—”
“Twenty pounds?”
“Sir, I cannot—”
“Fifty?”
When the man’s face went chalk white, Cedric knew he had hit the mark. “What service did he do here? I’d rather not have to have you fired publicly and have your name struck from every hiring leader from here to Scotland.”
The man crumpled. “He withdrew ten thousand pounds from his private account, Your Grace, and he—” he mopped his brow while his quaking hand sifted through the books on his desk to pull out a note. “—he left this for you as he said he suspected you would trace him here.”
Opening the note, he saw Leander’s slashing hand again. You lost again, old man, you lost again.
Crushing the taunting note in a cruel fist, Cedric demanded, “You will notify the court of directors that Leander is banned from any account under my name and my estate.”
“Sir—”
“This is not a debate,” he said. “Do it. Now. I will put in a firmer order for now, but this is an immediate order.”
“I will, Sir, I swear on my life I will do so,” the supervisor swallowed, “About the…the—”
Cedric was already out of his seat. “Bribe?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man whimpered. “I cannot lose this position, you see. My wife just, well, she took it to her head that our parlor needed redecorating. It was a perfectly fine parlor, mind you. but she was insistent on changing the seating, the wallpaper, the—”
“Get it done. Now.” He said on his way out, declining to give the man any comfort against his crime.
Leander is running, but to where?
As he hopped into the carriage, a footman came running, only pausing to breathe. “Your Grace, we have eyes on Lord Moreland. At the point, he is at Botham House at Berwick Street, Soho, and it does not look as if he is about to leave yet.”
“Why am I surprised he is at a brothel?” Cedric grunted. “Keep an eye on him; let him think he’s gotten away. We’ll get him in the middle of the night when he won’t suspect it.”
“Understood, Sir.”