by Shayla Black
“I do not recall meeting his wife,” claimed the high-pitched voice. “If her mother was anything like Miss Melbourne, I can only imagine how common she must have seemed.”
Lady Westland made a sound of disgust. “You missed very little. She was indeed like her daughter, only darker of skin. Same sulky countenance and pouty mouth. And all that black hair hanging about. The ladies of the ton knew her for the jade she was, though a gentleman or two with poor taste found her exotic, I’m told.”
The third woman said, “Miss Melbourne looks like a jade.”
“It would not surprise me if she used her engagement to Mr. Howland so that she might ensnare the Duke of Cropthorne,” said Lady Litchfield. “She looks at him as one does a confection. I hardly call that exotic.”
At that moment, Kira disliked the English rose even more. In fact, her rudeness mitigated any beauty she might possess. What did Gavin see in her? And had the woman really noticed her blossoming partiality for her fiancé’s cousin?
“Shameful!” Lady Westland dug into the gossip with relish.
Lady Litchfield nodded her perfectly coiffed blonde head. “And did you see her rushing inside to fetch her parasol? Does she believe that shading herself from the sun will fool anyone about her mixed breeding?”
“One wonders why she bothers,” murmured the third woman.
Lady Westland pinched her lips in distaste. “Who knows what people of her descent will do? Why, I saw her with her brother at Mrs. Howland’s dinner party. Their behavior was most odd. Did you notice the manner in which Miss Melbourne and her brother huddled together in a corner for most of the evening?”
Kira frowned. Darius had stood beside her that night in an attempt to ease her discomfort. She and her brother were close. Out of necessity, they’d become each other’s parents and friends. What could be wrong with that?
“I did,” said Lady Litchfield.
“They looked…cozy.” Lady Westland leaned in and whispered, “I daresay they looked intimate even.”
The other women gasped. Kira listened with disbelieving ears.
Her uncle’s wife barely took a breath before she continued. “Such a forbidden relationship should surprise no one, for they are both Turks and she is no more than a member of the demimonde.”
Kira’s jaw dropped in shock. Of all the cruel, ignorant lies! Her temper railed, urging her to confront them. Oh, how she longed to. But doing so would only incite people to more gossip. So she turned away with clenched teeth and resolved to walk as calmly away from the party as she could. No one would miss her, unless they were seeking a target to deride.
At the door to the town house, Kira grasped the latch and tried to lift it. The handle would not budge. Behind her, she could hear the trio of ladies laughing like the vicious hyenas they were. She would not cry. She would not cry!
Kira lifted the latch again. The door refused to budge. Their terrible chortles rang in her ears. Against her will, tears welled up in her eyes, stinging, blurring her vision, closing up her throat.
How could they accuse her of incest? How could they say something so awful that was so untrue? They were ignorant. She wasn’t even Turkish, for heaven’s sake! She was half Persian, and why did people always think they must ridicule her for that?
Again, she lifted the latch, desperate to be inside away from the prying eyes and ears, away from the harridans who would laugh at her pain. Finally, the mechanism gave way and the door opened. Kira pushed against it, and she rushed through the house to find a secluded spot. Finally, she stumbled into the billiard room and found it empty as angry tears slid down her face.
By God’s grace, would things ever change? She’d been wondering her whole life why people couldn’t see that she was just the same as everyone who did not have to contend with mixed breeding. She had feelings, feelings that could hurt or soar, that were sometimes up, sometimes down. She breathed, ate, slept, wanted, knew right from wrong. Blast it all, could she not be treated as every other gently bred lady?
They would never consider her thus until she wed an Englishman and proved herself over time to be a good wife. Kira hoped—prayed—that marriage to James would change the snickering and ridicule eventually. She so wanted people to simply see her as a clergyman’s wife, not as a half Persian living in England, not as a fallen woman. Not as a woman who would share her favors with every man, even her own brother. She needed James’s name to change the manner in which people viewed her.
Fear crowded in; dreams teetered precariously. Marriage would solve her problems. It must! But she could not stop the ton’s condemnation, the taunts and the lies, not without wedded vows. Next Tuesday, her wedding day, could not come soon enough.
* * * *
Gavin paused in his conversation with Lord Westland to watch Kira glide through the garden toward her uncle’s house. He admired her in profile, the statuesque quality of her walk, the flat of her stomach, the round, jutting curve of her breasts, the graceful slope of her jaw, always her pillowy red mouth. Why could he not stop thinking about her, even after she’d left him with Cordelia, whom he found perfectly congenial? The woman was confounding him into knots.
Still, he continued his upward perusal of Kira. At the sight of her clenched jaw and red nose, however, he stopped cold. From the night of the Baycliffe’s assembly, he remembered Kira’s red nose came with tears. And she looked damned angry as well.
Concern punched him. Someone had hurt her, no mistake. Kira was sensitive to thoughtless comments by society simpletons, damn it. Why couldn’t people simply shut up?
He excused himself and followed Kira into the house, discreetly, of course. No need to raise brows.
But the need for discretion chafed him as much as his own concern irritated him. He shouldn’t care.
Gavin stopped himself just inside Lord Westland’s town house. What was he doing? Kira was the enemy, a woman who had bared all for Lord Vance without benefit of marriage. Her feelings should not matter. In fact, Gavin should hope that whatever had upset her today would induce her to start packing. And that was his hope—mostly. But he saw no purpose in welcoming her pain. Besides, making certain that whatever had provoked her tears had not also sparked more negative gossip about his family seemed prudent. Yes, he could question her about that.
Once inside, Gavin darted from sumptuous room to sumptuous room, his scowl deepening each time he found one empty. Damnation, the woman was here somewhere. He had to find her, discern what had happened, and stop any new gossip. In the doing, if he managed to ease her pain, perhaps that would even help his cause.
Gavin grimaced. Seduction for the purpose of ending an engagement sounded so despicable, especially when the girl in question had some very likeable qualities. Too bad the need to have her dismissed weighed so much greater.
Or was it his need to touch her?
No, he would be saving her from an ill-advised marriage. Anyone could see that she and James did not belong together.
Finally resolved, Gavin entered the billiard room and found Kira perched with her back to the door upon a wide green and cream brocade sofa. Her shoulders shook hard, but she made not a sound.
Something in his stomach twisted. And the realization that his actions would indeed hurt her made him feel even worse.
“Kira?” he called softly, advancing toward her on silent feet.
At the sound of his voice, she jerked in his direction. The sight of her tight fists and tear-ravaged face made him lose all thought except strangling whoever had done this to her.
“Gavin, don’t—”
He ignored her protests and sat beside her. “What happened?”
She looked at him with miserable blue eyes, gleaming with resignation, rimmed in the thick spikes of her black lashes. She was disaffected with the world. Her stark pain was evident.
“Nothing new.”
Kira spoke automatically, with very little feeling. It was as if the river of emotion had ended with her tears, leaving behind only
a dry void. Such detached conversation was so unlike her. Against his better sense, Gavin was worried.
“Someone said something,” he speculated.
She answered with a nod.
“About your dealings with Lord Vance?”
“No.”
That surprised him. Her behavior with the rogue still shocked him most. Still, her impassive reply only bit deeper into his gut. “About your heritage?”
Kira stilled, hesitated. Then she nodded. “Among other things, yes.”
“Who?” he demanded without knowing why. What could he do, confront them? Face the culprit, likely a woman, with dueling pistols at dawn? That would certainly start unnecessary talk. But a foolish part of him wished he could do something…
“It doesn’t matter,” Kira said quietly. “Everyone assumes it’s allowed, that I have no feelings.” She frowned, fighting fresh tears. “They assume I haven’t wished a thousand times to change my birth.”
Uncertain what to say, he merely placed his hands on her shoulders, wanting to make her pain fade. A small thrill of glory beat inside him when she did not stiffen at his touch. Indeed, she seemed to melt a bit closer. He swallowed at the feeling of having her near, of wanting her, yet knowing she was hurting. Men were bloody not equipped to deal with such conflicting situations, least of all him.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
She shrugged, and he released her. “As I said, it’s nothing new. By now, I should be immune to such absurdity.”
“But you are not.”
“No,” she admitted softly. “No matter how much I wish I were.”
New tears fell down Kira’s cheeks, and she did nothing to stop them. Without thought, Gavin reached up and wiped the hot drops from her face, his gut twisting more with each one.
“Kira…”
“Oh, don’t frown so. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve lived with this all my life. I keep hoping that people will change their views about my Persian mother…”
The sadness in her voice sat like a stone in his stomach and sank. He shook his head against the sensation. Here was something he could use to persuade her to leave. This need she had for acceptance—a need that would likely never be filled—he could use it to his advantage…even if the idea appalled him.
“Perhaps returning to Persia might bring you ease from the small minds in England.”
“Their minds are no different, Gavin.”
“But surely—”
“No. Our entire four years in Persia, Darius and I were shunned. My mother kept us shielded as best she could, keeping us separate from her father and uncles. But we could hear them at night arguing, when my mother thought we were asleep. Every day for nearly four years, they punished my mother for marrying outside of her race and religion. My own grandparents acted as if Darius and I did not exist. We were not spoken to, educated, or fed unless my mother saw to it.”
Horror crashed through Gavin. Who would treat a child with such contempt? As a girl, Kira would have had no way to defend herself. She had learned hatred way too young. The fact that the core of her heart remained soft astounded him.
“I had no idea.”
“You couldn’t,” she assured him with a sad smile. “Very often, I don’t understand myself. And you know the worst part?”
At her question, the tears began again, a new torrent that sent Gavin reeling.
“Kira, no.” He grasped her shoulders again and pulled her against him. He barely had time to consider just how perfect she felt against his body before another sob wracked her. She laid her head on his shoulder, so trusting.
Gavin exhaled, torn. He should not comfort her. It was stupid and futile. But he could not make himself ignore her pain. He could not deny that he wanted to ease her torment.
“What was the worst part?” he asked softly.
He waited through a few moments of tears, waited while she collected herself once more. When she spoke, he could not see her face, but her soft voice filled his ear.
“After nearly four years, my mother succumbed to her family’s pressure. She—she sent for my father. And he came for us, returned us here. Of course, she said it was for the best, that she’d hoped her parents would relent and accept us. But since they would not…” She eased back, biting her lip to stop new tears. “The last thing my mother said to me was that mixing cultures simply did not work. That doing so was impossible.”
Kira directed her gaze heavenward, as if looking for divine intervention. Of course, none was forthcoming. With one act, her mother had spurned her and made her all too aware of her unusual background. Gavin hated like hell to see Kira hurt so deeply with no end in sight. He suddenly felt helpless, and it was not a feeling he liked.
“I am a mixed culture,” she rasped. The anguish in her voice was mirrored in her eyes. “I cannot escape that fact, no matter what I do. And I can find nowhere to belong. Marriage is my only hope.”
And he was doing his best to take it away.
Distaste slid through Gavin. Damn, damn, damn! He did not want to see Kira further wounded, particularly for something she could not control. But for her very birth, and her licentious past, she could not be allowed the luxury of that marriage. At least not to his cousin. They did not suit one another anyway.
The need and despair on Kira’s face clawed at him. He should say something. If he intended to rob her of her future—and he did—he could have the kindness to say something to soothe her and not be a complete cad.
“You’re not just a mixed culture, Kira. You’re an individual. Have you forgotten that?”
“What does it matter when everyone else has?”
“The slurs you heard today, did a woman speak them?”
Kira nodded.
“There you go.” He snapped his fingers.
Kira peered at him with a puzzled frown. “What?”
“They are jealous. You are…”
Gavin looked at her, really looked. Despite her red nose and swollen eyes, he still thought Kira one of the most fetching creatures he had ever seen. Even though her air of innocence was likely a well-polished act, he knew her to be gentle and possessed of a melodious voice—not to mention a sharp tongue when necessary.
He took her hand. “You are beautiful. And smart and fun, and women dislike that in other women.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mental facilities.
“It’s true,” he asserted. “They are jealous creatures and their claws show when they believe they’ve been outdone.”
Her dubious expression told Gavin she didn’t believe a single word he said, which was foolish. He believed, at least in part, her beauty drove the vicious taunts from other women.
The other part was, unfortunately, her heritage and that nasty scandal she’d gotten herself into. Why had she lain with Lord Vance?
Kira shook her head. “These were lovely women who, I’m sure, are perfectly talented and charming.”
At today’s gathering, that was likely. Fleetingly he wondered if Cordelia had participated in some of the disparaging chatter. He sighed, deciding that, too, was likely. He did not enjoy everything about her, but she would make him an advantageous wife.
He took one of Kira’s hands in his, annoyed that her gloves came between his skin and hers. “Even if they were talented and charming, you cannot allow their opinions to matter so deeply.
“They accused me of incest with Darius!”
Gavin recoiled. Appalled, his jaw dropped. Such taunts were even beneath what he’d imagined—and completely malicious. He clamped down on his temper, resolved to help Kira now.
“Nothing they say or do can take away all the qualities you possess. Ever.” He squeezed her hand. “I think you’re wonderful just as you are.”
The blooming smile on Kira’s face eased the crush of his concern. He smiled back, wishing like hell he could kiss her.
“Gavin?” he heard Aunt Caroline call moments later from the next room.
He rose
quickly to intercept his aunt before she found him comforting Kira. Lord knew how he would stop her ranting after witnessing that. Gavin was in no mood to hear her today.
He held Kira’s hand. “Think about what I’ve said. You’re everything those women are and probably more.”
As he left the billiard room, he glanced back. The gratitude on Kira’s face did not surprise him. But the affection there grabbed at him, roused him, and made him aware that, even though he needed Kira to disappear from their lives, he believed everything he’d said to her.
* * * *
Kira lay in bed, still against the cool sheets, cloaked in darkness. Rain pattered against her window in a light rap she normally found soothing.
Tonight nothing soothed her.
The three ladies’ comments still made her ache. But they did not rob her of sleep. Instead, the culprit was a myriad of feelings that tumbled inside her, a tangle of wants and yearnings, a jumble of adoration and impossible longings. They filled her with tumult. And these emotions centered around Gavin.
Could it be love? Kira didn’t know, as she had never found herself in such a state, but she assumed so, given the turmoil in her head and heart.
She must love him.
It was foolish, of course. But she could find no other explanation. She thought about him constantly, enjoyed the time she spent with him, admired his fine form, stood breathless whenever he came near. She liked him, found him funny and kind and tender of late. Even more, he’d proven in her uncle’s billiard room that he understood her. If he thought she was perfectly wonderful as she was, then he accepted her. She’d been looking for such consideration her whole life! Without question, she could picture herself by his side for the rest of their days, sharing laughter and the joys of children.
Sighing, she treasured the image for a few moments, letting it shine in her imagination. Warmth filled her, a momentary pleasure bursting with contentment.
Kira drew in another breath, damp with rain, cold with a spring chill. Reality intruded. What of Lady Litchfield? Even more pressing, in three days, Kira was supposed to marry James.
Was it a mistake? Had meeting James merely been a path to Gavin? Had Fate more in store for her than a loveless marriage? While she valued James’s friendship and was forever grateful for his assistance, she so much wanted love. Was Gavin the answers to all her heart’s prayers? Kira had no idea and no notion how to discover the truth.
