by Lara Temple
When the music faded she felt a physical ache in her chest, her eyes burning. She might not know where to go next, but she knew she wanted to feel.
Again without thought her eyes turned to the box opposite. Lucas was in the back of the box, cast in the dark shadow of the drape, but she could make out the sharply carved planes of his face, could feel the tension in every line of his tall, lean frame. The bustling theatre pit was nothing more than an empty chasm between them, echoing with everything that was inside her and wanted out.
Then people were rising and she had no choice but to become Miss Silverdale again.
* * *
‘You did not tell me the half of it, Luke. That is one hot burning ember.’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’ Lucas asked, scanning the crowd in the foyer.
‘Miss Silverdale. She was listening to the music as if her very life depended on it.’
Lucas had noticed that, too, unfortunately. He had noticed little else during the opera. The music became a backdrop for the living painting of her taut, entranced figure as she all but absorbed the theatre with the sheer force of her pleasure. By the end of the act he felt exhausted, defeated and elated all at the same time.
‘And here I thought we came to the Opera so you can keep tabs on Razumov,’ Chase continued. ‘I did not know this was not business, but pleasure. But on the surface it looks like Westerby is in the lead. The odds will shorten on him in the clubs after this show of primacy,’ Chase remarked.
‘Wasted money. She won’t marry him.’
‘Shall I put my money on Barnstable, then?’
Lucas finally turned to his brother. ‘You wager one penny with her name attached to it and I will break your perfect nose.’
Chase grinned. ‘I consider it one of my most notable skills that I always know how to get an honest answer out of the impenetrable Lucas Sinclair. Ah, there is my future sister-in-law. I think I shall introduce myself.’
‘Chase!’
‘Then you introduce me. Come, don’t be shy.’
‘Damn you.’
‘Yes, yes, later.’
Lucas was not surprised by the succession of surprise and antagonism on Lady Phelps’s face as he and Chase approached their party, nor by the subtle stiffening of the Westerbys. He would very much have preferred not to face Olivia right now, but it was better than allowing Chase to go alone which he undoubtedly would. Besides, if there must be gossip, and unfortunately there must, introducing his brother to her might give it a different direction. Perhaps. He had no idea what was about to happen since this was utterly new territory for him. But whatever qualms had survived that carriage ride, watching her listen to Mozart had made it eminently clear there would be no Westerby, no Barnstable and no blasted nice boy Colin in Olivia’s life. There would be only him.
It was as simple as that.
Olivia’s smile was tentative as they approached, but her eyes were still bright with pleasure. He read contrition there, too, and the same wariness as when they met in public, as if unsure who she was and who he was outside her little world of Spinner Street. He was no longer certain himself.
The two parties acknowledged each other like warring factions discussing a ceasefire and then he turned to Olivia.
‘May I introduce my brother, Mr Sinclair. Charles, you have not met Lady Phelps and Miss Silverdale, I believe.’
‘I would certainly have remembered,’ his brother said softly as he bowed. Lucas did not bother listening to the rest of his brother’s flirtatious nonsense or even to Olivia’s laughing responses. He watched her face, warm with life and interest, the flashing of gold shards in the green of her eyes as they narrowed in amusement, her gloved hands moving as she spoke, as full of life as the rest of her. She needed an expanse to live, to experience. He would build an opera house just for her so he could watch her come alive to the music. Then he would...
He was well and truly lost.
‘Do you agree, Lucas?’
‘What?’
‘La Fenice is an experience every music lover should indulge in.’ Chase said. ‘It isn’t only the music. The interior is like stepping into a music box.’
Lucas couldn’t help smiling at the growing awe on Olivia’s face as Chase described the famous Venetian music hall.
‘Did you often attend concerts there?’ she asked, envy dripping from her voice.
‘Our mother adored music so we had little choice,’ Lucas replied. ‘Twice a week during the performance season she would herd us into formation and make us sit through hours of Corelli and Scarlatti.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Lady Westerby interjected. ‘I remember Lady Sinclair’s family was Venetian. Such a fine, noble people, though I never did understand quite why they chose to build a city on the water. Only think of the damp. I’m afraid my constitution would suffer.’
Chase nodded. ‘You are quite right, Lady Westerby. Venice would definitely not agree with you. Best remain on English soil.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Lord Westerby said with a smile at Olivia, a flush rising on his pale skin as he spoke. ‘I would not mind seeing the ruins and all that. Palminter just took his new wife to Greece, didn’t he?’
Usually Lucas would have felt a little sorry for such an awkward and revealing statement, but even knowing this pleasant but slightly dense young man had no chance of attaching Olivia, he could not prevent a surge of jealous resentment that he would even be contemplating it.
‘Could find some nice pieces for the family pile in Derbyshire,’ Westerby added hopefully and Lady Westerby took the torch and began expanding in some detail about the Westerby estates. Olivia listened politely, smiled and once again settled into Miss Silverdale. He could almost see how she meticulously tucked away the remnants of the Wild Silverdales, like strands of escaped hair tamed into her fashionable coiffure. He didn’t want her gathering herself in. He wanted her as she was in Spinner Street, with the plain muslin gowns, her fingers stained with ink and her hair slipping its pins. He wanted her frowning at her lists and pinning them on walls while he made himself useful keeping her feet warm and her body satisfied and her mind occupied with living.
He wanted her.
‘Should we not depart, Lady Westerby?’ Lady Phelps interrupted.
‘You are not staying for the second act?’ Lucas asked.
‘I am afraid not, Lord Sinclair. We are promised at Lady Hazelmere’s soirée, are we not, Lady Westerby?’
‘And there is the Countess beckoning to us, Lucas,’ Chase added. ‘It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Phelps, Miss Silverdale. I look forward to furthering it.’
Chase waited until they were safely out of earshot before addressing Lucas. ‘That set the cat among the pigeons. You did notice we were being watched most avidly from all corners? I wonder what will be made of you introducing your brother to Miss Silverdale.’
‘I did not introduce you; you were the one to force that meeting.’
‘They don’t know that. What the world saw was one Sinful Sinclair presenting himself and his brother most properly to a gently nurtured young woman. Poor Westerby, I think he is actually fond of her, it isn’t just the money,’ Chase said as they approached their box.
‘His mother will find him some other heiress to moon over.’
‘No doubt. So. What are you planning to do about it?’
‘I am certainly not planning to discuss it here with you.’
‘Point taken. Too crowded. Do you know what I found fascinating?’
Lucas sighed. ‘No, what?’
‘I have no idea what she was really thinking. Too many layers. She lets slip the society layer and you see all that curiosity and laughter, but then that is still a layer and there is something behind it and for all I can tell behind that as well. It’s like a hall of mirrors; keeps you guessing which is the r
eal one, you know?’
Unfortunately he did.
‘I know she likes me. I just don’t know why,’ Chase continued.
‘How do you know she likes you?’
‘I just do. I like her, too. What’s more important, I think Sam will. Any chance you can convince her to marry you before I must depart for the Continent? I want to see the spectacle with my own eyes. Will you do it at the Hall chapel?’
‘Chase.’
‘Sorry. I should not be enjoying your downfall so much, should I? I’m glad I agreed to attend tonight. Until I saw your face this evening I had no idea how serious it was.’
‘Chase!’
‘There. I’m done. It will be interesting to see how quickly the betting books take a turn tonight.’
Chapter Eighteen
Whenever Lucas thought he had reached the bottom rung of this particular ladder of discomfiture, something proved him wrong.
Attaching himself to the Lievens when they mentioned they were expected to make a stop of courtesy at Lady Hazelmere’s was sinking low indeed. He should have gone with Chase to Cribb’s Parlour or returned home, but neither the noise of Cribb’s or the silence of the Mausoleum were bearable at the moment.
In any case, he should not be here at another perfectly innocuous, utterly boring and wholly respectable entertainment. Unlike Olivia’s hapless suitors, he had the advantage of knowing precisely where and when he would have her to himself and precisely what he intended to do when he did. However unsuitable he might be as a bridegroom to a proper young woman, he was a damn sight better for her than any of her current prospects and, however properly she was acting under Lady Phelps’s aegis at the moment, she was as unsuited to becoming a London socialite as Sam. He could no longer consider whether it was a mistake. He could no longer consider much of anything that didn’t involve Olivia and it was time to accept this was not merely a fleeting, if particularly brutal, attack of lust or some peculiar effect brought about by the unearthing of his past.
The only problem, which Chase had identified with his usual brutal acumen, was that he did not know what she was thinking.
He did not doubt she desired him—she had been entrancingly open about that in the carriage, almost disastrously so. He also didn’t doubt that she liked him, that she enjoyed being with him, even that she trusted him, up to a point. But though he was glad for all of these he did not know whether they amounted to what he wanted from her. He couldn’t even label it love because there was surely something wrong in depending on an emotion that only two weeks ago he would have sworn either didn’t exist or, if it did, was beyond his ability to experience. If it was love that had him firmly by the heart and mind and groin, it was a damnable affliction and he understood better why the poets thrashed on so much about it.
More than anything he wanted to be as necessary for her as she was to him. And he had not the faintest idea if he was.
So here he was, standing in Lady Hazelmere’s impressive ballroom with its three massive chandeliers casting the light of hundreds of candles on a world he had done his best to avoid, searching the sea of fashionable silks and plumes and flitting fans for the warm brown curls of the most impossible woman of his acquaintance, his heart thudding as if one of the Tsar’s Cossack assassins had a knife held to the base of his spine.
‘The Silverdale chit? The odds are shortening on Westerby, but now that Sinclair looks like he might want to get riveted, I wouldn’t waste my blunt. I heard he came to speak with her at the Opera. Introduced his brother to her, no less.’
Lucas stiffened but did not turn at the murmurs coming from behind an arrangement of potted palms to his left that marked the entrance to the card rooms.
‘Did he? That is daring of him, given his brother is just as much a rake as he. Fascinating, but I have just heard an even more titillating titbit, my dear Forsyth. Apparently, the heiress baulks at the fence.’ The voice of Rodney Paget, ageing roué and gossip, was unmistakable. Lucas carefully moved closer.
‘What’s that, Paget? You have a tip for us?’ Forsyth asked eagerly.
‘I do, indeed. A most interesting piece of news fresh from the countryside. I came across Hamilton at Stultz today. Poor fellow just returned from a conjugal visit to his wife somewhere in the wild north and we were discussing the latest wagers at Watier’s. Apparently, the Silverdale heiress is from the town next to his. Got a name for her, too. The Gillingham Jilt.’ He paused for effect and there was a shuffling as his audience drew closer. ‘Left some poor sap at the altar and the fellow’s family sued her for breach of promise and won.’
‘What’s this about the Silverdale heiress, Paget?’
‘It’s true. Engaged to some fellow, but gave him his marching orders the day before the ceremony. Her family sent her away to a cousin to wait out the scandal. Looks like they think it’s safe to let her out and about. Pity. For an heiress she’s an appealing little thing. Still, can’t be too cautious. Someone should tell Barnstable to shy off before he’s burnt.’
‘And Westerby. Blast. I’d best go change my wager. If the girl’s a flirt...’
‘Stands to reason. I’ve seen her casting out lures to Sinclair. Aiming high. Perhaps she thinks he’s done up and needs her blunt.’
‘I doubt it, took two ponies off me at White’s the other week. Still... Can’t see her daring to jilt him.’
‘He won’t have her. Likely he’s bored.’
‘More likely feeling his age. Even the Sinclairs need heirs. If this is true and she is a deep player, I just might take a visit to Watier’s. The Gillingham Jilt, eh? Has a nice ring to it. Might make the Almack tabbies reconsider that voucher, eh? How long d’you think before that makes the rounds?’
Lucas did not wait to hear their assessment on the speed of London gossip. If Hamilton had spouted his news at his tailor’s that afternoon, it was a miracle they had not heard it at the opera.
He spotted Lady Phelps before he did Olivia. She sat very straight beside Lady Barnstable, but by the rigid smile stretched across her face it was obvious London gossip was already working its magic. He didn’t bother with subterfuge but walked directly to her.
‘Lady Phelps, may I have a word?’
She directed a harried look at Lady Barnstable, but as that lady was staring ahead determinedly, she rose, a little flushed.
‘Where is Miss Silverdale?’
‘Dancing with Sir Frederick Whitby, but...’
‘I presume you have heard that Hamilton has brought back news from Yorkshire?’
‘Yes. I...’
‘Has Miss Silverdale?’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘No, I do not think so. I heard this very instant. Mrs Fitzherbert very kindly came seeking enlightenment.’
‘I am sure. I heard Paget spreading the word near the card room. Well, we shall just have to nip this in the bud.’
‘Paget! It will be all over London by tomorrow. How can it possibly be nipped in the bud?’
‘Quite easily. It is one thing to enjoy themselves at the expense of Miss Silverdale, it is quite another to do so at the expense of my betrothed. The only way to combat gossip is through fear or the promise of an even juicier titbit. We will exercise both tactics.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Lord Sinclair...’
‘Just keep her with you when she returns from the dance. I will have a word with Paget and then return.’
He did not wait for her response, but sought out one source of the problem. ‘Paget. A word.’
‘Sinclair. It is quite marvellous how you have begun to come among us mortals. Are the rumours true? Are you indeed hanging out for a wife?’
‘No. I have already found one. Which is why I want a word with you. I hear you are enjoying yourself at her expense. I don’t like that.’
The fashionable smirk disappeared, as did the colour in his florid cheeks. ‘I... I did
not...’
‘Yes, you did. If I hear from anyone that you repeated that charming epithet you spouted earlier, I will have my friends come demanding their vowels from you. That will be the opening salvo; you will relish what follows even less. So keep a leash on your tongue and on that of your feckless friends. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
He strode back to Lady Phelps, making a quick stop by the orchestra on his way. Olivia was already there, standing with her back to him, but she turned as he approached. Her eyes were large, more green than gold, and very bruised.
‘Have you told her?’ he asked Lady Phelps, but his eyes held Olivia’s.
‘I had to, but...’
‘I will explain the rest. That is our cue, Miss Silverdale. Come.’
He held out his arm and she placed her hand on it almost blindly.
‘Where?’
‘To the dance floor, of course. They are striking up a waltz.’
‘But...it was to be a country dance.’
‘Was it? I think the orchestra leader found the waltz to be a more lucrative choice.’
‘But why?’
‘We are celebrating.’
‘I don’t think I want to celebrate gossip at my expense. Do you honestly think dancing a third waltz with you will overshadow the satisfying ring of the Gillingham Jilt? What a pity I hailed from Gillingham. I don’t think there are many towns in England who would have worked quite so satisfactorily with the word jilt. I always knew this was a mistake. I told Elspeth it was. There is no point in staying in London in any case.’
Her eyes dipped, but he had seen the burn of tears there and pulled her a little closer, stroking her palm through her glove. A faint pink flush rose over her pale cheekbones, but she kept her eyes downcast.
‘It was not a mistake; this is merely tonnish nonsense and will blow over in less time than it took to surface. It is best to face it head on. It is not in your nature to run.’
‘Yes, it is. I ran last time.’
‘That was different. You are different—you are the woman who has forced Sinful Sinclair to become her lowly page and run errands for her.’
