“I can’t imagine anything about you being ordinary,” he said in an overly gallant manner, even if it was nothing but the truth.
At his insistence, he and Theodosia had seen each other every afternoon for the past week, with the exception of two days when she was preparing for a party for Lady Someone-or-Other. After all, if they were to play the part of a happily engaged couple, they should make a good show of it. They agreed afternoons were best for their purposes. If they appeared together in the evening, there was bound to be talk about the two of them. What had begun for her mother’s benefit had evolved into something entirely different, even if Jack wasn’t sure exactly what that was. They were friends certainly but beyond that . . .
“Now then, your confession?”
The problem was he wasn’t sure what he wanted them to be. But with every passing day he was more and more convinced a mere friendship with the lovely Theodosia Winslow would soon not be nearly enough.
“I would never want my father to know this.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “But seeing the sights of London with you has been far more enjoyable than seeing them with him.”
“You’re right,” she said solemnly but her eyes twinkled. “The colonel would be most humiliated to know that he has failed as a tour guide.”
“I wouldn’t say failed exactly. He is extremely knowledgeable about history and the significance of assorted monuments and statues as well as the architectural influences on nearly every important structure in the city. You, on the other hand . . .” He shook his head in a chiding manner. “I didn’t want to say it but you might want to brush up on your knowledge of the important sights of London.”
“I can’t believe you would make such a comment.” She gasped in mock indignation and pulled off her cloak, absently handing it to the new footman. “Why, I’ve shown you all sorts of things most visitors to London never so much as hear about.”
“I suspect there’s a reason for that.”
She ignored him. “Tell me, Mr. Channing, did I or did I not point out to you the very fountain where a marchioness and her friends, who really should have known better, frolicked wearing little more than their underpinnings to win a wager?”
“Indeed you did.”
“And did I not indicate the gallery window where a highly provocative painting of a duke, sans clothing and dignity, was displayed albeit with appropriate draping?”
He nodded. “You did.”
“And did I not show you the public corner where a well-known opera singer declared his love in song for a long-married countess? Or the bookstore where a famous poet threatened to shoot himself if the object of his affections—and his poetry—did not return his love?” She paused. “Although admittedly, he wasn’t nearly as famous before his public declaration of affection and threat of suicide as he was after. I have always been rather surprised that any number of little-known poets didn’t try their hand at spectacular yet stupid similar feats simply to increase their notoriety.”
“All right, you win. Again.” He laughed. “A tour of the scandalous sights of the city was every bit as interesting as the more usual places.”
Her brow arched upward. “Only every bit?”
“I stand corrected.” He grinned. “Anything of prurient interest is always far more intriguing than, well, than anything else.”
“You are a wicked man, Mr. Channing.”
“Thank you, Lady Theodosia. I suspect you have a distinct wicked streak as well.”
“Simply one of my secrets,” she said in a lofty manner. “Yet another is that I can be quite persistent.”
“That’s really not a secret.”
“You must admit, places of mild notoriety have not been the sum of our sightseeing. Didn’t we also go to the Crystal Palace? As well as the Grosvenor and the Society of Lady Artists galleries? Did we not climb to the top of St. Paul’s?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”
“And don’t forget the Tower of London and Soane’s Museum.”
“Oh, I would never forget them. Being the excellent tour guide that I am,” she added primly.
“That, my dear Theodosia, is only one of your charms.”
“I know.” She grinned, then shook her head. “I must say, I never imagined how fun it would be to see the sights of my own city through the eyes of someone who has never been here before.”
It had been fun, every minute of it. And informative in ways he never would have expected.
Amidst paintings of pastoral settings or churning, storm-tossed seas at one gallery, he discovered she enjoyed the peace of the country but much preferred the excitement of the city. And he confided there was nothing he liked better than standing on the shore of an ocean and gazing out into forever. At which point she had accused him of being altogether more romantic in nature than any banker had a right to be. At an exhibit of ancient coins, she mentioned that she and her mother had discreetly disposed of nearly all their valuable jewelry. He had then sworn to himself that, at the end of their engagement, he would not allow her to return his ring. And he had admitted to her that he had once invested a considerable amount of money in a scheme to raise a sunken Spanish galleon laden with treasure in the West Indies. It was not the sort of responsible investment expected of him, which was precisely why he had never told anyone about it. His revelation only strengthened her charge that he did indeed have a romantic nature.
With every passing day they grew closer and it grew harder to keep in mind that there was nothing real about their relationship except friendship. It was particularly hard when she took his arm and the heat of her body by his side urged him to pull her into his embrace. It was especially difficult when the faint scent of gardenias wafted around him when she leaned close to share an observation and he’d wonder if her lips tasted as good as he remembered. Nor was it easy to remember when they were not together and the vaguest sense of something missing lingered in his mind or possibly in his heart. It was a sensation at once enticing and daunting. And confusing.
“I do believe I have a new appreciation for it all,” she said. “And I thank you for that.”
“Perhaps someday I can return the favor,” he said casually. “Show you everything there is to see in New York.”
“I’d like that.”
“So would I.” He gazed down into her eyes. He should take his leave for the day but each day he was more reluctant to do so. He spent evenings alone with his father at Channing House or at one of his clubs or at some gathering of his father’s friends and acquaintances. She attended to her business pursuits in the evening as well as those social events she was obligated to appear at as part of keeping up the pretense that her father’s death hadn’t changed her financial circumstances.
Today, as he had everyday they’d been together, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. He hadn’t done so since the night they had become embroiled in their fake engagement, her mother’s fault entirely. Before Lady Sallwick returned to her own house, she took it upon herself to make certain Delilah’s residence was fully staffed once again. The end result being that, even now, there was a footman in the foyer and a new butler probably lurking just out of sight.
Jack would have given a great deal to be completely alone with Theodosia, if only for a minute. After all, how could he possibly be expected to sort out his feelings if they didn’t have the chance to be by themselves now and then? He tried to ignore the memory of how her lips had felt pressed against his, how her body had molded and melted into his as if they were halves of a never before united whole, as if it was . . . right.
Silly, absurd thoughts, of course. What had gotten into him? They were friends, nothing more.
He cleared his throat. “And what famous or infamous sights of London do you have in store for me tomorrow?”
“I shall have to check our list.” She paused. “I do realize what you’re doing, you know.”
“Aside from fulfilling my responsibilities as a dutiful fiancé?�
� He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Goodness, Jack, I know your father has taken you to many of the same places we have been together. I know you’re just feigning interest so as not to offend me as I am trying very hard to be an excellent guide.”
He laughed. “And you are succeeding admirably.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, especially since you’re only doing this to keep my mother’s suspicions at bay.” She smiled up at him. “I’m enjoying myself as well. Jack, I—”
“Yes?” he said, trying to hide a distinct note of eagerness in his voice.
She glanced at the footman standing by the door, tactfully pretending not to notice them, and sighed. “Nothing.”
Vague disappointment stabbed him and he forced a pleasant smile. “I shall see you tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow.” There was a faint hint of wistfulness in her voice. His heart ached in recognition.
“Good day, Theodosia.”
The footman opened the door and Jack stepped over the threshold.
“Good day, Jack.” Theodosia’s voice drifted after him and then the door closed with a firm snap.
Damnation, it seemed he was always saying good-bye to her. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Perhaps, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father’s murmured in the back of his head, he needed to do something about that. Perhaps he needed to decide if indeed friends was all he wanted them to be. Perhaps he needed to determine exactly why the woman lingered in his mind and in his dreams.
Regardless, he had time. Until he came to England he couldn’t remember ever putting off a decision before. But there was no need to decide anything about the future until the New Year. Between now and then, he could simply enjoy learning about his father’s world and relish the delightful companionship of the charming Theodosia.
Still, even though every day spent in each other’s company drew them closer, there did indeed remain secrets between them.
She never mentioned the fiancé she had referred to once in passing and he never worked up the courage to ask. And he never managed to tell her about Lucy or that he wasn’t sure if he wished to take up the reins of the Earl of Briston and stay in England permanently. Apparently he didn’t have the courage to do that either.
What kind of hero refused to reveal his greatest dilemmas to the woman who was becoming more and more important in his life?
And what kind of fair maiden had secrets?
Teddy smiled at the young footman and made her way up the stairs. It was far better to smile than to succumb to the urge to scream in frustration.
Jack wanted to kiss her, she could see it in his eyes. But the man was far too, well, polite perhaps to simply grab her and do the deed. Which made no sense whatsoever. He’d done it before, after all. Twice! And both times it had been . . . unforgettable.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him to kiss her. Surely he realized that. Why, hadn’t she given him every signal imaginable save perhaps throwing herself bodily into his arms? She would do so if it came down to it. Admittedly, there had been no real opportunity. No moment when they weren’t in public or there weren’t servants about. Her mother had seen to that.
No, that really wasn’t fair. Teddy sighed and turned into the parlor. Her mother had, for once, been trying to make Teddy’s life a bit easier. It was both unusual and thoughtful. And touching as well. There had been a time when she and her mother had been quite close. But then Father had died and Teddy’s fiancé had been killed soon after and they had discovered the disastrous state of their finances and, well, Mother had changed. They both had, really. Lady Sallwick and her daughter had once been content and carefree. If they worried about anything at all it was the color of a new gown or which invitation to accept. They never concerned themselves about such things as debt repayment and ledger sheets and bank statements.
Perhaps her mother’s newfound thoughtfulness was because she no longer seemed so frightened. Odd, that Teddy hadn’t realized it before Jack had raised the idea. But Teddy had now lived up to expectations and snagged a future husband who was everything her mother had ever wanted. And was once everything Teddy had ever wanted as well.
She stepped into the parlor and crossed the room to the cabinet where Dee kept her favorite Scottish whisky. Teddy poured a healthy glass and took a long sip. The spirits burned her throat and took her breath away. Her eyes watered and she coughed twice, then drew a deep breath. A liking for good Scottish whisky was, to Teddy’s way of thinking, not an entirely bad thing.
She sank down onto the sofa, her glass in one hand, and studied the opal ring on the other. And what if he did kiss her? Where might that lead? Jack was not the kind of man who would seduce a woman and then not expect her to marry him. And marriage was not what Teddy wanted. Not now.
But why couldn’t she seduce him? She took another sip of her whisky. She certainly wouldn’t expect marriage if she seduced him. It was definitely something to consider although she’d never seduced a man before. Nor did she have a great deal of experience with seduction. Of course she had succumbed to Cyril’s seduction, not the wisest moment of her life. How hard would it be to turn the tables? To be the seducer instead of the seduced? Still, given Jack’s honorable nature, who knew what might happen then. Nonetheless, it was something to consider.
Voices echoed up from the front entry and a moment later determined steps sounded on the stairs. Obviously those of a woman. Teddy braced herself. She wasn’t at all sure she was up to talking to her mother this afternoon. Nor did she wish for her mother to find her with a glass of hard spirits in her hand. Besides, weren’t they supposed to attend a play together tonight? Why she was here now did not bode well. Her mother wasn’t—
Dee burst into the room. “What have you done?” she demanded waving a newspaper at Teddy. “And why wasn’t I the first to know?”
Chapter Fifteen
At very nearly the same time,
Channing House . . .
“Is something wrong?” Jack settled back on the leather sofa in the library and studied his father.
“I wouldn’t say wrong exactly.” The colonel swirled the whisky in his glass.
Jack and his father had taken to meeting in the library before dinner for a glass of whisky or brandy, depending on the day and their respective moods. Tonight it was good Scottish whisky. Since they had been spending more time apart, their time together had become more meaningful. Jack was completely at ease in his father’s company now and was fairly certain his father felt the same, especially as his overwhelming enthusiasm at having a son had mellowed. Jack wondered if the older man had at last realized his newfound son was not going to vanish into thin air.
It had turned into a pleasant ritual, this daily meeting of father and son. In the dim light cast by the low-burning gas lamps, surrounded by books and ancestral portraits, the spacious Channing House library was warm and intimate. Here it was easy to forget that the bonds between child and parent were still tenuous. That this tradition of sharing a drink in the evening was new and hadn’t grown between father and son through the years. There was something about the smell of ancient volumes and aged leather and freshly polished wood that had always soothed Jack’s soul and eased his spirit. Indeed the libraries of the London house and Millworth Manor were the places where Jack felt most at home, as though he truly belonged. In those rooms a man could embrace the past while still looking toward the future.
Theodosia would look right in this room, natural and at ease. He could almost see her here. Standing near the fireplace, with a glass of wine in her hand, the room lit with the glow of the fire, low and seductive, wearing little more than a wicked look in her eyes and a smile—
“However, there is a matter I do wish to discuss.” His father seated himself in one of the supple leather wing chairs that flanked the sofa.
Jack’s attention jerked back to his father. Where on earth had that vision of Theodo
sia come from? Not that it wasn’t an extremely interesting image . . . He cleared his throat. “I suspected as much.”
“Did you?” His father’s brow rose. “Have we grown to know each other that well already?”
“So it would appear.” Jack smiled. “And you have the definite look of a man who isn’t certain how to proceed with whatever it is he is determined to do.”
His father scoffed. “No I don’t.”
“Oh, but you do. Besides . . .” Jack nodded at his father’s hand. “You absently tap your finger against your glass or on a table or whatever is handy when you’re apprehensive.”
The colonel stared at his hand. “Bloody hell.” His gaze shifted to his son’s. “Remind me never to play cards with you. Again. Is that how you beat me the other night?”
“No, I was just better than you.” Jack grinned. “And oddly enough, you don’t do it when you play cards. Or chess.”
“Well, that’s something.” He took a deep swallow of his whisky. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I have to be.” Jack shrugged. “I’m a banker. I need to be every bit as attuned to a man’s character as I am to his accounts and balances and debts. I also have to be as alert to what he doesn’t say as what he does. If you can’t tell a genuine story from something completely fabricated then you will fail in the financial world. When it comes to both profits and, well, morality, for lack of a better term.”
“I didn’t realize morality was a requirement in banking,” his father said idly.
“We’re not all Ebenezer Scrooge, you know.” Jack chuckled. “Although admittedly it is hard to admire those in a profession where the assets of men fallen on hard times are routinely seized for back payments.” He shook his head. “It’s not an easy thing to do, putting the interests of an institution over those of an individual. At least it’s never been for me. However, I know any number of men in my profession who seem to have no difficulty with that aspect of it at all. It’s part of the responsibility of the position. You do what’s expected of you, even if it’s something you don’t particularly like. And you try to make it less painful for all concerned.” He paused. “I always thought it was in my blood, you know. It was what I was expected to do and I never really questioned it. Now, I wonder. My grandfather is president of the bank and my great-grandfather one of its founders. But at this point I’m no longer sure if it suits me at all.”
The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor) Page 21
