Edwina sat up, pulling aside the edge of the velvet curtain to survey the room. Nothing whatsoever stirred. There wasn’t even a draft from the windows. The air in the room was cool but not the icy blast she’d felt along her shoulder.
Forcing herself out of the bed, Edwina checked to see that her door was still locked. She made the daring move of looking beneath the bed as she had when she was a child. To search for monsters.
Nothing.
Edwina drew in a shaky breath. “I was dreaming. A nightmare. Nothing more,” she said out loud to the stillness of the room. Again, she cursed McDeaver and his macabre stories. Turning back to the warmth of the bed, Edwina halted. Roses. The scent permeated the entire room, as if someone had filled a dozen vases with nothing but the bloodred blooms that sprawled all over the grounds of Rose Abbey.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she chanted to herself. “A bad dream, nothing more.” Edwina looked around the room. One small crimson rose petal lay on the table next to her empty teacup.
Edwina clasped her trembling hands together. Meg must have been arranging flowers. A petal dropped on the tray before she brought the tea to Edwina. She only hadn’t noticed the petal earlier.
Cautiously, still scanning her room, Edwina crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She thought of the portrait of the abbess. And the spray of bloodred roses lying in her lap.
It was a very long time before Edwina fell asleep once more.
Chapter Five
“Ah, there youare, Collins,” Lord Bascomb, with a piece of ham dangling from his raised fork, greeted her as she entered the breakfast room the following morning. “Wondered when you would make an appearance.”
“Good morning, my lord,” Edwina answered, taking a seat.
Meg had knocked on her door earlier, informing Edwina that Lord Bascomb had requested her presence in the breakfast room. She was somewhat surprised to find that her employer expected them to eat together, but Bascomb didn’t seem the sort to stand on ceremony. There was no reason to at Rose Abbey, she supposed. Or possibly he didn’t wish to eat alone.
Atop the sideboard sat an enormous amount of food that Bascomb, if the two empty plates before him were any indication, was intent on devouring all on his own. The thick mass of inky hair brushed against the breadth of his shoulders as he ate, the ends curling into his collar. No cravat or coat once more. And he was in dire need of a closer shave.
There had been no mention of a valet earlier when he’d listed the staff of Rose Abbey, and from Bascomb’s rough appearance, it was clear he didn’t have one.
How odd. He is a titled lord. A gentleman.
Edwina narrowed her eyes. Titled he may be, but Bascomb was no gentleman, not with his apparent dislike of cravats and manners.
A tiny shiver trailed down her spine. It was not unpleasant.
“I expected you down earlier, Collins.” His eyes, more gray than green in the morning light, peered back at her. “Did the storm keep you awake? Or perhaps—” He hesitated. “—it was something else?”
If Bascomb thought she would admit to an imaginary hand stroking her hair and filling her room with the scent of roses, he was sorely mistaken. “Exhaustion, my lord. I do apologize. The journey to Rose Abbey was lengthy. I merely overslept.”
“That was Fielding’s room. And Worthington’s.” He tapped his finger. “Come to think of it, I believe Mrs. Page has put each of my secretaries there. Easier, I suppose, to keep one room at the ready.” He leaned forward slightly, the collar of his shirt gaping open to show a delectable slice of male skin. “You do look refreshed, Collins.”
It was difficult to concentrate when Bascomb was so distracting. Or at least,partsof him were distracting. She caught the smells of bergamot and soap in the air around him, which made her skin tingle once more. “I am, my lord.”
Edwina placed a piece of toast on her plate.
“You’ll faint well before tea if that’s all you’re going to eat.” Bascomb stole a glance out the window, sighing in resignation. “And I suppose youwillbe here for tea. Can’t send you back to Hampshire today as I wished, Collins.” A tiny smirk lifted his lips. “The storm hasn’t stopped. But as soon as the rain abates and the roads are clear, off you go.”
“Of course, my lord.” Edwina sipped her tea, savoring the burn against her tongue. “I would expect as much.”
Bascomb tore into another piece of ham. “Is that sarcasm, Collins?”
“Not at all, my lord, merely agreement.” She nibbled at her toast.
His gazed lowered, focusing solely on her mouth.
Edwina had trouble swallowing and told herself it was the dry texture of her breakfast. She dribbled some honey over the top of the toast. As she took another bite, a bit of honey slid across her lips, and she caught the drop with her tongue.
Bascomb made a feral noise. His eyes full of heat and the promise of wicked things raised to hers.
The attraction between them, so immediate and unexpected, threatened to combust, right here in the small breakfast room. A vision of Bascomb, pressing Edwina down atop the breakfast table and lifting her skirts, was so vivid she nearly dropped her toast.
