by Lara Temple
‘Why? What would you do if we weren’t?’
He turned and she wondered if indeed some ancient magic had infested her through contact with the statue. She did feel daring, powerful...she could feel the blood moving through her, a surge and ebb of life, heat, need. She didn’t want to lower a veil over the powerful sensation of touching him. As frightening as it was, she wanted to cling to it, explore it in her mind. He had felt it, too, at least for that moment. It was obvious in the way he had pulled her to him and in the distance he now set between them, in the grooves of tension bracketing his mouth. His words came back to her. Because I want to bed you... Such urges were probably trivial for a rake but right now she wasn’t bothered by being one of many. Because right now he desired her; she felt that desire like a live flame between them, threatening to burst into a blaze.
‘Were you jealous of Mr Discus Thrower?’ she murmured, moving closer.
‘Olivia...’ His voice held a warning, but the unconscious use of her name was an admission in itself—she noticed he employed it when she crossed a line. Most often it was to warn her away from his affairs, but now she could hear a rough scrape under the liquid sound of her name. But then the cynical smile returned, erasing that momentary bridge.
‘I have not sunk so far as to be jealous of a lump of stone. You should return to your party before they begin to beat the bushes in search of you...’
‘Olivia! I have been looking everywhere for you!’ Elspeth hurried towards them, her mouth falling open as she noticed Lucas. ‘What on earth is going on here, Olivia Silverdale?’
Olivia’s cheeks stung with sudden heat. Thank goodness Elspeth had not seen that brief embrace.
‘Nothing, Elspeth. I became lost on the way back and encountered Lord Sinclair.’
Lucas laughed.
‘An atrocious liar, Miss Silverdale. I think you had best stick to dignified silence and I will remove myself before you are required to make any further implausible excuses. Good day, Lady Phelps. Five o’clock, Miss Silverdale.’
They watched him leave the gallery and Olivia waited for the inevitable.
‘Olivia Silverdale.’ Elspeth’s voice was barely a hiss. ‘We will discuss this later. Right now we must return to the others and you will be as charming as you are capable to Lord Barnstable and Lord Westerby.’
‘Elspeth, I did not arrange to meet him here.’ That at least was the truth.
‘Later. I do not wish to hear his name mentioned until we are home and then perhaps you will explain what madness has possessed you to risk—’ Elspeth cut herself off as they caught sight of Lady Barnstable. ‘Later. Now smile and prove to me you have not completely lost your mind.’
Olivia smiled and knew that, too, was a lie. Her mind, and heart, and all else were well and truly lost.
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas touched the panes of his study’s window. The glass was sharp with cold. Perhaps Olivia’s nurse was right and a frost was coming. It would be fitting to his mood.
The mews below was empty and what little colour left by winter’s claws was leached away by the darkening clouds. The earth didn’t look capable of spring. He was struck by a fear that perhaps this time it wouldn’t come. That some action of his would lead to disaster. It very nearly had.
Why the devil had he gone to the museum? Jem could have delivered a note later. He should never have gone to Brook Street himself in the first place. Her quest might be the centre of her existence, but he should not allow it, or her, to become the centre of his.
He knew that and yet as he summoned a hackney on the street outside her home that morning he gave the museum’s direction rather than the Mausoleum’s. On a whim. A whim which had come close to costing Olivia dearly. He had many sins to his name, but he had never ruined a woman’s reputation.
It was one thing to risk the titillated interest of the ton by dancing with a debutante in the setting of their ballrooms and quite another to actually embrace her in the staid setting of the museum. If her chaperon had arrived just two moments earlier, he would even now be on his way to Doctors’ Commons for a special licence.
A month ago...a week ago that thought would have made his blood run colder than the Baltic in January.
Now...he had no idea any more.
Perhaps he had spent too many years playing Oswald’s games, living in a world where one never trusted one’s senses and rarely one’s mind. Emotions did not even come into play. Outside his lifelong care for a tiny group of people—a few relations and a handful of friends—he had never considered emotions at all.
He wanted to believe his confusion was only the result of what she had dragged out of the graveyard of his stunted emotions along with the memories of his parents and the undeniable warmth of his old life. Once those emotions settled back into their rightful place the others would lose their potency. She would lose her potency. It was a worrying sign that he didn’t want that to be true.
He turned away from the window and wandered downstairs, his boots echoing in the cavernous silence of the absurdly grandiose entrance with its double-arced staircase that had once been lined by paintings of generations of Sinclairs. He had consigned them all to the attic when he returned from the War. It was one thing taking reluctant custody of the Mausoleum, but quite another to have to climb every night to his rooms under the baleful glares of the hordes of Sinclairs before him. Could this monster of a house be redeemed?
Could he?
He reached the entrance hall and looked around, trying to take stock. It had been decades since anyone had entertained here—if one could call the salacious excesses his uncle and grandfather indulged in entertainment. Polite society had certainly not seen the inside of these walls in his lifetime. Unlike some houses this floor was dominated by a ballroom to the left of the stairs and on the right was another room, almost as large, called the Great Hall, which his grandfather used for fencing. As a boy he had spent many hours there being tutored by an Italian master of the art, but he had not entered it since that day over two decades ago. It had just been a lurking entity to the right of the stairs, like an arthritic joint, occasioning a twinge when his mood was low, but something to be ignored and passed over.
Well, it could be ignored no longer.
The enormous room was surprisingly clean, which said a great deal about Mrs Tubbs’s pride, even if not much about his own. There was no sign of the fencing strip he remembered, but at the end of the hall under a holland sheet was the unmistakable shape of a rack of fencing foils.
He breathed in and out, sounds and smells returning of that horrific day his uncle had returned, drunk, and tried to force himself on Lucas’s mother. His mother’s shrieks of fury had drawn them all into the Great Hall, but he remembered most the clash of steel as his father and uncle fought, the smell of sweat and blood. He remembered taking Sam in his arms and pushing Chase outside on to the pavement. That was his last time in this room until today.
He twitched back a sheet covering a side table and picked up the bronze statuette of a standing wolf. So this was where it had been hiding. The Big Bad Bogus Wolf.
‘So you have finally decided to brave the dreaded Great Hall. I forgot how big it is.’
Lucas turned with relief. ‘Chase! You’re back. I was actually thinking it looks smaller than I remembered. Perspective is everything, isn’t it?’
‘Very true. Do you think those are the same foils Uncle John and Father used that day?’ His brother moved towards the rack of foils Lucas was inspecting.
‘Probably. How is Sam?’
‘Hard at work, surrounded by her quills and paints and notes. She asked when you are coming to the Hall. Strangely we discussed precisely that night. She remembers it though she was just a babe.’
‘So do I. She was terrified.’
‘She wasn’t the only one; I thought Father was dead.’
‘U
ncle John did as well. That was the only time I’ve seen him exhibit a commendable emotion, even if it was fear of what Grandfather might do to him.’
‘Bastards, both of them, the world is a better place for their absence. Fitting they died in a fire while inebriated. A sound preparation for hell.’
Lucas selected a foil, testing its weight. They were tarnished with age, but the quality was excellent, just a little too heavy at the hilt, though. After a moment Chase spoke.
‘I came across Alvanley on Piccadilly.’
‘So?’
‘So he asked me if you were finally hanging out for a wife. Said he had a niece with a handsome dowry you might want to consider if the leopard was tiring of his spots.’
‘Charitable of him.’
‘That is what I said. Naturally I was curious what led to that burst of generosity and he enlightened me you had begun to attend society parties and waltz with wealthy heiresses. Or rather one particular heiress. Alvanley is usually highly reliable, but naturally I was sceptical. Until he mentioned the name of the heiress. A Miss Silverdale. What is afoot, Lucas?’
Lucas chose one of the foils and tested its balance. Trust his grandfather to have chosen only the best when it came to weapons.
‘You know what is afoot, Chase. I told you before you went to the Hall.’
‘Yes, but that does not explain why you would seek her out in public or why Tubbs tells me two of the Tubbs clan were assigned to her household. I can think of three possible explanations, none of which is reassuring.’
Lucas raised the foil. ‘Entertain me.’
‘Very well. First, you are worried about something she has unearthed and are spying on her. Second, she has uncovered something and is blackmailing you into serving her ends. And third, you are contemplating defusing the threat by seducing her.’
‘Interesting that you do not credit Alvanley’s theory might be correct.’
‘Unlike Alvanley and the rest of the world, I happen to know the condition of your finances and that you have no need to marry an heiress.’
‘I might have other reasons to contemplate matrimony.’
‘Are you serious? You are toying with me, aren’t you? I know you have no wish to populate the earth with Sinclairs any more than I do. Another explanation does present itself.’
‘This should be interesting. Enlighten me.’
‘Did the jade entrap you? I never thought a woman would get the better of you. The sweet Yorkshire lass must be damn good between the sheets.’
Lucas’s hand tightened on the hilt, holding back the urge to act. He turned away, returning the foil to its place as he counted out his anger.
‘Damn,’ Chase cursed. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I spoke out of turn.’
Lucas shrugged. ‘No, you spoke out of experience, but do not do so again. She is not my mistress, she is not blackmailing me and at the moment she has uncovered nothing incriminating and I doubt she will. With any luck a meeting we attend today will mark the end of her quixotic quest and she will be leaving her Spinner Street fantasies behind.’
‘For?’
‘As long as they do not involve the Sinclair name, that is hardly our concern, is it?’
Perhaps he had not achieved quite the right tone of disinterest. He could feel Chase’s gaze on him and he took another foil just to occupy himself. For a moment he was tempted to share his confusion with Chase, except that he was the big brother. It just did not work that way. Besides, what would he say?
I embraced a woman in the middle of the British Museum.
I worry her feet might be cold so I sent her a foot warmer.
The thought of her marrying Colin Payton or Barnstable or Westerby or anyone...
Chase would think him fit for Bedlam and perhaps he was.
‘It will be over soon,’ he said instead. That at least was true. One way or another it would be over soon because he was approaching the end of his endurance. The intelligent course of action would be to put some distance between himself and his unwitting nemesis so he could consider his options. Calmly.
He returned the foil to the rack. ‘I must leave for a few hours, Chase.’
‘Miss Silverdale again?’
Lucas didn’t bother answering.
Chapter Sixteen
The carriage slowed, but barely stopped before the door opened and Lucas jumped inside. He tossed his hat on to the seat and chafed his gloved hands together. His cheekbones were reddened from the cold and for a moment Olivia could see the boy described in his mother’s letters, returning home from an escapade with his brother and sister in the woods behind the house, cold, muddy, happy. Not that he was muddy, but as his eyes met hers with a hint of a smile she could see the remnants of that happiness. It was so different from the first time they had shared a carriage ride together and she wished it was her right to reach out to him, but she sat quietly, her muff hiding the tension in her hands.
‘This won’t do, Miss Silverdale,’ he said after a moment. ‘You are five minutes early. You must learn the art of fashionable tardiness.’
Her mouth did not ask her permission to smile. ‘I escaped early. Lady Phelps was not happy about my disappearing this afternoon when we are invited to the opera this evening.’
‘Ah. Then it was not out of concern that I might freeze my...freeze out there, but because you were being frozen back at Brook Street. I am sorry you are suffering for my transgression. I should not have come to the museum.’
‘Nonsense. It is as much my fault. Besides, I do not see why it is different from dancing with me in a ballroom.’
‘Don’t you? For someone so intelligent you can be singularly obtuse, Olivia. Or perhaps just wilfully so. I may be a rake, but I still have two siblings whose future I would not wish to contaminate any more than I must.’
She frowned, genuinely confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I mean, Olivia, that even I must be willing to accept responsibility for certain transgressions. Do you even realise what would have happened if any member of your party had come into that gallery just then?’
She flushed, more at the memory of that strange moment than at what might have happened. But she did realise. He might walk a fine line on the edge of society, but the only reason he was helping her was to protect the tarnished Sinclair name. If someone had seen them, he would have offered the amende honorable and she would find herself betrothed. Again.
To a rake. Again.
To Lucas.
‘Once this visit is over I draw the line, Olivia. There will be no more investigations. You are old enough and intelligent enough to face the unpleasant reality that life does not offer neat solutions to your problems. You will end your lease in Spinner Street and tear down your Wall of Conjecture and resume your life as Miss Silverdale.’
‘I know you are upset with me, but I will not allow you to dictate to me, Lord Sinclair.’
‘I won’t bother trying. But this time I will not be dissuaded from having a word with your brother and trust to his superior powers of persuasion. He might find your recent activities of interest.’
The heat in her cheeks began to sting. ‘You shoot to kill, do you not, Lord Sinclair?’
He looked a little heated himself. ‘When it is necessary, yes. This is no longer a game, Miss Silverdale.’
‘It was never a game. If you are angry at me, I give you leave to tell me so directly, Lord Sinclair.’
‘I am primarily angry at myself, Miss Silverdale. I should know better than to have set down this path in the first place. Once this meeting is over you will do better to focus your efforts on charming your way through London.’
‘I have no interest in doing such a thing, even if I were capable.’
He laughed, but it was the harsh dismissive laugh she disliked. ‘It does not suit you to be coy. What the devil do you think yo
u have been doing these past weeks?’
‘Acting.’
The anger faded. ‘It is not all an act. Your admirers would not linger if that was all it was.’
‘My admirers would linger next to a week-old ham if it were possessed of my fortune.’
His grin doused the annoyance in his eyes. ‘You underestimate yourself. I won’t deny your wealth was the draw for people like Lady Barnstable and Lady Westerby, but, believe me, Countess Lieven would not have sponsored you on the strength of your wealth alone. She has no more patience for the likes of the Barnstables and Westerbys than I do. By the way, I think it would be as serious a mistake for you to marry either of them as it would be to marry your tame Colin.’
‘I have no intention of marrying Lord Barnstable or Lord Westerby.’
She did not bother mentioning Colin. She had not decided what she should do about Colin and she didn’t want to discuss him with Lucas. He did not answer, but though he sat with the same stillness that was so typical of him, she saw his thumb pressing down on the knuckles of his other hand one by one, as if they were prayer beads. She had noticed that habit before, but never realised it for what it was—he was tense and holding himself in check.
‘You omitted Payton from that denial. Do you think you would be doing that boy any favours by marrying him?’
‘Certainly the favour of removing his and his family’s financial concerns for the rest of their lives. Concerns that were precipitated by my actions.’
‘You keep saying that. What the devil did you do that would merit a lifetime of misery by shackling yourself to someone wholly unsuited to you?’
‘I told you, it was my fault Henry fell out with his employer and could no longer work around Gillingham. If not for me he would not have died, or at least not in such circumstances, and the Paytons would not now be facing financial ruin.’
‘Why was it your fault? What did you do?’
‘Does it matter? I thought you were not interested in petty details.’
