Her Officer and Gentleman by Karen Hawkins Page B

cravat folds to perfection.
    Reeves waited in respectful silence, then handed the waistcoat to Christian. “Black or not, your waistcoats are quite well made. That brocade is most wondrous.”
    Christian slipped on the waistcoat, sliding his fingers over the silky surface. “For a long time, I had so little. A bit of luxury does not seem amiss now.”
    “No, my lord. Now is indeed the time for you to spoil yourself.” Reeve opened a pin box and held it out to Christian.
    Christian selected a large ruby cravat pin and carefully placed it in the creation he’d tied at his throat.
    “I don’t believe I’ve seen that particular cravat design before,” Reeves noted once this delicate operation was completed.
    “It’s one of my own,” Christian said, admiring it himself. “I call it Vengeance.”
    “You will set a trend, my lord.” Reeves smiled a bit. “It is odd to think how very different you are from your twin brother, not only in looks, but in attitude.”
    “Tristan does not care for fashion. He prefers to dress as if he was still on board ship.”
    “He is also quite satisfied not seeking vengeance for your mother’s death.”
    “He is more focused on the future,” Christian said with a shrug. “He was ever that way.” Besides, Tristan had never understood Mother quite the way Christian had. Christian possessed not only her leaf green eyes and golden-hued skin, but also her appreciation for the finer things in life.
    She had relished the silk sheets and heavy lace-trimmed coverlet that had decorated her bed. He could still remember how she’d run her fingers over the smooth surface of a fine piece of furniture, a look of deep pleasure on her face. She’d lived as fully as she could, enjoying every moment, every experience. He wanted to do that. Perhaps once this situation was settled, he would—
    He frowned. Odd, but he’d never really thought of what he’d do once he’d brought his mother’s murderer to justice. Perhaps because for so long, it had been such a far-off goal. Now…now it was but weeks away. A trill of determination squared his shoulders.
    Reeves picked up the black coat from the bed. “Your father thought quite highly of your mother. I heard him say so on more than one occasion.”
    Christian met the valet’s gaze in the mirror. “Don’t try to make me think more of my father than I do.”
    Reeves held out the coat for Christian. “I wouldn’t dare do such a thing. In fact, I do not blame you for being angry.”
    Christian shrugged into the coat. “I’m not angry. My mother and father are both gone. Anger would be a wasted emotion.”
    “I would still be angry, my lord. Very.”
    Christian regarded himself in the mirror. He was dressed head to foot in unrelenting black, with the exception of the snowy white cravat at his throat. Only the heat from the ruby at his throat and the vivid green of his own eyes marred the black and white picture.
    He caught Reeves’s gaze in the mirror.
    The butler raised his brows. “Primping, my lord?”
    “I’ve never had such a finely starched cravat. Do not tell me Walters did this.”
    “He took ill last night before he could complete the starching. I took it upon myself to finish the job.” Reeves soberly studied Christian’sappearance in the mirror and nodded. “I hate to admit it, but the black does seem to lend you a certain rakish air.”
    Christian grinned. “It’s good to know that all those years on the High Toby weren’t for nothing.”
    Reeves winced. “Please, my lord. I have asked that you do not mention your former profession, although…You do remember what you told me about killing people?”
    “That I have never killed a single soul.”
    The butler heaved a relieved sigh. “I do love hearing you say that, my lord.”
    “You are quite safe with me, Reeves. Unless, of course, you continue to critique my choice of clothing. I am not responsible for my actions then.”
    Reeves smiled faintly. “When you smile