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His hands drummed against her sore muscles, pounding away tension as he said, “I learned this from an East Indian holy man, who believed that the body could be cured of most ailments by the mind and simple rituals. He was probably right, but it’s taken me a long time to realize that.”
It was shadowed in the bed, a lamp across the room the only light. It felt suddenly intimate, familiar, as his hands moved from shoulders to the small of her back, kneading and rubbing away stress. She was lulled by his low, husky voice and soothing hands, drifting on a tide of well-being that must have been summoned by the brandy and hot bath.
“Did you recognize the men who attacked you, Celia? You don’t need to talk. Just nod if you did.”
She gave a slow shake of her head, tension returning at the memory, and he soothed her with circular motions of his hands across her back, his tone pragmatic and calm.
“I’ve got my own ideas about who it was, but I need you to be honest with me. If you aren’t, you could be in danger yourself, though you may not even know why.”
She started to turn over, but he held her still, his knees tightening on each side of her hips, his hands a firm, steady pressure on her back.
“No, lay still for now. Listen to me instead of trying to talk. I know there are some things you aren’t telling me, or even your cousin.” His hands tightened again when she jerked, his voice relentless. “It would be in your best interests to tell me everything. If I’m wrong, then you’ll just have to take my word that I only want to help you.”
Help? She strangled a painful laugh. How much help would he be if she told him she wanted to destroy his father?
Oh, she’d had too much brandy, her head hurt and her entire body was sore. She wanted to go to sleep, yet she wanted him to continue rubbing away the aches, wanted his hands on her, needed to feel him close and know that she was safe. Odd, of all men in the world, he was not the one she would have thought she’d feel safe with, yet she did. Yes, it must be the brandy. How else to explain it?
“Celia, I want to know how well-acquainted you are with Carlisle. This isn’t the time for secrets.”
Carlisle? But what had he to do with anything? Unless…oh, he wouldn’t have attacked her. She would have recognized him, she was certain. Why on earth did Colter think she was familiar with the man?
“I know,” he continued, his hands still massaging her sore body, “that you met him aboard the ship. It couldn’t have been a long acquaintance, unless you knew him, or of him, before that. Did you?”
She shook her head slowly, hands kneading the clean white linen sheets that smelled slightly of laundry soap and exotic scents. This house was nothing like she’d imagined a house of ill repute would be, she thought distractedly, with clean sheets and baths available, and rather decadent furnishings, if opulent and luxurious—What was he saying now?
“What did Carlisle give you to hold for him? A book, perhaps, or a package?”
She tried to think through the waves of muddled heat in her brain, her body urging her to oblivion but her mind still straining to hold to coherence. Carlisle’s face was a vague blur of memory, his offer to escort her once they disembarked in London summoning a niggling detail that she couldn’t quite capture. There was something…yes, he had given her a map, but that wasn’t the same thing as a book or a package. Was it important? And why was he asking all these questions…Oh, if only she could think clearly, but her head ached so…
“Celia love, what did Carlisle give you to hold for him? Answer me, and I’ll let you go to sleep.”
He sounded so demanding, his tone almost harsh now, as if he was irritated. Celia tried to recall what she had been thinking a moment before. Yes, there had been the map. She managed a nod o
f her head as she ground out, “A map,” then heard Colter swear softly before he said, “Go to sleep now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Tomorrow…yes, tomorrow would be better, for maybe then her head wouldn’t hurt so badly and she could focus on what he was asking her—and why. But right now it hurt too badly to think, to do more than just feel, and he was being so unusually gentle.
It was almost as if he was a different person, a man who shed personalities the way she changed cloaks.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt safe, as if no harm would come to her while with him. It was as astonishing as it was comforting.
She must have slept, for when she woke it was to an empty bed and thin threads of sunlight piercing heavy drapes over the window. Blinking against streamers of dusty light, Celia took a cautious survey of her aches and pains. Amazingly there was little soreness, though there were thin red scratches on her arms, and the bruises were a deep purple.
At least her throat was no longer sore, but it was very dry and she was thirsty; there was nothing on the bedside table to drink, not even her brandy from the night before. It looked as if the room had been cleaned, for through the open door she saw that the bath had been removed from the sitting room. It was quiet in the house, very still. Where was Colter? Had he just left her here?
Groggily she sat up and stuck her legs over the side of the bed, holding the coverlet over her breasts as she slid to her feet to wobble to a small round table nearby. A wave of dizziness made her falter, and she leaned on the top of the table to steady her balance.
A pitcher of water and two glasses sat on a silver tray. The chink of fine crystal sounded quite loud in the room as she poured a drink rather clumsily; she was loathe to release her only covering. What if someone should walk in?
She must find her clothes and manage to leave as discreetly as possible. But her gown had been torn, she remembered, as the events of the night before came rushing back. Her hand shook and water spilled onto a lace cloth arranged over the table. She set down the pitcher before she dropped it.
The water tasted slightly musty, but eased her parched throat, and she drank two glasses before she felt she had had enough.
“Ah, my little camel, I see you’re awake,” Colter said behind her, and she managed to set down the empty glass and turn to look at him without falling over or losing her grip on the bedclothes. Her heart gave an erratic thump. He was leaning negligently against the door frame, regarding her with a faint smile. He’d changed clothes, and now wore a dark coat, snug trousers and boots to his knees.
Must he look so handsome this early in the morning? She probably looked a fright, with her hair all loose and eyes puffy from sleep. Just where did he sleep last night, she wondered as she tightened her grip on the downward sliding blanket, chin jutting out when he grinned insolently at her hoarse reply.
“Yes, and it’s time for me to leave. My cousin must be worried sick about me, and—”
