by Lauren Smith
“What’s that?”
Mr. Banks mounted his horse, still grinning. “You must’ve been a child during the last one in 1814. The Thames froze over so completely that the city of London hosted a fair on the ice. Quite the event. I went with my family just a few days before…” His joy faded.
“Before?”
“Before… It is nothing.” Martin gazed at the pamphlet for a long moment, and Livvy feared she knew what he meant to say. Before your father took everything away from me.
“May we go? I would love to see the frost fair.”
“I think perhaps we can,” he said. Part of his smile returned as he tucked the paper in his waistcoat.
They moved their horses forward, exiting Hyde Park. It wasn’t until they were back at Mr. Banks’s house that Livvy spoke again.
“I’m sorry,” she said as their eyes met.
“Sorry? For what?” He dismounted and then came over to her. He reached both hands up to her. She leaned down and placed her hand on his shoulders as he caught her by the waist. As he carried her down, their bodies slid against one another and her breath hitched.
“I know what you meant to say earlier. I’m sorry my father caused you so much pain.” Those words had weighed on her, and she knew she had to speak them, even if he wasn’t willing or ready to listen. His blue eyes softened, but his expression was hard to read.
“You have nothing to apologize for. The sins of the father should not be passed on to the children.” He brushed a lock of her hair back with one gloved hand. “Now, come inside so you can warm up. If you wish to attend the festival, you’ll need a sturdy dress and your new cloak.”
He led her inside and ordered the footmen to bring them a light luncheon to be served in his study and her bedchamber.
“May I dine with you in your study, Mr. Banks?” Livvy followed him after she’d given her riding gloves and hat to Mellie, who met them at the foot of the stairs.
He seemed genuinely surprised. “You wish to dine in my study?”
“Well, yes, if you would let me. If you don’t want me to intrude—”
“No, that’s quite fine,” he replied, and waited for her to follow him. “And please, call me Martin.”
Livvy had to admit she was quite curious as to what his study would look like. Men did not often allow women in their private sanctums. She’d only been inside her father’s study once or twice.
Martin stopped at a door at the end of the corridor and stepped back after he pushed it open. She entered ahead of him, glancing about. The walls were a soft forest-green, and the light paneled wood at the base of the room gave it a distinguished look. The desk was large, but not overly elaborate. It was functional. He had several shelves with books, packets of documents, and the occasional decorative bit of art. The rest of his home was clearly designed to impress, yet here, in this private space, she caught a glimpse of who Martin really was. A man focused on business. She shivered, wondering if that applied to everything in his life.
Am I nothing more than a business transaction to him?
He took a seat at his desk, focusing on a stack of unopened letters. She hastily plucked a book from the shelves and seated herself on one of the two comfortable armchairs facing his desk. She opened the book, turning a few pages before she peeped up at him.
Whatever he was reading was making him frown. Suddenly overcome with an impish desire, she scooted to the edge of the chair and rested her elbows on the edge of his desk. She stared at him. He still kept his gaze on the letters, using a letter opener to slice a wax seal apart as he worked.
Livvy mimicked his deep frown, exaggerating the expression to the point of comedy. Still he did not notice. What would it take to get him to smile, she wondered, or at the least notice her?
A truly wicked thought struck her. She stuck out her tongue and pulled down her cheeks to widen her eyes a little and then wiggled her nose. The movement finally caught Martin’s attention as he saw her, then dropped the stack of letters he’d been rifling through all over the ground and on his desk, knocking over his quill and ink bottle.
“Bloody hell!” he growled, rushing to grasp the bottle and turn it back upright.
“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “I only wanted to make you laugh.”
He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh? Well you ruined the letters. I have half a mind to put you over my knee and spank you.”
She was the one frowning now. “You wouldn’t. I’m a grown woman, not a child.”
“A grown woman does not make such silly faces!”
“Oh, you are impossible.”
Martin was on her instantly, catching her wrist and tugging her around his desk. She squeaked as he bent her over his lap and gave her bottom a hard smack, which didn’t hurt in the slightest because of all her skirts and petticoats, but she didn’t want him to know that.
“How dare you!” He gave her another few smacks, though lighter than the first, despite her kicking protests. Her pride was bruised by the time he let her get up, but he didn’t let her leave He simply pulled her across his lap so that she sat on him, and his hands settled on her waist as she he gazed at her and then suddenly grinned and chuckled.
“Try and make that face again,” he dared her. There was a sensual light in his eyes. She clutched his shoulders then, her eyes dropping to his lips. His hands on her waist tightened as though in silent encouragement.
He wants me to kiss him, to make the first move.
She wanted that too. She had coaxed a grin from him, and he’d even laughed a little. Her skin warmed at the thought. His smile was purely male as she closed the distance between their faces. Livvy knew she had been pulled in by the raw power of her attraction to him, but she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her lips to his. Raw need met pure desire as it grew into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He coiled a hand in her hair at the base of her neck. The lust he drew forth in her was timeless and potent. She feared he was ruining her for all other men.
But it didn’t matter. Well it did, but she knew it wouldn’t matter once he was done with her. No other man would take her except as a mistress. Her dreams of a marriage and children were gone. Sorrow gripped her heart, and she broke her lips from his. He stared at her, his eyes still glazed with lust.
“I…suddenly don’t feel all that well. I think I will return to my chambers after all.”
She slid off his lap and hastily retreated toward the door.
“Livvy? Livvy, wait, I’m sorry!” Martin rushed after her, but when he caught up to her at the door, sliding one arm around her waist, she put a steadying hand on his chest.
“Did I…? Was I too rough? I was only playing. I didn’t mean to—” He struggled for words, his face pale.
“It isn’t that,” she whispered, her face flushing. “I liked how playful you were, but…” He looked so concerned and inviting, but she had to keep her distance.
If I don’t, I’ll do something terribly foolish like fall in love with the man who bought me for a debt.
She would despise herself if she fell that low…and her heart would be shattered.
“What is it?” Martin cupped her chin, and the touch was so warm that she leaned into it a little. She couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t understand.
“Female troubles,” she said, hoping he would believe her. She placed her palm on her abdomen.
“Oh? Oh! Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I just need to lie down and rest.”
“I see. Very well, I’ll have your food sent up to you.” His fingertips dropped from her chin to her waist, and he gave her a gentle squeeze. “I confess I don’t know much about…” He blushed again. “But please, if there is anything… A hot bath, perhaps? Something I may do to help?”
“I promise, I’m well. I need to rest… Alone.”
She thought it was possible that he looked wounded at her response.
“Of course. Do whatever you need to be comfortable.” He let go and stepped ba
ck. Livvy felt the distance between them, a chasm that made her heart ache. But she welcomed such pain, if it kept her heart safe.
“Rest well. If you feel well enough, we may try to attend the fair later this afternoon.”
She nodded and left his study. By the time she reached her chamber, she felt numb and cold inside. Mellie helped her into a comfortable dressing gown so she could rest on the bed. A footman brought her food a short while later, but she barely ate. Mellie lingered by the armoire, hanging up her riding habit, her worried eyes drifting over to Livvy.
“Miss…are you all right?” she asked.
“I…” Livvy closed her eyes a moment and then met the maid’s gaze. “I’m afraid.”
Mellie the tilted her head slightly. “Afraid of what?”
“Of falling in love with him.” The maid closed the armoire and came over to perch on the edge of the bed.
“Why are you afraid of that?”
“Because…” She plucked the dark-blue fabric of the expensive dressing gown Martin had bought her. It was lovely, like everything in this house, like everything he’d bought for her.
“Because…?” Mellie prompted.
“He won’t care about me, not in the same way. I’m just a dalliance that he will turn out once he tires of me. I don’t want to love someone like that. Love is special. It has meaning. But what he feels for me will never be love.”
Mellie’s blue eyes glinted with amusement. “I think you might be wrong.”
“I’m not. You don’t know him, you don’t know how much he despises my father. That much hatred in his heart will erase any love he might ever have for me. I’m worried this is all temporary, that when he’s done with me he’ll turn cold and callous and—” She choked on the last word as she saw Martin standing in the doorway. From the look on his face, she could tell he’d heard every word.
“Martin—” She started to rise, but he turned and vanished from the doorway. She struggled to get off the bed, nearly tripping in her haste to wrap her dressing gown close, but she could not reach him in time. He slammed the door to his chambers, and she heard the lock bolt slide into place.
“Martin, please, let me explain,” she cried at the door. She heard no sound, no hint of breathing, no shuffle of boots. Simply silence, a sound so thick it threatened to smother her.
Two footmen lingered at the top of the stairs, watching her. She ducked her head and rushed back to her room, flinging herself onto her bed and burying her face in the pillows. Her heart was aching, and she could feel the sobs coming. Mellie patted her back gently before left and Livvy heard the door to her bedroom close.
Livvy blinked away the tears, feeling them soak the pillow. She hadn’t meant for him to hear what she said. She wasn’t even sure if she meant any of it. He hadn’t been cold or callous, except that first night he brought her home. He’d been warm and comforting ever since.
If she’d hurt him, she would be the callous one. She knew that she didn’t have to feel guilty, but it didn’t change the fact that she did. He’d shown her kindness, and he hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t forced her to share his bed. He had let her be in control, and she’d repaid that with cruel words.
She stilled as she came to a realization. I want him. There’s no sense in fighting my own desires.
If she gave herself to him as she longed to do, love may possibly follow. She would have to take a chance. But how?
9
Martin waited a quarter of an hour before he slipped out of his bedroom and summoned his butler. Harris met him in the hallway, smiling.
“What are the plans for you and Miss Hartwell this evening? Raphael is most interested to try some new recipes.”
“I’m sorry, Harris, but you will have to tell Raphael I’ll be having my dinner out tonight. I’m going to stay at my club for dinner instead. I may not return this evening.”
Harris’s eyes widened. “Oh? And what of Miss Hartwell?”
“She shall remain here. You may serve her meals in her chamber. She is not to go out, nor to have anyone come to call. Is that understood?”
“Yes, yes of course, sir.” Harris waved a footman over to him. “Shall we have your coach brought round?”
“Yes. I’ll be in my study. Fetch me when it arrives.” He left the hall and entered his study, scowling at the sight of his desk. The ink spill had been cleaned, his letters fixed, and yet he could still feel Livvy in his arms as he kissed her, could still see the impish grin on her face as she teased him. She’d been fiery and warm and adorable, but something had changed.
She called me cold and callous.
The words still clung to him like sharp briars, prickling him sharply. He hadn’t thought he’d been harsh, at least not today or the day before. How was he to know? He left his heart buried so deep that it was entirely possible she was mistaking his need to be distant as being cold and cruel.
But he couldn’t, wouldn’t change, not even for her. He was not about to develop feelings for the daughter of the man who’d killed his mother and destroyed his life. That simply could not happen. He would enjoy Livvy’s company, and more if she allowed it, but to develop romantic notions for her? No. She was the last woman on earth he could fall for. And she would never fall in love with him either. The sense of obligation because of her father’s debt would always hang between them.
Even if he somehow found a way around his hatred for her father, his twin sister would see it as a betrayal. And he had to protect Helen. He’d failed to once before and had almost lost her. He could not fail her again. He wasn’t sure how long he sat in his chair with his thoughts a decade in the past, before he realized his footman stood in the doorway, hat and coat in hand.
“Your coach is ready, sir.”
“Thank you.” Martin rose and donned his coat. He strode to the front door and, with a nod to Harris, left the townhouse.
Martin settled into his coach and closed his eyes as the vehicle rocked forward. He could spend the night at Brooks’s and give himself some space, perhaps. It would be good for the both of them. He would protect himself, and Livvy would learn that her words and actions would have consequences. Just as her father’s actions had consequences.
When he reached Brooks’s at number 60 on St. James’s Street, he felt as if he’d aged a dozen years. This morning when they had gone riding, he felt like the day had ended well and Livvy was willing to share his bed. He had not planned on being driven to his club in a black mood. He noted the flurry of excitement in the gaming halls as he entered. The club was well known for its high stakes. Fortunes would be made by some and lost by others. He lingered only a moment in the doorway, watching the young bucks cast their fates with the cards. He wondered who the high flyers would be tonight. A young lad, one of many who served at Brooks’s, collected his hat and coat.
“May I do anything else for you, sir?” the lad asked.
“See if there’s a room open tonight. If there is, reserve it for me. My account is under the name Martin Banks.”
“I’ll see to it, sir.” The boy rushed off. Martin left the main corridor and headed for the meeting rooms, but he froze when he heard Hartwell’s name being bandied about.
“Hartwell owes you two thousand?” the man asked his companion.
Martin hesitated, lingering in the shadows as he listened to the two gentlemen standing at the end of the hall by the gaming room they’d been in moments before.
“He does, and I have half a mind to collect in another way.” The second man laughed. He was perhaps Martin’s age or a few years older, but there was a cruel twist to his lips.
“What do you mean to do, Stamford?” the first man asked.
Lord Stamford? Martin inwardly cringed. The man was rumored to be a bounder who had little respect for women and animals.
“Hartwell has a daughter. A ripe little peach, or so I hear. If he wants to avoid debtor’s prison, he can give her to me. I heard another fellow bought her off him not too long ago for a debt. Should
n’t be too hard to do the same, assuming that other man hasn’t worn out her usefulness.” Stamford laughed cruelly.
Martin’s stomach turned violently. This man was a dark mirror image of himself. He’d taken Livvy just as this man planned to. He was no better than Stamford, except that he would let Livvy come to his bed, rather than force her. But that gave him no comfort in this moment. He swallowed hard, tasting bile as he tried not to think about how he and this wretched man were alike.
“Been a while since you had a bit of muslin, eh?” the first gentleman said with a snicker.
“Not that long, but I need a good chit to shove on her back for a few hours each day, and a sweet little creature like that…” Stamford groaned in delight, and his friend laughed.
Martin’s vision colored red as he stormed toward the two men. He lunged at Stamford and slammed him against the wall. Hitting him felt good, cathartic in a way Martin didn’t want to think about.
“How dare you speak like that!” he shouted.
“What the devil are you talking about?” Stamford curled his hands in fury and then punched Martin in the face.
He took the blow hard, grunting as his left eye was struck. He let go of Stamford for just a moment.
“You touch Miss Hartwell and I will kill you.” He couldn’t take back what he’d done to Livvy by taking her away from her home, but he could save her from a man like this.
Stamford puffed up. “Oh? You fancy her as well?” He started to straighten his waistcoat, but Martin lunged for him again.
“Hold on!” The first man stepped between them, slapping a palm to each of their chests.
“We can settle this matter.”
“Can we?” Stamford laughed darkly. The smug look on his face made Martin feel wild and reckless.
“I’d be happy to settle this on the field,” Martin growled.
Stamford answered with a jackal’s grin. “As would I, Mr.…”
“Banks. Martin Banks.”
“You’re the fellow who bought the little chit.” Stamford grinned evilly.
“And I’m going to be the fellow who shoots you,” Martin warned darkly.
