A Dream of Desire (4 page)

It would take a week to reach London from Constantinople. He could only hope that the cold salt air and wind would clear the confusion from his brain.

Maybe he could even come up with some answers, for he had no idea how best to approach Talia. He didn’t know if she would even speak to him. And he was damn certain she would never again look at him the way she used to.

A
week after Peter Colston’s release from Newhall, Talia navigated yet another crowded ballroom, her resolve strengthened anew. This was the first time she had finally learned to appreciate London’s festive season. In the years following her parents’ divorce, she’d despised the endless whirl of balls and parties, all so saturated with an unpleasant combination of frivolity and vindictive gossip.

Now, however, in her desire to garner support for the Brick Street reformatory school, she’d discovered how to use the social chaos to her benefit. Weaving through the crowds, Talia could move from one person to the next with a quick mention of the school and the upcoming House of Commons committee meeting. Just long enough to plant the idea into the ear of a wealthy industrialist or a peer and hope it would take root.

But not enough time for them to reject her proposal altogether. Not enough time for them to remember her family scandal or dwell upon it or, worse, to look at her with speculation and a hint of lewdness. Not enough time for them to wonder if she was as wanton as her mother.

Without Rushton and Alexander in London—and now that she was near to being on the shelf—Talia could leave questions of marriage and matches to the younger women and their mothers. Finally, she could use the season to her advantage rather than hide from it the way she’d done for nearly four years.

“My lord, my point is that the sheer violence of flogging as a punishment only begets anger and humiliation,” Talia said, tempering the severity of her words with a pleasing lilt. “The children are kept in repressive conditions and not permitted to receive any education beyond religious training. I received a report that several children have been restrained with manacles. Surely you must agree that such treatment is horribly detrimental for youth who would be far better served by learning the value of education or a trade.”

The plump, balding Lord Thurlow nodded absentmindedly, his gaze slanting past Talia to the dance floor.

Talia stepped into his line of vision and smiled. “I would most appreciate your support of the proposal, my lord.”

Lord Thurlow’s grunt signaled neither assent nor disagreement. He reached for a glass from a passing server and turned aside.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I do find such discussions rather disagreeable during such a fine soiree.”

He trundled off toward the card room. Talia sighed, disappointed, even though she had become accustomed to such dismissals.

She fidgeted with her pearls and glanced about the room. Thus far, she’d not been able to convince any of her father’s compatriots to commit their support for her cause or for the Brick Street school, but she would not give up.

She owed it to Peter Colston and to the other boys who faced dismal futures unless they were given another opportunity. Talia could not escape being the daughter of an earl. She could not escape the trappings and expectations of society. But she
could
use her position to advance a cause that others would discount as worthless.

She circled the room slowly, the flowery scents of perfume and champagne assailing her nose. A drop of perspiration trickled down her temple. She went toward the refreshment table, longing for a glass of lemonade. New strategies spun through her mind for how she could gain more support for her proposal.

Rather than approaching the peers directly at social events such as these, Talia knew she should focus more on their wives. The ladies of the
ton
were more apt to be sympathetic to the cause, especially as many of them had young sons of their own.

Mustering support from the women, however, meant Talia would have to attend tea parties and feminine gatherings, which she had avoided for so long. And she still didn’t quite have the courage to face a room full of women who would likely whisper and speculate about her the moment she turned her back. Not to mention that she wasn’t at all certain her presence would be welcome, considering she received so few invitations for such gatherings.

Talia continued through the crowd, deciding to seek out Lord Smythe as soon as she had a lemonade. The ballroom was stifling. A cacophony of voices rose in the air, and a waltz drifted from the piano.

A slender, brown-haired man passed in Talia’s line of sight, near the doors leading to the terrace. Lord Margate. She’d spoken to him two nights ago, and he’d expressed interest in knowing more about the House of Commons committee meeting. Steeling her spine, Talia pushed forward to reach him.

Then the sound of a man’s laugh stopped her in her tracks. Even through the noise, Talia heard it—a deep, masculine laugh that spread through the crowd and thudded right up against the walls of her heart.

James.

Talia tried to breathe past the sudden heat filling her throat. A buoyant sensation raced through her, like champagne bubbles in her veins.

He was back.

For a moment Talia didn’t know what to do next. Someone bumped into her from behind, forcing her to step forward. She clutched the folds of her skirt, pulled by the sound of James’s laughter like a bee drawn to the warm, sweet sanctuary of a hive.

She maneuvered her way through the crush, her heartbeat increasing with every step. Then she saw him, holding court amid a circle of admiring men and women, his tall figure and dark brown hair burnished by the firelight.

James.

Exhilaration lifted Talia’s heart. For the past ten years, every time James had returned from a journey, she had experienced such a mixture of emotions—delight at being near him again, anticipation to hear about his adventures, utter joy that he had come back healthy, safe, and always with that beautiful smile that contained all that was good in the world. Despite everything that had transpired between them, those feelings had not changed, still swirling through Talia in a medley of colors and light.

She gazed at him, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to assess all the changes wrought by the past year. His skin was darker, and strands of his hair had been lightened by the sun. His lean, muscular body was sheathed in a black evening coat, and a silk cravat nestled at his throat.

He was speaking to Lady Bentworth, a plump, cheerful woman who waved a silk fan in front of her flushed face while chattering animatedly. James listened intently, nodding every now and then, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Though he appeared entirely at ease, surrounded by a commanding sense of confidence, Talia sensed his reserve, the way he held himself slightly apart from the crowd. It was part of his mystery, that reserve, making people want to dig deeper, to find out more, to get closer to him.

He wouldn’t let them, though. Even now, Talia knew that.

Then James looked up and saw her. Talia drew in a breath, her pulse hammering as their gazes collided across the distance. A bolt of energy seemed to arc from him into her, filling her with crackling awareness.

Oh, no. No.

She couldn’t still feel this way. She’d spent the last year smothering the embers of her love for James Forester. Surely one look across a crowded room couldn’t spark the flames back to life again.

Talia tightened her fingers on her skirt and stiffened her spine. He had
rejected
her. The memory still burned her with shame, and—thankfully—quelled the anticipation ricocheting through her. She would never embarrass herself for him again.

James bent his head to speak to Lady Bentworth, who smiled and nodded with understanding. Then James detached himself from the circle of guests and approached Talia.

Her throat went dry. He moved with such ease, his stride long and his body coiled with a taut energy that had always been an intrinsic part of his being. As he neared, Talia found herself staring at his mouth and remembering how delicious it had felt against hers.

“Hello, poppet.” His deep voice warmed Talia like a wave of heat on a cold winter night, even as his use of the old nickname reminded her where things stood between them.

We will carry on as we did before.

Her heart sank a few inches, but she was seized by the wish that he would take her in his arms as he always had upon his return from an expedition. Even now she longed for one of his big warm embraces, ached to feel the press of his body against hers and tuck her face against his shoulder, inhaling the scents of sea and sunshine that clung to him.

Stop, Talia. Stop. It cannot be that way again. It will not.

As if verifying her assertion, James didn’t move closer to her. He did not extend his arms, though his gaze remained fixed on her face. Talia tried to ignore the chaotic mixture of pleasure and dismay that beat alongside her heart.

“Welcome back, James.” Her voice, at least, managed to remain steady. “When did you arrive?”

“Two days ago.”

“I didn’t even know you were planning to return.”

The thought disconcerted Talia suddenly, almost more than the shock of his presence. James had always sent advance word to her father’s house—to
her
—about the date of his return to London. He hadn’t done so this time. He also hadn’t written to her at all during the past year, save for one Christmas letter addressed to both Talia and her father.

That wasn’t at all as things were
before
, those many years when James would write her long, detailed letters about his travels and discoveries. As if he knew how much she cherished his letters about storm-tossed seas, arid deserts, snake-infested jungles. As if he knew she fancifully imagined herself right by his side, his intrepid female partner, the two of them against the world.

Girlish fantasies
, Talia reminded herself, even as she gazed at the sun-painted streaks of gold in James’s wavy brown hair and the darker tone of his skin that evoked the heat of Pacific islands. She so wanted to step closer, knowing he would smell like sea salt and wind, that the air around him would be warmed by the tropics.

“I’ll be in London for only a month,” James explained, his voice breaking apart Talia’s silly thoughts. “I’m heading an expedition to southern Siberia in June.”

Of course you are.

She could not prevent the stab of disappointment mixed with envy—a curious combination she’d only ever experienced with James. She tried to remind herself that she ought to be accustomed to her reaction by now. After all, she’d experienced it for years, every time James announced he was leaving.

Which he usually did just after he’d arrived.

“How exciting for you.” She forced a note of mild enthusiasm into her voice. “And how was your adventure to New South Wales? And the Malay Peninsula, was it? My, you’ve likely seen the entire world by now.”

His brown eyes creased with amusement. “It will take many more years before I see the entire world. But our New South Wales journey was quite successful, as we were able to provide the Royal Geological Society with new maps and entire trunks full of geological specimens. We weren’t able to secure passage to the Malay Peninsula, though I did hear Nicholas was involved with an expedition there.”

“Was he?”

“Not the safest passage, from what I understand, but I’ve no doubt Nicholas can handle it.”

So did Talia. Even as a child, her brother Nicholas had brimmed with confidence over his ability to thwart both danger and convention, leaping into the fray without thinking twice. She had always rather envied him for that, qualities so different from his twin, Darius, who took no action without great preparation and assessment.

After their parents’ divorce, Nicholas took to the seas and had yet to return to London—which caused the Earl of Rushton no small amount of relief. Nicholas’s penchant for rebellious behavior might have set tongues wagging all over again had he remained among the
ton
.

Though James shared the urge for adventure, he was far more methodical and careful in his approach, leaving as little to chance as possible. Where James worked to mitigate danger, Nicholas actively sought it. He’d been that way since they were children, always the boy to climb the highest tree, cross a flooded river, walk the ridge of a fence.

Nicholas, Talia thought, was the one Hall brother who was likely to actually help her recent, perilous efforts rather than hinder them. Pity he seemed to have no plans to return to London, possibly ever again.

She had a sudden longing for her brother Nicholas. She’d become accustomed to his prolonged absence over the years, but with Alexander and Darius living in St. Petersburg, and Sebastian settled near Brighton with his lovely new wife…Talia was the only Hall sibling left in London.

For all her battles with her brothers, it was a strange and lonely feeling to realize they were now so far away. And that she didn’t know when she would see them again.

“Did you see Nicholas during your travels?” she asked James, hoping perhaps he had word about Nicholas’s future plans.

James shook his head. “I did see Northwood, though. After New South Wales, I went to Constantinople. North was there for a fortnight, overseeing a branch of his trading company. He is doing quite well, isn’t he? Couldn’t wait to return to St. Petersburg to be with Lydia, Jane, and the new babe.”

Talia smiled, warmed by the thought of her newborn nephew. “I hope I’ll be able to visit them again soon.”

“North said the same,” James said. “He also mentioned you’ve been quite involved in your charity work this past year.”

Wariness flickered in Talia at the casual note in his voice. All of her brothers, even Nicholas, were well acquainted with her ragged school charity work, but she’d purposely not told any of them about Brick Street for fear of their reaction over her involvement with delinquents. She absolutely wouldn’t tell Alexander, who was certain to charge back to London and put a screeching halt to the small advances she’d made with the school.

“It’s been keeping you busy, he says,” James continued.

“Yes, it has. The Ragged School Union is doing a great deal of good, if I do say so myself.” She straightened her spine and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “We just opened a new school in Bethnal Green last month and already have a full roster of students.”