Jacquie D'Alessandro (25 page)

“You don’t have to wonder any longer. You’re free, Goddard.”

The young man opened his eyes. He made no move to wipe the tears dampening his face, and Philip pretended not to see them. “I’m not certain wot to say to ye…except that ye have my thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” With a nod, Philip turned to leave, but Goddard’s voice stopped him.

“Why would ye do this? Risk yer safety goin’ to such dangerous places for me—someone ye barely know?”

Philip studied him for several seconds, debating how truthful to be, then sighed. Nothing less than the full truth would do. “Because the story you told me about how Tag
gert treated you affected me deeply. Not only due to the horrors you suffered, but it made the slights and humiliations I endured as a lad, which until that moment had seemed important, pale into insignificance.”

Goddard raised his brows. “Who’d slight a rich bloke like you?”

“Other rich blokes. But there’s one other reason, Goddard.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re important to her. And she’s important to me.”

By the time Meredith handed over her bonnet and cashmere shawl to Bakari that evening, she had her emotions well in control. She would make certain to maintain her distance from her host, keep the conversation rolling, and concentrate on the other female guests. Then escape as soon as possible.

She followed Bakari down the corridor, surprised when they walked past the doors leading to both the dining and drawing rooms. He halted at the very last door. “What room is this?” she asked, mystified.

“Private study.” His black-eyed gaze searched hers for several seconds with an inscrutable expression. “Hope you like.”

Before she could question him further, Bakari knocked on the oak-paneled door. A muffled voice answered from within, and Bakari opened the door.

“Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” he said solemnly, indicating she should enter.

With her best impersonal smile firmly in place, Meredith crossed the threshold. And froze.

Private study? This room in no way resembled a study. Indeed, she felt as if she stood inside an opulent tent. Yards of jewel-toned silks and satins covered the walls, draping from a central point in the ceiling, pooling in luxurious puddles upon the floor. She reached out and
touched a hand to the fall of burgundy silk covering the wall nearest the door. Except for Madame Renée’s Emporium, Meredith had never seen such an abundance of beautiful material.

Her gaze slowly panned the room. A gorgeous rug, woven with an intricate design she did not recognize, covered the floor. A cozy fire burned in the grate, casting the room with intriguing shadows. A half dozen low-slung tables were scattered about the room, the flickering glow of dozens of candles of varying heights reflecting off their dark, polished surfaces. A low, rectangular table nestled before the fire. Covered silver platters rested upon the table, as did an array of both stoneware and sparkling crystal goblets. Massive tasseled pillows in deep sapphire, emerald, topaz, and ruby flanked the table, and were strewn invitingly all about the room, urging one to recline upon their soft, plump, decadent depths.

Only two other pieces of furniture decorated the room: an ornate changing screen in the far corner, and a beautiful chaise lounge in the opposite corner. Her heart tripped over itself when she spied Philip standing in the shadows next to the chaise lounge.

“Good evening, Meredith.” His deep voice sent a tingle down her spine, and although she meant to return his greeting, she could not seem to dredge up her voice. And just when she might have done so, he thwarted her attempt by moving toward her with his graceful, sleek gait that instantly reminded her of a predatory jungle cat.

Her eyes widened at his attire. Instead of a proper linen shirt and cravat, a loose-fitting shirt that appeared made from silk covered his broad upper body, leaving his tanned throat bare. His shirt was tucked into…She swallowed.

Instead of proper breeches, he wore loose-fitting, midnight-blue trousers that appeared to be held onto his
body with nothing more than a drawstring at the waist. Soft brown leather boots encased his feet. With his perennially mussed hair, he looked dark and dangerous in a way that raced blood through her veins. Only his spectacles reminded her that this wildly attractive man was a scholarly antiquarian—or they would have, if the lenses hadn’t magnified the compelling heat emanating from his gaze.

He stopped when less than three feet separated them. His gaze never wavering from hers, he offered her a formal bow, then took her hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her fingers. The touch of his mouth against her skin sizzled heat and awareness through her like a lightning bolt, which, although unsettling, at least served to rouse her from the stupor into which she’d fallen.

Cheeks burning, she snatched her hand away, then backed up. Unfortunately, she’d retreated only two steps when her shoulders hit the closed door. Even worse, he erased her two backward steps with a single long-legged stride that brought him close enough to touch. Close enough to breathe in his clean, masculine scent. A feeling akin to panic—peppered with a dose of indignation—skittered through her.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said in a hissing whisper, wiping her hand on her gown in a vain attempt to erase the lingering tingle of his kiss. “And why is your study decorated in such a…a decadent fashion? And what on earth are you wearing? Good heavens, what will your guests think?” She cast a quick glance around the room. “And where exactly
are
your guests?”

“So many questions. As for what am I doing—do you mean when I kissed your hand or right now?” Before she could answer, he continued, “I kissed your hand in greeting, and right now, I am simply admiring how lovely you look. The room has been transformed to resemble a tent, similar to one belonging to a wealthy Egyptian trader I
met during my travels. As for my attire, it is what I grew accustomed to wearing while abroad, and I can attest it is infinitely more comfortable than English clothing. As for what my guests will think, I anxiously await your opinion.”

“It is scandalous. All of it. An absolute disaster looms upon the horizon.” She swept her hand in an arc, her fingers inadvertently brushing his arm as she encompassed the entire room. She pulled her hand away as if she’d touched fire. “Have any guests other than me seen this?”

“No.”

“Thank goodness. Now you must go and immediately don some proper clothing before the other guests arrive.”

“All the guests have arrived.”

Her relief vanished like a snuffed-out candle. “Dear God. If any of those proper young women get wind of these seductive dinner arrangements…” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bring that scenario to fruition. “Where are they? I’ll keep them entertained while you dress and—”

He cut off her rush of words by resting a single fingertip against her lips. “Meredith. All the guests, the
only
guests, are here, in this room.”

It took several
seconds for his meaning to penetrate through Meredith’s racing thoughts and budding panic. Then the full import of his words dawned. Damnation, what sort of game was he playing?

Raising her chin, she folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot against the thick carpet. “No one else is coming?”

“No.”

“No one accepted your invitation?”

“No.”

Her toe-tapping ceased, her annoyance tempered by confusion and sympathy. “Good gracious, what is wrong with these young women? From all accounts the guests enjoyed themselves at your soiree. Perhaps the
you know what
problem was not solved as successfully as we’d thought?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Sudden suspicion narrowed her eyes. “Did you indicate your, er, dinner theme to them?”

“I did not.”

Perplexed, she pursed her lips. “Then I cannot imagine why they
all
refused. Perhaps one, or even two of them, but all six?”

“Actually, there’s a very logical explanation.”

“Indeed? And what is that?”

“They never received invitations.”

She simply stared. “You said you would write the invitations yourself.”

“And so I did.”

“Then how do you know they did not receive them?”

“I never sent them.”

“Never sent them! I—”

He stepped closer to her, effectively silencing her outraged reply with his disturbing nearness. She surreptitiously pressed her back more firmly against the door, but to little good. He settled one hand against the jamb, near her head, then leaned closer. So close she could see the subtle amber flecks in his eyes. So close she could feel the heat of his body surrounding her. She drew in what she’d meant as a slow, calming breath, but it did nothing but fill her head with his delightful scent.

“Do you want to know why I never sent the invitations, Meredith?” His warm breath brushed over her face, tingling all her nerve endings into instant awareness. The urge to touch him was so overpowering, she was forced to grip the sides of her gown to keep her hands to herself. When she didn’t reply, he whispered, “I didn’t send the invitations because I didn’t want anyone else to come. I only wanted you here. I did this for you. Only you.”

She swallowed, hard, and looked heavenward for strength. Dear God, where had her anger disappeared to? Why was she not appalled? Where was the outrage at his temerity for tricking her? She cast about in her mind, desperately trying to find some inkling of umbrage, a whiff of annoyance, a thimbleful of irritation, and failed. Utterly. Instead, the myriad emotions battering her were a disturbing combination she did not want to feel: Flattered and excited by the obvious thought and effort he’d gone to on her behalf. Curious and filled with anticipation to experience an evening with him in such lush, exotic surroundings.
And worst of all, relieved that his affections were not otherwise engaged.
I did this for you. Only you.

A tremor shook her, a shudder she recognized as cold, stark fear. Fear, because she wanted, so very badly, to stay. Because she doubted her ability to resist him. And because she wanted, so very badly,
not
to resist him.

“Philip, I cannot stay.”

“Please don’t say that. I know this was presumptuous of me, but I wanted to share with you the flavors of the cultures I have known. I thought you would enjoy the food and atmosphere of a distant land.”

“I would, but—”

“Then stay. If not for me, then as a courtesy to Bakari, who went to a great deal of trouble to prepare the room and the meal. You have to eat.” He leaned closer, until his lips almost touched her ear. “Please.”

That single whispered word brushed against her ear, crumbling her already unsteady resolve. Her mind shouted a dozen warnings, reminding her that any relationship other than that of matchmaker and client was impossible with this man, that she needed to strongly discourage his obvious interest in her, admonishing her that this evening could result in consequences disastrous to both their reputations, but her heart refused to listen. To leave after such effort had been expended would be inexcusably rude, her heart rationalized. He’d shown kindness not only to her, but to Albert as well. She could not repay that kindness with ungraciousness. Besides, Bakari and no doubt numerous other servants remained in the house, so it wasn’t as if they were truly
alone
.

And really, while she found Philip undeniably attractive, it was ridiculous to imagine that she would not be able to control herself—should the need to even arise. Her inner voice made a noise that sounded suspiciously like an incredulous,
Ha!
She managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.

He leaned back and looked at her. His dark brown gaze met hers—serious, and compelling. Yet it was the unmistakable flash of worry that pulled at her heart. Clearly he was afraid she would turn down his invitation. The fact that this strong, masculine, brave man would fear such a thing tugged at something deep and feminine inside her.

Offering him a smile that felt more wobbly than the confident, coolly impersonal effect she strove for, she said, “In view of the considerable effort made on my behalf, it would be churlish of me not to taste the food.”

Unmistakable relief relaxed his features, and he smiled. Clasping her hand, he led her toward the table. Warmth from where his palm pressed against hers seeped into her, and she involuntarily squeezed his fingers. He squeezed back, his smile growing broader. Indeed, his eyes practically glowed with such excitement, she could not help but chuckle.

“What is funny?”

“You. Your expression reminds me of the time when Albert, at age eleven, surprised me with a poem he’d composed in my honor. Even though I was the recipient of the gift, he was more excited than me—”

Her words cut off in dismay as she realized what she’d just inadvertently revealed—that she’d known Albert when he was a child. Except for Charlotte, she’d never told anyone how Albert had come to live with her. It was no one’s concern, and she had no desire to entertain questions on the subject, especially as they might lead to other topics she refused to discuss. Perhaps Philip had not noticed her slip of the tongue. Did her disconcertment show?

Clearly it did, for he gave her a searching look, then said, “It’s all right, Meredith. I know about Albert’s childhood as a chimney boy. And how you rescued him. How he’s lived with you ever since.”

A chill snaked down her spine. Dear God, how had he
learned that? And if he knew about Albert, could he also know about
her
past as well? Her mind instantly conjured an image of Philip, with his inquisitive nature, unearthing information about her as he might dig up artifacts on an antiquarian expedition. Part of her deemed such a concern a stretch, but fear of someone finding out about her past was a worry that constantly lurked in the back of her mind, like a demon waiting to spring from the recesses of hell and pounce.

Forcing a calm into her voice she was far from feeling, she asked, “How did you happen upon that information?”

He appeared surprised by her question. “Albert told me.”

“He
did
?” She shook her head, relieved that he obviously hadn’t been making inquiries and didn’t know about her past, yet utterly stunned. Albert
never
spoke of the horrors of his childhood. “When? And why would he tell you something so…personal?”

“We spoke the other day at the warehouse. As for his reasons, he was motivated by his deep caring for you. He wanted me to understand exactly what sort of woman you are: Kind. Generous. Giving. Not the sort of woman to be trifled with.”

“I…I see.” Dear Albert. He’d shared something deeply painful to himself with a man who was all but a stranger to him, shared something that could easily make him the object of ridicule or pity. All in the name of protecting her. “I hope you won’t judge him harshly. He cannot help his unfortunate childhood.”
None of us can.

“Is that what you think of me, Meredith? That I’m the sort of person who would look with disfavor on a young man because he was brutalized as child?”

The unmistakable hurt in his eyes and voice shamed her. If nothing else, Philip had proven himself to be a decent and kind man. A man of integrity. “No, I don’t think
you would. But I’m sure you will agree that many people would not be so generous. And I am very protective of Albert.”

He squeezed her hand. “He is a fine young man, Meredith. I admire his loyalty and bravery. His inner strength. And while I appreciated him pointing out your finer qualities to me, there was no need. I already knew.”

His soft words, the compelling look in his eyes threw her emotions into chaos. Before she could recover, he smiled. “So what is this gift that eleven-year-old Albert gave you that somehow reminded you of me?”

She swallowed to find her voice. “When I first met Albert, he did not know how to read or write. After I taught him, his first effort was a poem he’d composed in my honor. He wore the same sort of unbridled, joyous expression as you when I told you I’d remain for dinner. And as I was then, I’m flattered.”

“I’d wager that you still remember the words to that poem.”

“Oh, yes. I still have it, tucked safely away with my most treasured possessions.” In her mind’s eye she could see each word, written with such painstaking care. “Would you like to hear it?” The instant she asked, she wondered what had prompted her unprecedented offer. She’d never shared Albert’s poem with anyone. Not even Charlotte.

“I’d be honored.”

Too late to renege on her offer now. Drawing a breath, she said, “It read: ‘About Miss Merrie. Her cheeks are like cranberry, her eyes like blueberry. Her smile glows like a luminary. She gave me sanctuary. No more am I solitary.’”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds, a blessing, as a lump had formed in Meredith’s throat. Those simple words, penned in her honor by a broken, damaged boy, still wrenched her. And humbled her.

“A beautiful testimonial,” he murmured. “And very as
tute for an eleven-year-old. He managed to capture your very essence, your vividness, your nature, in only a few words. I can see that that poem is very important to you.” He reached out and gently trailed his fingertips over her cheekbone. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Heat suffused her cheeks. “You’re welcome.”

“Come. Let me introduce you to the delights of Mediterranean and Mideastern fare. Bakari is an excellent chef.” He led her toward the low table in front of the fireplace, then lowered himself to sit upon a plush maroon pillow, his long legs folded crosswise in front of him. Patting the pillow next to him in an inviting fashion, he looked up with a teasing grin. “I’m going to develop a dreadful crick in my neck if you remain standing.”

Meredith looked down at that pillow and doubts assailed her. If merely
standing
next to this man was problematic,
reclining
next to him certainly fell into the category of “most unwise.” She shifted her gaze to Philip, whose expression reflected amusement.

“You have my word I shall not bite you, Meredith.”

Suddenly feeling ridiculous for her hesitation, she gingerly lowered herself to the silk-covered emerald pillow.

“It might seem awkward at first,” he said, stuffing several more pillows behind her, “but after you’ve eaten like this, trust me, the formality of the dining room will lose all its appeal.”

Rising to his knees in a fluid motion, he turned his attention to the array of wares on the table, and she took the opportunity to shift about, arrange her skirts, and fold her legs in the same fashion as he had. Once she’d properly situated herself, she had to admit that this was far more comfortable than a hard wooden chair.

“May I offer you a drink?” he asked, extending a stemmed crystal goblet filled with a deep claret liquid.

“Thank you.”

With his gaze steady on hers, he touched the rim of his glass to hers, and the gentle chime of fine crystal rang in the air. “To a memorable evening.”

Afraid to trust her voice, she merely nodded, then sipped her drink. “Delicious,” she said, savoring the lingering lightly sweet, crisp flavor upon her tongue. “I’ve never tasted anything like it. It is like wine…but not. What is it?”

“In truth, I’m not exactly certain. It is a secret recipe of Bakari’s, one he fiercely guards. I once tried to watch while he made it, but he discovered me. And punished me.”

She raised her brows. “Punished you? How?”

“He refused to make the drink for a month. Never made that mistake again. I don’t know how he makes it. I simply enjoy it when he does.”

Setting his goblet aside, he lifted the cover off a small tureen. A delicious, savory scent unlike anything she’d ever smelled before wafted toward her on a puff of fragrant steam. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. Leaning forward, she watched him ladle out creamy soup into delicate porcelain bowls. “What is that?”

“Avgolemono. It’s a Greek egg-lemon soup.”

Her first spoonful had her eyes sliding closed in delight as the flavor slid over her palate. “Incredible.” By the time she’d finished her soup, Meredith’s trepidation and awkwardness had disappeared as she eagerly awaited the next course. He handed her a plate of delicate steamed fish, flavored with hints of aromatic spices she did not recognize, accompanied by steamed asparagus. After each bite, her eyes again drifted shut, and pleasure-filled
mmmmm
’s escaped her.

“You are clearly a woman of great passion, Meredith.”

Her eyes popped open, and she found him studying her over the rim of his wineglass with a half-amused, half-heated expression.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because only someone with a passionate nature could enjoy food with such abandon.”

Embarrassment scorched her. Good heavens, in these unfamiliar surroundings, she’d completely forgotten herself.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his words and the fact that he’d so clearly read her reaction only serving to burn her cheeks further. “Your enthusiasm is a great compliment not only to Bakari, but to me as well. I am flattered that you feel comfortable enough with me to lower your guard.”