Chapter 15 #2
Were her feelings hurt? She found that they were, a little. She’d been about to… what? Offer herself to him, and all he wanted to do was go spy on his future brother-in-law? Or worse, win some money off him? She felt so stupid, she had to sit down. With a grimace of shame, she waved him away.
“Go get him,” she said, as she made her way to the bank of chairs set up on the other side of the room.
She spent a while sitting alone, sipping at some wine and trying to get a grip, keeping up a mental stream of contempt toward herself until she was exhausted.
Quinn clearly had a reputation. This was something she knew from Catie’s hints, and with his extreme level of good looks, of course he got action wherever he went. She was a dalliance, nothing more.
She felt more hurt and outrage as she watched him throwing back drinks at the gaming table.
He didn’t give a whit about her. She might as well have been one of the maids.
In fact, he’d probably been sleeping with a steady supply of maids since he’d got to London.
She accepted another glass of wine and wracked her brain, trying to remember if any of the girls at the Amberly’s house seemed especially smug or satisfied during the last weeks.
Her fists curled in her lap. For some reason, the possibility made her even angrier, and that fact made her angrier still. As if she cared who Quinn was with.
Edwin skidded to a halt in front of her chair. She looked up at him in surprise, wondering why he wasn’t at the gaming tables anymore.
“Miss Burnet, please come at once,” he said. “Miss Ferguson is ill and asking for you.”
She bolted after him to the veranda, only pausing for a moment to wonder why they were out there in the first place, and shaking her head at the fine job Quinn had done at keeping an eye on Edwin.
He was so wrapped up in his games, he didn’t notice the two sneaking off to a romantic, secluded location.
Catie stood huddled by a potted pear tree, pale and grim. Her look of relief at seeing Lizzie made her feel a little better. For the last few days, Catie had been acting distant and moody, and Lizzie couldn’t figure out what she’d done to upset her. She hurried to her side and took her by the arm.
“Catie, dear, what’s wrong?”
Catie leaned against her. “Too much wine, perhaps. Please dinna tell Quinn. I only want to get to sleep.”
Lizzie shooed the hovering Edwin away and led Catie to her room and helped her undress. She stoked the fire herself and poured a glass of water to set on the bedside table, then tucked Catie tightly under the covers.
“Oh I forgot. You’ll have to get up and lock the door behind me,” she said.
Catie closed her eyes and Lizzie pulled the blankets back off her. “I’m quite serious, Catie. Everyone has had far too much to drink. You must lock the door behind me and push a chair against it as well. Open if for no one in the night.”
Her eyes flew open. “Am I in danger?” she asked.
“Most likely not, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Would you rather I stay with you tonight?”
Catie sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, hoisting herself up as if it was the greatest chore. “I’ll lock the door and push the chair in front of it,” she said.
Lizzie felt her cheeks flame at the dismissal, and searched her face for an answer as to why she’d started disliking her.
She knew she shouldn’t care, that Catie was her charge and nothing more.
The last girl she’d worked for had hated her outright to the point of physically harming her with pinches and slaps and that had barely irritated her, not twisted her heart like Catie’s eagerness to be rid of her did.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, not wanting to leave.
She wanted to make things right, and make sure Catie stayed safe through the night. She patted her arm and gave a smile which wasn’t returned.
“Good night, Miss Burnet,” Catie said.
Lizzie waited to hear the click of the lock and nodded when she also heard the scraping of the chair being dragged over, a soft thunk as Catie pushed it against the door.
Not at all wanting to return to the party, she wound her way down the back stairs, trying to find the room she was supposed to share with another of the servants.
That girl would probably kick her in the night for taking up her bed, and the bed would probably be hard and lumpy, and there might not even be a fire in the room.
Lizzie walked slower, actually dragging her feet, and was disconcerted to find tears in her eyes.
Of all the things to make her cry, it ended up being the prospect of an uncomfortable night’s sleep.
That showed her exactly what sort of person she was.
The hallway was dark and she had half a mind to hunker down against the wall and have a good cry, really wallow in her self pity.
“Hell no,” she said out loud, turning back the way she came. She’d be damned if a little rejection sank her like that. She’d be home in a few days, for God’s sake. This would all be over. She decided to have another glass or two of wine and not go to her room until she was ready to pass out.
“Miss Burnet, I’m glad ye spoke. It’s so dark down here I didna think I’d find ye.”
Just what she needed. Still, Quinn’s voice swept away a little of her gloom. He’d come looking for her, causing a bit of happiness to shine through her dark mood, only to be snuffed as quickly. He probably only wanted to report what he’d learned.
She snorted. “Did you find out anything about Lord Hollingsborn’s character?” she asked.
He stepped out of the shadows, right in front of her, and looked abashed. “Actually, I lost sight of him shortly after I sat down at cards.”
He sounded so sad, she felt it was her duty to console him. That didn’t seem like the proper reaction to have and wondered if she’d had too much wine earlier.
“You needn’t worry,” she said. “I found him. Or rather he found me. Your sister wasn’t feeling well so I sent her to bed.”
“He was with Catie the whole time?” he asked.
“Perhaps not the whole time,” she said.
“Ah, bugger, I am everything Lachlan has ever said about me.” He took a step closer to her. She was inches from the wall, but even if she could have, she didn’t want to back away from him.
“Now, sir, I was just about to feel sorry for myself, so you’re going to have to stow your own self pity as I don’t have the energy to cheer you up.” She stood on her tiptoes so her nose was level with his chin and gave him her sternest spinster look.
He laughed and put his hands on her waist. “Dinna call me sir,” he said, his voice a low growl that set off a thrum in her center, as if he’d plucked a string within her.
He looked around the dim hallway. “What is this god awful part of the house?” he asked.
“Let us go somewhere I can see ye better.”
She looked down, ashamed at first to admit she’d have to sleep down here, then shrugging it off. “I’ve been consigned to the servant’s quarters,” she said, looking up quickly to gauge his reaction.
He didn’t blink or flinch, but shook his head and leaned close to speak in her ear. “Then we must find ye a better place to sleep, aye?”
If she’d had any room, she would have staggered.
The force of his proximity, his words, his breath near her cheek, all nearly knocked her over.
Her heart sped up. His eyes locked with hers and he took her hand, leading her toward the stairs.
She kept pace with him, not quite sure how since she’d gone quite boneless.
Her mind pleasantly blank for the moment, she struggled to concentrate on his hand resting on the small of her back as he let her go ahead of him up the stairs.
That warm, sturdy presence kept her from thinking, which would of course, ruin everything.
Back on a level where the light of the moon shone through the windows, reflecting off the polished wood floor and glinting in his burnished gold hair, the wheels in her head once again began to grind, once again reminded her this was a bad idea.
She had scruples. She did not sleep with her employer.
As she opened her mouth to say something to that effect, he stopped in front of one of the doors and turned, smiling down at her.
“Ye’re always lovely,” he said, tracing her jaw with his fingertip. “But especially so in the moonlight.”
“That’s not fair,” she argued faintly, unable to look away. He was distractingly lovely in the moonlight as well. His smile grew wider.
“God, I want to kiss ye,” he said.
He was drunk, she told herself. So was she, a tiny bit.
Wouldn’t that even things out? Maybe neither one of them would remember this in the morning.
Which would make it almost as if it hadn’t happened.
Wait, nothing was going to happen. He placed a hand on either side of her face, his fingers sliding into her hair.
“You’re too young for me,” she said.
“I am not too young for ye,” he said, backing her against the door.
She tipped her head back to see him looking down at her, his eyes dark and intent. He ran his fingers down the sides of her throat, lingering at her collarbone. “Then you’re too big,” she argued, making him laugh.
“I think we shall be a perfect fit.”
His lips met hers, hot and forceful, and she melted against his powerful body. So much for scruples. Because she was gone. This was happening.