She moved to her dressing table and sank onto the matching bench. The woman who returned her gaze in the mirror looked almost like a stranger to night. Odd; she certainly didn’t feel any different now than she had when she was a girl. Oh, naturally she’d had to adapt to the strict social parameters of a countess. And she’d had to adjust her sense of fun and frolic to conform to proper behavior. There was nothing wrong with that. Was there?
Her reflection stared, her expression thoughtful and more than a little puzzled. What ever had put her in such a strange mood? Perhaps…it had just been far too long since she thoroughly enjoyed herself.
The woman in the mirror grinned. And wasn’t Jared amusing to night? She did so love it when the dear boy put his foot down like that. Charles used to have exactly the same expression on his face, the same tone in his voice, the same furious gleam in his eye. Male indignation was obviously something passed on from father to son.
She pulled the pins from her hair and shook the tresses free. At least she hadn’t admitted anything to him. There was even the slim possibility he believed her protestations. Not that it mattered. How could she possibly promise not to continue to do something she hadn’t confessed to doing in the first place?
Olivia selected a silver-backed brush and ran it through her hair with an absent stroke. She hadn’t counted on Jared actually caring for the girl. That would make matters far easier should the child pass her tests. But if she failed, it would complicate an already awkward situation.
So far, Cecily had performed impressively. To night’s success was quite extraordinary, almost enough to declare her a winner. With this last achievement, the American had met every challenge Olivia had set before her. Still, she wanted to be certain this girl would be the kind of wife, countess and, ultimately, mother, her son and his heritage required. The survival of her family and its legacy depended on it.
Olivia’s hand stilled and the woman in the mirror narrowed her eyes pensively. There was perhaps one more test. A final test of loyalty and courage. If Cecily passed, Olivia would welcome her to the family with outstretched arms. If not…
Abruptly the lighthearted mood that had filled her evaporated. The blithe-spirited stranger in the mirror vanished, replaced by her own familiar image. If Cecily could not overcome this last challenge, Olivia would be forced to oppose their union with every weapon at her disposal.
Olivia stared at her reflection. Determination washed through her, restoring her confidence and her resolve. She was only trying to do what was best for Jared, his future and the future of his family. No price was too high to pay for that.
Even her son’s broken heart.
“What did she say?” Cece stepped into the library and closed the doors behind her.
Jared glanced up from his intense study of the liquor in his glass and smiled a warm greeting. His gaze met hers and his eyes lit with a fire that brought a flutter to her insides. This morning’s kiss still lingered in her mind and on her lips.
“It’s very late.” His voice was low and heated her blood with an odd craving. “I thought you had retired with the others.”
His appreciative gaze skimmed over her. She still wore the yellow Worth gown and was both grateful she had not yet changed into her nightwear and vaguely disappointed.
Firmly pushing aside all thoughts of desire and passion and the realization that they were very likely alone in this part of the castle, Cece settled into a soft leather sofa and surveyed him in a businesslike manner.
“I saw your mother leave. She seemed somewhat irate.”
“Irate?” Jared chuckled wryly. “She’s denied everything completely. She’s very good; my mother has turned innocence into a fine art. Short of employing the rack and the iron maiden, I shall get nothing out of her.”
“I see,” Cece said slowly. “Do you honestly think she’s been testing me?”
Jared shrugged. “I can’t see that it matters now. I have told her of my feelings for you and forbidden her to present you with any further problems. If indeed my suspicions are correct, I am confident her interference is now at an end.”
“Of course,” she murmured. There was no doubt at all in her mind about either the guilt of Lady Olivia or the very distinct possibility that her activities would continue.
Jared had no way of knowing about the incidents with Sir Humphrey and the events of last night. While there was nothing that could be done to prove Lady Olivia’s fine hand in all this, Cece would have wagered her father’s last dollar on the lady’s involvement. And in spite of Jared’s sweet words and the gleam in his eye, the question of what he would do should she fail a test loitered tenaciously in a corner of her mind.
“Jared,” she blurted in a surge of determination to know the answer.
“Hmm?” His eyes smoldered and he idly swirled the brandy in his glass. His strong, tanned hand cupped the snifter. Her knees weakened, her breath caught and images of this morning fired the heat in her face. She could almost feel the touch of his hands on her feverish flesh.
“Should I meet you at the same time tomorrow for our driving lesson?” Damnation! That wasn’t the question uppermost in her mind. It was only when he gazed at her with eyes so deeply sapphire she could lose herself in a single glance that she could think of nothing except the demanding pressure of his lips on hers, the charged touch of his hand on her surprisingly receptive body and her own wonderfully desperate responses.
His gaze locked with hers and she could read a hunger both terrifying and tempting. She wondered if their next session would follow the path of the last. Her heart throbbed at the thought.
“There will be no lesson tomorrow, at least not in the morning.” His eyes, glorious, dangerous, hypnotic, seemed to draw her closer, even though she never actually moved an inch and his words barely registered on a mind too intoxicated with thoughts of sensual kisses and erotic caresses. “I have business to attend to in London, but I shall return by afternoon.”
“We’re leaving for London in the afternoon. Mother wants to get ready for Em’s party.” Cece noted vaguely that her voice was calm and her speech coherent, but she paid scant attention to what she in fact said. “It’s only a week away.”
The words emerged from her as if of their own accord. She could do little more than stare at the intriguing way his mouth moved when he spoke, when he sipped his brandy, when the liquor glistened on his lips in an unspoken invitation. Instinctively, she ran her tongue over her own lips.
“Capitol. Then I shall stay in London.” Even his voice, the superior British accent that had once annoyed her, now triggered ripples of anticipation. She could lose her soul to that voice. She could listen to him forever. “The race is next week as well. The day after Emily’s coming out.”
His words finally penetrated the heady haze of arousal that fogged her senses and she jerked her gaze to his. He smiled as if he read her thoughts and warmth flashed up her face. Goodness! When had she become so wanton?
“The race. I had nearly forgotten.” She drew a deep breath for composure and pulled her brows together in a considering frown. “I don’t imagine you’ve changed your mind and will be driving after all?”
He shook his head in a resolute manner. “No. Quentin will handle that chore. For all intents and purposes, I shall be there only as his friend. To provide moral support, as it were.”
She sighed with exasperation. “I still think that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why, in my country—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Jared’s lips quirked upward in a tolerant smile. “In America a man with ambition and talent can go far. Creativity and invention is respected and admired. Men who dream are—”
“That is quite enough,” she said coolly, all thoughts of passion vanishing beneath justified patriotic indignation. “I needn’t stay here and hear my country maligned.” She rose to her feet. “It is past time I retired.”
“Cece…” Jared stood and quickly crossed the few steps separating them
. He grasped her hands in his. His gaze met hers, meshed and held. “I would never malign a country that could create anything as marvelous as you.”
“Oh?” His admission took her breath away, and once again she wanted nothing more than to melt in his arms. “Well, as long as you admit—”
“I would admit anything for you.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the back of first one and then the other. “I would give up anything for you.” He turned her hands over and placed a kiss in one palm and then the next. “I would do anything…” his midnight eyes burned into hers with the intensity of a single star on a cloudless night “…for you.”
“Really?” Her voice was scarcely more than a sigh.
He nodded solemnly, but a twinkle lurked in the corner of his eye. “Really.”
He pulled her close and gently drifted his lips across hers in a touch so light, it might have been little more than a dream. She strained toward him, eager to continue the instruction he had begun this morning. He released her abruptly, firmly stepping back and away. “You do need to retire. Now.”
“Do I?” Her tone was sultry, inviting. A tiny voice somewhere in her mind argued that she was going far beyond the limits of proper behavior, far beyond the realm of safety, far beyond the possibility of stopping. She no longer cared.
Retiring was the last thing she wanted to do at this moment. What she wanted—what she needed—was Jared and everything that need entailed. A hundred reasons for restraint, for caution, for decorum demanded attention, and she shrugged them off like blossoms in the wind. There was no real reason why a modern woman should not be with the man she loved and planned to wed.
“Why?” she breathed.
He had the look of a man caught between honor and temptation. An intriguing mix of emotions marched across his face: desire; indecision; regret. He drew a deep, shaky breath and laughed, a rough, ragged sound. Jared leaned forward, kissed her on the tip of her nose and withdrew. Disappointment flooded her.
“Because, at this point, I think it would be for the best.” Jared shook his head. “I find it difficult to believe my own words, but”—he shrugged wryly and grinned—“it must have something to do with love.”
“…with love,” she echoed. Yes, it had everything to do with love.
“Now.” He grasped her shoulders, turned her toward the door and gave her the tiniest push. “Bid me good night and go to your room.” He sighed deeply. “Before I change my bloody mind.”
“There is nothing that says a man can’t change his mind,” she said, an encouraging note in her voice.
He steered her toward the door. “Nothing except common sense and one’s own nagging conscience.”
“Conscience?” She tried to stop her inexorable progress out of the room, but his touch was unyielding. “What on earth does conscience have to do with anything? You are not taking advantage of me. I am more than ready and extremely willing.”
“I realize that,” he admitted, but his grip did not ease. “Only an idiot would fail to realize that.”
“You are not an idiot.” Her protestations seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“No, but I am very likely a fool,” he muttered. He opened the library door and firmly pushed her out of the room. “Your enthusiasm does not make this any easier.”
“I don’t understand you at all.” Frustration and denial rang in her voice. “How can you do this to me? To us?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” He closed the door with a sharp snap, and she swore she could hear a sigh of relief.
“You disappoint me, Jared.” She glared at the door. “Your reputation as a rogue is greatly exaggerated!”
A hearty chuckle sounded behind the wooden barrier. “Thank you.”
Cece sighed, crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to kick the innocent door. She had clearly indicated to Jared her desire. Why, she had practically thrown herself at him. How on earth could he resist what she offered? And to use that ridiculous excuse about love! Still…her annoyance ebbed, and she absently turned and headed to the west-wing stairway.
A man truly in love just might be willing to forgo his own satisfaction to preserve a lady’s honor. When one thought about it rationally, without a cloud of desire fogging one’s mind, it made a great deal of sense. Wasn’t that exactly what Jared had just done?
And how had she behaved in return?
The cold hand of chagrin gripped her stomach.
A tart. That’s what she was, a tart. And a silly tart at that. With nothing better to say in response to his admissions of devotion but “really.” She groaned aloud and started up the stairs. He had tried—in fact, he had obviously struggled—to be noble, to save her from himself. Or, more accurately, to save her from herself.
The man was truly wonderful. His only real flaw was his obnoxious view of the abilities of women in general and his attitude toward females and automobiles in particular.
She stopped short between steps, struck by a sudden idea. A sudden interesting idea. Just this morning the thought had occurred to her that Jared had admirably succeeded in educating her as to everything she could possibly know about the workings of an automobile. She had, after all, watched him and others behind the controls. Surely she could teach herself how to drive the vehicle. Abruptly, she realized that Jared was right in one respect: It was ever so much easier to operate a machine if one was acquainted with its inner mechanics. And, if truth were told, the motorcar was not nearly as complicated as she had initially envisioned.
Confidence brought a grin to her lips and she continued up the stairs with a lilt in her step. Teaching herself to drive would take a heavy burden off Jared. The poor man would no longer have to devise ways to keep her from his automobiles. Why, she was doing him a favor.
No doubt Jared would not see it in that light—but, with any luck, Jared would not know. At least not until she mastered his machine. And master it she would. He would be off first thing in the morning, but she had hours before her return to London. And once she was no longer eager for lessons on driving, she could permit—no, encourage—Jared to instruct her on a subject she found even more fascinating than motorcars. A subject in which just this morning he had demonstrated his expertise. And she had demonstrated enthusiasm and a willingness to learn. Her grin widened.
She wondered, for their next lesson, just who would be teaching whom?
Chapter Twelve
Apprehension mingled with anticipation, and Phoebe could scarcely keep her mind on the matters at hand. The twin emotions seemed her constant companions these days. She sat at the ladies’ writing desk in Millicent’s drawing room and stared at the papers before her. The lists of guests, of errands, of things still undone for Emily’s party two days from now might well have been written in some exotic foreign tongue, for all the sense she made of them.
Phoebe set her pen aside with disgust and gave into the memories that had haunted her since Robin’s arrival. She had avoided confronting those thoughts with the same determination she’d avoided the man himself. Neither was easy.
Robin hadn’t lived in London for years, and it would be several weeks before his newly acquired town house was habitable. Naturally, he stayed here at Millicent’s along with Quentin, Phoebe and the rest of the Whites. Millicent’s house was every inch as grand as her own in Chicago, and there was no lack of space in which to elude another house guest. There were the public meetings, of course, at meals and various other gatherings through the course of the week. And while Phoebe had managed never to be alone with him, she could not avoid those heart-stopping moments when his gaze would capture hers, and her breath would catch in her throat.
Today, however, she was completely alone. But solitude did nothing to ease her mind. Millicent was off, preoccupied with errands. The girls were driving in the park with Quentin and Jared. Robin was at some government office, and Henry was once again at the club he had grown so fond of. What men found so appealing at such places was beyond her.
She pushed her chair back from the desk and rose to her feet. Staying here, in this very communal room, was risking an encounter she did not want. With a speed born of renewed determination and constant anxiety, she gathered up her papers and headed toward the hall.
The sound of the front door opening grated across her senses and halted her in her tracks. The door thudded shut and the low murmur of a servant’s voice mixed with a deeper tone too indistinct to identify positively. But her heart fluttered and she wondered—no—she knew. The tread of a man’s footfall drew nearer, and she fought the panic-spurred impulse to run. She stilled, as if not moving would somehow allow her to remain undetected.
Robin strode through the wide doorway and stopped abruptly. Surprise washed over his face, followed swiftly by delight.
“Phoebe.” He said her name as if it were a gift or a prayer.
She drew a deep breath and resolved to remain cool and collected in spite of the emotions raging within her. Her voice was curt. “Robin.”
He walked toward her, and she instinctively stepped back, but he paid no attention and passed her to reach a tray bearing several decanters and a number of glasses. He poured a glass for himself, then turned to her.
“Millicent always was wonderfully prepared.” He raised a brow. “Would you care for something?”
Liquor? In the middle of the day? “Please. Sherry, I should think.”
“You always preferred sherry, if I recall,” he said softly and poured her wine.
He handed her the glass and their fingers touched with a shock that jerked her gaze to his. Deep, devouring; she thought surely he could see into her soul.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
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