Chapter 6 of "Selene's Vow"

Chapter 6 of "Selene's Vow", a novella set in The Môrdreigiau Chronicles universe

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles and A Sword for Wellington. We take a side trip to London for a young lady to retrieve a precious heirloom from a ne’er-do-well rake… New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

Selene’s valet training continues as she somehow finds the time to search for her moonstone pendant, in between doing things like, oh, helping the viscount dress and burning cravats with an iron. Worse, Murray, Carton’s regular valet, has been called away. It’s going to be just the two of them.

Selene tossed in the narrow, too hard, truckle bed, unable to sleep. The moonstone rested in the wall safe below her and she itched to get it back.

She gave up and paced the narrow floor, hugging herself. Until Lord Carton slept, she dared not make her move. The bedchamber beyond lay quiet, but still she waited. The creak of the door might wake the man.

She bit back a yawn, blinking. It had been a long day, full of trials and torments. Not the least of her torments being Lord Carton. Too handsome for his own good, his physicality, the economical, graceful way he moved, the quirk of his smile, all added up to a major distraction.

She could, of course, simply reveal herself and choose him as her husband, a human, like her mother had before her, but Mr. Peredur awaited her. He had been chosen from the dreigiau môr to be her husband, following centuries of tradition. She counted the days. He would call at her house tomorrow. Her mother had paid the price for abandoning tradition. She would not make the same mistake.

With care, she opened the connecting door. The full moon shone into his room. He seemed asleep. Afraid of a floorboard squeaking and giving her away, she snuck across the room, her gaze always on him.

Lord Carton rolled over. Selene froze. His face now towards the moon, he slept. Wanting to make sure, she drew closer, instead towards the door to safety.

She gazed down at his face, at rest now with no concern marring his brow, no humour twisting his lips, his eyelids hiding that intense gaze.

With his long black eyelashes, he looked like a fallen angel in repose, his suntanned skin whitened by the moonlight.

Selene didn’t know how long she stood there, staring down at him, captivated by his innocent repose.

He shifted.

Heart pounding, Selene fled back to the dressing room. All thoughts of finding the moonstone had vanished from her head, replaced by the image of the dreaming Lord Carton.

Coming June 13, the fourth and final book/season of A Shattering of Souls…

The next morning, having made his bed, Selene returned to the dressing room. Lord Carton stood in front of his mirrored washstand, a towel draped around his hips. His damp body glistened in the firelight.

He lathered up his face, the day’s growth obscured by the white soap. Unable to resist, she watched Lord Carton very carefully scrape off his beard.

He uttered a sharp curse, dropping the razor and clapping a hand to his chin. “A cloth, here!”

Selene almost grabbed one of his clean cravats, but settled for one of the ruined ones from yesterday. “Sit down and let me look at it.” She rested a firm hand upon his bare shoulder and snatched it away again, her fingers tingling. Her cheeks warmed at having dared to touch a man in this state of undress.

Hand still to his chin, he complied, twitching the towel over his thighs when it threatened to slip off.

She examined his cut, trying not to notice his bare chest. “Just a glancing blow.” Wadding up the ruined cravat, she gave it to him.

“Murray always shaved me,” he admitted, his voice gruff. He stared toward the ceiling.

“Shall I finish for you?” In the same room as a naked man and she offered further intimacies? Her breath escaped in a whoosh.

“Trust you with a razor?” His eyebrows rose.

“I will be very careful.” She smirked.

His dark eyes sparked. He closed his eyes in resignation, chin jutting out.

“Let’s see if the bleeding has stopped so I can finish your chin.” She coaxed his hand away from the tiny wound. Her heart’s palpitations increased. Swallowing, she did her best to hide it. “It’s stopped.” She winced at the breathy catch in her voice. “Let me soap it up a little more....”

Her gaze flicked to his, finding an intense look that shot heat through her core. She couldn’t comprehend why Lord Carton would want his valet. She had only ever seen such looks pass between a man and a woman on the ballroom floor.

Her steadying breath brought a deep inhalation of his freshly washed scent, which did not help in the slightest. His cheeks already shaven, she needed only to complete his chin and under his nose.

Short, gentle strokes did the trick. Lord Carton kept holding his breath. His eyes had closed, squeezed tight. With the razor, she smoothed the edges of his sideburns.

“Done,” she said at last, taking a step back and surveying her handiwork.

His eyes opened, his dark brown gaze holding her mesmerised. She could sink into those eyes, those arms. She swayed.

He raised a hand to touch her cheek, breaking the spell. She retreated, out of reach, placing the razor on the washstand.

“Your clothes are ready, my lord.” She glanced over at his trousers, suddenly terrified. Was she going to have to help him dress?

“Leave me for a moment.” Almost frantic, he cast his eyes around for some task for her to do outside the dressing room. “Just leave,” he croaked.

Selene fled, her heart pounding. He had spared her—but why? Heedlessly, she flung herself on his bed, burying her face in her arms. The liquid warmth she had felt in the pit of her belly had not yet subsided. His scent rising from the sheets didn’t help.

Daimon raised shaking hands to his clean-shaven face. God, he had come so close to pulling her to him, even with that deadly razor in her hands.

When the razor had stilled against his throat, his whole body had gone cold, preparing for her strike. But she never did. She had held his life in her hands and had not taken advantage.

Lady Selene had spoken in softened tones, unconsciously feminine. Her longing look, quickly veiled by her long dark eyelashes, called to him. He wanted her. He had even reached out to touch her silken cheek but she had seen the danger and moved out reach.

It grew too dangerous for the preservation of her honour, her reputation, for her to remain here. He needed to finish this game.

He rose and dressed. He left his shirt untucked, calling in Lady Selene to add the finishing touches and help him on with his coat. She seemed shy, even demure, and tried to avoid touching him whenever possible.

Yes, he noticed. Damnation.

“Delany.” Daimon nodded to his dinner guest, who had paused in pacing the russet Moroccan carpet upon his host’s arrival. “Not that I object to your visits, but two in a row? What has happened?”

“You haven’t heard the news?”

“News?” He lifted a crystal decanter from the sideboard and offered Delany a drink.

His friend nodded, taking the proffered glass and tossing its contents down his throat. “Where have you been?” He held out his glass for more. “The Town is in an uproar!”

“Suppose you sit down and tell me what this is all about.” Daimon filled a glass for himself and sat down.

Delany paced a moment longer before throwing himself onto the sopha opposite. “Lady Selene Jermyn has vanished.”

He almost choked on a mouthful of wine. “What?”

“Exactly.”

“You think Perram will come after it?” Daimon willed calm and raised an eyebrow. “The man is prostrate with drink and guilt. Further, he is entirely without the readies to hire somebody to do this for him. Has there been a ransom note?”

Delany shrugged. “The gossip is that she’s run off.”

Daimon crossed to the sideboard to pour another drink. By the Lady, he needed it. Was it too late to send her back? Did he—did he really want to?

No. Yes. He downed the remnants of the wine. He’d vowed never to let a woman reach him like this again and yet—

“I did some digging.”

Daimon suppressed a groan. Had word somehow gone out about her dwelling in his dressing room?

“Do you know the stories about her? This is her second season. there has not been a single nibble, even though her dowry is large.”

“Was large,” Daimon corrected, slumping onto the sopha. “I am sure her father’s gambled away most of it.”

“There are whispers she’s a witch.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “Give me strength.” He sent a sharp look Delany’s way. “A witch?”

“That when the east wind blows, she becomes a scaly creature. Like a lizard.”

Daimon’s head spun. It wasn’t possible. “Today’s creams must work wonders for a lady’s complexion. I saw no sign of it when I met her at the Aylesfords.”

“As I said, those are the rumours. An ill-fated trip to the seaside at the end of last season is at the root of this tale. She fled, covering her face.”

Daimon’s hands clenched. “All right, Delany, that is enough. If you have nothing useful to say—”

“Steady, old boy.” His friend grinned. “So she really has caught your eye.”

“Delany…” Daimon warned for the last time.

In Lord Carton’s absence, Selene refused to waste another moment. Tonight she would have the moonstone!

Doors had been left unlocked. She hurried downstairs, slipping past the closed doors to the drawing room, hearing his voice within. Across the hall lay his study. She opened the door. A slight tang in the air hinted at fresh oil on the hinges.

Closing the door behind her, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A muted sound, a shuffle of movement, came from the vicinity of Lord Carton’s desk. She moved towards the sound.

Everything lay in shadows. She saw nothing, still night-blind. The scrabbling sounded a bit like a rat. Selene shuddered.

Moving around the desk, she approached the wall behind it. Her hand reached up to swing back the picture and bumped into the frame.

She spun, her heart in her throat. Had Lord Carton removed it? But surely he wouldn’t leave the safe open.

Something—someone—bumped the side of the desk. A dark figure across from her. Light from the open window glinted on the thief’s prize.

Her moonstone!

Selene dashed around the desk with a most unladylike yell, intending to cut off the thief’s flight.

She reached for the thief, almost able to touch the hem of his coat. With a sharp cry, Selene stumbled over something in the dark and fell.

A shot rang out. Selene kept her head down, covering it with her hands. She hid from the sudden light and burst of activity in the study. Someone stood over her, before moving on.

Her breath slowing, she lifted her head. A figure bent and retrieved something from the floor near the window.

“Your moonstone, Carton,” the man said, his light tenor voice revealing no excitement or perturbation.

Selene scrambled to her feet, shoving her hair under her cap. Fortunately, it had not come off when she had fallen.

“Who is this?” The gentleman pointed his pistol at her.

Speechless, she turned towards the study door, her escape route.

Lord Carton stood in the doorway, light from the hallway casting his features into shadow. “He’s my new valet.” He entered the study, letting more light stream in. “Upstairs, Sam, and wait for me there.”

“Carton, the boy may know something.” The gentleman’s words halted her flight. “He could be in partnership with that thief. I am certain I winged him.”

Selene kept her face turned towards Lord Carton. He would let her go. He must!

“The boy yelled the warning,” Carton held out his hand to the gentleman. “Give me the moonstone.”

“But—“

“He’s my responsibility, not yours.”

The gentleman sighed and gave the viscount the moonstone.

Lord Carton tucked the pendant into his jacket. He glanced at her. “Sam, await me upstairs.”

Selene nodded and fled.

Once in his bedchamber, she sat on the edge of his bed, one hand pressed to her ribs. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. Someone had tried to steal her moonstone and she’d almost been shot.

Lord Carton entered, closing the door behind him. She startled to her feet, backing towards the dressing room. He passed right by her and sat on his bed, almost in the same spot where Selene had sat not so long ago.

From an inner pocket, he removed her moonstone and tossed it onto the pillows behind him. Selene stepped towards to her prize. The rainbow fire at the heart of the milky moonstone called out to her. She longed to feel the weight of it in her hand, to caress the worn curlicues of its ancient silver setting.

“Delany has gone.” Did Selene imagine his relief? “Come here and tell me what you were doing downstairs.”

Her gaze still on her moonstone, Selene approached. Nervous, she licked her lips, stopping a few feet away.

“Closer.” He beckoned.

Selene edged near in small steps until they almost touched.

“Closer. Your eyes tell me when you lie.”

She held her breath. What else did he want to see? She shuffled, standing between his parted knees. She would go no closer. Under his intense, brown-eyed gaze, she stuttered, “I—I heard something.”

“Tell me the truth,” murmured Lord Carton, his velvet voice edged in steel. “Were you working together? Is that why you stayed?”

Selene focused on the bed curtains. “I don’t know the thief. I went to get—“ She halted, afraid to reveal everything.

“I know you want the moonstone.” He reached up and tilted her chin downwards, to see her eyes. “You do not need to tell me the truth, for I know it already.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingertips caressing the slight bump at the base. This close, she smelt the hint of alcohol on his breath.

“Then you don’t need to ask.” Selene attempted to move away from his hand, to silence the delicious havoc his touch wreaked upon her senses.

Her grabbed her cap and flung it, pins scattering, She yelped. Her braided hair tumbled down her back. “No, I do not, Lady Selene Jermyn.”

Her skin went icy cold. “You know? How?”

He caressed her cheek, the gentleness of it almost her undoing. “I do not forget a beautiful face, Lady Selene. Especially yours.” He stood, wrapping an arm about her waist. Their bodies pressed close together, her hands caught between them.

He resumed caressing her face, his mouth close to her lips. “There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know,” he murmured.

She stared into his dark eyes, nose to nose with him. Her face tingled, her breath caught somewhere in her throat.

“When did you know?” Her gaze slipped to his mouth.

“Your cap slipped tonight.” He leaned in, his breath warm upon her earlobe. “But I have always known.”

“How… why…” Speechless, Selene wondered at his deception and whether or not Lord Carton would kiss her. She replayed all their interactions. He didn’t desire his valet. He desired her.

Her.

His lips brushed hers. “I swore I would resist you and watch you struggle to surrender your future life to another stranger.” His lips sought out the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. “But I find I cannot. I will keep the moonstone, Lady Selene, and you along with it.”

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