Page 13 of Gambling with the Earl
He watched her steadily. A wolf, confident of its prey.
“Are you so keen then, to see inside my bedchamber?”
Her courage drained away. She was a captive of his magnetic gaze. All at once the airless gallery was far too small. She heard Alfred’s words, “You belong to the Earl of Rossfarne.”
And here she was, demanding entrance to his private room. Alone with him, beside a locked door.
“Forgive me, my lord. I will leave you at once.”
She darted forwards, uncaring of the contact she was forcing between them, but he shot out an iron grip and stopped her in her tracks. She felt his solid height and warm breath against the top of her cap.
“Why the sudden haste? I begin to see the benefits of such an eager serving girl.”
His hand on her wrist was warm. The heat of his flesh travelled along her arm. She focused on the stone-flagged floor and bade her legs to stay strong and hold her up. She couldn’t hope for notions of propriety to moderate his behaviour. This was the Earl of Rossfarne. Fear burgeoned, swamping all thoughts of her family’s jewels and Rosalind’s inheritance. A sob escaped her, and she ducked her head further down so he wouldn’t see fright in her eyes.
Her terror would only inflame him, as it always had with her father.
But no sooner had this thought sprung into her mind than he dropped her wrist like a burning ember from the fire.
“If you are so keen to serve me, I bid you to attend to my solar. It has not been cleaned for several days now.”
He shifted around her so his back was to the locked chamber door. She could see the winding staircase and the light from the great hall below.
He was going to let her go.
Relief swelled up inside her although her wrist still tingled from the warmth of his fingers. She dared not look up and expose her flaming cheeks to his scrutiny. Instead, she gave him a small, deferential nod, one worthy of a castle servant, and tripped clumsily down the stairs without another word.
Once she reached the relative safety of the great hall, she pressed her back against the cold, jutting stones and covered her hot face with her hands. She had escaped, unscathed, but the encounter had left her reeling, as if all her strength had left her limbs. All feeling and certainty had abandoned her, leaving her with nothing but a swirling fear deep inside her stomach. It was a fear which leapt into a feverish kind of excitement when she remembered the pressure of the Earl’s fingers around herslender wrist. Her determination to recover the jewels had led her to lift the lid of a forbidden chest, to push herself into a place she would never usually inhabit. Now she was safely on the other side, but it was no thanks to her foolishness.
Foolishness which must never be repeated. She would tread more carefully from now on.
She forced herself to breathe more slowly, to unclench her shoulders and lift her head. Cautiously she moved away from the security of the wall, grateful to find that her legs still supported her. Her body was recovering from the shock and fright, though her mind still raced. She must calm her demeanour. If anyone was to come across her like this, they would think the worst. The rumours would begin, baseless as they would be. Rumours that could ruin her reputation.
He had let her go.
He had toyed with her. Touched her. Barred her path. And then lost all interest. Was it her plain features and servant’s garb that had put him off? Or was the new Earl of Rossfarne a man of some honour after all?
No.The answer came to her with sudden ferocity. A man of honour would not have robbed a family of its rightful inheritance. Or played a game of dice for the rights to a fisherman’s daughter.
Anger sliced through her body like a sword. The strangeness of the last few days had affected her mind. She must keep her thoughts clear and focused on finding the jewels. Nothing else mattered.
The solar. She had the earl’s permission to enter his private chamber. The room where he spent most of his day. Mayhap the jewels were secreted somewhere there? Her instincts told her otherwise, but it was worth a look.
The broom. Her heart sank as she realised her mistake. Her sweeping brush was still at the top of the tower, beside thelocked door. Her pulse pounded anew. She couldn’t bear the thought of retracing her steps to recover it.
So be it. She hadn’t come to the castle to clean.
Kitty walked purposefully across the stone floor and continued into the solar without hesitating. The earl himself had ordered her to tidy his personal chambers. She kept her back straight and banished her fears. She was a housemaid about her daily chores.
But the beauty of the empty room brought her up short. She hadn’t expected such welcoming cheer to exist in the otherwise austere castle. It was as if she’d entered another homestead entirely. A fire crackled in the grate, laid by Thomas no doubt, and above it hung a brightly patterned tapestry. She stepped closer, intrigued. Elsewhere she’d seen drab and faded depictions of hunting or battles, scenes which did nothing to pique her interest. But this tapestry showed wildflowers blooming in a meadow beneath luminous rays of the rising sun. It was beautiful. Her breath caught in her throat as she traced the delicate outline of a bunch of cow parsley. Such care and attention had gone into the work.
The earl’s walnut desk was positioned by the high windows, with rose-coloured drapes gathered behind it. The desk was tidy, the rushes on the floor were clean and two high-backed chairs were neatly arranged by the fire. Kitty pursed her lips. What would a real housemaid do in here?
Her hand went to her apron pocket and pulled out a polishing cloth. She could buff up the candlesticks if nothing else. It would give her a reason to stay in the solar and to search for any places where the earl may have hidden her jewels. The candlesticks were heavy and elaborately carved. She rubbed the silver carefully as her eyes roamed about the room, increasingly curious about the new Earl of Rossfarne. Was he a cruel, base man, like his predecessor? The charm and colour of his personalchamber said not. But he had entered into a wager against a daughter’s life. What sort of a man would do that?
She replaced the candlesticks on the mantel and rubbed her temples, where a faint throbbing indicated a headache that threatened to erupt. There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers, but the only question which should concern her was the whereabouts of the jewels. Her pulse quickened as her eye alighted on the edge of a wooden chest which had been pushed into the corner by the window.
Glancing behind her to ensure no one was watching, Kitty crossed the room and held her breath while she tugged at the lid. She half expected it to be locked, but it swung open with an audible creak. She bit down on her lip and leaned over, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. A mass of folded fabric met her gaze. Puzzled, she ran her hands over the rippling silk. The material was soft, luxurious. She pulled it out and gasped as a beautiful blue gown, embroidered with gold thread and pearl buttons, unfolded before her.
