by Lara Temple
‘I see.’
‘You disapprove.’
‘Not of your financial aspirations. I disapprove of your fantastical theories regarding my father and I take strong issue with your assumption that you are invisible. If you encounter acquaintances while staying here, you will discover that to your detriment.’
‘I told you, I rarely leave Brook Street and then only to come here and I do so fully veiled. When I complete my business in London we will likely join the Paytons in Harrogate. There is no reason anyone will ever discover I was here at all.’
‘I cannot believe you are quite that naïve, Miss Silverdale. If one was a stickler for accuracy I would point out you were compromised the moment you met with me at St Margaret’s. Every moment spent alone in my company is compounding that transgression.’
Her mouth quirked up at the corners. ‘You don’t look overly alarmed by the prospect, Lord Sinclair.’
‘I am not the one who should be alarmed by it, Miss Silverdale.’
‘Well, rightly or not, I am not. I admit when we met in the church you looked rather forbidding, but you are far less intimidating than your reputation indicates. And, since it is clear you no more wish to be leg-shackled than I, I am not worried you will use this situation to your advantage.’
‘How the devil would I use this situation to my advantage?’
‘Well, I am very wealthy and it is said you are very expensive.’
‘Given my reputation I might be interested in something other than marriage.’
‘Are you?’
He gritted his teeth and fell back on evasion. ‘I am trying, unsuccessfully, to make you aware of the pitfalls of your situation. Or is it commonplace for you to spend time alone with men of dubious reputation?’
He could almost see the moment the thought of that man who had betrayed her rose to her mind; her face hardened, but her voice was very calm.
‘Hardly. I lived a very retired life in Guilford these past couple years and I see no reason for anyone to suspect me of doing anything other than visiting London with my widowed cousin. Colin certainly believed me the other day outside the church.’
‘That baby-faced sapling would probably believe you if you told him you were an agent of the Crown on a mission to prevent Napoleon’s supporters from smuggling his body off St Helena.’
‘That is hardly fair. I have known Colin all my life, of course he trusts me. Is there a plot to steal Napoleon’s body? How macabre. What do they plan to do with it?’
‘I was talking hypotheticals. The point is neither you nor I, though for very different reasons, want society to get wind of your current endeavours.’
‘All I am asking is that you consider the possibility there is more to this than meets the eye. Won’t you at least take a look at his note?’
He dragged his hand through his hair. The woman was relentless. ‘Show me the blasted note.’
‘Here.’ She opened the top drawer so swiftly it almost flew out. She held it out and he read it without taking it.
If this is true Howard Sinclair has been terribly wronged and something must be done.
Underneath, in larger, bolder print and underlined several times was the name she had mentioned in the carriage—Jasper Septimus.
‘Is this it?’
‘Isn’t it enough? Mercer did try to discover if there is someone at Buxted Mallory Shipping by that name, but had no luck. He also tells me the company is managed by trustees for the current Lord Buxted, who is only sixteen, and I admit I’m not quite comfortable making enquiries there about people who are now deceased.’
‘I am glad to hear you have even that much compunction. I think you are reading far too much into far too little.’
‘I might have agreed with you if it were not for Marcia Pendle.’
‘This is merely an unfortunate coincidence. If you search the shadows for shapes, I can promise you you will find them, but they rarely amount to more than figments of one’s imagination, and yours, Miss Silverdale, is all too fertile. You are likely to do more harm than good by pursuing this.’
‘How?’
‘People who turn over stones tend to uncover snakes and other unpleasant creatures.’
‘Are you worried I might uncover something even worse about your father?’
‘Until the news of my father’s death reached us my family and I were convinced that my father was no more a typical Sinclair than I am a Quaker. Since the day I learned of the litany of the sins he committed in Boston and succeeded in hiding from us, I know one can always discover something worse. My own reputation may not be of primary interest to me, but I won’t have my siblings dragged through the mire again if I can prevent it.’
‘Then help me put this to rest. All I am asking is that you help me look at these letters and tell me if there is anything here you think might be of importance.’
She held out the packet of letters he had been doing his best to ignore. Her eyes softened as he did not move, leaving them more green than brown. He didn’t like that look. He could do without pity.
‘Haven’t you read them?’ he asked.
‘Only the first three. That was how long it took me to develop a conscience about reading other people’s correspondence without their permission. I thought in fairness I should apply to you before continuing. Which I hereby do. Not that the ones I read are very revealing; they are mostly about shipping, but there are mentions of you and your siblings and in the second letter he thanks Henry for ensuring the package of books he sent was delivered safely to your mother, which led me to think your father and Henry trusted one another. Here, take them.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Perhaps your brothers would care to have them? I meant to send them to you, but then I thought... Well, never mind.’
He walked away, over to her spider’s-web wall. He hadn’t looked too closely during his last visit, but now he scanned the lists. There was a short one titled Howard Sinclair—Letters—Names. He read the list again. Lord Buxted. George Buxted. John Mallory. Ada Mallory. Jasper Septimus. His own name was there and his mother’s. A pin was shoved into the top half of Buxted’s ‘B’ and a thread connected it to a larger pin near Henry Payton’s section of the wall.
‘Please take them.’
He turned. She was standing right by him, still holding out the letters. This close he could see the pattern of gold flecks in her green irises. She looked harmless. Just a typical country miss.
He was spared a decision by a rattling in the corridor and with a mumbled imprecation Miss Silverdale took his hand and shoved the letters into it before retreating towards the desk.
He remained where he was as the nurse entered and placed a tea tray rather ungently on the table with a less-than-friendly glare at Lucas. An enormous black cat entered with her, weaving about her skirts like a witch’s familiar, but when Nora called to it as she went to the door it flicked its tail in the air and walked daintily up to Lucas and waited. Lucas shoved the letters into his pocket, but his hand was tingling uncomfortably and he bent to pet the cat awaiting his attention. An impressive purr erupted from it and it arched its back and closed its eyes, clearly expecting more of the same.
‘Hussy!’ Nora shook her head and closed the door with a definite snap.
‘You are sinking deeper and deeper into infamy, you know,’ Olivia said. ‘Nora is very possessive of Inky. She saved her from drowning as a kitten and then from being nearly eaten by Twitch.’
‘A friend of yours?’
‘He used to be until he passed a year ago. He was my wolfhound and usually quite gentle, but he could be a little jealous of our affections. Just like Nora.’
‘She is welcome to it. No, don’t sit on my boot, you pestilential feline. Off!’
‘I don’t think scratching her behind the ears is making your distaste quite clear, Lord
Sinclair. Do you need help escaping her clutches?’
‘I think I can hold my own against a cat, Miss Silverdale. No, I don’t want tea. I’m not here on a social call.’
‘Brandy, then.’
He sighed and sat on a chair by the table and surrendered. She poured a generous measure of brandy and he took it, watching as she poured the tea and placed a slice of a cake smelling strongly of cinnamon on a plate in front of him. Inky came and sat by his leg, its large body warm against his calf and its long white-tipped tail switching occasionally as if to some internal tune. The whole scene was unreal, utterly disconnected from his life. He sipped his brandy and though Olivia Silverdale didn’t speak, her silence was both calming and peculiarly full. He hardly even noticed when he extracted the packet from his pocket and unfolded the first letter.
It wasn’t so much what was written that struck him. The first letter was mostly a dry account of recent transactions and requests for documentation. It was the voice. Or the handwriting. He refolded it and placed it on the table and took the cake.
The cat raised a paw and swatted the air several times, the big grey eyes round and mournful. Lucas hesitated, breaking off a piece, but Olivia intervened.
‘You won’t like it, Inky. You don’t like cinnamon.’
The cat turned those liquid grey eyes on her in a look that would have convinced Genghis Khan to show mercy, but Olivia merely met its stare until Inky slunk off under the sofa with a resentful mewl, only its long tail visible like an accusing finger.
Lucas felt a laugh build inside him, like a bubble rising to the surface. He had strayed into a madhouse. That explained everything. There was a comfort in accepting that.
He ate the cake, which was the best he had eaten in as long as he could remember, which made sense since he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten cake. If Mrs Tubbs prepared cakes in the cavernous kitchens and lower regions of Sinclair House, she didn’t inflict them on him.
* * *
He was well into the fifth letter when something about the silence broke through his concentration and he looked up abruptly and met her gaze. The heat that bloomed across her cheeks had an immediate echo through his body.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be reading?’ he asked.
‘I am reading. It is a copy of an old bond prospectus from Buxted Mallory Shipping and it is thoroughly tedious. I was resting my eyes.’
‘Well, rest them somewhere else. If you look at me like that, I might decide to do something about it, such as continue where we left off yesterday.’
She frowned and bent her head back over her papers, but looked up almost immediately. ‘May I ask you a question?’
‘That sounds ominous. About what?’
‘Kissing.’
His body tightened at her words, a wolf catching the scent of prey, and he quieted it with an act of will. But there was nothing he could do about the expanding, drumming heat spreading through him at her words.
‘You wish to ask me about kissing?’
‘Yes, it is only that it wasn’t at all like... Oh, never mind. Would you like some more cake?’
‘No, thank you. Like what? Like fairy-tale nonsense you read in books or girls whispered in school? I am sorry to have disappointed you.’
‘No, I meant that it was not at all like what I remembered. Which is why I am curious. Perhaps it is merely that you have much more experience. Was that really how people who know how to kiss, kiss?’
He put down the letters carefully and discouraged Inky’s claw from testing the fortitude of his boots.
‘Just so I understand. You wish to discuss the various levels and types of kisses with me?’
‘I don’t know. Well, yes, I do. I believe one should always exert oneself to understand a phenomenon before one either embraces or dismisses it.’
‘Were you contemplating adopting either course of action?’
‘Well, I thought I wanted nothing to do with it ever again, but now I believe I was too hasty. It must be like anything else. Sometimes I make bad investment decisions, though luckily not too often. But I certainly do not allow that to dissuade me from continuing to see to my financial well-being. And yet I realise that is precisely what I have allowed to happen in this case. So when one was thoroughly locked into one conviction and one suddenly discovers it is no such thing, it is natural to wonder about the mechanism underlying both the conviction and the alteration, isn’t it?’
He flexed his hands and picked up his glass of brandy, but did not drink.
‘You make it sound like a naturalist’s experiment.’
‘Oh, I leave experiments and such things to Carl, but I dare say he would suggest it should be approached precisely like that. He was always adjuring me to put observations before theories.’
‘Who on earth is Carl?’
‘One of my brothers. He is brilliant and a firm believer in Francis Bacon’s admonitions against preconceptions in the sciences. Have you heard of Bacon?’
‘Yes, but I had not realised he had an opinion about kissing.’
‘Well, he might, though I doubt it; he sounds a trifle dry. I would not have mentioned him, but you were the one who remarked on experimentation. I was merely saying that your demand we kiss has brought me to reconsider my own opinion of the activity.’
‘I most certainly did not demand you kiss me.’
‘True, rather it was I who pressed the point, but you were the one to introduce the topic and now I am forced to reassess my opinion and that is bothersome because I should really be concentrated on the case at hand. You see, I have allowed Elspeth, my chaperon, to convince me to attend social functions again and one can hardly avoid the topic once one re-enters society.’
‘I am afraid to ask what form of society you are frequenting if kissing is a common topic of discussion.’
‘Not of discussion, but though people will not speak openly of financial or carnal considerations, I cannot help but notice they are ever present in those gatherings. I spent an hour today with Lady Barnstable while she and her two sons discussed which members of the ton were currently in town and the latest poems published and all the while I could see them assessing my assets as compared with those of the rest of the misses on display so they can decide if I am worth the bother of cultivating.’
‘While you were considering whether they were worth the bother of kissing?’
‘Well, it was a very boring conversation and I had nothing better to think about. But upon consideration they did not appear to have the requisite experience. Every time they met my gaze directly they blushed.’ She laughed, looking younger and more carefree suddenly, which didn’t reassure him in the least. He must be unhinged to be having this conversation with her and certainly unhinged to care one way or the other if she was considering kissing her way through the ton.
‘If you looked at them like you were just looking at me, I am not surprised. You will find yourself in trouble if you are not careful. Didn’t any of your multiplicity of brothers tell you that?’
‘No, because they know better than to lecture me. Even Jack.’
‘Another brother?’
‘Yes. He was my twin. He died.’
Inky straightened from grooming her paw. It had been a long time since Lucas had heard pain ring so clear without the slightest inflection. It threw him back twenty years to his mother looking up from a letter. ‘Your father is dead.’
My twin.
Compassion should be an effective antidote to desire, but it wasn’t. In this case it only made it worse—he wanted to pull her into his arms and absorb that pain into his own skin and, that being done, he wanted to strip her of her clothes as well.
Olivia shook herself and smiled. ‘I did not mean to become morose. So, what are we going to do next?’
Lucas looked down at the letters on the table. He knew ve
ry well what he wanted to do next. It was scalding him inside. The sheer intensity of the heat finally broke the pull of her siren’s call. There was no scenario in which he would allow himself to bed this unconventional young woman. Spending more time with her would only complicate matters. It was therefore time to return to the real world.
‘I am going home.’ He picked up his gloves from the sofa and stood. ‘I fulfilled my part in the bargain. Unless you think Marcia Pendle’s scheming procurer is a respected and unmarried vicar who lives with his bedridden father, I suggest you treat her delusional nonsense as such. You cannot resurrect your godfather or his reputation. Let it lie and move on with your life. It is over. This is over.’
She rose as well, but didn’t speak. He glanced at her as he took his greatcoat from where he had tossed it on the back of a chair. She stood, one hand palm down on her desk, her knuckles white.
‘You cannot win all your battles, sweetheart,’ he said and she flinched, but remained silent.
‘What the hell do you expect me to do?’ he asked, as exasperated with himself as with her. She looked away.
‘Nothing. There is nothing you can do.’
‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘I do not know yet.’
He had no idea how she managed to invest that simple sentence with so much. There was confusion and pain and mostly that stubborn inability to let go. She would have made a very effective pugilist.
‘Sometimes you have no choice but to admit defeat. That is life.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Goodbye, Miss Silverdale.’
He turned back halfway to the door. How much more harm could one more kiss do?
She didn’t move as he approached and there was no lightening of the stubbornness in her eyes as he touched her cheek, drawing his fingers along her jawline and touching a finger to the tense swell of her lips. He waited three thumping heartbeats for good sense to prevail, gauging the depth of challenge in her eyes.
