CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“HERE!” CALLIE EXCLAIMED. “But that would surely ruin my reputation.”
“Who is to know that you were here unless you or I tell them? I assure you, Mrs. Farmington will not say a word for fear of losing her position here. Tomorrow I will ride into town and hire a chaise for you. You can return to London, and no one will be the wiser. Unless—” he looked worried “—Francesca has spread the word about that the duke is injured and here.”
“I do not think she would,” Callie said. “Francesca is no gossip. And I doubt she would have received visitors or gone out tonight. She would have been exhausted from having spent the day with Aunt Odelia. Besides, she will be awaiting word from me about Sinclair’s condition.”
“Good. Then no one will know,” he said.
Callie nodded slowly, thinking about the fact that they would still be alone in this house together. She remembered how the firelight had rippled across his bare chest, turning his skin golden and highlighting the smooth curve of his muscles beneath his skin.
“I promise you, I will do nothing to you,” he told her quietly. “But if it will make you feel easier, I will sleep in the stables, so that you are truly alone in the house. Mrs. Farmington has clearly already returned to her cottage in the village. And you can lock the doors and windows.”
“No, you need not do that.” Callie was not about to tell him that she had been worrying more about the pull of attraction she felt toward him than his trying to have his way with her. “I believe you.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
Their eyes held for a moment; then they both looked away, feeling suddenly awkward. Bromwell cleared his throat and glanced about the room, as though he would find some sort of answer there.
“I imagine you would like to get some sleep,” he began finally. “Shall I show you to your room?”
“Yes, please.”
“I, uh, perhaps I can find you something to, um, sleep in,” he went on as they left the room, color tinting the high ridges of his cheekbones. “One of my shirts or…” His voice trailed off.
Callie thought of sleeping in one of Brom’s shirts, and her loins prickled with desire. It seemed far too intimate, almost as if he would be there with her. She wondered if any scent of him would still linger on the material.
They started along the hall to the staircase, which lay near the front door. Callie saw the small cloth bag that she had brought with her lying beside the door. She supposed it must have been there earlier, though she had not noticed it in her panic as she ran out the front door.
“Look. It is my bag.” She went forward to pick it up, but Brom took it from her hand. “That man must have brought it in. I did not notice.”
“Good. Then you will have your clothes.” He looked away as he said it.
Everything seemed awkward now, Callie thought. She wondered if he, like she, could not stop thinking about the fact that they were alone together. There were no chaperones and no one to tell tales. No one would know what transpired tonight except them.
He led her up the stairs and along the hallway, stopping at the last door. “Here is your room. I fear it is rather cold. Let me light you a fire. Excuse me a moment.”
It was indeed chilly in the room, which had clearly been unused for a while. Bromwell set down her bag and lit the lamp on the table beside the bed, then left the room. He returned a few moments later, carrying some firewood and kindling in his arms. Callie noted that he had also taken the time to put on a shirt, though he had not bothered to tuck it in, so that it hung loosely outside his trousers.
He knelt in front of the fireplace and began to build a fire. He coaxed the flames into life, and before long the fireplace was giving forth warmth. Callie, who had stood watching him, huddled in the light blanket he had given her, went over to the hearth.
He smiled at her. “I hope you have not caught a chill.” He reached out and smoothed back a stray curl of her hair, which had caught upon her cheek.
Callie found herself wanting to lean into his hand like a cat, to close her eyes and give herself up to the wonderful feeling of being with him, of feeling his skin touch hers.
His hand fell away, and he moved across the room to the window. He parted the curtains with his hand and stood there looking out into the dark night.
After a moment, he said, “I believe I told you that my mother died when I was young. My nurse used to call Daphne my ‘little mother.’ She looked after me, played with me. We were all we had growing up. My father was…” His lip curled in distaste. “I have always sworn that I would never be such a one as my father. He had no understanding of or love for children. He expected us to behave as adults, and there was no quarter given for youth or a lack of strength or skill.”
“I am sorry,” Callie said, her heart melting in sympathy.
He looked over at her and smiled. “I did not mean to ask for your pity. I wanted to explain about Daphne. She protected me from him. His punishments were stern, even cruel, and she tried to shelter me from them. She would hide me, make excuses for me, even take the blame for something I had done because she could not bear to see me hurt. I have much to be grateful to her for.”
“I know.” Callie’s smile was sad. She understood his love for his sister. Daphne had been the only one who loved him. She knew that he could never give up his sister, no matter how wrong she was in her actions.
“She had to bear a great deal. I was too young to shelter her in any way. My father insisted that she marry advantageously. She was beautiful, and there were many men who wanted her. She married a man years older than she, a man she did not love, and she did it for us, to keep our estate from being swallowed up in my father’s debt. I remember hearing her weep in her room the night before her wedding day. And then, when she was finally free of him and could have a new life, a good life, she fell in love with Rochford. I hated him for her unhappiness. For her having to marry another old man and wither away for the last fifteen years, so far from everything she loved.”
He turned to Callie, frowning. “And now…now I feel as if I do not know her. The things she has done to try to harm you. This ruse. That night at Vauxhall Gardens. I can scarcely believe that this is my sister, that she would stoop to such tricks. Her heart seems filled with bitterness and hatred. And now I…now I cannot help but wonder if I ever really understood her at all. Were all those things she told me lies? Was she the same then, and I just did not see it? Was I simply too young and foolish to recognize the truth?”
The look on Bromwell’s face was so wretched that Callie went to him and put her hand on his arm. “I am sorry,” she told him softly again, gazing up into his face.
Her dark eyes glowed with compassion, large and warm in her delicate heart-shaped face, and he was struck all over again by how beautiful she was. Her face, he thought, was perfect in every way, framed in a riot of black curls. Her lips were full and red, and he could not help but remember how her mouth had felt against his. And though he was across the room from the fire, his skin was suddenly searing.
The wrap had fallen from her shoulders when she reached up to touch him, and his eyes dropped down to her shoulders and chest. The scoop neckline of her plain dimity gown revealed only a slice of skin along the rounded tops of her breasts, but the material, still slightly damp, clung to her form. His heart was hammering, his breath suddenly faster in his throat. As he gazed at her, her nipples tightened, thrusting against the cloth in a blatant show of desire.
Suddenly he found it very difficult to think. He knew he should tear his gaze away from her, but somehow he could not. His body was pulsatingly aware of her hand upon his arm, now burning where it touched.
“I, um…should go,” he said vaguely.
“No. Do not,” Callie replied. She was aware that everyone would tell her that what she was doing was wrong, but it felt absolutely right to her. The pain of the past few weeks seemed to have melted away all fear, all doubt. The heat in his eyes as he had looked at her had opened up some deep, primitive longing in her. She wanted to feel again what she had felt with him before. She wanted to experience everything that had lain beyond that, unexplored.
She slid her hand up his arm and onto his chest, aware of the smooth curve of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The quick, harsh intake of his breath, the sudden sharpening of his face, stirred her. He wanted her, and that knowledge made her hungry.
“Stay here with me,” she murmured.
“Callie…” He released a shaky breath. “You are playing with fire.”
She smiled slowly, sensuously, her eyes heavy with meaning. “Ah, but I like the heat.”
Looking at him, seeing the desire that washed over his features, she felt heady with power, filled with the triumphant knowledge that she could move him, and she ached to test the limits of that power. She loved the sensations sizzling inside her, and she wanted more, wanted it all. She wanted him.
“I have thought about kissing you these past days,” she told him, emboldened by the energy pulsing through her. “Have you not thought about it?” She stretched up on tiptoe to place a featherlight kiss upon the line of his jaw.
She felt the shudder that ran through him. “Good God, Callie, I have thought of little else.” She turned her head, brushing a kiss along the other side of his jaw. “You are mad to do this.”
“Perhaps I am, a little,” she agreed. “Do you mind?”
“I fear that you shall mind—tomorrow.”
“I will not,” Callie promised, pressing her lips to his chin.
She stretched upward, her soft lips beckoning his mouth, sweet and promising. He knew that he should pull away. A gentleman would never take advantage of a woman this way. But he could not seem to make his legs move, and he certainly did not feel like a gentleman at the moment.
Callie pressed her lips against Brom’s, gently, like the merest breath, then came back to taste again, lingering this time before she pulled away. She looked up into his eyes, dark now with desire, and waited. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, the tension that ran up and down the length of him. His hands were clenched into fists, as if to hold on tightly to the shreds of his control.
Her eyes steadily on his, she went up on tiptoe again, her mouth turning up to his. He let out a groan deep in his throat, and his arms clamped around her as his mouth came down to meet hers. Passion, long held back by both of them, came flooding out, swift and unstoppable.
Their arms strained to pull them closer as their mouths clung desperately. They pulled away only to tear at their clothing, coming back together an instant later, unable to bear another moment apart, moving in a constant turning dance of desire that brought them closer and closer to the bed.
His boots were soon gone, and his shirt unbuttoned and tossed blindly onto the floor. The myriad buttons down her back proved more difficult, but they, too, were conquered, though several of the small buttons were popped from their moorings in the process. In one smooth motion he stripped her dress down her body, revealing her lithe form, clad only in her thin undergarments.
Callie’s breasts pushed up against the cotton chemise, swelling over its ribboned neckline, the nubs of her hardened nipples visible through the thin fabric. He stopped, his eyes dropping to the sight of the full white orbs, the edge of the chemise skimming just above her nipples, keeping them tantalizingly out of view. Slowly, almost reverently, he traced his forefinger along the neckline, his skin grazing her soft white flesh. Callie quivered beneath his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
With the same deliberation, his fingers hooked into the top of the chemise, edging the material downward. The cloth rubbed over her sensitive nipples, tightening them further, as he slowly tugged it down until at last her nipples popped free, hard and pointing, dark rose in their arousal.
He pulled the chemise down sharply then, little noticing and caring less for the faint ripping sound of the fabric. Her breasts fell free of the garment, firm and deliciously rounded, full white globes that seemed made for his hands. He could not keep from reaching out and cupping them, taking the weight of them in his hands, savoring the silken smooth feel of her skin. His thumbs moved over her nipples, circling and teasing the hard buds.
With each movement Callie felt desire curl and knot within her, her loins melting, turning her hot and liquid. She could not keep still. Her flesh jerked and quivered beneath his touch; her legs moved restlessly, pressing together as though to still the relentless yearning that was growing there.
She wanted each moment to last forever, yet at the same time she was filled with an urgent need, an eagerness that wanted to find and grasp and have everything at once.
Callie reached out, finding the waistband of his breeches, and began to unbutton them. She could feel the insistent movement beneath the cloth, the physical proof of his need, and she could not resist sliding her hand downward over the material, caressing the throbbing ridge beneath it.
Brom let out a low moan, which emboldened her to explore further, gliding lower to edge between his legs, then back up to slip between his trousers and his skin, down past the top unfastened button. It was completely unknown to her, the feel of satin-smooth skin and rough hair, the eager, leaping surge of flesh, and it was strangely exciting.
He seized her lips in a fierce kiss, his mouth devouring hers as she made her tentative sensual exploration, and he caressed her breasts, gently squeezing and stroking. Desire sparked through her, jumping and twisting with each movement of his hands.
Suddenly, as though he could wait no longer, Brom released her, moving back a little and reaching down to unbutton his breeches and sweep them down his body. Callie barely had time to react before he was untying her chemise and petticoats, pulling them from her and throwing them toward a chair.
He went down on one knee, startling her, and she realized that he was untying her boots. He lifted her foot to pull one off, and she put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. He looked up at her as he raised the other foot and pulled the boot from it, and his eyes were intense and bright with promise. Callie suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
Brom slid his hand up under the lace-trimmed leg of her pantalet, following the curve of her calf and moving up onto her thigh. He hooked his fingers into her garter and slowly drew it, and her stocking, down, his hands gliding over her now-bare flesh with infinite slowness. Callie swallowed hard; her skin tingled under his touch, and her legs felt unaccountably weak, as if they might give way beneath her at any moment. With the same care, he removed her other stocking.
Then he rose to his feet, his hands sliding up her legs and over her pantalets until he reached the waistband. Slowly, his eyes holding hers, he tugged at the ribbon, untying the bow. His hands slid under the loosened waistband, shoving the thin cotton garment out of the way as his hands smoothed down over the lush curve of her hips. The pantalets fell the rest of the way to the floor, and she stood before him completely naked at last.
His eyes roamed down over her body, his face slackening with hunger. Callie thought she should have felt embarrassed to have him look at her like this—and perhaps she was, a little—but to her surprise, his gaze stirred her as though it was his fingers that roamed over her flesh. She could feel the moisture gathering between her legs, the tender flesh throbbing.
“You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely, and he bent to pick her up in his arms and carry her the last few steps to the bed.
He laid her down upon the mattress and stretched out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand went to her chest, spreading his fingers on the flat plane of her rib cage, then traveling, curving over her breasts, then onto her stomach, caressing her abdomen, her hips, and at last moving down the side of her leg. His fingers slipped then between her legs, separating them, and slid down the inside of her thigh. Slowly, his hand began to retrace its path upward.
Callie’s breath came short and fast as his fingers trailed higher, teasing the tender inner skin of her thighs, moving ever closer to his goal. Then, at last, he reached the center of her femininity, the lush secret folds that guarded her. Heat poured through her as he touched her there, gently separating and exploring that most intimate place.
She bit her lip, so sudden and sharp was the exquisite pleasure, and arched against his hand. She had never dreamed that anything could feel quite like this, that her body could surge and melt at the merest touch of his finger.
Callie groaned and moved beneath his hand, and he smiled down at her, his face heavy with sensual triumph. He bent and touched his lips to her breast, and she gasped at this new sensation. His lips moved across the soft white flesh, kissing and nibbling gently, teasing with the tip of his tongue, until he came to the hard button of her nipple. There he stopped and concentrated his attention, circling and teasing, until finally his mouth came down upon it and he began to suckle her in long, luxurious strokes.
A shudder shook her body at the combined pleasures of his mouth and fingers. Callie felt as if every part of her was on fire, and the molten center of that flame lay deep in her abdomen, where she pulsed and burned with a desperate need. She writhed beneath his ministrations, digging in with her heels and clutching at the coverlet beneath her.
“Please, please,” she begged, feeling as if she must die, must explode.
He moved over her, and she opened her legs to receive him. He slid his hands beneath her hips, tilting her up, and she felt the tip of him probing at the tender intimate flesh. She arched up gladly to meet him, and he slid into her slowly, carefully, his body taut with the strain of holding back.
She had heard that there was always pain the first time, but she felt none, only a wonderful fulfillment as the full length of him slid inside her, stretching and filling her. Callie let out a low cry of pleasure, calling his name, and he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, as he began to thrust in and out. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, moving in time with his long, sure strokes.
His breath was harsh and ragged in her ear, and his searing heat enveloped her. Callie felt herself surrounded by him, immersed in him, and she reveled in the sensation. Tension was building deep in her abdomen, growing with each movement he made, knotting and re-knotting ever tighter, until at last it exploded in a glorious burst of pleasure so intense that she cried out.
Brom shuddered and groaned, pumping into her wildly as he hurtled to his own peak with her, and together they collapsed, spent and exhausted and utterly replete. Brom murmured her name as he rolled from her, his arms still wrapped around her; then he reached out with one arm and grabbed the coverlet, pulling it over and around them like a cocoon. And together they drifted into sleep.
CALLIE CAME SLOWLY AWAKE, aware first that it was very hot and, secondly, that something very heavy was weighing her down. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself gazing at a large expanse of firm flesh, with hair prickling her nose. She blinked, and in another moment she was fully awake. The heat came from Brom’s large body, which she lay against, her cheek on his chest. And the heavy weight was his arm thrown across her.
Memories of the night before came flooding back in on her, and she smiled to herself. A woman of greater virtue, she thought, would doubtless have been embarrassed, even ashamed. She, however, was bursting with happiness; there was no room in her for any other feeling.
Despite the heat, she lay there for a moment longer, luxuriating in the new feeling of her body, alive with the imprint of last night’s pleasures and pleasantly sore.
Finally she eased out of bed, letting the coverlet fall back over Brom’s body. She glanced about the room ruefully. Their clothes were scattered all over. Remembering the few faint ripping sounds as they undressed, she suspected that her garments might not be in wearable condition anymore. It was a good thing that she had brought several additional frocks in her bag.
The fire had died to ashes, but she scarcely noticed the cold as she made her way over to the window. The room was still dim, but the light that came in through the slit in the draperies made her think that it was already long past sunrise. She pulled aside a corner of the thick drape and looked out. It was indeed morning; the landscape was washed with sunshine. She let the curtain fall and turned back to the room.
Her dress lay in a heap in front of a chair; her petticoats were tossed over the foot of the bed; her boots were several feet apart. And her chemise was a crumpled little ball near the door. She made her way around the room, picking up her clothes.
As she turned back toward the bed, she saw Bromwell, braced on one elbow, watching her. She gasped, dropping the garments in her surprise.
He smiled. “Ah, now that is much better. Those clothes were hiding far too much.”
“What are you doing?” she scolded. “You scared me!”
“Watching you,” he replied.
“Why did you not speak? I didn’t know you were awake.”
“I know. That made it all the more enjoyable,” he replied, grinning unrepentantly.
She bent down to retrieve her clothes, holding them in front of her, her cheeks high with color.
“Nay. Do not hide yourself,” he said. “I like to look at you.”
Callie smiled a little, feeling strangely shy and yet excited, too, the now-familiar warmth stealing through her loins. “’Tis scarcely fair, as you are modestly covered.”
That was not quite true, as the cover had slid down to his waist, and she could see the full expanse of his chest and arms, which, she would be the first to admit, was a very nice sight.
Brom grinned and reached down to flip the covers aside. “There. You may look as much as I.”
Her cheeks flushed as her eyes of their own volition ran down his body, taking in the tanned, firm flesh, the smooth curve of muscle, as well as the unmistakable sign that he was already aroused.
“Oh!” she said, her eyes widening and her blush deepening. But she found that the sight of his thickening staff deepened the heat that was already alive in her.
“Yes,” he admitted, grinning. “I am a slave to you.”
“A slave to your own base desires, I should say,” she told him saucily, but she dropped the garments and strolled over to the bed, her faint embarrassment overridden by the tingle of pleasure that went through her as his eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, roamed her body.
“Only where you are concerned,” he assured her, reaching out to grab her arm and pull her the last few inches to the bed.
He turned to sit on the edge of the mattress, bracing his heels, and put his hands on her hips, pulling her up against him. Callie smiled into his eyes and put her hands on his shoulders, moving them slowly down and back up, then lower over his chest. She could feel his arousal pushing against her abdomen, and it made her smile wickedly.
“You enjoy that, don’t you?” he growled, nuzzling into her neck. “The thought of making me suffer.”
“No,” she disputed, trailing her fingernails lightly down his chest. “’Tis the thought of ending your suffering that makes me smile.”
He laughed, his breath hot on her neck, and nipped lightly at the taut cord. “That, my lady, you are welcome to do.”
With those words, his arms went around her and he pulled her back onto the bed with him, rolling over quickly so that she was beneath him. Pulling her arms above her head, he anchored them with one hand and proceeded to kiss his way down her body. His lips lingered over her skin, taking his time as he explored her. She writhed, tugging at her hands, but he continued to hold them trapped beneath his.
“Nay, not yet,” he murmured. “First it is my turn to pleasure you. Then you may have your way.”
He made slow, sweet love to her with his mouth and hands, bringing her closer and closer to that wild, delicious burst of passion that she had experienced the night before. But each time, as she drew near, trembling and eager, he retreated, only to bring her to the heights again.
As his mouth loved her breasts, his fingers sought out the hot, throbbing center of her desire, gliding over the slick folds and smoothing over the tiny nub deep within them. She arched up against him, almost sobbing in her need. At last his fingers tightened on her, rhythmically stroking, until she tensed all over and a high, small cry issued from her mouth as pleasure washed through her in deep waves.
Callie lay, looking up at Brom through dark, slumbrous eyes. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, then moved between her legs.
“Oh, no,” Callie said huskily, smiling up at him. She braced her hands on his chest and pushed him over onto his back.
He went easily, grinning up at her. “What? That is enough for you? You want to stop?”
“No, not stop. Postpone. It is my turn now, remember? You said that I could have my way with you next.”
His grin broadened. “So I did. Tell me, my lady, what do you have planned?”
“I think that I shall make it up as I go along,” Callie retorted. “I am just learning, you remember.”
He linked his hands behind his head, assuming a relaxed pose, despite the unmistakable evidence of his desire springing up between his legs. “Feel free to improvise, then.”
Callie moved over him, straddling him, and his eyes darkened with desire. She slid her hands across his chest, exploring his thoroughly masculine body. Her hands were firm upon him, finding the different textures of hard bone and springing muscle, smooth skin and wiry hair. Her fingers glided over his flat nipples, teasing them to hard life; then she bent and applied her mouth to them as he had done to her, lashing and stroking and circling until they were engorged and hard as pebbles, their color a deep, dark rose.
She sat up, shifting her body a little on his, and a low moan escaped him at her movement. Callie smiled sensually and moved again, feeling him stir and throb against her. She rubbed her body over him, exciting herself as much as him as flesh slipped over flesh, the wiry hair on his chest delicately abrading her supremely sensitive nipples.
His hands went to her hips to move her down onto his swollen shaft, but Callie smiled and shook her head. “Oh, no, not yet. I have not had my way nearly enough. Why, I haven’t even kissed you.”
She went down on all fours above him, moving up a little until her face was over his. She gazed down at him. His skin was stretched taut over his facial bones, his mouth full and sensual, and his eyes blazed with feverish light. He had long since given up his casual pose with his hands locked behind his head. They now gripped the cover beneath him, tightly holding on to his control.
Callie bent and kissed his forehead lightly, brushing her lips against his skin. She made her way down his face, kissing the tender skin of his closed eyelids, the sharp cheekbones that fascinated her, the strong masculine jaw and chin, settling finally on his mouth. She kissed him deeply and long. She could feel his muscles bunch and gather beneath her, and she knew that he was twitching and burning as she had done earlier.
She raised her head and slid off his body. He made a noise of protest and reached for her, but she pushed his hand away and began to kiss her way down his chest as her hand slid farther down his body. Her fingers glided light as air over his chest and stomach, then down onto the sharp outcropping of his hipbone and onto his thigh, furred with curling hair. He stirred, his legs moving restlessly, and made a low noise.
Her fingers teased back up the inside of his thigh, until her fingertips found the heavy sac between his legs. She hesitated a little timidly, then gently moved her fingertips across it. He sucked in his breath and moved his hips involuntarily.
“Do you like that?” she whispered, pressing her lips against his throat.
His answer was a low, urgent noise.
“I shall take that as agreement,” she said, and cupped him in her palm.
He shivered beneath her gentle movements, and she grew bolder, sliding her fingers up the underside of his manhood and curving her fingers around it. She moved slowly, exploring the satin-smooth skin that overlay the hard member, which was throbbing now with desire.
Then, with a low growl, he put his hands on her arms, and in one swift motion, she was on her back and he was over her, between her legs and smoothly sliding into her. Callie let out a soft sob, so sweet was the feeling of his filling her again. She wrapped herself around him, holding on tightly as he rode hard and fast to his completion, taking her with him into the dazzling explosion of their desire.
THEY LAY FOR A LONG TIME in a blissful state, floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Callie was curled on her side, her head on Brom’s arm, and his arm draped over her. She felt deliciously spent and lazy, and her mind drifted in a pleasant haze.
Finally, however, with a sigh, Bromwell moved his arm away, saying, “I must go into town and hire a post chaise.”
“Later,” Callie murmured, snuggling back against him.
He chuckled and stroked his hand down the side of her body. “Vixen. You cannot tempt me from my purpose.”
She turned her head, casting a sparkling glance his way. “Is that a challenge?”
He laughed and planted a kiss upon the point of her bare shoulder. “No, for I know I should not win that one.”
He kissed her mouth then, more slowly, but pulled away after a moment, saying, “No. I must go. We must get you back to London before anyone knows you are gone.”
She nodded, realizing the truth of his words, though she was reluctant to give up this moment. Once she left Blackfriars Cope, everything would change.
Bromwell did not bother to scoop up his clothing, only grabbing his boots as he left the room to return to his bedchamber and dress. With a sigh, Callie, too, arose. It was chilly in the room, so she wrapped herself in the same light blanket that Brom had given her the night before when he brought her in from the rain.
She picked up her bag and pulled out the change of clothes that her maid had packed. Fortunately she had had the foresight to pack a simple morning dress that buttoned up the front, so that it was easy enough to put on without help. It was rather wrinkled, but there would be no one to see, and it would soon enough be wrinkled from traveling, anyway.
Brom came in a few minutes later, once again dressed, bringing with him a pitcher of water for the washstand, and told her that he was going down to see if the housekeeper had shown up for work this morning.
Callie quickly washed and dressed, brushing out her tangled hair with some difficulty and pinning it up into a simple knot at the crown of her head. Then she hurried down the stairs and made her way toward the back of the house, following the sounds of crockery and metal pots.
She found Brom in the kitchen alone, setting down plates and eating utensils at a large wooden table. He looked up at her and grinned a little sheepishly. “Mrs. Farmington is not here. But I have made tea, and found butter and jelly, and I’ve managed to slice off a few pieces of bread for toast.”
“That sounds perfect,” Callie said, beaming.
The toast was a trifle burned on one side and soft on the other, and the tea was terribly strong, but it was, Callie thought, the best breakfast she had ever eaten. He described his culinary efforts, sending her into giggles, and as they talked and ate, he kept reaching out to caress her hand or smooth a piece of hair back from her cheek, as if he could not go too long without touching her.
They had just finished eating and were reluctantly rising from the table when Callie heard a sound in the yard outside. She turned her head, listening. “Is that a horse I hear?”
Callie glanced out the window, but she could see nothing but the side yard and the stables.
Brom went still. “Yes. Someone riding fast.”
They started out of the kitchen and were halfway down the hall when there was a thunderous knock at the door. Callie and Brom glanced at each other. She felt suddenly uneasy.
The pounding continued, and Brom strode to the door and yanked it open. The Duke of Rochford stood framed in the doorway.