Page 42 of Gambling with the Earl
With the shirt still dangling from his fingers and the sunlight dancing across his chest, the earl lowered his eyes to meet hers. “Don’t forget to come for me, this evening,” he paused. “To sing.”
She inclined her head. How could she forget?
*
The weather wasunseasonably hot. Not a cloud could be seen in the deep blue sky and the relentless afternoon sun, combined with the steam and heat of the kitchen, made them all irritable. Not even Cook had a kind word to say as she bandied around orders for the evening meal.
The earl, it seemed, was in a mood for celebration. On a whim he had demanded a new menu for tonight. One that required roasted pheasant and a platter of sweet pastries. Agnes made barbed comments about the earl’s impending bankruptcy, and Kitty kept her lips pressed closed together. Sweat trickleddown the back of her woollen dress and she longed to escape outside. To pull off her stockings, walk on the beach and let the waves run over her feet. Her longing for a breeze eclipsed even her thoughts of recovering the jewels.
At last, her kitchen duties were complete, and she could wearily climb the stairs to her room, not to rest but to prepare to meet the earl.
A smell of cooking meat and stale perspiration hung about her. She couldn’t meet him like this. Again, the lure of the sea came upon her. She could walk into the waves and lower her hot, aching body into the sparkling water. It would be bliss.
It was but a pipe dream. Children were encouraged to play in the waves on a hot day. Servants were not. Even as Miss Katherine of Shoreston, Kitty hadn’t enjoyed the sensation of floating in the shallows for many years. Only when Alfred had cut his arm and the village healer had advised saltwater bathing, had she come anywhere close. But even then, she had stood back from the waves and watched enviously.
She gripped the hem of her dress and yanked it up over her head, pulling the heavy material where it clung to her damp skin. The relief of evening air against her body was recompense for the struggle. She allowed herself a moment of rest, standing in her chamber clad in nothing but her thin chemise.
A chemise which also carried a whiff of the kitchen. With a surge of irritation, Kitty wriggled her shoulders out of the straps, stepped out of it and kicked it into a corner. She had a half day coming up and would—by necessity, it seemed—spend it in the laundry.
Naked from top to toe, she sponged herself down with cold water from the basin, then made herself decent again in a fresh chemise and her one remaining servant’s dress. She resented the restrictive weight of it. Such clothing was not designed for aclimate like this. She’d be better off wearing the scanty, fanciful fabrics hidden in the earl’s solar.
No sooner had the thought entered her head than her body flushed with tingling shame at the memory of her dream.
A dream which she had all but re-enacted in his lordship’s bedchamber.
She bade herself to be calm as she fastened her hair securely beneath her cap. She was ready to descend to the solar.
She knocked on the closed wooden door and tentatively pushed it open. The first thing she noticed was the shock of the light. She had grown accustomed to gloom and shadows at Rossfarne Castle, but the earl had opened the shutters in here too.
“Come in, come in,” he beckoned. His voice was relaxed and jovial, so unlike his usual fierceness and caution.
“My lord.” She lowered her head in greeting.
The earl swivelled around on the armchair to look at her properly. A flagon of wine sat beside him.
“Let us dispense with all of that, shall we?” He smiled up at her. “No titles. No bowing. For tonight, you shall be Kitty and I shall be Guy.”
Guy. She turned the name around in her head and found she liked it. But nevertheless, she wouldn’t dare address the earl by his first name. She swallowed hard. What other intimacies did he have in mind?
“You sing to me like one of the king’s own musicians,” he added softly, as if alert to her worries. “And the king’s musicians know me by my true name.”
He had been drinking, she knew the signs. His words were not slurred, but they ran together freely. He would not address her this way if he were sober. Her instinct was to recoil, knowing all too well what dangers wine and mead could bring upon her. She shifted uncomfortably, forcing down hauntingmemories of her father’s drunken behaviour; the nights she had spent with her body shielding Rosalind behind a flimsy locked door, covering her sister’s ears so she should not hear his ribald cursing and threats of violence. And then there was the final, harshest indignity. Her father had gambled her away whilst under the influence of drink, and if she lived for a hundred years, she would never escape the shame of it.
But the earl, Guy, was not her father. His goblets of wine had made him relaxed and at ease, not foolish and aggressive.
She ventured closer. “Are you celebrating?” She bit back ‘my lord.’
She expected a denial, but he nodded without pause. “Today, I discovered myself to be a wealthy man, Kitty.” His eyes met hers and she knew him to be sensible and alert despite the liquor. “As you know, from seeing the coin chests in my chamber.”
She couldn’t deny it. “My concern was with your injury.”
“Nonetheless.” He raised his eyebrows. “You are a woman of intelligence. You know what you saw.”
“I saw enough silver for you to hire musicians of your own,” she quipped, unable to resist.
“Indeed. And to employ a great number of servants.”
“To bring comfort and cheer to the castle,” she dared to venture.
