In Your Arms Again (34 page)

She nodded, lifting her chin defiantly. “For now, yes.”

The naturally rosy hue of his cheeks grew even darker. “God help me, Vie—”

“We will talk about it later, Norrie,” she interrupted. “Now is not the time or place.”

He glanced around, as though he had forgotten where they were. Perhaps he had. They seemed to have that effect on each other—the ability to erase all other people and surroundings until just the two of them existed.

He obviously wanted to continue. “Will you be at home later today?”

She would be, but she wasn’t about to deal with him when he was in
this
dark a mood. “No. You may come by this evening if you wish. Come for dinner. Spinton will be there.”

His face tightened. “I would rather not, thank you.”

She shrugged, biting her tongue to keep from chuckling. Oh, she should be ashamed of herself for taunting him so, but she wasn’t. After all he’d put her through, he deserved to suffer a little bit. Lord knew he was going to make her suffer for going to Harker!

“Come by later then,” she suggested. “You can join me for a glass of brandy.”

“Fine.” Was that his neck she heard snap when he nodded so stiffly?

She plastered a huge, overly bright smile on her face. “Wonderful! I shall look forward to it.”

His smile was nowhere near as large but just as false. “You do that.”

She couldn’t plague him anymore, not when she knew how much hearing about her visit to Harker must have scared him.

Gracing him with a more natural, and repentant, gaze, she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his cheek. “Try not to be too angry with me, Norrie.”

He visibly relaxed, the tension seeming to leave his spine. But his expression was still one of disapproval and distrust.

“Be careful on your way home,” was his gruff response.

Somehow, she managed to smile. What she really wanted to do was kiss him silly. “I am certain you have enough men still following me that I do not have to worry about my safety.”

His eyes widened and she chuckled. Had he thought she hadn’t noticed that his men dogged her every step? Maybe they were able to follow some people without being noticed, but a big burly man with a beard was sure to stand out in a ladies’ dress shop.

She tucked the flower into the topmost buttonhole of his coat, fluffing its battered petals into some semblance of beauty.

“Until tonight, Norrie. Do not keep me waiting.”

And as she left him there, Octavia allowed a smug smile to curve her lips. He would not keep her waiting. Of that she was certain.

Do not keep her waiting. Impertinent baggage. She knew very well he would not keep her waiting—but not because he was so concerned with her wants. He wouldn’t keep her waiting because he’d stewed far too long already and needed release from the emotions tormenting him before they swallowed him whole.

Seeing her had not helped, not at all. Those big blue eyes, tiny tilted nose, and sweetly mocking lips only served to sharpen the blade picking at his heart. What right had he to be jealous when he was the one who sent her running into the arms of another man? She was only doing what he told her to do. He should be glad that his life would soon return to normal, but he wasn’t. And
that
only made him all the angrier.

Once he finally had Harker—and he would have him, make no mistake—he would turn his thoughts to something else. A new cause, a new villain to chase. Brahm and Duncan’s urging to pursue a career in politics haunted his thoughts more than normally. Perhaps it was time for a change. Perhaps he would be better suited trying to change the laws than ridding the world of criminals one by one.

But a political career meant spending more time in society, offering himself up for the approval of others—his betters, so to speak. Certainly the
ton
seemed to harbor a certain liking for him now, but only because he took care of their sometimes dirty little secrets and scandals.

Or maybe this change of heart, this indecision about his future, came from the fact that he had received an invitation to Lady Amelia’s wedding that morning. She was marrying her young lord. Seems her father had claimed her after all—
even settled a large portion on her. She had done what North never could, but then she’d had the guts to try and take it. He hadn’t.

And what the hell was he doing thinking of all of this while standing outside Spinton’s study? Christ, he must look like some kind of dolt, standing there, lost in his own thoughts.

He had turned into an idiot. If he thought about it long enough, he knew he could trace this loss of his mind directly to Octavia’s reentry into his life. Things seemed so much more complicated when she was around, and yet he never felt life was so simple as he did when she was there beside him.

Sighing, he raised his fist to the heavy oak door and rapped sharply. Facing the man who would have Octavia in his bed for the rest of his life was only marginally easier than facing Octavia herself. What would it take for both of them to leave him alone?

Lord Spinton answered the door with a convivial smile. North returned it easily while noting how fine the earl’s attire was, how smooth his jaw, how neat his hair. It made him that much more aware of his own clothing—his usual austere gray—and his own unshaven jaw and unruly hair. How could Octavia say she preferred him over a man like Spinton?

Yes, there was something he would do well to remember. Octavia might marry Spinton, but it was he who had her heart—for all the good it did him.

“Mr. Sheffield,” the fairer man greeted, gesturing for him to come in. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“I had nothing else to do,” North replied honestly and without petulance. Had Spinton arranged this meeting so that North would run into Octavia? Did Spinton want to rub North’s face in his victory?

No, he didn’t think so. Spinton wasn’t that kind of man. Meeting Octavia was a coincidence, nothing more.

The blond man nodded at his chest. “I see you met up with Octavia on your way in.”

North glanced down. The abused hollyhock stood out against the pale fabric of his coat like blood. “Yes.” What else could he say?

Spinton didn’t look the least bit perturbed that his betrothed had given his gift to another man. “Brandy?”

“No. Thank you.” He would be having brandy with Octavia that evening. What would Spinton think of that? Perhaps that would drive this frozen stick to show a little emotion.

“I will get right to the point,” Spinton spoke as he poured himself a drink at the sideboard. “I know you must have business of your own to get back to.”

“Yes.” Being angry, feeling sorry for himself, trying to find sufficient evidence against Harker—those were the most pressing issues in his life, and in that order.

With that infuriatingly pleasant expression still gracing his features, Spinton took a swallow of his brandy and crossed the brief expanse of blue, green, and gold carpet to his polished oak desk.

He offered North a bank draft. “Your payment for solving the mystery of Octavia’s admirer.”

North stared at the paper. It didn’t even waver in the earl’s grasp. He didn’t need the money—didn’t want the money. Taking it would be like rubbing salt in a wound, but he could hardly tell Spinton that.

“Keep it,” he said, raising his gaze to Spinton’s. “Consider it my wedding gift to you and Lady Octavia.” The words choked him like sawdust.

Finally the kindness disappeared from Spinton’s face, replaced by sheer astonishment. “Wedding gift? She did not tell you?”

His heart tripping against his ribs, North took a deep breath before asking, “Tell me what?”

Taking another drink of brandy, Spinton leaned back against his desk, bank draft hanging at his side. “There is not going to be a wedding—not between Octavia and myself. She ended our understanding just before your arrival.”

Ended their arrangement. No wedding. North’s head spun. Could the damned woman not do anything he told her to do?

God, he…adored her. No, not adored. Loved. He loved her. He could admit that, if to no one but himself. He loved her and it scared him. She was his one and only weakness. She would be the route every villain ever took to get to him if they were to be together while he was still in this line of work. She would be in danger until he finally caught Harker and anyone else he decided he needed to rid the world of. But she wouldn’t understand that, not when it kept him from loving her the way he wanted.

And if he pushed her away, if he dictated the rules of their relationship, then he never had to worry about her leaving him—or being taken from him. Because the one thing North feared more than rejection was being left behind.

He had gotten so used to being alone, what if he opened himself up to someone else? What if he gave himself to Octavia, let her into his heart and soul and then he lost her? Or worse, she saw just how little worth he truly had and she turned her back on him? What if he wasn’t the prize she thought him to be?

“Your silence is answer enough,” Spinton remarked kindly. “Obviously she wanted to tell you later. My apologies for upsetting you.”

“You didn’t upset me.” Was that his voice? It sound strange and muffled in his head.

He thought he heard Spinton chuckle at that. “No, I should think this news would be anything
but
upsetting for you.”

That snapped North back to reality, and back on his guard. He met the earl’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

Spinton smiled. “Oh come now, Mr. Sheffield. For whom do you think Octavia ended our betrothal? It was not me, I assure you.”

Him? Had Octavia jilted Spinton for him? Had she turned her back on the wishes of her mother and her grandfather—willfully ignored North’s own advice—because of her love for him?

What had he ever done to deserve such devotion?

“I—” Words refused to come.

“Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Sheffield, but do you love her?”

North glared at the other man. “You’re right. You are impertinent.”

Spinton shrugged. “Octavia and I have known each other for a long time. Regardless of the present change in our circumstances, I still hold a very high opinion of her. I would hate to see her injured in anyway.”

“So would I.” That was why he told her to marry Spinton, for Christ’s sake!

“If you love her, you should tell her. She deserves nothing less.”

“What she deserves,” North bit out, “is a man who is not going to put her in danger every time he takes a new assignment. She deserves someone of her own sphere, someone who can keep and treat her as she is accustomed.”

“Do you really think such trivial things matter to her? She is the granddaughter of an earl, she will always have rank and connections. What she
deserves
, Mr. Sheffield, is to be loved and respected by the man she loves, and that, I am sorry to inform you, is you. None of your excuses and arguments can change that.”

North stared at Spinton. He wasn’t as foolish and foppish as North first thought. “My career makes me many enemies. They would love to use her to get to me.”

Spinton finished his drink. “Then you do your damnedest to protect her and reconsider your choice of profession.”

He shook his head. “It is not that simple.”

“Of course it is not. It never is. What you have to decide is if it is worth taking a chance on. Ask yourself this question: What would you prefer, a life alone chasing criminals, or the chance to spend as much time as you can with the woman who loves you enough to break several vows to have you?”

He was right, of course. What would he rather have? As terrifying as losing Octavia might be, the idea of not having her at all was infinitely more frightening. But he had to dispose of Harker first. Had to decide what he was going to do next before he could give her that kind of commitment. He could not go to her a failure, could not ride her name and connections to a position in society. He had to do it on his own.

“I have been considering a career in politics,” he admitted. “My brother wants me to run MP for his borough. The people there like him and have known me for years. Winning there should not be a problem, but garnering support here in London for reform may be. Brahm’s reputation here may do me more harm than good.”

Spinton chuckled. “I can certainly understand that. Perhaps I can help you a bit. You are certainly popular among the
ton
in your own right. Capitalize on that. Remind people of what you have done for them and others like them. Those who have been victimized will be certain to support whatever reforms you wish to push.”

North eyed him carefully. “I am a bastard, Spinton. Won’t that damage my chances of winning peer support?”

Another chuckle escaped the earl’s mouth. “My dear Mr. Sheffield. You talk as though you are the only person to ever have been born on the wrong side of the blanket. Do you have any idea how many members of society have fathers different from those whose surname they share? At least you
have the advantage of knowing the man who raised you actually was your sire.”

He made it sound so simple, so easy. Was it? Could it be?

Swallowing his pride, North met the earl’s gaze evenly. “And you would be willing to help me, even though I am the reason Octavia ended your betrothal?”

Spinton nodded. “Of course! Octavia knows that my heart has belonged to another for some time now.”

Comprehension dawned. “Miss Henry.”

A grin curved the earl’s lips and brightened his eyes. “The very same. So you see, you actually did me a service, Sheffield. Now it is my turn to do one for you.”

That sounded fair. “All right. Thank you.”

Spinton thrust the bank draft at him. “First, however, you must take this and promise me one thing.”

North took the payment. “What is that?”

“Hire yourself a valet. We cannot have you entering society looking like a wildman.”

For the first time in days, North laughed—really laughed. It felt good. It gave him hope.

Maybe he could have everything he ever wanted. Maybe he could find where he truly belonged.

And maybe, just maybe, he and Octavia could finally be together.