Regency Surrender: Notorious Secrets. Marguerite Kaye
intimate moment, Celeste turned to flee. Her gown caught on the hawthorn briar, and before she could stifle it, an exclamation of dismay escaped her mouth.
He looked up. Their eyes met for one brief moment that seemed to last for an eternity. He looked both heartbreakingly vulnerable and volcanically angry. Celeste tore herself free of the thorns and fled.
* * *
Back in her room at Trestain Manor, Celeste could not get the image of the man’s tortured face out of her head. Nor her deep shame at having spied on him. She, of all people, should respect a person’s right to privacy, given how hard she defended her own. It took fifteen minutes for the colour to fade entirely from her cheeks and another fifteen before she was calm enough to face breakfast with her new patrons.
Praying that the man would not turn out to be one of Sir Charles’s footmen, she made her way down the stairs to the dining room where one of the austere servants indicated the morning repast was being taken. The very welcome aroma of coffee was overlaid with a stronger one of eggs and something meaty. Hoping that she would not be obliged to partake of either, Celeste opened the door and stopped dead in her tracks on the threshold.
The room was dark, for the windows were heavily curtained, and despite the white-painted ceiling, the overall impression was gloomy. An ornately carved and very highly polished walnut table took up most of the available space, around which were twelve throne-like chairs. Three were occupied. Sir Charles was seated at the top of the table. Lady Eleanor was on his right. And on his left sat another man. A man with damp hair, curling down over his collar. With a coat stretched across a pair of broad shoulders. Her stomach knotted.
‘Ah, Mademoiselle Marmion, I trust you slept well. Do join us.’
Sir Charles pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Celeste, her polite smile frozen, could not shift her gaze from the other guest. There was a kerchief knotted around his neck rather than a carefully tied cravat. He had shaved, but somehow he looked as if he had not.
‘Jack, this is Mademoiselle Marmion, the artist I was telling you about. She’s come all the way from Paris to capture our gardens for posterity before Eleanor’s landscaper gets his hands on them. Mademoiselle, do allow me to introduce you to my brother Jack, who is residing with us at present.’
Her first instinct, as he rose from his seat, was to run. He was smiling, a thin, cold smile, the sort of smile a man might bestow on a complete stranger, but she was not fooled. Celeste clutched the polished brass doorknob, for her knees had turned to jelly as the man from the lake crossed the room to greet her. The naked man from the lake who was Sir Charles’s brother. Mon Dieu, she had seen naked men before but what made her cheeks burn crimson was having witnessed that anguished look on his face. She had seen him naked, stripped bare in quite a different way. She felt as if she had violated some unspoken rule of trespass. Forcing herself to let go of the door handle, she met the cold, assessing look in his dark-brown eyes. What had possessed her to watch him? Why on earth had she not fled as soon as she’d seen him?
He bowed over her hand. Did he notice that her fingers were icy? ‘Mademoiselle Marmion. Enchanté. It is a pleasure to meet you. Again,’ he added sotto voce, leaving her in no doubt that he had recognised her.
‘Monsieur Trestain.’ Her voice was a croak. She cleared her throat. ‘It is a pleasure.’
‘Indeed?’ He ushered her to the table, holding out the chair opposite his own for her. ‘For future reference, Mademoiselle,’ he whispered, ‘I am accustomed to taking my morning swim in private.’
His tone was neutral but there was an underlying note of barely controlled fury. Celeste’s hand shook as she picked up the silver coffee pot. Though she managed to pour herself a much-needed cup without spilling it, she was acutely aware of Jack Trestain watching her, expecting her to do just that. She had been in the wrong, but she did not like to be intimidated. ‘I took the opportunity to explore a little of your beautiful grounds before breakfast,’ she said, turning to Sir Charles.
‘Excellent, I applaud your sense of enterprise.’ Sir Charles rubbed his hands together. ‘And did you find anything to inspire you, Mademoiselle?’
‘Yes, do tell us, did you see anything of interest during your exploration?’
Jack Trestain’s curt tone cut across his brother’s gentler one. Celeste threw him a tight smile. ‘The lake has some interesting views.’
‘I’m sure you found it fascinating,’ Jack Trestain said, returning her look unblinking, ‘though perhaps you will prefer to admire the view in the afternoon sunshine, in future.’
She could not mistake the warning tone in his voice. With some difficulty, Celeste swallowed the spark of temper which it provoked. She had been completely at fault, but this man was taking deliberate pleasure in her discomfort. She nodded curtly and took a sip of coffee to prevent herself from being tempted into a retort.
‘Well,’ Sir Charles said, casting a sideways glance at his brother, obviously perplexed by the animosity reverberating from him. ‘Well, now. Perhaps Jack’s right, the afternoon sunshine would provide the best light for capturing the views. What is your opinion, my love?’
The rather desperate look Sir Charles cast his wife intrigued Celeste. The way in which Lady Eleanor commandeered the conversation, launching into a long and detailed description of the various changes which her landscaper planned, and the possible studies Celeste could make, spoke of considerable practice in changing the subject. Jack Trestain, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the plate of ham and eggs set before him, watched with a sardonic smile on his face, obviously perfectly aware of the diversionary tactics being deployed, equally aware that he was being excluded from the conversation lest he cause further offence.
Lady Eleanor, running out of steam on one subject, switched, with barely a moment to take breath, to another. ‘You are admiring our dining room, I see,’ she said to Celeste, who had actually been staring down at her plate. ‘It is quite a contrast to the rest of the house, you were no doubt thinking. Very true, but we did feel, Sir Charles and I, that it was important to preserve at least one of the original rooms when we carried out our refurbishment. The wall covering is Spanish Cordova leather, you know. I believe it dates from the late sixteenth century. When Sir Charles and I decided—’
‘You don’t look like an artist.’
Lady Eleanor bristled. ‘Jack, really, I was in the middle of...’
‘...delivering a history lesson,’ he finished for her. ‘You might at least wait until we’ve finished eating before you do so.’
Her ladyship looked pointedly at her brother-in-law’s full plate. ‘So you were, for once, planning on actually eating your breakfast, were you?’
‘Eleanor, my love, there is no need to— If Jack is not hungry he need not...’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie, there’s no need to be perpetually walking on eggshells around me.’
A long, uncomfortable silence greeted this remark, broken eventually by Jack Trestain himself. ‘I beg your pardon, Eleanor,’ he said stiffly, ‘I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.’
‘Happens to us all on occasion. No need for apologies, Brother—that is, I am sure that Eleanor...’
‘Apology accepted, Jack,’ Lady Eleanor said quickly, pressing her husband’s hand.
Celeste took another sip of coffee. Jack Trestain put a small piece of ham onto his fork, though he made no attempt to eat it.
‘I confess, Mademoiselle Marmion was not what I was expecting either,’ Sir Charles said with another of his placatory smiles. ‘Your reputation, you know, I expected someone older, more experienced.’
‘I am five-and-twenty, Sir Charles.’
‘Oh, please, I did not mean— One must never ask a lady her age.’
‘I am not embarrassed by my age, Monsieur.