Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Afeeling snaked through Saskia, dark and sinuous, provoked by the sinful register of his voice…the words he spoke as they slid past lips curved into a wicked smile…
Her breath promptly stole away.
He wanted to hear her confession.
And what would she confess?
That wasn’t the correct question.
What wouldn’t she confess?
Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip, pulling his gold-green gaze. To have his attention so enraptured by her mouth…
Well.
It lit places inside her.
Actually, that wasn’t true. Those fires hadn’t been extinguished in the least. In fact, it had been weeks of endurance with this low flame lit inside her, for it wouldn’t subside. Writing only helped so much, as she’d tried to write it into submission—and failed.
Only the man presently staring at her mouth had the power to quench it.
Yet, now, she wondered if that was, indeed, the case.
Wouldn’t he only excite it further into conflagration?
She cleared her throat. “I…” She swallowed. “I only accept two of ten invitations I receive for one reason.”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “To dance?”
He was teasing, and that playfulness released something inside her.
It was that he knew her.
“I actually attend balls so I can sneak into the libraries of London’s finest houses.” A smile of her own joined his. “I can’t resist.” She only now registered that he was holding a cup of arrack in each hand. “I suppose you’re expected elsewhere?”
“Why would you suppose that?”
“Isn’t someone waiting for their punch?”
“Oh, this.” He extended one of the cups. “It’s for you.”
“For me?”
“I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Oh.” She set the book down and accepted the punch. “That was most thoughtful of you.”
She took a sip, then another, an awkward silence expanding between them as he took a sip, then another.
“So,” he said, at last, “what do you usually find in the libraries of nobles?”
“Not as many books as you would expect, actually. And the books populating the shelves are usually unopened.”
“As in no one has read them?” His mouth turned down at the corners. “How can you tell if a book hasn’t been read? Aside from the plain stupidity of its owner, of course.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Aside from that, well, you can tell because the pages are still untrimmed and haven’t yet been slit open with a paper-knife.
” She reached for the book she’d set down and extended it.
He leaned forward, taking in the unopened leaves. “See? No one has ever read this book.”
“Then why have a book, if you don’t intend to read it?”
She shrugged, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf where she’d found it.
“Books are expensive, so they’re a symbol of status, for some.
Others like the way books look lined up on a shelf.
Some plan on reading the book, but haven’t gotten around to it yet.
” She snorted. “Book collecting might be more popular than book reading, in truth.”
She turned to find Liam quietly observing her with his head cocked subtly to the side. “You’ve made it your business to know everything there is to know about books, haven’t you?”
“Quite.”
She liked the way he was regarding her—as if he admired her.
She liked it too much.
She needed to steer this conversation in a different direction before she got carried away. “If I’m telling the truth, I had an additional reason for attending this ball tonight.”
“To see me?” he asked, lightly…playfully…flirtatiously.
“Actually, yes.”
“Actually?” He clutched his chest. “Was an actually ever more lowering? A simple yes would’ve sufficed, milady.”
Her mouth twitched. “I was sent as an emissary of Sirens.”
His smile didn’t exactly fall, but it tempered. “Ah, now that I’m no longer Liam Cassidy.”
She nodded.
“Now that I’m an earl.”
Relief that he’d broached that word—earl—pulsed through her. She hadn’t wanted to be the first to utter it. But now that it had been aired, she felt she could ask… “How is it, being an earl?”
He exhaled. No small amount of weariness and acceptance in that exhalation.
“A great deal of bowing and milord-ing in my direction. But mostly, I’m busy from sun-up to sun-down.
One has to get to know the estates—there are three of them.
And the townhouses—there are two of those.
One in London and one in Bath, of all places.
Then there are the various managers and servants.
There are papers and documents and the will with its various codicils that must be followed to the letter.
One must make sure everyone is getting paid, and that the earl is getting paid, too.
” He gave an astonished, overwhelmed shake of the head.
“It’s a mountain of obligations to manage, and more than you asked to know, I’m sure. ”
His life now was wholly different from what it once was. It would feel like a lifetime ago to him, but his past life was only a few weeks gone.
“I’m interested in your life,” she said.
“As an emissary of Sirens.” Understanding shone in his eyes. “You would like to know if the memoir is still on course.”
“Aye.”
A dry laugh sounded through his nose. “All I did this last month was learn how to be an earl. I haven’t given the memoir an ounce of thought.”
She resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand and tell him everything would come out all right—even as she wasn’t certain of that outcome herself. “You can let us know some other time.”
A pang sheered through her. Not for the life he’d gained, but for the one he’d lost. He’d created that other life.
He’d loved it. And now… The life of an earl was being forced on him.
So, she would ask no more questions, for the natural next question would’ve been to ask if he would stop racing—and the answer was obvious, wasn’t it?
“I met the king,” he volunteered.
“Oh?”
“All he wanted to talk about was horse racing.” He shook his head and snorted. “Asked me who to bet on for the Great Yarmouth.”
She snorted. Unladylike, she knew, but she’d been unable to help herself. “I see his reputation isn’t unearned.”
A serious light entered Liam’s eyes. “I suppose we should return to the ballroom.” A hesitation, then, “Would you would like to dance?”
“I might, except…”
“Except?”
“Except we would be so…observed.”
She didn’t wish to part company, but she wasn’t sure what was holding them together, strictly speaking.
That great charming smile of his flashed. “Come with me.” He held out his arm. “There’s something I think you would like to see.”
Against her good sense, Saskia placed her hand on his forearm. She’d never possessed a whit of good sense when it came to this man, anyway.
He led her from the library, not toward the ballroom, but down the corridor in the opposite direction, then down a staircase and another corridor.
She didn’t know where he was taking her.
She supposed she could ask. Perhaps she should ask.
But whatever his answer, she knew she would agree to wherever he was taking her.
Not because he was an earl of the realm.
Because he was Liam.
Soon, they were stepping outside, the moon obscured by a low blanket of clouds, the air dense and cloying with unshed rain. The chill inspired a spray of goosebumps up her arms.
“Are you cold?” Before she could protest, or even draw another breath, he’d shrugged off his evening coat. “Here.”
Then his jacket was draped across her shoulders.
She hadn’t it in her to refuse, anyway. She was unable not to slide her hands into the arms and snug into the warmth of his residual body heat and inhale deeply, catching his scent of citrus and salt and Liam.
When they entered a cobblestone forecourt, she recognized where he’d led her.
“I should’ve known you would bring me to the stables. ”
A diffident laugh escaped him, but he issued no denial as they entered the building.
She glanced all around—the high-beamed ceiling soaring above their heads; the red-bricked center aisle below their feet; and the spacious horse boxes to either side.
“The Duke of Rakesley’s London stables are nearly as magnificent as his Somerton stables. ”
“Yeah, that’s Rake for you.” Liam stopped halfway down the aisle. “Here’s what I wanted to show you.”
Saskia poked her head past the low gate of a box to find a chestnut mare lying on her side and a tiny chestnut foal with two white socks on its front fetlocks curled against her. She gasped. “My stars, how adorable.”
“This little filly was born yesterday.”
Saskia found herself clasping her hands with delight, something she’d only ever described in her novels. “She’s so perfect and complete.”
The mare pushed up to her feet and ambled over to the gate, nudging Liam’s shoulder with her nose. He stroked her muzzle with one hand and reached into his trouser pocket with the other. When it reemerged, he was holding a chunk of apple.
“Do you always carry treats in your pockets in case you encounter a horse?”
“Always.”
“Even at a ball?”
“While you’re sneaking into libraries,” he said, a smile pulling at his mouth, “I’m sneaking into stables.”
“Well, that would be going into the memoir.” Would, not will. The fate of the memoir was yet uncertain, wasn’t it?
Deciding ten feet were far too many to be separated from her dam, the foal struggled to her feet, spindly legs wobbly beneath her, and closed the distance before dipping her head to nurse.
“You’re so natural with horses, Liam.”
“Nothing to it, really.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” She decided to keep her reservations regarding horses to herself. “Will this filly be a racehorse?”
“Ah, alas, no, as they aren’t Thoroughbreds.”
“I thought Rakesley only had racehorses.”
“This girl will likely be a carriage horse, like her dam. Though you aren’t on the wrong track. Most carriage horses have a fair amount of Thoroughbred blood. See how lightly built and elegant these two are? That’s from the Arab in the lineage. All sorts of horses for all sorts of jobs.”
Saskia shook her head, feeling silly. “Of course. I’m sure I knew that somewhere in the back of my mind.” She smiled sheepishly. “I must confess—”
“Another confession, Lady Saskia?”
The words were possessed of the lightness he was so skilled at conveying, but a flame flicked to life in his eyes.
Heat burned through to the very center of her.