Let It Be Love (26 page)

He flattened his hands on the desk and drew a deep breath. Surely he could keep his baser instincts at bay. He was a man of accomplishment, after all. His success in investment ventures had not come easy, but had been achieved nonetheless. He’d been well trained in the responsibilities of his position as his father’s heir and no one questioned his abilities to assume the dukedom when that time came. His writing might not have been published as of yet, but he had no intention of abandoning the effort. Determination and perseverance were part of his very nature. He could certainly finish the story once he set his mind to it.

He would begin first thing in the morning and continue to write untilA Fair Surrender was completed. The quicker he finished, the sooner he could get a sample of the book produced to show to Fiona. Then it was simply a matter of leading her to believe subscriptions were pouring in and the book would be a great success. Within a week or two he could present her with a bank draft, an amount substantial but not so large as to trigger any suspicion on her part. That would alleviate her need to wed anyone in a hasty manner, especially Whatshisname, should he ever appear. She could take her time and eventually find a husband to her liking. It really shouldn’t be difficult, given her looks and family and inheritance. The oddest twinge struck him at just how easy it might well be for Fiona to find a suitable husband and he disregarded it. In no time at all any obligation Jonathon might have to Fiona would be alleviated and she, and her sisters, would be off his hands entirely and he could go on with his life unimpeded. I simply wished to get her off my hands and out of my life. His father’s words echoed in his head and he pushed them aside. This was entirely different. His parents had been destined for one another, fated to be together.

Jonathon and Fiona. It sounds…right. As if it were meant to be. Complete and utter nonsense.

As you are not yet married, it does indeed seem like destiny or providence or something of that nature. The height of absurdity.

Because I am perfect for you.

And what if she was? He scoffed. It scarcely mattered at the moment. He would not be forced into marriage with Fiona or anyone else because of an agreement made while under the mistaken belief that he was the victim of a hoax. Perhaps someday when he was ready to marry…

What if she was taken by then?

He ignored the question and ignored as well the heavy weight that settled in his stomach at the thought. He might well lose her forever, not that he truly had her to lose. The problem was he didn’t know what he wanted when it came to Fiona. And until he could answer that, it was best to carry on with his plan. If nothing else, it would provide time for him to understand his own feelings. And wasn’t that what both his father and Judith had advised him to do?

This house was the ideal setting in which to get on with it without the distractions that arose whenever females of any type were about. As he and Edwards had agreed, this was a distinctly masculine domicile. The place spoke of collections, of acquisitions, chosen only for their value or their curious natures or their unique appearance rather than frivolous reasons. There was nothing of an emotional nature here. It could well indeed have been a museum.

The oddest thought struck him: Was this what became of men who lived too long alone? Who did precisely what they wanted to do, when they wished to do it? Who had nothing and no one to consider save themselves and their own desires?

Men who waited until it was too late to pursue the one thing, the one person, who would make their lives complete? Men who were, in truth, too stupid or too stubborn or simply too blind to recognize the truth when they saw it? When it stepped out of the shadows and into their lives?

Would this, then, be his fate? Would he grow old sitting at this desk writing stories that no one cared to read? Would he find passion only in the collection of objects? Would his greatest enthusiasm be for accumulation of curiosities?

At once the library that a moment ago had held a promise of secret adventure seemed now cold and bereft. Apromise still, perhaps, but of adventure alone, without accompaniment, companionship…love. A chill tripped up his spine and he rose to his feet. Here, in the dimly lit library in the overstuffed house, he could easily believe in fate and destiny. He could believe as well that the actions taken in the upcoming days would set the course for the rest of his days.

And he could wonder if those days would be spent alone.

Eleven

Five days later, practically an eternity if one were concerned that the object of one’s affection did not return said affection, but no time at all if one were convinced, or at the very least hopeful, that the aforementioned object needed time to acknowledge his own feelings. Especially if one subscribed to the old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder and firmly refused to so much as consider the considerably older maxim that decreed out of sight, out of mind…

“It’s rather startling, isn’t it?” Fiona said, as much to herself as to Jonathon. “In a lovely sort of way, that is.”

She sat at the table in the library where they had done much of their work together, paging through the preliminary version of
A Fair Surrender that Jonathon had just presented with a flourish and a satisfied smile. “My drawings and your words.”

“To see your work upon a printed page is quite unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” Jonathon shook his head. “It’s most remarkable.”

“It’s quite wonderful. The book, that is.”

“Not yet, but it will be. Remember, this is just a sample so that we may begin taking subscriptions. Even so, all of the twenty-eight drawings we decided—”

“Twenty-eight?” She raised a brow. “When did
we decide to use twenty-eight drawings instead of all thirty-seven?”

“Admittedly, I decided.” He shrugged apologetically. “I am sorry, but the story, as well as the production of the book itself in terms of cost and artistic arrangement, worked best with just twenty-eight of your drawings. Do understand, I selected them with an eye toward the quality of the work as well as the story and believe I made the best choices possible. Not that they were not all exceptional, of course,” he added quickly.

“I see.”

“I probably should have sent a note to you explaining what I was about, but, given the time constraints, and I furthermore did feel certain you would concur—”

“As indeed I do.” She smiled up at him.

He frowned suspiciously. “You do?”

“I most certainly do.” She nodded. “I trust your judgment implicitly in this particular endeavor. First of all, Oliver says you have a talent for making investments that prove profitable.”

“Never of this nature,” he said under his breath.

“Nonetheless, you still possess experience and knowledge that I do not. Besides, you are investing a great deal of your own money.” She ran her fingers lightly over the book in front of her. “This is most impressive.”

The book itself was larger than a normal volume, folio-sized, with a red leather cover and
A Fair Surrender emblazoned in gilt encircled by embossed leaves and flowers and fruits, reminiscent of the various seasons of the year.

The frontispiece was a printed version of the cover, precisely the same with the exception of the title. Here, under
A Fair Surrender , was written
A Mythical Tale of Seduction and
by Anonymous . The rest of the volume was arranged so that a section of prose, no more than a few lines per page, preceded a lithographic copy of a drawing.

“It must have cost a small fortune to have this produced so quickly,” she murmured.

“But well worth it nonetheless,” Jonathon said firmly.

She turned to the first page and read aloud. “In those days long ago, when the world was young and man had not yet stepped a foot upon it, there lived two brothers who between them ruled the skies and the winds and the very earth itself. And still, it was not enough.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “Oh, Jonathon, I like it. A great deal.”

“Do you? Good.” He chuckled in a wry manner. “I rather like it a great deal myself.”

“This is your book as much as mine, you know. Which is yet another reason to trust your decisions.”

She rose to her feet and moved around the table. She stopped before him, a shade too close for the sake of propriety but well within reach should someone decide to kiss someone else. Fiona beamed up at him.

“Beyond that, I am certain that you would never do anything that was not in my best interest.”

“No,” he said staunchly, “of course not. Never.”

Her gaze met his and they stared at one another and she wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his embrace. Or for him to take her into his arms. What was the man waiting for?

It had been six very long days since she’d last seen him, and as much as she was confident he had a certain amount of affection for her, if not at least the beginnings of love, it had been decidedly difficult to wait for him to make an appearance and, hopefully, come to his senses. She’d never been a patient person and now that she’d realized he was the only man in the world for her it had been a daily struggle not to hire a carriage and go after him bodily. Indeed she had gone so far as to find his new address and precise directions from Oliver’s house to his. That she’d managed to restrain herself was due entirely to the residue of good breeding that decreed proper ladies did not appear on a single gentleman’s doorstep unaccompanied. Of course, properly bred ladies did not propose seduction, or surrender, or even marriage.

Regardless, if he had not appeared today, she had planned to go to him. The news she’d just received demanded it.

Her gaze searched his, her voice soft and inviting. “You will rescue me after all, won’t you, Jonathon?”

“I shall certainly do my best.” His tone was firm, businesslike, almost impersonal, definitely reserved. Precisely as it had been from the moment he’d walked in the door. He didn’t step away, but his manner put distance between them nonetheless.

Her confidence faltered. Was she wrong about his feelings? Was she reading something into his behavior that only existed because she wished it to? Her heart twisted at the thought.

“We have already received several subscriptions, merely on Sir Ephraim’s recommendation to”—he paused—“collectors
of unusual books.”

“Collectors?”

“Gentlemen who have nothing better in their lives than the accumulation of objects.” His voice was light, but his eyes were oddly somber. “Acquisition is a substitute, I should think, for something more important.”

“For what?” She held her breath.

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I have no idea, nor does it matter. Suffice it to say, such gentlemen usually have money to squander and I suspect they will make up the bulk of our orders.”

“We shall have to hope there are a great many of them, then,” she said slowly. “And hope as well that they place those orders as quickly as possible.”

“I daresay we shall have some funds in hand by next week.” He cast her a pleasant, if impersonal, smile. She studied him with a rising sense of panic. When she’d last seen him he’d been confused and unsure. Now he was cool and remote, not at all the Jonathon she’d come to know and to love. It was as if he had indeed reached some sort of conclusion about his life and about her place in it. And not the conclusion she’d wanted.

This was not at all as she had planned. By this point he was supposed to be taking her into his arms. Begging her forgiveness for his hesitation up to now. Vowing his undying love. Urging to her marry him. They hadn’t been with one another for six days. Six full days! Time that she’d hoped would help him see what was right in front of him. Help him sort out his feelings, feelings that she’d been certain were of a lasting and permanent nature. Feelings of love!

Could he possibly have spent all this time staring at her drawings and writing about the erotic quests of Summer and Winter without coming to acknowledge his feelings for her? Or at the very least his obvious desire? Why, the man wasn’t even flirting. And there was no suggestion of desire in his eye. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully amiss. Had he decided he didn’t care for her at all? Surely she would not have been wrong about what she’d seen in his eyes? Felt in his arms? The fire that had leapt between them when they’d kissed?

Of course, if she was wrong she certainly had nothing to lose. She stepped back, squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. “Jonathon—Lord Helmsley—might I ask you a question?”

“In the interest of furthering our friendship.” The slightest hint of a smile played on his lips.

“No,” she said coolly, “in the interest of clarification.”

“Very well,” he said cautiously.

She clasped her hands behind her back and paced the room. “Do you truly believe I will be able to raise the money I need from this book for my sister’s dowries?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“And you believe I shall have something by next week?”

“I do.”

She glanced at him. “How much?”

“A considerable amount, I should think.”

“How considerable?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I am confident—”

“Enough to provide for all three of my sisters as well as provide independence for myself?” Her voice was as hard and businesslike as his had been, but then this was no time for subtleties.