“Don’t be too hard on your brother.” Larkin’s smile was studiously pleasant. “I gave him a choice. I would come stay with him in Wiltshire. Or he could come stay with me…in Newgate.”
“On what charges?” Adrian demanded.
Larkin shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid deep play and shallow pockets don’t mix. Your brother has made quite the rounds of the gambling hells and the ladies since your return to London. He had every intention of leaving behind a fat sheath of unpaid gambling vowels, a bevy of broken hearts, and several irate gentlemen willing to charge him with losing his money, but winning the hearts of their fiancées.”
Adrian rounded on Julian. “Haven’t I warned you about that? You know you haven’t a head for cards or women when you’ve been drinking.” He shook his head, fighting the urge to tug at his hair—or Julian’s—in frustration. “I gave you two hundred pounds only last week. What in the devil did you do with it?”
Ducking his head sheepishly, Julian devoted all of his attention to flicking the imaginary wrinkles from his French cuffs. “I paid my tailor bill.”
Adrian knew he would want to strangle his brother again. He just hadn’t realized it would be so soon. Or that he’d want to do it with Julian’s outrageously expensive silk cravat. “Why didn’t you come to me when you realized you were in over your head? I couldn’t have mended the broken hearts but I would have given you the blunt you needed to buy back those vowels.”
As Julian lifted his head, there was no mistaking the bitterness in his soulful dark eyes. “I already owe you more than I could ever repay.”
Feeling Larkin’s sharp gaze like a dagger pressed to his throat, Adrian raked a hand through his hair, swallowing both his retort and his pride.
Sensing a chink in his armor, Larkin pressed his advantage. “When I heard you’d invited the charming Cabot sisters to visit Trevelyan Castle and attend your masquerade ball, I didn’t see any harm in joining your little house party. After all, I used to spend every holiday here when we were at Oxford. Weren’t you the one who once implored me to think of this place as my second home?”
Before Adrian could stop them, the years melted away and Larkin was once again standing in the castle’s entrance hall, all flyaway hair and gangly limbs, so shy he could barely stammer out his name to a glowering Wilbury.
Don’t worry, mate, a laughing Victor had said, reaching around Adrian to give Larkin a gentle shove. Wilbury only eats Cambridge boys.
That wayward memory only served to remind him of how inseparable he, Larkin, and Duvalier had once been. Until Eloisa had come between them.
He was still trying to shake the memory’s echo when Caroline slipped past him to take Larkin’s arm. The wariness she had exhibited toward the man in London seemed to have miraculously vanished.
As she offered him a dimpled smile, even the unflappable Larkin looked dazzled. “I, for one, am delighted that you could join us, Constable. And I’m sure my sisters will be just as pleased as I am.”
“I’m rather starved for some civilized company myself, Miss Cabot,” he told her. “Young Julian here was a bit of a bore during the journey. He insisted on sleeping the afternoon away and went into a fit of the sulks every time I tried to open the carriage shutters.”
“Perhaps while you’re here, you could tell me all about your days at the university with Lord Trevelyan.” Drawing the constable away down the corridor, she cast an unreadable glance over her shoulder at Adrian. “So tell me—has the viscount changed much in the past few years? Or has he always been so…imposing?”
Larkin’s voice drifted back to them. “Actually, he must take excellent care of himself. I would almost swear he hasn’t aged a day since our years at Oxford.”
“A well-matched pair, aren’t they?” Julian observed, watching Adrian watch the two of them stroll away down the corridor, arm in arm. “I’ve often thought a pretty young wife would be just the thing to occupy that inquisitive brain of his.”
Adrian turned his glare on his brother. “Don’t you have some boots to polish or a cravat to starch?”
Julian might be foolish, but he wasn’t stupid. Plucking the branch of candles from Adrian’s hand, he sauntered away down the corridor, whistling a tuneless song and leaving his brother in darkness.
The cellar of Trevelyan Castle might very well host a medieval dungeon, but its great hall had been converted into a cozy drawing room. Turkish rugs in warm shades of crimson and gold had been scattered across the salon, blunting the chill of its flagstone floor. Despite the high vaulted ceiling, open beams, and the wooden balcony that ringed the hall, several groupings of sofas, chaises, and overstuffed chairs gave the room an inviting feel. Argand lamps with frosted glass globes burned on nearly every table, casting a picturesque glow. The velvet drapes were tightly drawn, keeping the night at bay. Caroline couldn’t help but notice that those heavily veiled windows also made it impossible to catch a glimpse of anyone’s reflection.
They had retired to the drawing room after a relatively painless supper. Both Lord Trevelyan and Constable Larkin seemed to have entered into an unspoken truce, temporarily laying down their weapons to keep from wounding any innocent bystanders. Since Kane was attending to Vivienne, and Portia was turning the pages of Julian’s music as he coaxed one of Haydn’s more sprightly melodies from the grand pianoforte, Caroline ended up sharing a Grecian chaise with the constable, an arrangement that suited her purposes just fine.
She stabbed her needle through a circle of linen, struggling to put the finishing touches on a sampler she’d started over six months before. Give her a ledger, a column of figures, and a fresh pot of ink and she could balance the budget of Britain and still end up with a tuppence to spare. Give her an embroidery frame, a spool of thread, and a needle, and all she could produce was a hopeless tangle. But the task occupied her hands and kept her eyes averted from the harp in the corner, where Vivienne was receiving instruction from the viscount. Just as Caroline slanted them a glance from beneath her lashes, a laughing Kane leaned over her sister’s shoulder, sniffing the white rose in her sister’s hair before gently repositioning Vivienne’s slender fingers on the strings.
It was only too easy to imagine the two of them behaving just so thirty years from now—their hair frosted with silver, their grandchildren playing around their knees, the affection in their eyes undimmed by time. Stung by both jealousy and shame, Caroline jerked her gaze back to the sampler, giving the needle a fierce tug that nearly snapped the thread in two.
With no needlework to occupy him, Constable Larkin was not so fortunate. Although he made a valiant pretense of sipping his tea and gazing into the fire, it was Vivienne’s lovely profile that kindled the wistful glow in his eyes.
“If you keep ogling my sister that way, sir,” Caroline murmured, “Lord Trevelyan is going to be forced to challenge you to a duel.”
Larkin jumped guiltily and jerked his gaze back to Caroline’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just admiring the Venetian stonework around the hearth.”
“How long have you been in love with her?”
Larkin gave her a startled glance, then sighed, realizing there was no point in resisting her frankness. As he rested his teacup on its Sèvres saucer, his despairing gaze drifted back to Vivienne. “I can’t really say, although I’d swear that every moment she scorns me is a lifetime. Did you see her at supper? She wouldn’t even look at me. And she barely touched her food. One would have thought my very presence robbed her of her appetite.”
Caroline frowned in bemusement. “My sister has always been exceptionally even-tempered. I’ve never seen her take such an open dislike to anyone.”
He brushed an untidy lock of brown hair out of his eyes. “Am I supposed to be flattered? Should I strive to inspire loathing in every gentle creature that I encounter?”
Caroline laughed aloud, earning an unreadable look from the viscount. She would have sworn she’d seen Kane’s glance stray in their direct
ion more than once. It was hardly fair of him to begrudge her a pleasant exchange with the constable when he was so studiously courting her sister.
Deliberately turning to give her full attention to Larkin, she said, “Perhaps Vivienne is insulted by the notion that you’ve come here to protect her from her own foolhardiness.”
Larkin snorted. “How could even the most practical of women be expected to keep her wits about her when Kane is wielding that notorious charm of his?”
Suddenly finding it difficult to swallow, Caroline cleared her throat and devoted all of her attention to tying a clumsy knot in the thread. “I wish I could offer you some encouragement, Constable, but both my sister’s affections and her hopes for the future are otherwise engaged. I would advise you not to waste your time chasing a dream that can never come true.” She stole a furtive glance at Kane beneath her eyelashes, thinking she would do well to heed her own counsel. “Speaking of our host, you promised to tell me how the two of you met.”
Larkin dragged his gaze away from Vivienne, his eyes losing their moon-eyed glaze. “I met Adrian my first year at Oxford. He found me in Christ Church Meadow with a bunch of rowdy bucks gathered around me, shouting and shoving. I was an orphan and a charity student, you see, and they found much to mock in my speech, my shabby clothing, my secondhand books.” A reluctant smile curved his thin lips. “While their interests consisted solely of gaming, wenching, imbibing too much brandy, and taunting those less fortunate, Adrian had devoted his free time to the study of boxing at Jackson’s. He laid them out flat, every one of them. From that day forward, he appointed himself my champion and no one ever dared trouble me again.”
“That’s a role he seems to embrace with more than the usual enthusiasm,” Caroline murmured, remembering his timely rescue of her at Vauxhall. “What about Victor Duvalier? Was he another one of Kane’s strays?”
The constable’s eyes sparked with something that might have been amusement in a less guarded man. “You’re very attentive, aren’t you, Miss Cabot? Are you considering a career in the constabulary?”
“Only if you’ll allow me to continue my interrogation,” she replied, unable to resist a smug smile.
He sighed. “If you must know, Victor’s father was a wealthy count and both of his parents were sent to the guillotine during the Revolution. An aunt smuggled him to England a few years later. Unfortunately, he could never quite rid himself of his accent, which provided endless amusement to our fellow students, especially since we were at war with France at the time. Until Kane took him under his wing, they made his life a living hell.”
Her curious gaze searched Larkin’s face. “From what you told me in London, Kane wasn’t just your champion. He was your friend.”
Larkin’s smile faded. “That was a long time ago.”
“Before Eloisa Markham disappeared?” she ventured, lowering her voice to ensure that their conversation remained private.
“After Eloisa disappeared, Adrian never confided in me again,” Larkin admitted, unable to hide the note of bitterness in his voice. “It was as if our friendship had never been.”
“What about Victor? Did Kane continue to confide in him?”
“Victor returned to France shortly after Eloisa’s disappearance.”
A tingle of excitement made Caroline sit up straight. “How do you know she didn’t secretly accompany him?”
“Because it was a broken heart that drove him back to France. You see, Miss Cabot, the three of us were very dear friends, and of the three of us, Victor loved Eloisa the most. I don’t think he ever forgave Adrian for being the one she chose to love in return.”
“What about you?” Caroline dared to ask. “Did you ever forgive him? Or Eloisa?” she added pointedly.
Larkin rested his tea cup on his saucer. “If I had anything to do with her disappearance, do you honestly think I would have abandoned my dream of joining the clergy and devoted my life to hunting down those who commit such crimes?”
Caroline knew that guilt had driven men to do stranger things. But there was something about Larkin’s clear-eyed gaze that invited trust. “It was a great loss for the clergy, sir,” she said, absolving him with her smile. “You would have made a capital vicar.”
As he took a sip of his tea, the rebellious lock of hair flipped back into his face. Caroline managed to resist correcting it, but she’d spent too much time tweaking Portia’s various bows and ribbons to ignore the clumsy loop of his half-untied cravat.
Laying her needlework in her lap, she reached over and retied the cravat in a neat bow, surprised to find her exasperation mixed with genuine fondness. “I must say, Constable Larkin, that you are in dire need of either a valet or a wife.”
“Which position are you applying for, Miss Cabot?”
At that resonant growl, Caroline glanced over her shoulder to find Adrian Kane looming over the chaise. He was glowering down at them with little evidence of his “notorious charm.” Vivienne had begun to pluck out a melody on the harp, leaving him free to prowl the room. Caroline couldn’t help but wonder just how long he had been standing there and just how much of their conversation he might have absorbed.
His impertinent query brought a fierce blush to her cheeks. Before she could whip up a suitably scathing denial, Larkin smiled ruefully and said, “I’m afraid I couldn’t afford either a valet or a wife on my meager commissions.”
The constable’s gaze drifted back to Vivienne. Her slender fingers played over the harp strings, coaxing a delicate glissando of notes from the instrument. The flickering lamplight seemed to milk the color from her fair cheeks, leaving her looking particularly ethereal, like a golden-haired angel who might be summoned back to heaven at any moment.
Linking his hands at the small of his back, Kane leaned over the back of the chaise and tilted his head to study Caroline’s sampler. “‘Bless Our Elves,’” he read. “Now those are certainly words to live by.”
“It’s supposed to read ‘Bless Our Lives,’” Caroline retorted, squinting at the lumpy letters of the homily. As Kane sauntered over to sink down on the sofa opposite them, his mocking gaze inspired her to attack her needlework with fresh vigor. “I wasn’t aware you were following our conversation, my lord,” she said, wielding the needle as if it were a tiny wooden stake and the sampler the viscount’s heart. “Had I known, I would have spoken more clearly to make it easier for you to eavesdrop.”
Kane simply smiled. “That’s hardly necessary. I have extremely good hearing.”
“So they say,” she replied more loudly than she intended, her simmering indignation making her careless. “Along with exceptional night vision and a passionate fondness for blood pudding.”
“They only say that because everyone thinks he’s a vampire,” Vivienne said matter-of-factly, her fingers poised over the harp strings.
Chapter Twelve
Larkin’s teacup clattered into its saucer. Portia’s mouth fell open. Julian’s fingers struck a jarring off-key note on the pianoforte. Caroline jabbed the needle into the tender pad of her thumb. They all gaped at Vivienne, but not one of them could bring themselves to look at Kane.
“You know about that?” Caroline whispered into the awkward silence that had fallen over the drawing room.
“Of course I do,” Vivienne replied, rolling her eyes. “You’d have to be both blind and deaf not to see the sidelong glances or hear the whispers every time he walks into a room.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?” Caroline asked cautiously.
Vivienne shrugged and ran a graceful finger down one of the harp’s strings. “Why would I pay any heed to such nonsense? Weren’t you the one who always taught me to scorn idle gossip?”
“Yes.” Caroline sank back into the cushions of the chaise, shamed by her sister’s words. “I suppose I was, wasn’t I?”
Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how close she was to being swept along on that unsavory tide of gossip and innuendo. She didn’t even have Portia’s youth o
r rioting imagination to blame for her willingness to condemn an innocent man who had shown her and her family nothing but kindness.
As Portia flipped a page of the music so Julian could resume his song, Caroline glanced down and realized she had spattered blood all over the pristine linen of the sampler. She absently brought her thumb to her mouth, then glanced at Kane, having finally worked up enough courage to gauge his reaction to Vivienne’s words.
He wasn’t watching Vivienne. He was watching her. His hungry gaze was riveted on her lips as she sucked away the welling drops of blood. The polite mask he so often wore had vanished, revealing a naked need that stole her breath away.
She could almost feel his lips curving around her tender flesh. His mouth gently suckling away all of her hurts until there was no pain, only pleasure. Her heart seemed to slow, growing fuller and heavier with every beat until she could feel its primitive rhythm echoing deep in her womb.
Kane slowly lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Instead of breaking the spell, the motion only intensified it.
Come to me.
She heard the words as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. Both command and entreaty, they made it nearly impossible to resist the hypnotic pull of his will. For one terrifying yet exhilarating moment, Caroline thought she was going to rise, to cross the room in front of them all and go into his arms. She could almost see herself settling into his lap, twining her hands through the glossy silk of his hair, offering him her mouth and anything else he wanted, including her immortal soul.
She stood abruptly, dumping her embroidery to the floor. Setting aside his teacup and saucer, Larkin politely scrambled to retrieve it. As he handed it to her, his troubled gaze riveted on her face, she clutched at the ruined scrap of fabric, hoping to hide the violent trembling of her hands.
“Why, th-thank you, Constable Larkin. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall retire for the night.” Studiously avoiding Kane’s eyes, she began to back toward the door, nearly upending a pier table in the process. “Please don’t think me rude. I’m a country girl at heart and I still haven’t adjusted to staying up until the wee hours of the morning.”
After Midnight Page 12
