Lorelie Brown (22 page)

“She must have stolen the key. Again.” She opened her eyes and looked at him imploringly. “I am so sorry, Ian. I’m sure that was humiliating.”

He shrugged. Finally close enough to touch, he wrapped his hands around her upper shoulders and pulled her face into his bare chest. She went surprisingly easily. “It’s all right. I suppose someone else’s engagement must have started on a more embarrassing note, though I can hardly imagine how.”

She stiffened body part by body part. Her shoulders were first, then her spine straightened. Her neck was last, drawing her cheek away from its press against his chest. “Engagement?”

“That’s what I said.” He hadn’t planned anything of the sort, but once the opportunity arose, the idea felt right. Maybe part of him had only been waiting for the excuse. This moment. “It’s the appropriate response to such a discovery.”

“Don’t say such things.” She pushed away, shaking her head. Though the sash of her robe was already tied, she knotted it. “An engagement would be foolish. People would only talk behind our backs when it ended.”

“Who says it has to end?”

She smiled as big and bright as she ever had. “Why, I do, of course.” She cupped his jaw. Her touch was gentle and silken. “You don’t want to marry me.”

His hands framed her narrow waist. “It’s not the worst sort of option either. Marriage is one of those inevitable sorts of things. Why not with someone I enjoy?”

She stretched up on her toes and brushed a gracious kiss over his mouth. Her arms draped over his shoulders, and after that first gentle kiss she pushed deeper. Swept her tongue over his in what could have been either promise or farewell.

“It’s certainly not inevitable. I’m not marrying anyone. If I were tempted by your sweepingly romantic declaration,” she said with a dry measure of humor.

“Why not marry?” And why was there an inexplicable twinge in the lower regions of his chest?

Her smile wavered enough that he wanted to touch her supple cheek and make the shadows lurking behind her eyes go away. “Because with marriage comes children. And for the women of my family, children bring the madness. I can’t do that to anyone. I’m the last of our line. It’ll end with me.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lottie had desperately attempted to talk both her mama and Ian out of the dinner. She spent hours in her mama’s salon, holding an apple so that her mother could sketch it in the right light, all the while talking. Trying to convince her that this was pointless and a ridiculous idea that was begging for trouble. Mama would be bored with such provincial company.

She’d had Ian meet her at the school, where she’d done exactly the same thing, though she’d left out the argument about less-than-sufficient polish. He’d sat in the chair across from her desk with his hands folded over his stomach and an intent look on his handsome face. Then his mouth had drawn down into a frown that emphasized his strong nose. For a moment, she thought he’d agree. Until he snatched her by the waist, dragged her onto his lap and kissed her senseless.

Once she’d been breathless and clinging to the open plackets of his jacket, he’d said no. That her mother had issued the invitation and he’d accepted. It wasn’t her place to withdraw. Not to mention, Etta would be well served by meeting the people who would see her launched to society the next week.

Then he’d left, claiming business to attend to. His sister and mother had to be taken to the shops to ensure they had sufficient wardrobes.

She hated being ignored.

Which was why she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toes, standing in the open doorway of her family’s seldom-used formal dining room. “Mama! Do you at least promise to behave?”

Lady Vale came to a halt at the head of the table. Her armful of dyed-purple ostrich feathers fluttered like fingers. “Of course I will. How can you ask me such with bald rudeness?”

Lottie sighed all the way from the bottom of her stomach. “Of course, Mother. I’m sorry.”

As far as Lottie was concerned, it was a legitimate concern. Her mother always meant well. Always intended to behave. Then she’d end up halfway into a bottle of brandy and halfway out the upper-story windows with her skirts hiked to her waist.

Mama looked perfectly put together. The slim-cut gown skimmed over leanness that spoke well of a woman her age. The dark purple skirt was close over her hips and pulled up in the back to a graceful bustle with swags of rich material.

Lottie’s dress was quite similar in shape, narrow-cut at the hips and with a bustle. But where her mother had purple cording along the hem and bodice, Lottie had knotted silk flowers of pale white in contrast to the dark green silk dress. They outlined her bosom and swept down to curve around her waist. Every single one had been set intentionally.

They’d been chosen to torment Ian, to make him want to touch her. Because she’d liked so very much being touched by him. Yet in the past two weeks, he’d kept it almost…superficial. She felt absurd calling it such when she lived for the feel of his mouth on hers. They snuck kisses whenever they had a chance, but there it was. She wanted more. Strange distance dwelled in the space between them, and she wasn’t sure where it was from.

Nor was she sure whether she really wanted it to go away. She couldn’t afford to become any more involved with Ian. The friendly, affectionate level they maintained had to be enough.

Her mama went back to arranging the slender feathers in an artistic grouping of vases that ranged down the table. “There.” She stepped back with a measure of satisfaction. “It’s the small details that bring a picture together.”

“Small?” Lottie eyed the feathers dubiously. They towered three feet over the table, and the gold-tinted glass of the vases would be difficult to see through. Lucky the dinner guests would have the companions next to them to speak with.

“I wish your father could have been here,” Lady Vale said as she brushed off her fingertips and headed toward the front parlor. She made a beeline for the sideboard filled with crystal decanters.

Lottie’s stomach flipped as she watched her mother pour a tiny glass of sherry. Hopefully that would be it. She nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip. “Father had business.”

Mama shot Lottie a very amused look over the edge of her glass. “As you say.”

So what if she wanted to believe Father had business at their estate in Derbyshire? It didn’t seem like an evil fiction. He probably was doing
some
sort of business while there. It would be difficult to avoid the estate manager all together, after all.

Besides, sometimes she barely blamed her father. She could do with a holiday in the country now and then. If it weren’t for the school to run, she’d have fled for their family’s estate as well. Or farther. Run away to the south of France to go mad in peace.

Except when the butler ushered in Ian and his family, she knew that wasn’t true. Her heart gave a tiny leap into her throat before delving to her toes. It lingered there, sickly and a little pained.

Why in the name of God did she have to be so happy to see Ian? He looked handsome in the usual white-and-black combo of evening wear. Precisely starched collars framed his sharp jaw. His bright eyes sought her out across the room. “Lady Vale, Miss Vale. Please allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Heald, and my sister, Henrietta.”

The requisite bows and curtsies and greetings went around before Lottie’s mother gave a wide grin. “How lovely it is to meet you, Mrs. Heald. I am ever so grateful for your gracious raising of Sir Ian. If it weren’t for him, I’d be buried in the family crypt four weeks past.”

“Mother,” Lottie said, her cheeks hot. “Don’t be crass.”

“The truth is never crass.” She took a healthy swallow of her wine.

Mrs. Heald smiled graciously. “I’m rather fond of Sir Ian as well. I do love to hear of his various misdeeds.”

“Don’t be silly, Mother. You know we’ve never heard a whisper of Ian doing wrong.” Henrietta smiled at her brother. “Every story that comes to us proves he’s of the highest caliber.”

It was more than obvious that she adored him. As well she should. He was moving heaven and earth to ensure her life stayed as smooth as it ought to be. It wasn’t only the expense that Ian was going to in order to line up a presentable Season at the last minute. His involvement and nearness itself was remarkable.

Lottie had no idea what that must be like, to have someone support her in every possible way. She found herself rather envious of the black-haired, blue-eyed woman. With her unthreatening prettiness, Ian’s money and the support of Victoria’s mother, she’d want for little when it came to Society’s approval. Henrietta wouldn’t be forced into fancy verbal tricks to hide her family’s dirty secret in plain sight.

Lottie drifted toward the window, leaving her mother chattering with Mrs. Hayworth and Henrietta. She twisted her fingers in the curtains. On the street outside a few carriages clattered by in the darkening twilight, but the hand-painted wallpaper distracted Lottie. Lady Vale had spent hours locked in this room only the month before last, turning the striped walls into subtle magic with hand-painted birds.

She knew Ian was behind her before he spoke. The hairs along the back of her neck tingled. “Your sister will do well.”

“I’d hoped as much.”

He didn’t stand too close. He couldn’t. There were too many rules between them, as well as his odd silences. She’d caught him looking at her in the past two weeks whenever he thought she wouldn’t notice.

She thought he’d want to talk about the things that had happened in the intimate spaces between them. Her heart stuttered as she anticipated.

“I had a note from Patricia. At least I assume it was her.”

Part of her wanted to accept the reprieve. “Demanding money?”

“Indeed.” He didn’t touch her. The absence hurt more than she’d expected. “I sent her a fraction of what she’d asked for. Enough to keep her dangling on in hope of more.”

“Yet not enough that she’d be satiated,” she said, filling in the blanks. “No hope of tracking where it went?”

“Unfortunately, no. I paid a couple of Fletcher’s men to watch the inn where she instructed it be left. An urchin picked up the packet, then the men lost him in Seven Dials.”

She nodded. “Not Fletcher’s territory. His men would be more easily lost.”

Behind her, fabric shifted with Ian’s impatience. “Anything from Finna?”

“Patricia hasn’t been back, of course. But she remembered that Patricia had been ill lately. It might be what’s prompted her to such actions.” She didn’t want to ask. The question curled and coiled in her throat before slithering out like a snake. “Are you upset with me?”

He jerked to look at her, the change of subject obviously startling him. “Why would I be upset?”

She shrugged, feeling like something small and mean. Jealous, maybe. Of Henrietta and every other girl who had it so easy. She hadn’t made half the mistake Henrietta had, but because Lottie’s mother was notorious, she bore twice the weight. “What I said about never intending to have children. It’s unnatural.”

“It’s your choice. Therefore it can’t possibly be unnatural.” His voice looped around her like the touch she craved. “I won’t hear you say such things again.”

“Do you believe me, though? That I can’t ever risk having children?” Her sweaty palm clenched on the curtain, but the brocade would be fine. “Do you understand?”

“Have you been to doctors? Investigated the science behind it?”

“They’re as lost as I am.” She shrugged and thought she might shatter for the tiny gesture. “But there’s Mother, and her mother before her. She filled her skirts with rocks and walked into a pond two miles from the manor house. Mama had a sister, as well. She married well but ran away with a traveling busker.”

For a long moment, the silence around them was punctuated only by her mother’s beautiful laughter. Then he touched her, lightly and still properly. His fingers smoothed around the curve of her upper arm, above her elbow. She felt it anyway—the meaning with which he imbued every centimeter of quiet touch. “I understand.”

Ian understood. He did. Such a history was difficult to overcome, and he was no doctor. He was no god with perfect comprehension to be able to gainsay men of learning.

That also meant as a mortal man he had no words for the uncomfortable, niggling feeling that slipped and slid through his emotions as Lady Vale called them into dinner. Lottie proceeded on his arm. He felt her there, beyond the fingers that rested in the crook of his elbow. The goodness that lay under her flash and sparkle as she turned her head back to chat with Henrietta.

How could he be the only one who saw her underneath the gilt? How was it that no one else seemed to appreciate her loving core and shining happiness?

That she wouldn’t raise children seemed all the more a shame. Lottie understood what it meant to keep small souls safe. After all, she did it for her mother. She would also know how to help any children grow into their best selves and have fun while they did it.

It made Ian sad—actually, truly sad in a way no other word would do, to realize that this meant there would be no Lottie in his future either.

His whole world and his whole life had been about hauling his family out of the lower ranks of the landed gentry and pulling them upward. He had never thought he harbored delusions about rising toward the upper ranks, but somehow that wasn’t the same thing as ending the family line. There were no convenient cousins, no younger brothers. Ian was it. If he didn’t have children, wouldn’t his father’s work be for naught? All his own work?