Priceless (16 page)

“Wait!” Northrup stood also. “Where are you staying?”

“Why do you ask?”

Taken aback, Northrup stammered, “In case I hear news I would like to pass on to you.”

“Of course.” Adam relaxed. He should be staying at a friend’s, or at his club, or even at an inn. No gentleman would go back and visit his betrothed as if she were his mistress. He really shouldn’t even see Bronwyn again. He should let her fret about him—it was a strategy he’d used on other women, with great success. Unable to follow his own advice, he said, “If you need me, send a message to
Madame Rachelle’s in West London. They will know how to contact me there.” He walked away, stopped. “Humpty Dumpty, eh? A pithy description indeed, Northrup. Humpty Dumpty.”

Bronwyn’s beautiful sister dabbed frantically at the corners of her eyes, trying to hide her distress from the finest of society as they milled about Rachelle’s drawing room. “Look what you’ve done.” Lady Holly, viscountess of Sidkirk, showed her snowy handkerchief dotted with black smudges.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Bronwyn denied, “I didn’t do that.”

“You made me cry with your willfulness and your unreasoning stubbornness, and just because of you my cosmetics are running.” Seated on a low ottoman, Holly raised her face to Bronwyn. “Have I ruined my powder?”

When Holly had discovered her in the salon, Bronwyn had cringed, but now her panic slowly dissipated, and she prepared to wheedle her way around Holly’s sense of duty. Eyeing the parched surface of her sister’s skin, she said, “No. But, Holly, why are you using all that stuff on your face? You’re so beautiful.”

Looking away, Holly muttered, “I’m not as young as you are.”

“But it will make your hair fall out,” Bronwyn protested.

Patient with her sister, Holly sighed. “I wear a wig.”

“How could you be so resigned? You don’t need it! You’re one of the Sirens of Ireland,” Bronwyn insisted.

“So?” Holly shrugged petulantly. “That hasn’t stopped the onslaught of nature.”

“Better to look like you at thirty-one than like me at twenty-two,” Bronwyn answered with a fair amount of bitterness.

Holly flashed a glance over her sister. “You dare to com
plain, when your appearance is so cosmopolitan, so piquant, so
magnifique
, so
chic
?”

With faint humor Bronwyn protested, “Please, no French. It gets me in terrible trouble.” She debated but couldn’t resist asking, “Do you really believe I’m attractive?”

Holly reached up and pulled her down on the chair beside her. Bronwyn winced as her bottom made contact with the hard cushion, but Holly never noticed. “You look wild, like a lioness. You almost frighten me, for you draw every eye, and that’s dangerous. You’re attracting almost too much attention, and that will bring the envy. Trust me, it’s not a comfortable feeling to know that other people will do you a wrong just because they’re jealous. Be careful, little sister.”

Feeling giddy and a little embarrassed, Bronwyn realized for the first time in her life that her looks were valued above her sisters’—by one of her sisters.

Studying Bronwyn, Holly decided, “I have something you need. I purchased it in Nice this spring.” She rummaged in her fringed purse. “Parfum d’Orange, made by a little old man in this cunning shop who warned me it wasn’t my scent at all, but I wouldn’t listen and bought it anyway.” Holly took Bronwyn’s lacy handkerchief from her lax hand and drenched it with perfume, then dabbed it around Bronwyn’s ears, along her arms, and on the part of her chest revealed by her décolletage. “There, isn’t that devastating?”

Bronwyn breathed deep the fragrance of oranges. “It’s wonderful.”

“It’s you.” Holly slipped the glass bottle into one of Bronwyn’s deep pockets. “Take it as a gift.”

“Thank—”

“And go at once to Maman and Da and beg their pardon for worrying them.”

Bronwyn laughed at her scheming sister. “I can’t imagine they’re worried. When has anything other than the next party ever worried them?”

“You’re being terribly cold.” Again Holly’s big eyes filled with tears.

“I’m being terribly practical. Who’s going to recognize me? Even your own husband hasn’t figured out who I am, and he’s ignored me for years.”

“Of course he knows who you are.” Holly refused to look toward the viscount of Sidkirk. “He’s dissimulating.”

“Holly,” Bronwyn said in exasperation, “he’s flirting with me.”

Lines deepened around Holly’s mouth, and two crevices creased the skin between her brows. “How could he? My own sister!”

“I never thought he could walk past a knothole in a tree.” Bronwyn watched as Holly’s chin quivered and asked hopefully, “You don’t still love him, do you?”

Holly pulled out a handkerchief. “You know I do.”

“Why?” Bronwyn pleaded for assurance. “You married him because Maman and Da told you to. He’s ghastly rich, but he treats you with contempt. He’s getting stout, I bet he has gout, and he’s only interested in women much younger than himself.”

“If you ever fell in love, you wouldn’t ask that.” Holly nodded. “That kind of love twines itself around your heart until you can never root it out.”

“Sounds like a noxious weed to me.”

“Sometimes I think so, too.” Biting the perfect, well-rouged lips, Holly laid a hand on Bronwyn’s arm. “But when it’s wonderful, it’s so wonderful. I wouldn’t dream of living without it. When Sidkirk comes to me, I thrill with happiness. If we could just find you a man you could love…” Her eyes narrowed. “How is your fiancé?”

Bronwyn jumped. “What do you mean, how is he?”

“Ah,” Holly breathed. “I begin to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Lord Rawson is a formidable man.”

“Is he?”

“You answer everything with a question,” Holly accused.

Bronwyn picked at her handkerchief. “Do I?”

“He’s in the City, you know.”

“I know.” Desperate, Bronwyn smiled at the approaching Sidkirk. “Brother, how good to see you.”

“Brother?” His corset creaked as he bent over Bronwyn’s hand. “I wish to form a relationship with you, m’dear, but brother it isn’t.”

As his wet lips came in contact with her flesh, Bronwyn cracked her fan across the side of his face. “We already have a relationship, you dolt. I’m Holly’s sister.”

Holding his cheek, he squinted at her nearsightedly. “Impossible. All the Edana gels look just alike.”

Holly laid a consoling hand on his other cheek. “La, Sidkirk, it’s little Bronwyn.”

He stared, goggle-eyed. “Little Bronwyn?”

“Your astonishment is flattering,” Bronwyn noted sarcastically.

“Little Bronwyn!” With hearty goodwill, Sidkirk flung his arm around her waist.

The smell of lavender perfume, body odor, and bad teeth struck her at once. His pudgy fingers pinched her, then began a slow crawl up toward her breast. She brought up her elbow and struck his chest, while at the same time he fell back. She swung about to see Adam, holding Sidkirk by the muscle near his neck.

“Sidkirk!” Adam said cordially. “Keep your stinking hands off my wife.”

At the sight of the dark lord, Bronwyn’s heart slammed into her chest. She wanted to sink through the floor when she thought of what they’d done the night before. She wanted to stand tall with the pride of how he’d reacted to her. Her skin felt like fire, whether from embarrassment or desire, she didn’t know. She held her
hands together to avoid reaching for him and stepped back to avoid him. Dear God, she could hardly remember her name.

The beleaguered Sidkirk shrugged himself out of Adam’s grip and took a quick step back. “Your wife? Then why do you care if I avail myself of a few of her charms?”

“I’m not—” Bronwyn began.

Adam’s arm snaked around her shoulders, and his hand covered her mouth. She found herself melting like candle wax as he declared, “For all intents and purposes, she’s my wife. My dearest wife. My treasure.”

“Just as I thought,” Holly said triumphantly. “The lion to tame the lioness.”

Bronwyn stiffened.

Sidkirk knit his brow as he concentrated. “I hadn’t heard you were married, so I s’pose you haven’t been under the harness too long.” He clapped Adam on the back. “Don’t worry, Rawson, I’ll take no more interest in her until your heir’s safely in the nursery.”

Bronwyn sank her teeth lightly into the flesh of Adam’s palm and freed herself. Ignoring the man who stood much too close for comfort, she asked Holly, “You won’t tell Maman and Da?”

“La, child. Of course not.” Holly was the image of her mother as she put her cheek to Bronwyn’s in the one gesture of physical affection she allowed herself. “If you’re here with Lord Rawson, you couldn’t be safer.”

“Who’s going to protect me from him?” Bronwyn muttered.

Adam pried open her fist. After taking the handkerchief she’d wadded into a ball, he shook it out. “
Merci, Madame la Vicomtesse
.”

Holly cocked an eyebrow at Adam. “You’re the reason for her sudden dislike for French?”

Chuckling deep in his chest like someone who knew
better, Adam said, “I would have thought I was the reason she adored French.”

“I don’t like being ignored,” Bronwyn warned.

Adam smiled down at her, too many memories in his eyes. “
Ma petite, je ne peux jamais t’ignorer
.”

“What did he say?” Bronwyn demanded at the same moment.

“He could never ignore you,” Holly translated.

“Thank you,” Bronwyn said crisply, backing away as Adam’s hands sought her bosom.

He caught her before she’d taken two steps. Brandishing the lacy handkerchief, he lifted it to his nose. “Parfum d’Orange. Clever girl, the scent fits you.” He tucked it into Bronwyn’s cleavage, spreading it to cover her chest.

“Really, Rawson, spoil the fun,” Sidkirk remonstrated.

Torn between pleasure and annoyance, Bronwyn sniffed at Adam’s breath. “He hasn’t been drinking,” she pronounced. “That’s coffee. Where have you been?”

“At Change Alley,” he answered, “listening to the gossip.”

“Surely you know men don’t gossip,” Bronwyn said with sweet sarcasm.

Her brother-in-law didn’t notice the slur but leaned forward eagerly. “What news?”

Adam smiled at Bronwyn, enjoying the bite of her wit. “A great deal of stock has been sold.”

Sidkirk scratched under his wig. “So?”

“The directors are exchanging their stock for cash.” Adam glanced at Sidkirk. “Do you comprehend what that means?”

Sidkirk still scratched, although whether from puzzlement or lice, Bronwyn didn’t know. “Have you sent word to my father?” she asked.

“Of course.” Adam grabbed her hands as they moved to remove the handkerchief. He explained to Holly, “Isn’t she charming? She nags just like a wife.”

“Amusing,” Bronwyn spat.

“When will you come home with me and be my wife?” He still smiled, but his fingers squeezed hers. He used his eyes unfairly, gazing at her soulfully, sweetly, almost as if he loved her, adored her. It was heady stuff, and she was almost swayed. Almost.

Until Holly whimpered, “If she won’t go back with you, you’ll stay here with her, won’t you?”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Sidkirk complained. “If you want the gel home, pick her up and take her home.”

Adam still held her hands, still looked down at her. “I could do that,” he conceded.

“Oh, Sidkirk,” said his loving wife, “don’t you understand anything? If Bronwyn doesn’t want to go, she’ll just run away and Rawson will never find her. Isn’t that so?”

Neither Adam nor Bronwyn answered, their eyes locked in a battle of wills.

“I said, isn’t that so?” Holly insisted.

At last Adam answered, “That’s so. So I will be here at Madame Rachelle’s for as long as it takes to persuade Bronwyn to come home.”

Sidkirk rocked back on his heels. “Eh, well, don’t let it drag on more than a few days.”

Adam’s declaration was all the more potent for being simple. “Days, weeks—I will be here for however long it takes.”

Whirling on her heel, Bronwyn began to dodge through
the crowd. Anything to get away from Adam. Anything. He only pretended affection for her. A man whose heart was an abacus couldn’t truly love. He only pretended he wished to marry her. She knew he worshiped the social esteem she would bring him. He only pretended she was pretty when she knew—

She stopped walking, stopped breathing. She was pretty. She was. Surely these weeks at Rachelle’s had taught her the truth of it. Yet…when Adam had seen through her disguise, it seemed he had crushed more than her self-deception. He’d crushed her confidence. For if she looked like the Bronwyn of old, then she couldn’t be attractive.

She slipped through the door, intent on escape, and fled up the stairs.

Someone followed her.

“Adam!” she exclaimed as he caught her arm. “What are you doing?”

“Why, I’m going to my room.” He spread his hands and pulled an innocent face. “Are you retiring, too?”

Her heart thumped at the fire in his eyes, at the dark beauty that tempted her. Too well she recalled the tales of
Satan and his seductions. How could she forget when the devil himself stalked her? She backed up the stairs, not certain if she sought to lure him or escape him. “You can’t live with me.”

“You were willing enough last night.” Adam followed her up.

“Last night was different. You weren’t living with me. I was seducing you.” He smiled as if he had fond memories he’d like to reenact, and she added swiftly, “Last night you didn’t know who I was.”

“Believe me, I did. I knew immediately. Your appearance has changed, indeed, but not so much that the man who gazed into your eyes and gave you your first kiss wouldn’t know you.”

“You were guessing,” she accused.

“So I
was
the first man to kiss you,” Adam crowed.

Too late she perceived his trap. She thought about lying. Saying she’d kissed hundreds of men. But how could she? Plain Bronwyn would never lure a sweetheart, and her falsehood would be exposed for what it was: a desperate attempt to impress a man who happened to be her lover. “Were you guessing?” she asked hopefully.

He crushed her hopes without conscience. “Not at all. And for confirmation, there was the occasional lapse in French accent.”

Bronwyn groped for the post at the top of the stairs. “What did you think when I invited you up to my room?”

He stopped below her and glared. “I thought you’d be coming home with me today.”

She stopped on the landing and glared right back. “A very mannish thing to think.”

“I am a man. Do you wish to know what I think right now?”

“What?”

“That we will put teeth into the adage that most
babies take nine months, but the first one can come anytime.”

At first she didn’t understand. Then she did. She lowered her eyes and studied the feathery carving of her fan. “I doubt I am with child.”

“Yet,” he said pleasantly.

Trying to sound stern and imposing, she answered, “There will be no repeats of last night.”

He said nothing, and she looked up. A glow surrounded him; he burned so hot that she could have warmed her hands. But she didn’t want to put out her hands; she was afraid to move. Yesterday he had been a lion in search of his prey. Today he was a lion whose prey had escaped him, and he was meaner and hungrier.

She heard the small snap of ivory as she squeezed her fan, and as if it were a signal, she whirled and ran.

He didn’t catch her until she reached her door, until she had her hand on the knob. Then he turned her into his arms. “Cherie, there’s no need to run to the bedroom. We should save our energy and walk.”

Suspecting he’d caught her at his convenience, she pushed at his chest. “We can’t do this.”

“On the contrary. We are very good at ‘this’”—his teeth flashed in the dark—“and we’ll do it until I’ve convinced you.”

“Convinced me of what?”

“Convinced you that we—”

Stricken by the thought, she said, “I’ve injured your pride.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’ve injured your pride.” Amazed, she gripped his shoulders. “You thought I’d be so unnerved by love for you, I’d give up all my ambitions, all my dreams and hopes. I heard what you said to Northrup. You said if you seduced me, I’d stop sounding like a learned woman.”

He reared back, offended. “I didn’t mean it.”

Convinced, she tapped the cleft of his chin. “Maybe you didn’t think you meant it, but that was what you hoped.”

“I never—” He tried again. “I’m sure it was not my intention—”

She stared at him.

He softened. His mouth curled with chagrin; he put his forehead against hers. “Perhaps that was my intention, I don’t know. Perhaps I still believe if I bed you enough, you’ll be what I wish you to be. I do know I don’t wish you to change—so much for a man’s logic.” His smile teased her. “I do know that, one way or the other, we’ll have a good time proving the truth.” Flattening himself against her, he bent to press his lips to hers.

She knew how to kiss now; he’d taught her. She opened her mouth to him, greeted him with the touch of her tongue, dug her fingers into his shirt to pull him closer. Sandwiched between him and the door, she knew the fluctuations of his temperature and respiration, and they seemed to keep step with her own.

When he pulled back she was panting and afraid her eyes glowed like his. Too plainly she could see he wouldn’t be swayed—and plainly she didn’t want to sway him. Yet when he pushed against her, she remembered she really couldn’t repeat the previous night’s activities.

“Adam,” she stammered.

“My love?”

“Adam, you must understand. It’s not that I’m a tease.”

He rubbed her shoulders. “I know that better than you know yourself, I think.”

“Yes, well…” She lost her concentration when he rubbed his cheek against her hair.

He murmured, “Such a crime to hide this glorious sight beneath that ghastly wig. A crime for which I’ll have to discipline you.”

He made it sound good. Her eyes widened. “How?”

“I’ll show you.”

He reached for the doorknob, but she caught his wrist. “Adam, I can’t. I just…can’t.”

Catching a bit of her mood, he sobered and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Tell me. I’ll understand.”

Staring at her hands as they twisted in his cravat, she stalled until she could stall no more. “I’m sore,” she whispered.

“What?” He sounded a little hoarse, and she twisted a little harder.

Taking a breath, she wailed more loudly than she meant, “I’m sore.” Mortified, she hid her head in his shirt.

One by one he pulled her fingers out of his cravat and kissed them. He drew in a deep breath, then kissed her ear until she squirmed and raised her head. In fervent apology he said, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I knew better, but what can a woman like you expect? You sow temptation, you must expect to reap desire.”

Flattered and flustered, she stammered, “But—”

“But that doesn’t cure your problem. Too true.” He turned the doorknob behind her back and spun her into the bedroom. He shut the door with his back and leaned against it. “I know other ways to make love. Let me teach you.”

Adam slowed his horse to a walk and looked at his riding companion. “Madame Rachelle, I cannot approve of Bronwyn living in your home.”

Rachelle smiled pleasantly. “I am sure you cannot.”

“You’re going to be obstructive about this, aren’t you?” Adam asked.

She nodded to an acquaintance. “About what,
mon ami
?”

“I want you to toss Bronwyn out onto the streets so she’s forced to return to my home.”

“But that is no way to treat a friend,” she said. “And Bronwyn is my friend.”

“I know.” He had to proceed with care, he realized. Rachelle wasn’t Bronwyn, clever but unworldly. Cynical and protective, Rachelle was well aware of her worth to society. “You’ve made her more than she was before.”

She seemed less than pleased with his tribute. “Not at all. She was always the wonderful, witty, lovely woman she now professes to be. No one has ever before encouraged her to blossom.”

“I suppose that’s an assault on me.”

She widened her eyes in obvious guile. “If you believe it is, perhaps there is some justification, hm?”

“You are an exasperating woman.”

Stiffening, she said, “So my husband used to tell me.” She touched her horse with her whip, and the gallant animal responded with the burst of speed she seemed to desire.

Hostility rode in the saddle with her, and he marveled how his attempt to appease had so quickly turned to battle. He galloped behind her, wondering what to say. With any other woman, he would compliment her dress, her hair, instigate a bit of gossip. With Rachelle, such maneuvering would only annoy her more.

She slowed, dropped back. Her hand on his made him turn to her. “Come. You must forgive me. You did nothing but say the words that carried me back to another, less inviting time.” Her rueful smile apologized.

“Of course, madame. It’s forgotten.” He inclined his head, wondering at this sign of moodiness in the normally self-possessed woman. “But you could grant me a boon.”

“I will not throw Bronwyn onto the streets,” Rachelle answered at once.

“I never thought you would.” He grinned at her wordless skepticism. “I had to try. All you could say is no, as you did. No, my true desire is for something quite different.”

All gracious noblewoman, she nodded cordially. “I’ll grant it if I can, then.”

“I want you to hire a footman.”

Taken aback, she exclaimed, “A footman!”

“Or a butler.” He pulled his mount beneath a tree and waited until she brought her mount around to join him. “Or any man who would provide a household of women with some protection.”

“We do not need protection.”

Serious and persuasive, he said, “I think you do. Violence stalks London street. Only a fool never fears.”

Her mouth tightened as she remembered her daughter’s death. “That does not mean we should corrupt our salon with the presence of a man.”

“I’m a man,” he pointed out. “Fully functioning, not too obnoxious, and living in your house.”

“So we do not need a footman,” she answered triumphantly.

“I spend only the nights there. My days are spent at Change Alley, and I find myself distracted by fears for Bronwyn’s life.” Hand outstretched in appeal, he said, “I can’t concentrate, madame.”

“And I did promise to grant a boon.” She mulled it over. “But there are few men who wish to work for a single woman.”

“Ah.” He fished a letter out of his pocket. “I have here a letter from an excellent young man, an immigrant like yourself, who seeks employment. Amazingly enough, he worked in a salon in Italy, performing just the functions I require.”

Madame laughed aloud. “You amaze me. First you want me to have a footman, then you conjure one out of thin air.”

“Actually, it was this letter, listing his qualifications and experiences, that made me consider the dangers of London for my Bronwyn.” Adam opened the letter and
scanned it. “He sends references from the
salonière
, as well as references from several titled employers. I’m unable to verify immediately, of course, but I interviewed the young man, and he would blend into any circumstances with impunity.”

“A chameleon?”

“Surely that is an asset to a salon.” She lifted a brow of inquiry, and he shrugged. “Also, the young man is in need at the moment. English noble houses hesitate to employ foreigners, and the man has to eat. I thought that if you hired him, it would solve two problems, both mine and his.”

“You are a hard man, Adam Keane.”

“A hard man?” Startled, then disgusted, he protested, “I think I’m becoming positively philanthropic.”

“Yes, and there is the other.
Fidélité est de Dieu
.”

“Fidelity is of God,” Adam translated. “Why do you say that?”

“I admire your fidelity. For the last week, you have been the sweetest of suitors for the hand of your lady, and I admire you for your restraint. Most men would have performed less nobly than you. Very well,” she decided. “I will do as you ask. I will hire this man. Did you say his name?”

“Gianni,” Adam answered. “His name is Gianni.”

The tap came on the door early in the morning, but Adam was awake. How could he help it? This bed was of generous size for one, most unsuited for two. The week he’d spent sleeping in it hadn’t hardened him to the discomforts, nor the joys, of sharing it with Bronwyn.

“Lord Rawson?” Rachelle spoke quietly through the panel. “There is a man here who is most insistent he see you.”

Ever wary, Adam asked, “Who?”

“He says his name is Northrup.”

Adam rolled out of bed. “Thank you. I’ll be down at once.”

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Bronwyn struggled up onto her elbow. “What is it?”

Adam grinned at his darling, yawning and rosy from the night’s lovemaking. “Nothing. Go back to sleep. Bronwyn Edana has translations to do today, and Cherie has a salon to entertain tonight.”

“I leave the entertaining to Daphne.” Bronwyn sank back on the pillow. “Will you go right to Change Alley?”

“Always.” He dressed rapidly, now used to doing without a valet.

“You spend too much time down there,” Bronwyn complained. “Every day.”

“Not every day, although I should be there every day. You must remember, my dear, I have no ancestral lands to wring money from. My father sold all those. I have no court appointments to collect bribes from. I’m not corrupt. I must make my money in Change Alley.” He leaned close to her. “You’re marrying a man with an unstable income.”

She lifted her head and put her nose against his. “I’m not marrying anyone, but if I were marrying you, I’d never worry about money.”

Half-pleased with her answer, he said, “Besides, you’ve managed to lure me from my duty more than once.”

She smiled at the reminder. “It’s dreadfully early for anyone to be astir at the Alley.”

He paused, his hand thrust halfway into his shirt. “Is there a reason for me to return here?”

She stretched, and a nipple peeked from beneath the sheet. “Perhaps.”