Читать книгу Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom - Deb Marlowe - Страница 14

Lily had succeeded in her ploy. She’d been unable to deny the twinge of satisfaction she’d felt when she’d glimpsed the surprise on Jack Alden’s face this morning, but, she had to admit, he’d succeeded in surprising her, too.

A country villa? She turned round and round inside the incredible central hall of Chester House. Awestruck, she let her eye rove from the stone floor, over the magnificent plaster ornamentation and on to the high windows and the lofty dome overheard. Her jaw had dropped when they had pulled up to this gleaming neo-Palladian villa, but with her first step inside she’d fallen instantly in love.

Oh, how her mother would despise the place. A wealthy gentleman’s playhouse. A hedonist’s dream, replete with everything fanciful, ornate and overblown.

But so much more, as well. Like a light and airy treasure box, it showcased art and antiquities flanked by and contained within the most exquisite architecture. It stood testimony to man’s capability for beauty, celebrated his sense of ingenuity and wonder. It spoke directly to Lily’s soul.

Guests, laughing and boisterous, began to spill in behind her. Lily was swept along to an elaborate, tripartite gallery where, en masse, they were met by their host. In the midst of all the splendour, Lord Bradington looked short and somewhat ordinary, yet he stepped up to a lavishly inlaid marble podium and welcomed them with generous and open arms.

‘The best way to properly see the collection is in small groups,’ he announced. ‘We will split up. Besides myself, we are fortunate to have several experts among us. They will be happy, I am sure, to share their knowledge and thus enhance your own enjoyment of the treasures on display. There will be plenty of time to see everything before we gather back here …’ he gestured ‘… in the gallery, to hear our notable speakers and enjoy a light repast.’

Good-natured chaos ensued as people began to separate into groups. Lily took advantage of the confusion. She slipped behind a gilded pillar, anxious for a quiet moment to recover and take it all in.

This was it—what she had been anticipating, hoping for, when she came to London. Not the riches that surrounded her, but the happy exuberance and simple joy to be found in sharing them, their history and the grand idea that they somehow connected every single person here.

Heart pounding, she leaned against the cool marble and peeked out into the crowd. Her eye unerringly went to Jack Alden, as it had done foolishly, repeatedly, all morning.

Why now? she wanted to cry at him. Why now, when she had reached her decision to stay away, made her resolution to avoid him, did he abruptly turn himself into the exact thing she hadn’t acknowledged that she was looking for?

He’d had every right to be angry at her perfidy in inviting along Minerva and her fiancé, the Bartleighs, and a few others besides, to his outing. But he’d acted quite the opposite. He had taken off his hat, thrown back his head and laughed heartily at the sight of her entourage and she had been captivated by the sight of the breeze wafting through his dark hair and the green sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Even as she’d stared, he’d replaced his hat, and given her a jaunty salute, making her wonder if he’d guessed at the reason behind her strategy.

Nor had he objected when she had climbed up with Minerva to ride in Mr Brookin’s flashy demi-landau. Instead, he had welcomed the Bartleighs into his own vehicle and, from what she could see, had spent the drive out chatting and charming them completely.

Now he gathered her friends into a group and then he raised his head and ran a searching gaze about the room.

‘Lily Beecham?’ he called. ‘Miss Beecham must join us as well.’

The others echoed his cry. Lily breathed deep. There was no help for it. All she could do was join the group and avoid Jack Alden as best she could.

This, it turned out, was no easy task. In fact, she thought at one point that it just might be the hardest thing she had ever tried to do.

Gone was Jack Alden’s veneer of cool reserve. Not once did she catch even a hint of worldly cynicism. Instead, he led their group on a private, informative, highly entertaining tour. The Anglo-Saxon antiquities on display throughout the house were fascinating and it seemed he knew something about every piece. He explained the incised decorations on a disc brooch, and pointed out the faint remains of tinning on a Saxon wrist clasp. He spoke at length and with enthusiasm about the theories regarding the Alfred jewel and the possibility that more might exist. He showed himself to be knowledgeable and passionate.

And nigh irresistible.

Lily was unceasingly aware of him all day. She felt attuned to his every clever remark and deep, husky laugh. She grew warmer every time she noticed that his relaxed manner only emphasised the strength of his form and his long-limbed grace. All day she watched him and her body hummed, head to toe, with a heated, shivering awareness.

And yet she forced herself to behave with complete indifference. She did not meet his eye, kept at least two others between them at all times, permitted herself only a distant smile so many times when what she really wished was to laugh out loud.

It was torture.

By the time the papers were read, the speeches given and the lavish spread of food consumed, Lily’s head was aching. She was tired of fighting to keep her gaze from straying to wherever Jack Alden stood. When Mr Keller, another of the scholars invited to speak today, asked her to stroll with him through the famous gardens, she allowed herself one last fleeting glimpse, and then she took the other man’s arm and allowed him to lead her away.

Jack Alden stood poised on the brink of madness. Ahead loomed naught but the chaotic pit and behind him lurked Lily Beecham, one tiny hand placed squarely at his back, urging him forwards to his doom.

He could not believe that it had happened again. He’d come with a plan and a purpose. He’d visualised how he would proceed. He’d anticipated and prepared for her every response. Except, it appeared, for this one.

She blended right in to the atmosphere of Chester House, as if she was meant to stroll amongst the beauties of the ages and enrich them with her own special appeal. He’d half-expected that. He’d expected her to be lively and vivacious. He’d hoped she’d be caught up in his own attempt at charm and charisma.

He’d been at least partly right. Good God—her allure was a nearly palpable thing. She had every man here in her thrall. But something had gone missing. She seemed interested, happy—and utterly indifferent to him.

Jack knew that he did not possess the renowned charm of his brother, but he exerted himself powerfully and did his best to channel Charles’s effortless likeability—to no avail.

And just like that, all of his careful planning, and reason and logic, too, flew right out of the proverbial window. He could swear he heard his father’s mocking laughter mixed in with the gaiety of the company. Her complete lack of interest triggered something alarming inside of him. He felt hot and reckless, and uncertain as well, as if he would do anything to get her to look at him the way she had at their first, eventful meeting.

He had a limited supply of self-control left, and it took every ounce of it to stay calm, act the perfect host, and exude amiability and unconcern. When he saw Keller take her into the gardens he breathed deep, squelched the urge to roar like an enraged bull, politely excused himself from his companions and followed.

He found them in the middle of the gardens, where a large, flat lawn had been created. The two of them strolled slowly along the western edge, admiring the border of alternating stone urns and cypress trees. At least, the girl appeared to be admiring them. Keller’s attention was focused somewhere else altogether.

‘There you are, Keller,’ he called. ‘Lord Bradington is looking for you, old man.’

‘How nice,’ Keller responded. His eyes never strayed from Lily Beecham’s lithe shape.

‘Yes, he’s debating the dating on that collection of gold, die-struck belt mounts in the library. Apparently someone is arguing that they might be Viking-made.’

‘What?’ Now Keller’s head came up and he looked back towards the house. ‘That cannot be right. No, no. Those were clearly manufactured by early Saxons.’

‘Someone’s convinced Bradington otherwise. He’s already talking of changing the placard and moving them in with the other Viking artefacts.’

‘That will not do!’ Keller exclaimed. He looked with regret at the girl. ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Beecham, but I will have to go back and remedy this. Shall you accompany me?’

‘No, you go in,’ Jack interjected. ‘Miss Beecham has hardly seen any of the grounds. I shall take her on. You can join us again once you have cleared up this travesty.’

‘Perhaps I should go back,’ she demurred. ‘My friends …’

‘Are all already strolling the gardens,’ Jack said smoothly. ‘I will help you find them.’

She said nothing further. Keller hurried back towards the house and Jack decided it would be prudent to move on.

‘Have you seen the stone gateway?’ He inclined his head at her. ‘It is quite renowned as a place of good fortune.’

‘No …’ she gazed up at him with something that looked like exasperation ‘… I have not. Perhaps we should walk that way before poor Mr Keller discovers your ruse?’

Jack laughed. ‘Was I that obvious?’

‘Perhaps only to those already familiar with your machinations,’ she said sourly.

He indicated the direction and offered up his arm. After a long searching look, she sighed and laid her hand lightly on his.

‘A gate of good fortune, you said?’ she asked. ‘How does it work?’

‘I couldn’t say how the tales originated, but the legend says that you must pause on the threshold, thinking very hard on the difficulties of your life. You must concentrate and count to three silently while you swing open the gate and cross through.’

‘And then?’

‘And then your troubles are over.’ He shrugged. ‘The hardships you focused on will have disappeared.’

‘Would that it were that easy,’ she said wistfully. ‘But I shall definitely write and tell my old nurse of it. She adores tales of superstition and fancy.’

The sun rode low in the afternoon sky. Its rays, filtered through spring leaves, painted the ancient statuary with a forgiving brush. Miss Beecham paused to admire the figure of Palladio. The soft light erased the harsh wear of time on his stern-faced visage, but Jack could not look away from the little fires it lit in the fall of her hair.

‘I tried to get away earlier and ask you to tour the gardens,’ he said. ‘I noticed that you looked a little pale and thought perhaps you’d welcome a quiet stroll with a restful companion.’

An ironic snort was her only answer.

Jack clenched his teeth. Even her sarcasm attracted him. When they resumed their stroll he allowed his gaze to run down the turquoise-and-ivory dress she wore and he briefly mourned the bosom-enhancing high waists that had lately fallen out of fashion.

He breathed deep and forced himself to focus. All of his work today had been leading to this.

‘Hmm. I left myself wide open with that remark and you failed to take advantage of it. Forgive me, but you have not seemed yourself today, Miss Beecham,’ he said. They’d reached a paved circular area from which three avenues radiated outwards. He ignored them all and instead led her on to a smaller, gravelled pathway through a copse. ‘I’m sorry if the day has not been to your liking.’

‘Of course the day has been to my liking, Mr Alden.’ Had she been any younger he would have sworn she would have rolled her eyes at him. ‘I found a peacock feather on the drive as soon as we arrived, so I knew it was certain to be a good day.’

He blinked at that, but she did not pause.

‘But you are right, I have not been acting myself and it has taken some of the shine from what might have been a perfect day—and given me a dreadful headache besides.’

‘Not acting yourself? Well, then, whose role have you been enacting?’

She cast him an arch look. ‘Couldn’t you tell? I would have thought you found it a familiar picture.’

They’d intersected the larger walk that would lead them to the gate. Jack stopped abruptly as his feet hit the smooth surface and stared incredulously at her. ‘Me? You thought to act like me?’

Was that how he looked to her? Aloof, uninterested, distant? Was that how everyone else viewed him as well? The idea astounded him. He’d thought himself reserved, yes, but not so determinedly remote.

Suddenly he began to laugh. He allowed her hand to drop away from his arm, walked over to lean on a sturdy horse-chestnut tree and proceeded to shake with amusement, long and hard.

‘It’s not funny, I assure you.’ Miss Beecham sniffed. ‘I have no idea how you go about like that every day. It’s too much work.’

‘No, no.’ He chuckled. ‘You did an admirable imitation of me. I dare say I should have enjoyed it more had I known what to look for.’ He straightened away from the massive trunk and grinned at her. ‘And, in truth, it was only fair. Now you must return the critique, for I’ve been doing my damnedest to act more like you!’

‘Were you?’ She looked diverted. ‘Well, without a doubt, you should continue.’

‘No! As you say, it’s too much work. I’ve fair exhausted myself.’ He wiped his eye and returned to her side. Reaching down, he took both of her hands in his. ‘Shall we strike a bargain? Let us just be honest with each other. It’s far easier and we got on well enough before.’

She shot him an incredulous look.

‘Well, perhaps I should rephrase. I, in any case, quite enjoyed your company. I would like to continue to do so.’

‘Honesty?’ she asked.

‘Honesty,’ he vowed solemnly.

‘Well, I did enjoy your company before, when you were not being a sanctimonious bore.’

Another burst of laughter escaped him. ‘Well, I cannot promise that it won’t happen again, but if it does, I beg you to let me know and I will attempt to rein myself in.’

She ran a dubious eye over him. Jack felt the heat of her innocent gaze rush from the top of his head down to the shining tips of his boots. Well, perhaps there were a few things he would have to hold back.

This time when he offered his arm she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow with a smile. They strolled companionably for a few minutes before he spoke again.

‘So tell me, Miss Beecham, how are you feeling about your sojourn into society?’

She wrinkled her brow at him. ‘How am I feeling about it? That’s an odd question. Most people just ask me if I am enjoying myself.’

Jack carefully kept his tone neutral. ‘Excepting today, of course, it is obvious to anyone who lays an eye on you that you are enjoying yourself.’

She watched him closely, and then smiled. ‘How do I feel?’ she mused. She took a moment to consider the question, her brow furrowed becomingly. ‘Well, I am enjoying myself, of course. No one spending any amount of time with your mother could do otherwise. But …’ she sighed ‘… I admit to a little anxiety as well. To be honest, I hadn’t expected everything to feel so alien.’

‘Alien?’ he repeated, surprised. ‘How so?’

‘I was born to this world …’ she gestured about them ‘… just as surely as you were, Mr Alden. My father was a wealthy gentleman landowner. My mother’s family has multiple connections to the nobility.’ She shrugged. ‘But the last years of my life have been so drastically different from all of this, and I find that those years have altered the way that I view certain things.’

She fascinated him more every second. ‘Would you share some specifics?’ he asked.

‘Well, all this, for example. Chester House.’ She glanced back towards the house and at the guests they could glimpse wandering through the vast and varied gardens. ‘It’s fascinating and beautiful and educational. I’m very grateful that Lord Bradington invited us to experience it all, but I can’t help but think of all the people who will never view anything like this. I walk through here and I imagine the pleasure these things would bring, the awe they might inspire, if it were all open to the public—in a museum or a pleasure garden, perhaps.’

‘Would not most Evangelicals disagree?’ he asked. ‘I thought they wish to educate the masses only so far as it will help them do their duty and accept their lot in life?’

‘I suppose you are right about that,’ Lily admitted. ‘But to stimulate the mind, to expose it to the greatness that might be achieved by man and perhaps invite it to travel along the same paths—that can never be a mistake, in my opinion.’

Her words set off a burning deep in his chest. She was lovely and generous. And you are a fool, whispered some dark and no doubt perfectly correct part of his soul. He shushed it and struggled to speak in a normal tone. ‘You interest me more by the second, Miss Beecham,’ he said. ‘You also remind me a great deal of a friend of mine.’

‘Really?’ she asked with a half-smile.

‘Truly,’ he affirmed. ‘Though you could not be more opposite on the outside,’ he said with amusement. ‘Chione is half-Egyptian. She is newly betrothed to a gentleman who spends his time searching out antiquities. He has always in the past sold them to collectors. Dragons, Chione calls them.’

Her blue eyes lit up in delight. ‘That is it exactly! Dragons, sitting atop their hordes, jealously guarding it from all but the most distinguished visitors.’

‘I shan’t tell Lord Bradington you said that.’ Jack laughed. ‘Trey, Chione’s betrothed, says that dragons pay best, though.’

‘And his fiancée says …?’

‘Oh, she’s convinced him to commit to the British Museum instead. Now everyone will be able to see the treasures he finds in his travels.’

‘I think I should quite like your friends,’ she said decisively.

Like a bolt from out of the sky, Jack suffered a moment of blinding insight. He recalled the turmoil and frustration he’d endured all day and he knew that he’d felt something similar before. It had crept up on him as Trey and Chione had grown naturally closer. Their intensifying fascination with each other and the mission they were to set out on had left him feeling shut out. Extraneous.

Was that when all this unwanted emotion had begun leaking past the barriers of his internal dams? No, he thought with a twist of gut-wrenching honesty—perhaps it might have begun even earlier, when Charles and Sophie had become so wrapped up in each other and their new family. But no matter when it had begun, there was no doubt that his every encounter with Lily Beecham intensified the problem and left a bigger breach in his internal bulwarks.

Well, he would just have to do some shoring up—and fast. He had a job to do here. He must force himself to forget such nonsense and focus on his objective.

‘I am very glad that you are not a dragon, Mr Alden.’

Her words startled him. ‘What?’

‘You have a vast deal of knowledge. You have obviously spent a great deal of time in research. Yet you don’t hide away in a study somewhere, hoarding your knowledge and expertise like artefacts or jewels. You share it. As you did today. As you do with your journal articles and speeches.’

She looked at him with something he hadn’t seen in her eyes before: respect. Esteem. Jack’s gut clenched in a visceral reaction. He’d seen a beggar child once, standing outside a bake shop, his face a picture of longing and need. God, but he felt just the same way right now. He’d been starving for that look of respect his whole life.

‘It is just as I spoke about earlier,’ she continued. ‘Your passion infects others with the urge to learn, the wish to expand their own horizons. It is a very great gift that you give to the world, and I, for one, am thankful.’

Her words were a surprise and a pleasure. And perhaps a torment. It had been as nothing to take that hungry child inside and gift him with the largest, meatiest pastry the baker had on display. Jack had even left coins in an account so the boy could return. He feared it would be a much more difficult thing to accomplish his aim and still bask in the warm glow of her regard.

A sudden image flashed in his mind’s eye—an ugly picture of his father raging, sweeping a day’s work from his desk, parchment and paper and ink scattering like dust motes through the air.

He blinked. And he hardened his heart and clenched his fist in resolve.

‘We promised honesty, Miss Beecham, did we not?’

‘We did.’

‘Then I wish to be honest with you. Chione is actually part of the reason I wanted to walk with you. I hoped to tell you a little more about her.’

Her brow furrowed in question, but she gave an encouraging nod.

‘When we spoke of my injury, I told you that my friends and I had foiled a robbery.’

‘Yes, I recall.’

‘Well, there was more to it. We were lucky to have stopped a kidnapping plot as well.’

Her eyes widened, but she did not speak.

‘Chione’s grandfather was kidnapped and held for months. The night I was shot, Trey and I and a few others only just prevented the scoundrels from taking her as well.’

She gasped. ‘Thank goodness you were there, then, and able to stop them.’

‘In fact, we were not able to stop them all. One of the villains got away. A very evil man, I’m afraid. A slaver.’

Her expression grew serious. ‘That is unfortunate. I know something of the terrible things such men do to their fellow humans. Mother and I have worked hard to educate our corner of Dorset against the evils of slavery.’

‘It is a shame that a woman like you must be familiar with the depths to which these men will sink. But I think you will understand when I tell you how worried I am. This man is obsessed with vengeance. Chione and her family may still be in grave danger from him.’

‘How horrible,’ she breathed.

They had reached the stone gate. Neither of them paid it a bit of attention. Jack steeled himself and spoke again.

‘I believe that you might be in a position to help.’

Shock widened her eyes and hitched her breath. ‘Me?’

‘Yes. You—and your cousin, Matthew Beecham.’

‘Matthew? What can he have to do with any of this? He is in America!’

‘Actually, he has gone missing.’

Now suspicion darkened her eyes and clouded her features. ‘How could you possibly know such a thing?’

‘Miss Beecham—Lily,’ Jack said, half-pleading. ‘You appear to be well aware that slavery remains a reality in America, just as it does in the British colonies. It is the trade in slaves that has been made illegal in our country and the import of new slaves that has been outlawed in theirs. But apparently Captain Batiste, the slaver we spoke of, misses the days of putting his ship into port and selling poor souls like cattle right off his deck.’

‘But what has any of that to do with Matthew?’

‘I’m nearly there. From what I can gather, your cousin got into some kind of trouble with Batiste. A debt of some sort. Batiste demanded repayment—in the form of some adjustments made to a few of his ships. False compartments, secret holds, that sort of thing. All to enable him to resume his illegal trafficking in people, with those slaveholders unscrupulous enough to deal with him.’

Jack walked away from her horrified stare. The old gateway beckoned. If only the legends were true. He could pass through the archway and his problems would be solved. Well, hell, he would take help where he could get it. He tried the iron gateway set into the stone arch. His arm protested the effort, but it was to no avail anyway. The gate was locked. He should have known.

‘The American government caught on to Batiste’s tricks,’ he continued. ‘But the man is as slippery as an eel. They next went to speak to your cousin, but found he had fled. They want him for questioning.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said flatly.

‘I don’t care about any of that, Lily. I just want Batiste. And your cousin may be able to tell me where to find him.’

Her expression hardened. ‘And that is what all of this has been about, has it not?’ Her slate eyes turned to chill, blue ice as she gestured about them, to the park and the house and the carefree revellers grouped in the distance. ‘Or has it been only that from nearly the very beginning?’

He shook his head.

‘What a lucky coincidence that it was I who you nearly ran down in the street, no?’ she whispered.

‘No. It’s not like that,’ Jack protested.

‘I think it is. You think that I, in turn, will be able to tell you where Matthew is?’ She gave an ugly, bitter laugh. ‘Well I am destined to disappoint you once again, Mr Alden, because you know far more about all of this than I! I knew nothing about any of this. Nothing! I did not even know that Matthew had left his home. And I refuse to believe that he could be mixed up in something so foul as slavery.’

She whirled around and walked away from him and the gate. Before Jack could call out, she let out a sudden gasp and turned back. ‘Does your mother know all of this as well?’

‘No! Of course not,’ he said.

Her shoulders slumped in relief.

‘She knows nothing about it and she won’t unless you choose to tell her. Please, just listen to me,’ Jack asked quietly. ‘You said you were close with your cousin, that you still correspond. All I ask is that you tell me if you hear from him.’

He’d thought her indifference was painful. The contempt that shone from her now cut deep and was nearly unbearable.

He winced and sighed. ‘I can help Matthew. I want to help him. All I need to do is ask him some questions about likely spots where Batiste would hide away. He’s spent a considerable amount of time with the man; he might know something that will enable us to find him.’ He took a step towards her, held out a beseeching hand. ‘My brother has a great deal of influence. He will use it to help your cousin.’

She turned her back on him once more. ‘And if he does not possess the information you want? What will you do then?’

Jack did not even wish to contemplate such a thing. ‘Charles and I will still help him, even if he does not. I swear.’

Her head dropped and she began to pace. Jack watched her graceful form and sent out a silent plea to the heavens. He needed her help. God help him, he was beginning to fear he needed her.

Avoiding his gaze, she passed him and approached the gate. She ran a hand along the elaborately carved stone until she came to the middle. There she ceased her restless motion and gripped the iron railings of the inset door.

‘You don’t know what you are asking!’ She spoke not to Jack, but to the empty park beyond. In the distance people chatted and laughed, but Jack’s world had shrunk alarmingly. Naught mattered save her and him and this gateway to their future.

‘I simply cannot believe my cousin would be mixed up in this. Matthew is a good person. He’s the only person left alive who knows me. Really, truly, deep down inside, he knows me. When we were young he never cared that I preferred a good gallop to gossip, that I would always choose to climb a tree over embroidering a sampler.’ She sent a pleading look over her shoulder. ‘Even now, when he writes, he doesn’t ask me the same inane, irrelevant questions that the rest of the world seems to focus on. He asks me about the crops, and my tenants, and whether I’ve convinced my mother that attendance at a local assembly will not taint my soul.’ She turned to face him again and he saw that her gaze had grown distant and unfocused. ‘He even occasionally remembers to ask if I’ve seen two blackbirds sitting together on a fence post.’

‘Blackbirds?’ Jack began to feel as if they were carrying on two separate conversations.

‘Blackbirds,’ she answered firmly. ‘You see—he understands me and all my foibles and still he cares for me. That is the person you think could stoop so low, the one you are asking me to betray.’

‘It would not be a betrayal. You can trust me, Lily.’

‘Trust you?’ Her voice fairly dripped scorn. ‘I do not even know you, Jack Alden.’

‘Don’t be absurd. You know me well enough to trust my word.’

‘Not I! In fact, I question whether anyone in your life can claim to truly know you. I thought you hid behind your books, but today I begin to wonder if perhaps it is only in your intellectual pursuits that you are open and accessible. At all other times you’ve shown yourself to be distant and cold—closed behind walls that you only think are protecting you.’ She crossed her arms in front of her. ‘I cannot know you or trust you, Mr Alden, until you learn to know and trust yourself.’

With her every word Jack could feel the intelligent, rational man he knew himself to be fading away. She was an innocent, naïve little fool, but he felt wild, frenzied, like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum. She did this to him. Every time he got near her she shone a light on his every flaw, magnified his every emotion until he thought he would go mad with it.

He thought of Batiste, a malevolent threat hovering over Trey and Chione and their family—in just the same way his father had hovered contemptuously, dangerously in the background for most of his life—and he knew he would indeed go mad if Lily Beecham did not co-operate.

‘You don’t know as much as you think you do, Lily. Of a certainty you don’t know what you are asking of me. But perhaps you are right,’ he said, moving closer, his heart pounding, his blood surging. ‘There are also many things that I do not know—including why you feel such antagonism towards me.’

‘I … I don’t,’ she whispered, suddenly flustered.

‘You do.’ He was glad to see her unbalanced. It was only fair. She stirred him up until he felt as if he must prove his manhood or die trying. He approached her stealthily, a hunter prowling forwards with soft, light steps. And she, she was his prey. ‘You lecture me, but I think you must follow your own advice. Everything I see and hear of you tells me that you are a warm person, giving to others. But you will not consider my request—even though it might benefit your cousin and will help save a family from a dangerous and unscrupulous man. And why not? Because the request comes from me?’

‘No.’ Her freckles disappeared again in the flush that rose from beneath her gown.

‘It’s true.’ He advanced further, trapping her between him and the iron bars of the gate. ‘Look deep, as you’ve asked me to do. You are allowing your dislike of me to influence your judgement.’

Her breathing quickened. He could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat, the quick casting about of her gaze as she searched for an escape. ‘I don’t dislike you.’

Discipline had gone. Reason and judgement had disappeared. The other, darker side of Jack’s soul ruled now. It roared to life inside of him, loosing a great whirl of longing and want and more than a bit of anger too. The small bit of sanity he had left knew that anger had no place in this, and urged control. But it was too late for restraint. He held Lily’s gaze prisoner with his own and asked the question to which he must have the answer. ‘Then what do you feel, Lily, when you look at me?’

‘I …’

‘Honesty, remember? Tell me the truth.’ Their lips were but a whisper apart.

She shook her head, looked away, breaking the hypnotic link between them. ‘Not dislike,’ she said to the ground.

He knew that she meant to hide the desire in her eyes—the same desire that flowed molten through him even now. Did it burn like fire through her veins—as it did his? He reached out to trace a fiery path, drawing a fingertip over her collarbone, along the smooth and shimmering nape of her neck. He lifted her chin and forced her to confront him, herself and the truth.

‘Something else entirely,’ was all she said.

The darkness inside of him rejoiced. She was caught—pressed up against the cold iron bars at her back. Jack’s erection bulged hot and leaden between them, and he suffered a brief, stabbing need to press it against her, to trap her between hot and cold, hard and harder. Yet he didn’t do it. Not yet.

Logic and reason put forth one last try, tossing a fleeting image of Batiste at his mind’s eye. Jack ignored it. He’d gone beyond the reach of logic, into a place where pure emotion and hot, liquid lust held sway. Batiste could go to hell. Jack had given himself over to animal need and he revelled in it, sucking in the clean scent of her, gazing with wonder at the flushed expectation on her lovely face.

Then his eye fixed on her mouth. She stared back. That gorgeous, plump lower lip beckoned. As if she knew what it would do to him, she caught it suddenly between her teeth. The startling contrast of soft lush pink and hard white enamel made him want to howl. And then, ever so slowly, her bottom lip slid free, and the tip of her hot tongue traced a soft, wet trail along it.

His heart thumped. His cock surged. He slid his fingers into her curls of red-gold, cradled the back of her head for one long, tender second, and then let go to grasp the bars on either side of her. Pain flashed in his arm, but she made no protest, and only anticipation showed on her face. Jack slipped loose from the last vestige of reason and control, leaned in and branded her with his hot, searing kiss.

Honesty. That’s what Jack gave her with his wild, insistent mouth. It was not what he’d set out to do. Lily had seen the calculation in his eye when he took his first step towards her. But she’d seen it disappear, too. Driven further away as he grew physically closer, supplanted by longing, and need and pure, undiluted want.

Almost from the first moment they met, Lily had asked, pes-tered, demanded that he come out of hiding and show her his true self. Now at last he’d taken the first step and opened a crack in the protective barriers around him. Her arms crept up, across the expanse of his chest and over his shoulders, locking behind his neck and pulling him close. No matter what he said, and despite his unreasonable request, she knew she had an obligation, a responsibility to meet him halfway.

He deepened the kiss, tempting and coaxing with lips and tongue and mouth, while a cascade of voices clamoured an alarm in her head. They threw accusations at her, ugly words like immoral and shame and sin.

She ignored them. This entire trip to London, she realised, had truly been about shutting out other voices and distractions, and learning to hear her own.

So she listened. At first she could only hear the clear and happy note that was born of his kiss. Jack, it hummed. Jack, Jack, Jack. But she forced herself to concentrate further. And what she heard was music, learning and debate. Camaraderie and intercourse with other people with similar interests. And a great clamouring for more. More of all of that, but above all, more of Jack Alden.

Joy erupted within her, stretching and growing until she had to give it voice. She moaned her approval and happiness and relief. And he answered in kind, emanating a low, appreciative rumble that originated in the back of his throat, but somehow ended up pooling hot and deep in her belly. Neither of them could deny the reality and the truth of this moment, just the two of them coming together with nothing else between.

Their kiss changed in the moment when her lips parted and her mouth opened under his. Suddenly he was inside, and the hot, slick slide of his tongue made her wild with need. Passion poured out of him and into her. She took it, honoured by the enormity of his gift, and gave it back to him twice over.

Slowly he coached her, taught her tongue how to play. An eager student, she met him thrust for thrust and pressed herself closer against him. His hands came off the bars and settled into the curve of her neck and shoulder, steadying her while he kissed her with long and languid strokes.

He drew back a fraction and Lily gasped, her breath coming fast and rough. It nearly ceased altogether when he buried his face in the curve of her throat. Her pulse tripped and pounded against him as he made his way down her throat with alternate hard, biting nips and soft, teasing kisses.

But honesty is a rare and fragile thing, and Lily should not have expected Jack’s first foray into the light to be a lengthy one. He gradually slowed and stilled, until they stood clasped unmoving in each other’s arms, his face still buried in the crook of her neck and her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder.

He was the first to disengage. Their hot breath mingled as their gazes met. His chest heaved as desire and need faded.

Lily knew how difficult this must be for him, and yet she had not expected to see regret loom so quickly, nor so strongly that it almost resembled despair. She shook her head. ‘Jack, don’t,’ she whispered.

But the breach was repaired and he had already retreated behind his walls and into safety. His head was shaking, too, in constant small movements that nevertheless signalled a large degree of denial.

‘No,’ he said. ‘This isn’t right. It isn’t me.’

‘Jack.’

‘No! I’m sorry—you ask for something I just don’t have in me to give.’ His brow furrowed, his lips compressed. ‘All I want is to speak with your cousin. I’ll do everything in my power to help him, I swear. If you hear from him, tell him that.’

He spun on his heel and walked away.

Lily could not bear to watch him go. She turned and gazed through the gate once more. For the first time in a long time, she felt she truly knew what she wanted. And it was not the iron bars in front of her blocking her path to good fortune.