Page 31 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Chapter 9
Graciela’s heartpounded at the sight of the grand house that was Charley’s home. Mr. Kincaid stopped the battered carriage in front, and called out a fare to them over his shoulder. No footmen or grooms appeared. She exited the hackney behind Mr. Everly, jumping down without a hand to hold, and took the empty package he handed her, pressing it to her chest as he’d instructed. She handed Kincaid some coins, and followed her master into the grand house.
Inside, a liveried servant reached for the package and quickly averted his eyes.
The hat rose from her head, uncoiling her plaited hair down her back.
Mr. Everly tossed the hat to the servant. “Give Roddy his hat back. Cass, take Miss Kingsley up to the nursery.”
Out of thin air, a maid had appeared, as quiet as a ghost. Her heart lifted and she quelled the trembling that threatened. “Yes, please, Cass.”
But her feet did not want to work. The grand house was like the palaces of old Spain Papa had seen in his younger days, or like the home of a fairy tale king, and Mr. Everly was the prince who lived here. Marble floors stretched through a high entry hall, and twin stairs led up, cushioned with the Aubusson carpeting so coveted by Lady Kingsley. There was gilding on wood trim, and flocked wallpaper, and delicate footed tables and a vase that was surely Sevres.
His hand touched her waist sending warmth coursing through her. “Go,” he commanded. “I must have a word with Perry.”
“I have a dress ready for you, miss,” the maid said.
“A dress,” Charley said, leaning close. “There you go. I won’t continue to be tortured by the shapely outlines of your legs.”
With Mr. Everly’s whisper tickling her ear and fine-tuning her senses, she could make out every finger of his hand through the thin coats.
She lifted her chin and looked over her shoulder. “I may not wish to change. These clothes are so freeing.”
No expression touched his face, but his eyes went very dark. And then he grinned. “As you wish. But you smell like horses, hay, and onions.”
“Do I?” She sniffed her sleeve and smiled back at him. It was true. And he was kind enough not to mention the musk of the boy whose clothing she wore. “So I do.”
His clear gaze sent the air around them humming and heating and she realized she must be blushing. The male servants had slipped away. The maid waited patiently, studying the immaculate floor.
Graciela moved away from his hand which somehow was still connected, as if the heat had branded it in place. “I shall go then to Reina. Please give Lady Perpetua my thanks.”
“You may do that yourself in a bit.”
His sister would be joining her, but not too soon, she hoped. She needed to spend time with Reina. She needed a private talk with her maid. Juan had agreed to act as a lure today, and he would want to stay for the questioning and take pieces of those men’s flesh. She needed him to come to her, as quickly as possible. She needed to make her own plans. “Lead the way, if you please, Cass.”
Cool air rushed to where his hand had rested, and she felt suddenly adrift and mentally muddled. She must pull herself together. She must not grow dependent on Charles Everly, especially when he had this effect upon her. Stiffening her spine, she followed the maid.
The large suite of rooms that comprised the nursery was tucked at the back of the house on the uppermost floor below the attic rooms.
“It is a longer walk to this nursery than my voyage to England,” Graciela said.
“It’s indeed a large house, miss.”
“With many windows and doors.” Escape would be easy.
The maid stopped at one of those doors, its raised panels darkened by time and regular oiling. “You and the babe, and your people, will be safe here, miss. Mr. Everly will see to it.”
The girl’s fierce look was belied by a blush. She had atendrefor Mr. Everly.
Was he dallying with servants?
“My husband is a footman here. He served Lord Shaldon in the war. You will be safe.”
Graciela’s heart fluttered. He was not dallying. The servants of Shaldon house were carefully screened, he had said. Loyalty, discretion, skills. This one was of middling height, and—she peered more closely—perhaps not as young as she’d first thought.
“Thank you, then, Cass. It will be good to feel safe for awhile.”
She pushed open the door to bright light pouring through the windows. This was a playroom, and had recently been torn asunder, the plunder still scattered about. It was a world away from the grimy, austere attic nursery at Kingsley house. Here there were toys, and games, and paints, and even a pair of hobbyhorses.
