Everything I Ever Wanted (34 page)

"No. He was Newland then. A viscount."

"Newland." South repeated the name thoughtfully; then he shook his head. "No, I don't remember."

"Poor Margrave," India said with mock regret. "I think he hoped you would. He was a member of the Society of Bishops."

"Then I probably knew him by yet another name. As sworn enemies of the Bishops, we in the Compass Club had our own favorite moniker for them. You know, the sort of names only rude boys can think of. Like Sniveler. And Slacker. The Archbishop of Canterbanter. Grendl. Muck-ramp. Beanboy. Knucklenose."

"Beanboy?" India asked.

South nodded gravely. "Flatulence."

A bubble of laughter parted India's lips. "You were rude boys."

South's slim smile was mischievous and unapologetic. "If we were rude, we were also essentially harmless. The Bishops were mean and meant to be."

India sighed. "Yes, then it is easy to see why Margrave became one of them." She was silent a moment, considering. "I think I would have called him Adder."

"Like the snake, you mean."

"Yes. Exactly like the snake. He would blend well into his surroundings. Without particular care one might even cross his path too closely. He is always watchful and prepared for just such a misstep and he would strike without hesitation." India regarded South frankly."If you could but bring a boy like that to mind, then he would be Newland."

It was not only India's description of young Margrave that raised the hair at the back of South's neck, but that she offered it with so much detachment. "Was he all those things, India?"

"Oh, yes. At times."

"And is he still?"

"I do not think an adder can change his markings, do you? He is what he is."

The problem was, South could recall a few boys who would have fit her description. It would not have surprised him to learn that Margrave had eventually become the Society's archbishop. "I am sorry," he said. "I cannot put a face to him."

She shrugged. "It's of no account. Really." India bit off a dangling piece of thread and deftly made a knot at the end. She smoothed the material over her lap and surveyed her handiwork.

"Perhaps if you drew him for me," South suggested."As he was then."

India's head snapped up. "No!"

Her vehemence startled him. "Very well," he said, his voice measured and calm.

India plucked the pencil from where it rested behind her ear and laid it on top of her costume sketch. As if she still could not trust herself, she closed the book and pushed it away with her foot so that it rested completely out of her reach. "I could not draw him."

"India. It's all right. I was making no demand."

Her voice came more softly this time. "I could not."

South said nothing. He set his book aside and continued to study her, his eyes narrowing. Her face had lost the wash of pink color that had brightened it earlier, and she had drawn in her lower lip, not worrying it this time but biting down hard.

India did not glance in his direction as she spoke. "He is the one who draws me," she said quietly. "Margrave is an artist, you know. Not a slapdash sketcher as I am, but a real artist with talent for oils and portraiture. He has studied in Paris and Florence and Amsterdam, and I think if he were not the Earl of Margrave he might have chosen to take his livelihood from it. He cannot, naturally. It is not done."

India wrapped a bit of white thread around her finger, unwound it, then wrapped it again. She toyed with it in just that way as she went on. "So he paints in private. He always has. There are but a few of us who have seen his work. His mother, certainly. Perhaps his father. I do not know what he showed his teachers. Beyond that small group, I am unaware of any audience."

The absent circling of the thread around her finger stopped as she glanced at South. "That might change, my lord. You should know that. I believe that when you took me away from London, Margrave's hand was forced. If he cannot find me, he will find some way to hurt me. I think it will be the paintings."

"Tell me about them."

"It will give you disgust of me."

South shook his head. "That is not possible."

"You are wrong."

"You said he paints portraits."

"Of a kind." She began to wind the thread again. "He does not only make a study of faces."

"And you are in many of his paintings."

"I am in all of them."

South was careful to school his features. "All of them?"

"I think so;" The tip of India's finger turned bright red as she pulled the thread tight. "I am not always in the foreground, but I have never seen one in which I could not find myself."

"Then he uses other models."

"Yes, but not when he is painting me. I have never posed for him except alone."

South thought back to that morning when India had gone through her contortions to dress modestly under the blankets. He remembered her desire for darkness in the room and how she had refused to pull back the curtains. She had not wanted him to see her. "Adder," she had called Margrave. Watchful. Prepared to strike. What would it have been like to have those cold, black snake's eyes wandering over her? How had she borne that? South asked the question because he had to know the truth from her even if he had arrived at it on his own. "Have you posed nude for him, India?"

India jerked as the thread cut into her skin. A drop of blood appeared, and she quickly lifted her ringer to her lips and nursed it.

"India?"

Her eyes closed briefly, and she responded with the faintest of nods.

"Where are the paintings?"

"At Marlhaven and Merrimont, I suppose. In his London home. In my home."

"I have been to your home," South said. "I did not see them."

She tore the loosened thread from her finger and tossed it aside. Her laughter was short and humorless. "Given their nature, I do not display them, my lord."

"I understand. But on two occasions I have been in your home uninvited. I didn't find them either time."

India's tone was rife with sarcasm. "Then perhaps you should apply to the Gentleman Thief for help. I assure you, they are there."

"The locked rooms," South said softly, more to himselfthan to India.

"Pardon?"

"The locked rooms," he repeated. "I didn't force an entry there."

"How unreasonably civil of you."

South did not think it was possible for her voice to be any icier. "You know why I was there, India."

"The colonel's work. Mr. Kendall's murder."

He nodded. "In part. I was also trying to satisfy my own curiosity. I thought there might be something that would point to your protector, but Margrave had not yet returned from the Continent."

"That would not have mattered. I told you, Lady Margrave is my protector. Not her son."

"You merely receive an allowance from the dowager countess. Her son is still your protector."

"No. You are wrong, my lord." India took a deep breath and released it slowly. "You do not yet understand. I am his."

India rested the back of her head against the lip of the copper tub and closed her eyes. She cupped her hands and sluiced her shoulders with water that was only a few degrees below painfully hot. Those few degrees made all the difference. This was blissful.

Steam rose from the surface of the water, and firelight was trapped in the curling ribbons. Beads of perspiration collected on India's forehead and above her lip. A delicate opalescent glow colored her complexion. The caps of her knees were visible above the waterline, and she idly flicked water across them when she finished splashing her shoulders.

South had done this for her: found the tub, hauled the water, warmed and poured it, then disappeared so she could enjoy it alone. India had not been able to thank him properly. She doubted he knew how dear his gesture was to her. She had done nothing but spin him in circles since making his acquaintance, and the worst he had done was lose his patience.

How did he think there would ever come a time when she would not need him? India could not imagine it.

She thought of how well he had accepted what she'd told him. He hadn't blinked an eye, though in retrospect she considered it was possible that she had stunned him. It was certain that for a moment she had left him speechless.

The memory of him sitting there on the window seat, his handsome features perfectly still, his glance hooded, his long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chestit still had the power to stir her. What had seemed relaxed about him was not. He was as alert and watchful as Margrave, and it should have made her apprehensive, yet it was not that way at all.

She had the sense he was challenging her in some manner, as if he knew she was more than she had shown him, that she was capable of more than she knew herself. The fact that she was resourceful on occasionresourceful enough to attract the colonel's attentionwas not enough for South. He was carefully preparing her to become the woman he feared, the one who was free to make choices because she did not need him.

It was not the gilt cage that she had first thought he'd planned for her. This one had the door wide open, and she was the one reluctant to step through it.

India's reverie ended with the sound of South's movement on the stairs. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up quickly, drawing her knees closer to her chest. Water splashed over the side of the tub, and a few droplets sizzled on the stone apron of the fireplace. She swiveled her head as far as she could to observe his progress on the steps.

"May I?" South asked politely when he reached the halfway point.

"I am hardly in a position to stop you."

"But you are, India. You only have to say no."

There it was again, she thought, the quietly issued challenge. Her choice. If she said yes, it was an admission to herself that she desired his company, even vulnerable as she was to his watchful eyes. "I do not want to do that."

South didn't move. One of his brows kicked up instead.

India realized he wanted better confirmation than she had given him. "Yes," she said. "You may come down."

He managed not to grin at the regal tone she affected. "I left my book here," South told her. He gave the tub and India a wide berth as he went to the window seat. Castle Rackrent was no longer lying on the padded bench. South's attention was caught by a damp spot on the floor. He stepped back and found the angle that illuminated the shallow puddle in the firelight. It was clearly a footprint. A dainty footprint. His eyes darted to the next one. And the next. He followed them across the floor to their source.

India was up to her chin in the water and looked as if she wanted to go deeper still. The smile that hovered just above the steamy surface was a shade guilty. Her eyes darted to the stool she had pulled up to the tub. Two towels were folded neatly on top. On top of them lay Castle Rackrent .

South made no attempt to school his features now. His appreciation of her predicament was simply too great. "I did not realize you have an interest in Gothic novels."

"I am not certain I do," she said. "I have never read any before. I should have asked you, I know, if I might borrow it, but you had already gone to your room and I thought you were readying for bed and I did not want to disturb you so I took it upon myself to" Under South's amused grin, India's voice trailed off to nothingness. "Do you mind terribly?"

"Not terribly," he said. "But I do mind."

"Oh." India actually swallowed a little water as she slid still lower into the tub. She forced her chin up. "I suppose you will be wanting it now."

"Yes, indeed." He continued to eye her with cool interest "'You are not going to drown yourself, are you? There is hardly room enough for me to dive in to save you. I could break my neck."

"I could break it for you."

He laughed. "I do not doubt it."

India sighed. "Very well. You may take your book."

"Would you prefer I close my eyes?"

"I would prefer you wait until I finish my bath."

"Of course." South sat down on the window seat. "I should have thought of that. Pray continue."

It was difficult to be severe with him when he was so bent on mischief. India felt sympathy for all the nannies South had so expertly disposed of with his heart-stopping smile. She needed to prove to herself that she was made of sterner stuff. Sitting up carefully, India lifted one arm out of the water, shook her hand off, then reached for Castle Rackrent . Before South could stop her, she was dangling it over the tub. "It is quite heavy, you know," she told him. "It could easily slip from my fingers."

South jumped to his feet. "You are diabolical."

She smiled sweetly. "You were entertaining some doubt, I collect."

"No longer."

"Good." She swiveled her arm away from the water and held the book out to him. "Please, take your Gothic novel."

South took a step toward the tub. "Would you prefer I close my eyes?"