Arcana (26 page)

“Hm,” he says and stands. “Does it bother you that you are very much alone with a man rumored to be a rake?” He walks to my chair, leans down so we are eye-level. “Alone in that man’s home?”

His voice is husky, and his dark eyes hold mine captive. What game is he playing? My chest rises and falls rapidly, but an answer comes to my mind. One I’ve already realized to be the absolute truth. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I trust you.”

The intensity in his eyes melts into relief. “I thank you for your trust,” he says quietly. “Perhaps you’ll trust me enough to let me steal another kiss?”

This time, I reach for him instead of the other way around. This kiss is rougher than before. I kiss him, savoring the way he caresses not only my lips, but my neck and hair as well. He hauls me to my feet, his hands sliding down from around my waist to my hips. He pulls me close until we are pressed together wantonly.

My hands rove over his firm chest. A brief smile touches my lips as I feel his heart pounding a furious rhythm to match my own. I am aware our behavior has long since passed from merely improper to scandalous—something I never would have thought I’d succumb to—and yet I willingly fan the flames within my own body. I want him. I want him, and I’m beginning not to care a whit for the consequences.

“Why do you taste so good?” he asks in almost a groan. He covers my mouth with his before I can answer.

His hands explore my body more boldly this time, cupping my breasts over my bodice. He rubs his thumbs over my nipples until they are straining against the fabric.

“Please,” I say breathlessly, not even comprehending what I’m pleading for.

When his hand slips between my bare breast and the fabric, I nearly cry out. He continues to kiss me thoroughly all the while massaging first one nipple and then the other.

“God, you feel beautiful in my hands,” he says, his voice husky against my throat.

I whimper in response. I’m becoming a quivering mass of nothing but primitive feeling again, nearly drunk on his deep kisses and firm touch.

Thank God the footman knocks before entering and we have time to jump apart.

“You called, my lord?” the young man asks. To his credit, he doesn’t seem affected in the least by the palpable tension in the room.

I turn away from the door, touching my fingertips to my lips. I know even without a mirror my cheeks are flushed and my lips are red as blood.

“Tea,” Lord Thornewood practically growls. “Thank you, Rama,” he adds in a softer tone.

“Right away, my lord.”

Lord Thornewood rakes his hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve quickly learned to recognize as frustration. “You must forgive me, Katherine,” he says firmly. “I’m treating you abominably. You deserve so much better than to be seduced in a library.”

“Then you will have to strive to do better,” I say, still flushed from being thoroughly kissed.

He half-laughs, half-groans and strides over to the library door. “I’m leaving it open,” he says, “before I give in to temptation.”

I smooth my skirts and walk over to the bookcases to hide my smile. Running my fingers along the leather spines, I sigh. The whole room reminds me of Papa so much a stab of homesickness hits me in the stomach.

“Take any book you’d like,” Lord Thornewood says behind me.

“There are so many. It’d take my entire stay to peruse your shelves.” He has everything from the
Aeneid
to medical texts.

“Then you’ll have to stay until you’ve read the title on every spine.”

I smile and return my eyes to the books, suddenly nervous again. Would he kiss me as fervently if he knew what I am?

“Forgive me for interrupting again, my lord,” Rama says from the doorway, “but I’ve brought your tea.”

“Very good, Rama.”

Rama sets the tea service down on the low side table and pours the steaming hot liquid into dainty blue and white cups. I take it from him gratefully and add two sugar cubes and a splash of milk. Lord Thornewood, I notice, drinks his straight—just as my father does.

“Mrs. White sent up some scones to tide you over until breakfast is served,” Rama says, and I could kiss whoever this Mrs. White is. I’m half-starved, and I know it’s only a matter of time before my stomach outs me again.

Before I have a chance to sit down and enjoy my tea and scone, Lord Thornewood’s brother joins us.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” James asks from the doorway, his expression more mischievous than apologetic.

“Not at all,” I say with a welcoming smile. “We were just enjoying some tea before breakfast.”

He walks over to the tea service and smiles hugely. “And Mrs. White’s scones. How delightful.” He stuffs one into his mouth and sighs contentedly.

Lord Thornewood shakes his head. “Kindly pretend I raised you right—at least in front of Miss Sinclair.”

“What?” he asks around a mouthful. I laugh behind my tea cup.

Lord Thornewood smiles despite himself. “You may delight in vexing me, but at least you’re entertaining Miss Sinclair.” He sits in the same wingback chair. “Come and sit with us then. Tell us of Oxford.”

“That’s right,” I say. “You’ve been away at Oxford. My brother attends there as well.”

James grins. “Oh, I’m well acquainted with Robert. He and I have spent a lot of time . . . studying together.”

Lord Thornewood snorts. “More like enjoying all the gaming clubs have to offer.”

“Hm,” I say, pursing my lips like a governess. “Is that so?”

“Now you’ve made her cross with me,” James accuses his brother. “Robert does very well at Oxford, and he never gambles for more than a few pounds.”

“How comforting,” I say, imagining my brother gambling and drinking away in the gaming hells.

Before I can interrogate him on what exactly my brother has been up to at Oxford, a man wearing a rumpled suit—as though wrinkled from a long journey—strides into the room. He has the bearing of someone of a higher station than a servant, but from his manner of dress, I do not believe him to be a fellow peer. He is tall, with black hair and eyes, and could easily be Rama’s brother save for a prominent Roman nose.

“My lord, forgive the intrusion,” the man says, his tone serious and his bushy eyebrows drawn low, “but you said to seek you out as soon as I returned.”

Lord Thornewood jumps to his feet, surprising both James and myself. “Yes, yes, of course, Tavi.” He makes a short bow to me. “If you will excuse me for just a moment, Miss Sinclair. Tavi has been making some business inquiries for me and has only just returned.”

“By all means,” I say, though I am not entirely convinced business would produce such an anxious reaction.

When the door closes behind Lord Thornewood and Tavi, James turns to me with both eyebrows raised. “Well, that was unexpected. It must be something terribly important to produce that extreme a reaction in my apathetic brother.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have to admit, if you weren’t here to provide witness to such bad behavior, I would follow them and eavesdrop.”

I smile, secretly agreeing with him. “They did seem rather intense. But perhaps this was a particularly exciting business venture?”

James makes a noise of dismissal. I take a sip of tea, trying in vain to calm the growing suspicion and anxiety churning within me. When I look up again, I find James watching me with an appraising smile.

My hand flutters to my mouth. “I have crumbs on my lips, don’t I?”

“Not that I can see. No, I am smiling because I think I have divined the true purpose of Tavi’s errand.”

“Ah,” I say, trying and failing to mimic his nonchalance. “And what have you foreseen?”

“I don’t want to ruin any of my beloved brother’s plans, but I will say I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he sent his most trusted man to acquire a certain piece of jewelry.”

He only continues to grin at me like the Cheshire Cat while I furrow my brows at his cryptic pronouncement.

The door opens, and we both turn. Lord Thornewood strides into the library. “Forgive me for leaving you at the mercy of my brother,” he says, any hint of his dealings with Tavi hidden behind his usual façade. “I hope he has managed to carry on a decent conversation with you.”

“But of course, Colin. I am not the cretin you so desperately want me to be.”

“He has been perfectly entertaining, I assure you,” I say.

“We were discussing the merits of eavesdropping on secretive earls,” James says, and I feel the heat of a blush spread across my cheeks. “Miss Sinclair was skeptical, but I assured her it was a delightful pastime.”

Lord Thornewood only shakes his head. “You are welcome to eavesdrop on me any time. I have asked you many times to express more of an interest in our family estates and business ventures.”

His response is so calmly rational that I realize how silly I’ve been—did I not just tell the man I trusted him? And how terribly egotistical of me to even suspect the conversation had anything to do with me.

“Oh, yes, a conversation on business,” James says, with a little wink in my direction. My blush spreads to my neck.

The footman returns, saving me from any further teasing by Lord Thornewood’s mischievous brother. “My lord, breakfast is served in the formal dining room.”

“Thank you, Rama,” Lord Thornewood says. “Have you informed our other guests?”

“Yes, my lord. Lady Sinclair has been waiting for you in the dining room since she came downstairs—she insisted,” he adds when Lord Thornewood makes as if to protest. “She said she would be more comfortable there instead of the library. Miss Sinclair should be there shortly.”

“Very good, Rama. Thank you.”

He turns to me and offers his arm. “Shall we?”

I take it, ignoring the fluttery feeling in my stomach. I’m relieved to know it’s beyond the power of human beings to read minds. Because I cannot stop imagining what it’d be like to have tea and breakfast with Lord Thornewood every morning.

EIGHTEEN

W
HAT
is on the agenda for today, my lord?” Grandmama asks when we are all seated for breakfast.

I let out a barely perceptible sigh. Her love of a schedule is beyond annoying. I could care less if we did nothing but wander the grounds all day.

Lord Thornewood places his glass down on the table and sits back in his chair as if in thought. “James suggested a game of cricket to entertain us before the ball this evening.”

“Croquet would be better,” Grandmama say with a dour nod of her head. “Though either way, I would be an observer only.”

Then what does it matter?
I think to myself, barely resisting the urge to say it aloud. I can’t imagine why my grandmother is being so rude.

“I do hope you play in a space with plenty of shade,” she adds, and I shoot Lucy an incredulous look. Lucy shakes her head, her cheeks lightly flushed.

But Lord Thornewood only smiles good-naturedly. “I will do my utmost to assure your comfort, madam.”

“You’re a gracious host,” she says.

I take a bite of my toast, hoping she has nothing more to add. If she does, the butler’s sudden appearance dissuades her.

“My lord,” the heavyset butler says, “forgive the interruption, but some of your guests have arrived—early,” he adds with an apologetic glance in our direction. He is the first English servant I’ve seen since we’ve arrived, but he almost seems out of place in this Indian-style paradise.

“Not a problem, Worthington,” Lord Thornewood says, but I can see from the tightness of his mouth he’s annoyed. When I hear the familiar high-pitched voice carry to us from the foyer, I understand why.

Rama holds open the door to the dining room, looking harried. “Miss Gray and Miss Uppington, my lord,” he announces, Eliza and Amelia on his heels.

Lord Thornewood and his brother stand, and I plaster a tight-lipped smile on my face. After the usual pleasantries, Lord Thornewood says, “Worthington, would you mind having more places set for Miss Gray and Miss Uppington?” He turns his attention back to Eliza and Amelia. “Please join us,” he says, and indicates the two seats next to Lucy.

I eye my unfinished eggs longingly, since etiquette dictates I cannot eat until Eliza and Amelia are served.

“Your estate is breathtaking, my lord,” Eliza says, her eyes darting about the room, resting briefly on every piece of china, crystal, and silver, as if taking inventory. “Amelia and I were just saying we cannot wait to see our rooms.”