Everything I Ever Wanted (15 page)

He closed the distance between them and took India's chin in his hand, raising her face. Margrave did not mind that she regarded him stubbornly. It was more to the point that her mouth was firmly closed. The mutinous line of her sensual lips did not bother him in the least. Quiet was what he wanted from her. "I hear you," he said. "And so would your servants if you spoke but a whit more loudly. Have a care, India. I grow weary of taking your orders."

She could not have laughed at the absurdity of that statement even if she had been free to do so. India kept her chin still in the pocket of his palm and waited for Margrave to release her. In spite of the welcome news that nothing untoward had befallen Lord Southerton, India found herself chilled. It was always thus when Margrave held her.

The earl allowed his fingers to slip along the length of India's jaw before he released her. He saw that she was careful not to draw back. He had taught her that, taught her how it displeased him to be shown any proof that she merely suffered even his casual embrace. Stepping back, he regarded the pale sweep of her hair where it lay over one shoulder. She must have braided it earlier, he realized, then unwound it. Perhaps the process had been repeated a dozen times over the course of the evening, for the gold and platinum strands were faintly rippled. "It is a crime the current fashion is to wear the hair so high and full on the forehead. What man would not gladly give his fortune to look on yours as it is now? Unbound. Floating. You must tempt them all with the promise of it."

"I am sure you mistake the matter."

"Why do you say so?"

"I am surrounded by idle flatterers, and no man has ever intimated as much."

Margrave's laughter was low. He sat on the wide arm of the chair opposite India's and folded his arms across his chest. "Do you think I detect no insult in your words?"

"I meant none."

" I am a man." He waited to see if she would dare take issue with him. She did not. "And no idle flatterer. Is my observation about your hair of no account?"

"Forgive me," she said gravely. "Again, I meant no offense."

"Then give none. Wear your hair down for me. I find it soothing to look upon."

"Yes. Of course."

One of his brows kicked up. "So meekly compliant of a sudden? You must feel more for Southerton than I first suspected. Are you so relieved he remains unharmed?" Before she could answer, he went on. "Tell me, India, if it were put to you that the little maggot Doobin or the supremely arrogant viscount must go, whom would you choose?"

She said nothing. Her palms were damp, and a bead of moisture formed on her upper lip. India recognized the signs of the same sick feeling she sometimes encountered when she was about to step onstage. The difference was that she could not lose herself in this role. This was her life.

"That is unfair of me, is it not?" he said amiably. "Let us hope it does not come to that."

India reached behind her and dragged the shawl folded over the back of her chair across her lap. There was a glimpse of bare white calf as she adjusted it and inadvertently lifted her nightgown at the same time. When she looked up, she saw Margrave was watching her closely, his eyes fixed on the point where her leg had been uncovered. She could not name exactly what she saw in his expression. Desire? Regret? A fair amount of frustration? Perhaps it was all these things, she thought, and more besides. All of it confused by the heat of anger, so there was no peeling back a single layer of emotion. So often she thought of Margrave as having no emotion, it was odd to think that he might be possessed of too many.

Margrave looked up suddenly, caught India's eyes, and pinned her back in her chair."I have decided to put a period to the speculation, India. I cannot abide the likes of Macquey-Howell and Mapple riding my coattails."

"Lord Macquey-Howell has sufficient coattails of his own."

"Hah! His wife's the well-connected one. It is unfortunate that her ambition exceeds her husband's ability. The countess seems to have no sense that she has overreached herself." He made a dismissive gesture, unwilling to pursue the topic with India. "Lord Mapple, though. Now, there is a toady. You should be embarrassed, Dini, that his name is linked to yours in the betting books."

"I am embarrassed by all of it," India said quietly. She drew a shallow breath."How is it that your name has escaped the attention of the ton , my lord?"

"I imagine because I intimated to Lady Calumet that I was withdrawing immediately to the country to visit my mother. Such devotion to one's mother rather flies in the face of simultaneously securing a mistress. I confess I also like the idea of confounding the oddsmakers, for there is money to be wagered and won there when my name appears." He paused when India's mouth pressed itself in a tight line. "But I see talk of it merely causes you further distress. For that I am sorry."

India did not think he sounded in the least sorry. He merely mouthed the words. "How will you make yourself known?" she asked."Shall you attend a performance? Greet me openly backstage? Am I to expect jewelry?"

"All of those things, I think." He smiled, his eyes darkening. "And something more besides."

She would not think on what he meant by that last, and yet she was afraid she would think of nothing else."When?"

He shook his head. "I favor your genuine response to my attentions. Let us agree that surprise will add to the flavor."

She would be sick with the anticipation of it, and well Margrave knew it. "As you will."

"Yes," he said after a long moment. "As I will." He came to his feet and held out his hand. "Come. I would have you naked now."

The headache that was forming behind India's eyes was quite real. Mrs. Garrety glanced at her with concern. "A megrim, is it?" the dresser asked.

It hurt to nod. India did it anyway.

"Let me turn down the lamps." Mrs. Garrety moved quickly about the dressing room, turning back the wicks on each of the oil lamps and removing one out of the reflective line of the mirror. "There. Better, isn't it? Shall I pour a spoonful of laudanum for you?"

"No. I want to go home."

"In a moment. I have but a few things to finish"

"I want to leave now."

The dresser's wiry brows jumped nearly to her graying hairline. The mole on her cheek twitched. "I'll flag a cab for ye."

"Please." India did not turn as Mrs. Garrety fled the dressing room. She sat very still on the stool, her head in her hands, and watched the glaze of pain shutter her expression until she was unrecognizable to herself. The eyes that stared back at her were Margrave's.

India drew back sharply, unnerved by what she glimpsed in the mirror. She was unaware that any sound had escaped her lips, until Doobin, always hovering nearby, appeared in the open doorway.

"Is everything all right, miss?" he asked. "I saw Mrs. Garrety hurry away."

"She's getting a hack for me."

"Then she'll be going home with ye tonight?"

"Yes. I have a megrim."

Doobin nodded. "Is there naught that I"

"Leave," she said curtly.

The boy was too young to hide his hurt. He stared at her dumbly, eyes wide.

"For God's sake, take yourself off." India's voice rose in pitch. The taste of of her tone was like acid on her tongue. "Away!" Out of the corner of her eye she saw him take flight. Her eyes burned and her throat ached. She deserved a moment's respite, some peace from all the eyes that watched her. Hadn't she earned this small thing? "Aaah, Doobin," she whispered, allowing her eyelids to flutter closed. "You are too easily wounded."

By the time Mrs. Garrety returned, India was standing, her heavy velvet pelisse in hand. The dresser helped her into it, fussing over the brass buttons first, then the fit of the simple velvet hat that complimented the dark-emerald coat.

"You will not credit what I have just learned," Mrs. Garrety said.

India was in no mood to guess and did not attempt to do so.

"Mr. Kent has only this minute past informed me of a most interesting occurrence. The Duke of Westphal has curled up his toes this evening."

"Dukes die, don't they?" India asked wearily. She bent to pick up her reticule, feeling light-headed and a bit wobbly as she did so. "Surely they cannot be so high in the instep they think an exception will be made."

Mrs. Garrety made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Aren't you just the one?" She wound her arm through India's and let the younger woman lean against her. "This way. The hack's here for you."

India merely murmured her understanding.

"Poor dearie." Mrs. Garrety patted India's hand."It was the footlamps tonight, was it not? They make fearsome fumes when the oil is poor quality. I shall speak to Mr. Kent about it directly and see mat it's changed. He won't be thankin' us if ye pass out on the stage at yer next performance. And 'im with pockets as deep as the North Sea, thanks to you." The dresser kept up her monologue all the way to where the cab was waiting at the theatre exit.

The driver stepped lively at India's approach, peeling himself away from where he lounged against the wheel of the hack. He opened the door, assisted her entry, and accepted the directions offered by Mrs. Garrety.

India roused herself to peer out the carriage window. "You're not coming with me?"

"I'll be along directly."

Had India's pounding head not dulled her wits, she would have wondered at this change in their routine. She only knew that she was not entirely relieved by it and could not fathom the reason this should be so. Pressing her hand to her temple, she nodded agreement, then leaned back in her seat. The cab rocked as the driver quickly ascended, and then they were rolling forward. India closed her eyes and prayed that sleep would overtake her before sickness did.

The inn at King's Crossing was owned by a warmhearted and expansive fellow named Thaddeus Brinker. It was managed by his more practical and, some would say, tightfisted daughter. Mr. Brinker met the carriages and coaches. Miss Brinker oversaw everything else.

"Here, now," Brinker said as he held the carriage door open. "She's not feeling at all well, is she? Poor thing. Have a care with her, m'lord. You're bound to bump her head going about it in that fashion." Even as he said it, the emerald velvet hat was knocked askew and tumbled to the ground. Brinker swept it up and backed away, giving his lordship a wide berth with the young lady. "She's not drugged, is she? You wouldn't be taking advantage of her?" Brinker had seen the like before, and he wouldn't have it said that King's Crossing welcomed such goings-on. "This isn't the road to Gretna, m'lord." His daughter might only care for the color of this man's coin, but Thaddeus Brinker was not such a fool that he didn't ask the important questions.

Southerton struggled with India's dead weight. She was not uncooperative in his arms, merely insensible of them. "No drugs," he said. "And no need for Gretna. The lady is my wife." He hoped that sidestepped the question as to whether he intended to take advantage of her. Once he maneuvered her through the carriage door and took the step to the ground, he was able to settle her more comfortably against his chest. Mr. Brinker hovered with his lantern in one hand and India's velvet hat in the other. "Lead on," South told him. "You would not have me take a graceless fall, would you? My man will see to our trunks."

From the driver's box, Darrow could be heard to mutter an oath, the exact nature of which could not be distinguished from the snuffling of the horses. Southerton had commandeered his valet to act as driver and attendant once the switch from hackney to South's own carriage was made. Darrow remained consistently disapproving of the scheme, though this was more from habit than from any moral, practical, or philosophical position. He never once considered actually refusing to take part in it, even if it meant doing things for which he was ill prepared or had little liking.

The innkeeper raised his lantern so a circle of light preceded Southerton and his lady into the inn. "Right this way," he encouraged as they passed through the door. There were only a few patrons at the tables at this late hour, all of them locals. They fell silent, in some cases with mouths slightly agape, as South crossed the room to the narrow stairs. They averted their eyes quickly when Blinker shot them a quelling look. "They ain't used to the likes of a lady such as you have there," he told South in an aside.

Southerton was uncertain of the exact meaning the innkeeper attached to his words, but he didn't ask for further explanation. The narrow, winding staircase and steep steps loomed in front of him, and India had not once stirred in his arms. He needed to save his breath for what was going to be a difficult climb. He knew of only one way to get her above stairs without banging her about and causing her injury. With no apology, South hefted India over his shoulder and began the ascent.

The room was small but clean. Mr. Blinker quickly turned down the bed, commenting that the sheets had been recently washed and the blankets aired. His daughter appeared with fresh water for the basin as South was setting India down. Miss Annie Brinker took in an eyeful of the scene but refrained from comment.

"She ain't dead or drugged," Brinker told his daughter. Though it was meant to be a whisper, Brinker had never mastered the way of it. His words were quite audible to Southerton. Even Darrow, who was struggling in the stairwell with one of the smaller trunks, heard him. "An' she's his wife."