Born of Persuasion (27 page)

When my eyes fluttered open, Mr. Macy sat opposite me in a wing chair, his legs sprawled idly in front of him. The lamps had been extinguished, leaving only the glow of embers. A cashmere blanket covered me.

“You needed sleep,” Mr. Macy said without bothering to
rationalize his being there. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Besides, it gave me a chance to reflect.” He rose and brushed my cheek with his lips. When I blushed, his mouth curled in a seductive smile.

I straightened, rubbing my eyes, tempted to tell him he was presumptuous.

He withdrew and went to the hearth, where he added a log to the remains of the fire, wiping the excess bark from his hands with a silk handkerchief before turning to me.

“I had assumed,” he said, advancing, managing to sound mesmerizing even as he scolded, “that last night I made clear the dangers of being alone with a gentleman. Yet somehow, when I arrived home tonight, I learned you’d spent the entire day unaccompanied with John.” He placed both hands on the arm of my chair and leaned over me. “Perhaps I failed to make a lasting impression of such dangers and need to correct it?”

My face felt scarlet as I gave him a guilty look.

The anger in his face lessened, though he kept his voice stern. “Have you any idea how precarious your footing is in this sphere? Or how many high-ranking gentlemen would mistake your intentions? No, do not attempt to quench my anger with looks of innocence, for I have another charge against you, and I’m not sure which angers me more, your recklessness or your betrayal.”

“Betrayal?”

“How is it that John knows intimate details of our conversation when you gave your solemn promise never to repeat it?”

My mouth parted.

“Do you have any idea how angry John is? I’m surprised our little shouting match didn’t wake you. How is it he knows details from our conversation?”

My mouth felt dry. “But I thought he already knew. Reynolds said—”

“Reynolds!”

“Yes, he said Mr. Greenham could answer questions about last night.”

“Reynolds said that!” Mr. Macy crossed his arms, looking truly angry now. “He dared to speak to you about last night? When? What did he say?”

My fingers sought my locket, but with a movement so fleet I hadn’t seen it, Macy caught my hand. “Tell me word for word what Reynolds said.”

“He . . . he didn’t . . . I mean, I did. He said it wasn’t his business what we did or didn’t . . .” I trailed off, seeing Mr. Macy’s incredulous expression.

“Go on.”

I shut my eyes. Already the Windhams were angry at me, and now I was about to sink Reynolds. “I hadn’t thought . . . He only suggested Mr. Greenham when I couldn’t find you.”

“Find me?” His voice softened. “For what?”

I felt my face crumple as I recalled my morning: the sickening sensation in my stomach, the manner in which the room had reeled, the crushing knowledge of Mama’s murder.

Mr. Macy must have glimpsed my thoughts, for he exhaled the remainder of his anger. “Ah, the condition John found you in.” He reached down and with the tips of his fingers drew up my chin. “Yes, I can still see the marks of suffering.” His face pinched before he released me and retreated to the hearth.

There, he withdrew a silver cigarette case from his waistcoat, which he turned over in his hands. From it, he withdrew a fag, then knelt upon the hearthstone to light it. He smoked in the same manner others chew their nails. Drag after drag, he stared at the fire, wrestling with his thoughts, until all at once he rose from his haunches, saying, “John is right. I make a poor replacement for a guardian.”

I started to shake my head in denial of his evaluation, fear coiling in my stomach, but he did not look at me as he took one
last drag. “I’ll be hanged before I give anyone else the opportunity to say I’ve unfairly influenced you.”

He glanced over his shoulder with a frown as I felt tears forming. Mentally I prepared for him to declare that my being at Eastbourne was not a good idea, that he’d made a mistake. Instead he flicked his cig into the blaze and returned to me, bringing with him the scent of tobacco. He took the ottoman and enfolded my hands in his. “I told you my intentions to court you, but I think it only fair you learn what is being offered.”

More than once during that long afternoon, I had envisioned such a tête-à-tête with him, but in none of those imaginings had he worn such a self-loathing expression.

“My past,” he continued, “is far from faultless. And though I have changed and tried to make amends, dark rumors about me persist. Some false, some true.”

Every part of me stilled, and my hands went slack in his.

He paused, giving me opportunity to speak. When I did not, he adjusted our hands. “Should you choose this path, you may learn things about me you wish you had not. Are you willing to accept me, knowing this?”

My stomach hollowed. “How dark?”

His eyes glittered, sending a shiver through me. “Are you inquiring as to the degree of evil I fell to, or how black the rumors are in comparison?”

He stared at me with such intensity that I dropped my gaze. Tendons rose in lines over the backs of his hands, giving testimony to his agitation. A wave of doubt, like a sinister undertide, washed over me. It would be madness to agree to such a courtship, and I knew it.

“Allow me to offer assurances,” he said, “that regardless of what you say, I will continue to offer you my full protection.”

Once more he shifted my hands in his, only this time I noted how gently he encased them. That simple gesture lit my path. In it I read safety, no matter what secrets his past held.

I lifted my head and met him with my own brand of tenacity. “Your past does not alarm me, nor do I require any confidence of it.”

He gave me a queer look and withdrew slightly.

It aroused my temper. “You doubt me?”

A ghost of a smile finally softened his mouth. “Yes, I rather do. You forget I have firsthand knowledge of how easily you disregard promises. Here, do not pull away. I can see you are serious. Forgive me if I seem confused, but does this mean you’re accepting my courtship?”

I turned away as shyness espoused me. It was one thing to dismiss his past, but quite another to voice my desire to be pursued.

He drew my hands and rested his chin upon them. “Is that a yes?”

Without intending to, my eyes strayed to his mouth and my breath caught. In that instant, the atmosphere charged. Some say you feel the air tingle before lightning strikes. So it was in that moment. My innards twisted with a new, sharp sensation. Mr. Macy felt it too, for I saw pleasure and surprise light his face.

His voice thickened. “Is that a yes?”

I nodded, feeling as I had once when I wandered too near the edge of a cliff.

He turned my hand and ran his thumb over my palm. “Know then, that I am not accepting your dismissal of my past, for its secrets will not be kept. With your permission, I’d rather extract a different promise.” He placed a kiss on my palm.

Pleasure thrilled through me, like a shower of petals in the breeze.

He eyed me, measuring my response before cradling my hand against his rough chin and shutting his eyes. The rasp of his skin as he nuzzled my hand nearly undid me. “Will you pledge instead to seek me first, when you hear strange reports involving my name? Rather than just accepting what someone tells you?”

Instead of waiting for my answer, he unbuttoned my sleeve and kissed the underside of my wrist before rolling up the cuff of my dress, exposing my bare arm.

Had I been better trained, I’d have pulled away with a provocation ready on my lips. But I was artless, and idiotically blathered the first words that came to mind. “Will you swear to answer truthfully?”

He laughed before kissing my arm near the crook of my elbow. He kissed the same spot again, more slowly.

“Is this how we proceed, a vow in exchange for a vow, a favor for a favor?” My sleeve would not push back farther than my elbow, so he leaned over to kiss my neck. My body screamed with awareness. “You . . .” I shut my eyes and swallowed, unable to hold back the sensations roaring to life. “You did not answer my question.”

I felt him as he smiled near my collarbone. “Nor did you answer mine, but yes, sweetheart. I swear to answer questions truthfully.” With his fingertips, he tilted up my chin.

All at once, the weight of his experience overbalanced my inexperience. What had happened between Edward and me was far different. Here, I felt like a fledgling, flapping on the edge of its nest, knowing it couldn’t fly. Desperate to hide my awkwardness, I turned before he brought his mouth to mine.

I blurted out the first distraction I could think of. “Who is Mr. Forrester?”

Abruptly he sat back. “Forrester? I offer you unprecedented access to the remotest reaches of my soul, and you want to know about Robert? Why? What happened?”

My neck still felt cognizant of his kisses. With my hand, I reached up and covered the spot as if I could press back the stirrings he’d summoned forth in me. “I . . . Well, Mr. Greenham seemed rather surprised to see him.”

“Yes, so I gathered.” Mr. Macy’s voice took an edge. “Why
did you ask that? Was there a scene between them? Did Robert speak to you?”

I felt like a child who’d been offered cake, but had no sooner tasted the icing before it was whisked away. I bit my lip, wishing I’d not been such a fool.

“Tell me,” he insisted. “This may be important.”

“It was nothing,” I began, then offered, “This morning, Mr. Greenham made me a . . . a drink, to make my head feel better.”

“Yes,” Mr. Macy said dryly, “if anyone knows a cure, it would be John.”

“Mr. Forrester picked up my glass by accident—”

“Did he taste it?”

My rising color was answer enough.

Chuckling, Mr. Macy drew me to him. “Good heavens, I leave you alone for one morning, yet somehow in that short span of time you nearly cost me John’s allegiance and gave a sip of your spirits to the worst gossipmonger in the country with his own newspaper.”

“He owns a newspaper?”

“Not just any newspaper, darling—one of the better-circulated ones.”

I felt my eyes widen as panic rose.

Mr. Macy looked toward the mantel with a frown. “Do not fear. In the morning I’ll put him on his guard about slandering you.” He gave my features an appreciative glance, then lowered his lips near my neck again.

“There’s more.”

He lifted his gaze enough for me to see his dark, amused eyes. One thick brow rose. “Yes?”

“I saw him trying to pick one of your locks.”

Mr. Macy’s eyes sharpened and he grew still. “Was he now? Where?”

“Near the chapel. I was lost, trying to find my chambers. I don’t think he saw me.”

Mr. Macy fully disentangled himself from me and retook the ottoman. When he spoke, his voice was so low I scarcely heard it. “Yes, it’s never beneficial to disturb a man when he’s not acting honorably. Did John confront him?”

“I refused to tell him about it.”

“Refused to tell him?” He tilted his head. “Does that mean John asked you?”

Looking at his shoes and stuttering, I explained how Mr. Greenham had found me running and wanted an explanation.

When I finished, Mr. Macy leaned forward, kissed my palm, then traced the spot with his finger. “What kept you from telling him? I’ve enlisted his help for your protection. No wonder John locked you in his study all day.”

“Had it been someone else, I would have.” I looked up at Mr. Macy. “The night we arrived, Mr. Greenham was elated to see him. He tried to hide it, but I saw his face as Mr. Forrester joined the dinner party.”

Mr. Macy’s brow creased, and he gave me an odd look. “Are you sure? I mean absolutely certain about that?”

I nodded.

Mr. Macy dropped my hand, rose from the ottoman. Once more his long fingers extracted the silver case from his waistcoat. He selected a cigarette and for several minutes ran the length of it with his fingers.

“Is Mr. Forrester dangerous?” I asked.

Mr. Macy chuckled, as if amused by the thought. “Yes and no. I would not have allowed him here with you if he were a direct threat. You have nothing to fear, at least. I would rather not disturb you with the details, but he holds something from my past against me.”

I arched my eyebrows.

A look of resignation settled over Mr. Macy’s face. He gave a weary nod, as if to say I could ask if I desired.

Instead, I fought back my curiosity. “Then I’ll have nothing to do with him.”

He looked touched by my loyalty. “I am your humble servant.” He cradled my hand but paused instead of kissing it. He touched the bracelet adorning my wrist. “My gift pleased you, then?”

I gasped. I’d forgotten I was wearing one of his gifts. Earlier I had slipped it on, to admire the way it sparkled on my wrist. My intention had never been to accept them. “I should have thanked you. They are wonderful, but I cannot—”

He placed one finger over my lips. “I did not give them for recognition but for my own gratification. As far as I’m concerned, gifts are a necessary part of my courtship.”

I started to object, but he kept his finger firmly planted.

“Besides, you are already wearing it. I’m going to bed. I’m very tired, as I’ve slept even less than you have. Tomorrow night after the others are in bed, we can speak further. Now, walk me to the door, and I’ll kiss you good night, but only if you promise not to say another word.”

I nodded and blushed at his implication that I desired to be kissed.

His smile grew. “It will be tragic the first day I cease to see you blush.”