The House in Grosvenor Square (32 page)

After taking a good sip, he remarked, “Very good. Nice and hot.”

Suddenly they were like strangers. It was their proximity, Ariana decided. She looked around and saw a book. “Shall I read to you?”

He smiled. “I would enjoy that a great deal. You are very kind.”

She stood up carefully, so as not to disturb the table, and in a minute had come back with a dog-eared copy of
Gulliver's Travels.
She stopped in her tracks, however, as she caught sight of the bandaging on the back of his head. There were deep stains of blood on it, and it set her heart pounding. She sat down and started reading from the page where the bookmark was.

There were tears in her voice. It wasn't just that Mr. O'Brien looked frail and sick. It was everything: her abduction, her rescue, his injury, the changes she'd ordered in the house that so far made only a great mess, the servants' poor treatment of her, and, behind it all, the wedding. The biggest event to happen in her young life, growing so near. As happy as she was about it, there could be no doubt that it was just a bit nerve-wracking. She wished her mama was with her.

Meanwhile, Mrs. O'Brien reached the front hall, where there was indeed a fine gentleman standing. He was impatiently slapping one glove against his hand and looking disinterestedly at a portrait on the wall.

When he turned, Mrs. O'Brien, who was not easily disturbed, gasped in surprise.

It was Mr. Mornay.

Mr. O'Brien looked pitifully at Ariana. “I…I wish I hadn't been so eager to believe your betrothed had required my help. I must admit that my…
continued love for you moved me to do it. I cannot resist any excuse to be near you.”

“Oh, do not…do not speak of that! I will leave you this instant if you persist!” To his look of penitence, she said, “I shall read to you.”

Mr. O'Brien was startled by her sudden nearness. He sensed how upset she was—and how solicitous of him. He studied her face and could have held his breath. Miss Forsythe's face, her beautiful face, was only a foot from his own. He froze for a moment, not wishing to change a thing.

Her lips pursed prettily in concentration as she turned her attention to the book.

Mrs. O'Brien's hands clasped together nervously. “Mr. Mornay! This is quite the surprise! I beg you'll forgive my servant for not seeing you to the parlour at once.”

“That is of no matter,” he said lightly. He had returned home to check on his future bride. He had not found Wingate when he followed the tall man, but a stranger. Fearing that his lordship may already have been in Mayfair to further his cause, he took himself back at once but discovered his wayward girl had left the house, despite his clear orders to the contrary. He was not in the best of moods.

Mrs. O'Brien's eyes grew wider with surprise—and wonder. Having heard from her son the full account of matters from the prior evening's adventures, she had little thought to have seen this man in her house. Was he angry at her son? Was he there to call him to account? And more, did he know that his betrothed was at that moment in their parlour? How would he react when he found out?

“Is Mr. O'Brien well enough to receive visitors?”

At that exact moment, it struck Mrs. O'Brien that the presence of Miss Forsythe in the parlour with her son was bound to further aggravate this man. For the slightest moment, she hesitated.

“How is he faring?”

She blinked at him. He was acting quite gentlemanlike. “He's comfortable, sir. We won't know his prospects really, until the doctor returns tomorrow. He'll remove the bandages then and have a better idea, he says, of what's to come.”

He listened nodding. “May I see him?”

She blinked up at him, her mind moving quickly. There was no shame in Miss Forsythe having called under the circumstances. But would he see it in that light?

“Actually, sir, my son has already received a visitor.”

Here his look changed. He seemed to be weighing his words.

“Yes?” he finally replied.

“Miss Forsythe—” Mr. O'Brien pulled her from her reading.

“Do you not like the book?” she asked.

“No. I mean—that isn't it.” He could stand it no longer and made to sit up, but of course his head ached instantly and he winced.

“Do not sit up!” she chided, at the same time pushing his shoulder back down gently with one hand. This was altogether too much for Mr. O'Brien, who, ignoring the explosion of pain in his head, clasped first her hand, then reached for her in a swift movement and pulled her about the middle until she came right off her chair.

“Come this way, sir. I daresay you are acquainted with the lady.”

“I daresay.”

Oh, dear,
thought Mrs. O'Brien,
Mr. Mornay seems to know that Miss Forsythe is here.
As she led the way toward the staircase, she hoped he was not provoked by it. She would dread it if Miss Forsythe was to get a combing on her son's account. But Mr. Mornay's manner seemed mild, not formidable. That was something.

In the parlour Ariana's chair fell against the table, making the tea spill. With a cry of surprise, she was yanked from it and onto Mr. O'Brien. Just as suddenly as his move had been made, his mouth was upon hers. For a single second there was nothing but silence, and for Mr. O'Brien it was a blissful single second. But Ariana wrenched her head away saying, “Let me up this instant! You are incorrigible!”

Her face had turned rosy, and her large eyes were reproachful. She was
pushing against him, and he said, “Yes, of course, I must.” He looked as though he meant it too, but instead he pulled her back for another kiss.

The two people approaching the parlour heard the noise, and with a look of alarm on Mrs. O'Brien's face, they rushed to the door and opened it. At first they saw no one and heard nothing. Mrs. O'Brien looked puzzled. But then there came a muffled sound coming from the small circle of furniture, and then the top of Ariana's head popped up and could be seen over the back of the settee, which faced the door.

“Impudent man! Shame on you!” she cried. “Will you never learn that I am marrying Mr. Mornay?”

“I don't mean to behave badly—surely you realize I am in love with you! Only say that you will marry me instead, Miss Forsythe! Only say you will! It's not too late, you know!” Meanwhile she was fighting to free herself.

Mr. Mornay had frozen for a second listening. His expression under-went a frightful change. He sprang to action, quickly rounding the settee, and stood there for a moment, his eyes burning with fire that could never be met by anyone with equanimity. Nor did Mr. O'Brien greet it with such now.

His hands dropped abruptly, releasing Ariana's arms, and she immediately scrambled to her feet, collecting her wits and glaring at the patient there. But then she noticed that Mr. O'Brien's demeanour had changed completely. Following his gaze, she turned and saw her fiancé. Different emotions flashed quickly across her face in succession: first delighted surprise, then, with a sudden remembrance of what had just taken place, a measured sobering, a bit of a fearful look.

Mr. Mornay, for his part, looked her over quickly, then moved as if to harm Mr. O'Brien, who was cowering against the settee with a fearful look on his face. Mrs. O'Brien was standing silently, her hand covering her mouth, for she was as horrified as their dignified guest at what she had just seen. She couldn't say a word, though she thought surely she was about to witness the murder of her child.