Chapter Twenty-Seven
8:02 p.m.
Olivia slipped into the scented water. “Heaven. Positive heaven.”
“Aye, it’s nice, my Lady.” Edith soaped a cloth and Olivia, with wicked decadence, allowed the servant to wash her back. She reveled in the warm water, and relished the scent of verbena. Edith washed her hair, too, with fingers surprisingly strong for a girl her age.
“Verbena,” Olivia said with a sigh. “I adore verbena.”
“Aye, my Lady.”
“I’ll just soak awhile, Edith, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in all my life.”
“Call when you’re done, My Lady.”
Eyes closed, she leaned against the side of the tub. Wouldn’t it be lovely to think nothing of having a servant to look after her every need? A draft raised goose pimples on her shoulders, which surprised her because the water remained quite warm, and she knew from the warmth of the air that the fire hadn’t gone out. She sank deeper into the tub. Was Tiern-Cope in his bath right now? Water lapping at his thighs. The draft persisted. “Edith? Has the fire gone out?”
“I’ll see to it, Mistress.” Edith’s voice sounded faint, as if she were far away.
Olivia had the oddest sensation that the world had shifted. Her head felt full. She rubbed her temples, but the feeling only increased. Beads of water slid down the metal sides of the tub, eventually joining the bathwater. Condensation fogged the cheval mirror. The wardrobe door was open, revealing shirts neatly stacked on a shelf.
Air swirled over her shoulders leaving a wake of chilled skin. To her left something stirred in the shadows. She blinked. The swordsman stood by the fire, as clear and solid as day. Her heart thundered in her ears so loud he must surely hear. She started to sit up, then remembered her naked state. Water sloshed in the tub. “I beg your pardon.”
He inclined his head. Steam from the water swirled, but Olivia saw his dark hair. He was tall and wore a tunic worked with red and gold. A leather strap crossed from right shoulder to left waist and held the scabbard fastened across his back. A jeweled belt circled his waist. His eyes matched the blue of the sky. The way he stood struck her as familiar. She closed her eyes. He was still there when she opened them again. “I am not mad,” she said. “Is that you? Edith?”
Even with the distance between them and the mist swirling in the air, she saw his blue eyes, the arrogant set to his shoulders that came of years of wealth and breeding. His grin sent a flare of alarm up her spine. He took a step toward her, and for one dreadful moment, she was convinced he was as real as she was. He tipped his head and spread his arms wide, as if to prove himself harmless. “Go away.” Fear made her voice thick. “Please, just go away.”
He shook his head again.
“I’m not mad,” she whispered.
He shook his head again.
“I wish you were real.” With a sigh—whether of resignation or something else, she did not know—she sat forward in the tub and set a wave of water in motion. She had the oddest sensation of moving not just through space but through time. Her head felt heavy, as if the very air were thickening, slowing her down, and she had to pull herself through the wake of her forward motion. Then, like the snapping of wire stretched beyond its length, the heaviness vanished.
Water lapped against the end of the tub, rolling back and forth like tiny waves. She rose and stepped out of the tub. The steam had cleared so she could see her reflection in the cheval glass. Edith’s arm stretched into the mirror view, snatching a towel from a bench. Behind her and behind Edith, stood Tiern-Cope. Sebastian. He wore evening dress and held a package of awkward shape. Dun breeches, gold waistcoat, blue tail coat and shoes with gold buckles. His cravat had rather bold knot for him. Like her, his attention was fixed on the mirror. Edith unfurled a towel, holding it up to hide her. Too late, of course.
“My lord.” Olivia raised her arms so that Edith could wrap the towel around her.
“Olivia.”
“You look handsome.”
He walked to table while Edith toweled her off. She heard the clatter of porcelain, the wetness of liquid poured. “Here.” He wheeled around, cup and saucer in hand. “Sit near the fire so your hair will dry.”
She took the cup and breathed in the steam. “I didn’t know you knew how to make tea.” Edith brought a chair to the hearth and Olivia, wrapped in her towel, sat.
“I’m not useless.” His package lay on the desk, a bulky shape. The tea warmed her hands and when she sipped, cradling the cup, she sighed with pleasure. Fresh, strong tea. Not leaves saved from a second or third brewing. “Oolong,” he told her. “Sweet enough for you?”
“Perfect.”
“Good.” He took a step toward her. With the tip of his finger, he traced the line of her jaw. She felt his soul reach for hers. He wrapped one of her damp curls around his finger. “Edith, I’ve brought her something to wear.” With his free hand, he pointed at the desk. “See to her, won’t you? She’s a ball tonight.”
“Milord.”
Sebastian sat on the chair Olivia left, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Muscle shaped the back of his thighs in a way Olivia thought she’d never tire of seeing. With Edith’s help, she dressed quickly. He’d forgotten nothing, not stockings, chemise, petticoats, stays, slippers, garters, or gloves. Even the reticule and a fan that matched the gown. “I remember this.” Olivia ran her hands down the black velvet skirt and fingered the gold cord that trimmed the neckline. “I cut it down from one of Mama’s. Took me weeks to make it.”
“It suits you.” He studied her. “Do something with her hair, Edith. Something to show off these lovely curls. You know how I like it.”
“Yes, your lordship.” Edith placed two ivory combs in her hair, bringing the mass of curls away from her face. She pinned the rest into a fall of copper at the back of her head.
“There are women, Olivia, who would kill to have your curls.”
She smiled. “Sometimes I think I’d kill to give them away.”
“There’s one last thing you need,” he said.
“What’s that?”
He took a string of gold beads from his pocket. They settled around her neck, surprisingly warm. His fingers brushed the corner of her mouth. “You’ll do,” he said. “My own heart, you’ll do.”