The second was of a debutante with large blond curls-probably Cecelia Dort. A rag was tied around her mouth, preventing her from speaking. These were some of Landes’s tamer drawings. The man had a cruel streak at times.
Some of his recent ones had been political in nature. Landes must have been in attendance at Parliament to be able to accurately detail those. James would have to pay close attention to the gentlemen present during the next session.
Had Calliope seen these? He’d show them to her when she woke. She would probably enjoy the one of Cecelia.
He shook his head but couldn’t stop grinning. He remembered the shocked look on Cecelia’s face when Calliope verbally hammered her. What a spirited nymph Calliope was.
She had been a wood sprite today, bouncing in the saddle and having a great time. Her laughing face would linger in his mind for some time. He couldn’t remember ever having more fun with a woman. With practice she would make a fine horsewoman.
He sobered as he tried to force a piece of the puzzle into a spot too small for it to fit. It made sense for someone to be after Calliope. Her connection to Salisbury drew her in tightly.
But the lake area had been crowded. Why would someone risk being unmasked? The act smacked of desperation.
Who had put the burrs under the saddle, and why?
Chapter 11
Calliope woke slowly. A cheery, sizzling fire had been lit in the hearth. The room was warm and cozy. She snuggled deeper into the covers, reluctant to leave the cocoon. She opened one eye and the deepened shadows pronounced it early evening. Perhaps she could linger here all night.
She buried her cheek in the pillow and saw a movement in the shadows. Someone was beside the bed. She let out a gasp and half rose. Familiar eyes met hers and mixed emotions warred inside her.
James was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She leaned back into the pillow and sighed. It seemed she was going to have to get out of bed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked softly.
He lifted a shoulder. "Your maid should be up any moment with dinner. "
"You just arrived, then?" Frankly, she was astonished he had cared enough to sit with her for even a few moments.
He lifted a shoulder again, not answering her..
Calliope scooted against the headboard. The action hurt more than she cared to admit. She rubbed her neck. Her muscles were sore, she was probably covered in bruises, but she didn’t think there would be any lasting damage.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I threw myself from a charging horse."
James smiled.
Betsy bustled in and set a dinner tray before her. Another servant followed and placed a tray in front of James. Betsy fluffed her pillows and with a gesture from James left the room.
"Ordering my servants around again?" She stabbed a juicy slice of roast, swirling it in the dark au jus.
He didn’t answer and she forked a potato. "Why aren’t you eating with everyone downstairs?"
"The view is better up here."
Calliope tucked the covers around her bare knee, which had snuck out while the tray had been seated. Her gown had crept up while she slept.
James smiled and cut a piece of beef. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows on the walls and across the planes of his face. His unfashionably long hair fell forward as he regarded his plate. He looked like a pirate, albeit an entirely too handsome one.
One potato after another disappeared from his plate. The meat followed. Calliope took a bite of the roast and had to force herself not to push the food around the plate.
James finished quickly and sat back, studying her. "Eat. Or do you need my assistance?"
"I’m sore, not an invalid." Perhaps if she showed her leg again he would leave her lack of appetite alone. Or give her that look that heated her to her toes.
There was a knock on the door and Betsy poked her head around the frame. "Lord Pettigrew wishes to know if you will be attending the festivities tonight, miss."
James looked at Calliope, allowing her the decision.
"Yes, Betsy. Please tell Lord Pettigrew we’ll be down shortly, and then return to help me dress."
"Very good, miss."
"Since you refused my offer to feed you, I would be delighted to assist you in dressing," James said, a glint in his eyes.
Her heart quickened. "Betsy would be despondent."
"You’re not very sporting." He shook his head in mock despair, stood and opened the door. "I’ll see you in a bit."
Calliope put her tray to the side and tentatively stretched each leg and rotated her waist. Her muscles strained. She repeated the motions, extending farther and feeling better each successive time.
Her body was still slightly sore. But the nap and stretching had gone far in removing the pain.
Betsy bustled in and helped her prepare for the evening.
It took some time, but Calliope was pleased with the result. She touched the shimmering indigo gown embroidered with white. Madame Giselle had created something more than dramatic. The iridescent bodice was pushed into a display of creamy flesh. Yet it had a touch of innocence too. The embroidered lining along the top simultaneously suggested and concealed.
Calliope ran her white-gloved hands down the skirt, trying to calm her nerves. So the dress was slightly outrageous. That was her persona. She had gone beyond the point of entertaining missish notions.
Her own hair strained beneath the wig, wanting above all else to be free. The wig was styled in an upswept tangle of curls. Small tendrils fell loosely about her face.
There was a knock and James entered the room. She walked forward to join him and he brought a gloved hand to his lips. His eyes were hot. His warm breath scorched her skin through the glove and tingles radiated from the spot.
"Are you ready to join the festivities below?" He smiled and she started to feel a bit wicked in her dress.
"Yes." She felt slightly breathless.
She slid an arm through his and pressed against his side. He tightened his arm.
They descended to the ballroom, where most of the guests had already gathered and were chatting and laughing with more abandon then the previous night. Spirits flowed freely and the mood was relaxed and a bit racy. Women stood closer to the men and the men’s hands were freer in their placement.
The ballroom was large and the lighting was low. Lady Pettigrew had created an intimate setting and the guests were having no trouble absorbing the mood.
A set was forming and the orchestra began to play. Calliope and James skirted the edge of the floor, chatting briefly with different couples before joining Roth and Lady Willoughby, who were standing off to the side.
Calliope liked Lady Willoughby. She was a lady in the true sense. Her bearing was proud, but kindness shone in her eyes. She was not unattractive, but she probably had the dubious distinction of being the least sparkling woman in the room. Hers was a steady beauty, calm and accepting. Not flashy, not fast. In fact, the more one studied her, the more out of place the widow seemed. A dove in a flock of peacocks.
"How are you feeling, Esmerelda?" Lady Willoughby asked.
"Refreshed. This afternoon I discovered body parts of which I was unaware."
Lady Willoughby smiled. "Riding will do that to you."
"And falling. " Roth wasn’t smiling.
"Yes, well, my first time on a horse was definitely not stellar," Calliope said.
"You did very well. That was not the problem," Roth said.
Lady Willoughby looked uncomfortable. A waltz struck up and she turned to Roth, a questioning look in her eye.
He bowed over her hand and led her to the floor. Calliope looked at James. He was staring after them speculatively. She nudged him in the ribs and he smiled.