Lorelie Brown (13 page)

“I am.” He gave her a large hug, then swung them around to face their mother. “And next I’ve your second place.”

Hands clasped before her bosom, she lit up from within. “This is going to be lovely. I can tell. I can always tell, when you get that look.”

“Which look?”

“The one that says you’re about to be the best son or best brother that could be wished for.”

How he loved when she relied on him. They’d grown up in each other’s pockets. Etta hadn’t had a governess, but they’d shared Nurse Rockaway. Ian’s earliest memory was coaxing a butterfly to land on his pudgy young fingers so he could show it to infant Henrietta.

“Surely I’m not so obnoxious as to be self-aware,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

“Surely you are,” she said. Her hair was the same dark, dark brown as his, and he realized he had no real concept of how long it was. He hadn’t seen it down since she’d married Archie. It was coiled and pinned and twisted up. “But it’s all right with us. Everyone must have a fault.”

“Smugness is mine?”

“It seems minor compared to many.” Something dark flitted behind her eyes and pinched her features. “Lady Cotrose came to tea. She was very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but she’d received a letter.”

Ian sighed, filling in the blanks. “From Patricia.”

“Indeed. Intimating I had an illicit history.” Instead of being able to laugh it off, Etta’s bottom lip wavered with emotion. “Lady Cotrose already knew, of course, but who will be next?”

He did so hope that she was up to this London venture. “You’ll have to forgive me, then. I’m about to be smug when I tell you that I have arranged for a duchess to sponsor your Season, as well as the assistance of a baron’s daughter who is quite experienced in navigating treacherous waters. We’ll have your reputation safe in no time.”

As he’d expected, Mother cooed and clapped and generally made quite the to-do of the announcement. Etta brightened as well. He loved filling her eyes with happiness.

But hers dimmed much more quickly than their mother’s had. Her grin faded to a hint of a smile, though she still clasped hands with Mother. “Ian, can I ask… That is, what plans have you for me?”

“You don’t have to marry again if you don’t find someone you truly wish to.”

Palpable relief washed over her. Her shoulders eased. Her arms flew around him for a hug that threatened to snap his ribs.

“Oomph.” He pushed her away enough to see her face. “What’s that for?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss him. I thought you might be tired of me, and with all the trouble I’ve caused for the family and for you in particular… I know what Papa would have liked for us.” She drew in a deep breath, and her chin lifted. “I’d have done it. I’d have married whom you wish. I still will, if it would help you in any way.”

Their mother linked arms with Etta. Her mouth set into a mulish frown. “You’ll do no such thing. I haven’t raised a martyr. Why, we’re not Catholic!”

“I will, if needs be. I’ve been lucky enough to marry for love once. Who gets that sort of chance twice in life?”

Ian would rather lay money on the chances that she didn’t mean such assurances, not really. It didn’t matter, anyhow. He wouldn’t ask that of her—and it seemed a fairly low man who needed to bargain his family members to improve his lot in life. His parents had married for love, and Etta had as well, though that was a slightly different situation.

Ian had always meant to follow, once he found a compatible woman who’d help bear his burdens. Not add to them with false faces and deceptive smiles.

Even if those smiles were all Ian could think of in the dark of night.

Chapter Ten

Lottie was in the school’s kitchens when Isabella, the downstairs maid, came skittering to a stop on the tile floor. A smile wreathed her round face, and she held her skirts in both hands. Her breathing came in pants and gasps. “He’s back again.”

A giggling, quiet titter rolled like a wave through the kitchen staff, though many choked themselves off when they glanced at Lottie.

She wiped her hands on her apron. The white streaks of flour were almost invisible on the white cotton, except where they intersected smears of coal dust. “Who might that be, Isabella?”

The maid jumped a good four inches. “No one, Miss Vale. That is. Um.” Her cheeks turned red.

“Who is here?” She kept her voice calm, as if she were completely unaffected. Really her heart thrummed away, and she thought that she might be sick. In a good way, though.

How very foolish she was. The man had made it more than clear he had no interest in her, at least not that way.

“It’s Sir Ian,” the girl eventually said when glances toward her compatriots showed no allies. They all kept their noses turned diligently toward the pots they stirred and the dough they kneaded. “He’s here to visit you.”

“I understand Sir Ian is handsome, but I don’t see as how that’s such a remarkable thing.”

Isabella’s cheeks jumped from red to crimson. “We were hoping… That is, Miss Vale, you get so very happy when he comes. We only want the best for you.” Her chin lifted, and she breathed pure assurance of purpose into her words Lottie had never seen on the young girl. She’d once been a hurdy-gurdy girl and on her way to prostitution before coming to the school. Once she was brave enough to leave Lottie’s employ, there’d be a reference in it for her.

So as much as Lottie did not want the ladies chiming in on her personal life, she didn’t have it in her to roundly chastise Isabella. She stripped the apron over her head and hung it on a peg. “Back to work, ladies. I’ll have no idle speculation, or you’ll all be scrubbing floors for a week.”

He was waiting in her study. Somehow it was becoming too normal to see him lounging in her chair. The dark suit he wore made his coloring that much more dramatic. Near black hair was tousled over his brow, and though he held a book in his hands, he looked up at her with that boyish smile.

As a result, she seated herself in the chair on the other side of the desk. Her feelings were still stung from their last encounter. Stung and yet also strangely soothed. He’d said he
liked
her.

Such simple words were a balm against the hollow compliments of society. Of course, late at night when she tossed and turned alone in bed, they could also seem like a cruel-edged blade. He liked her, he liked her, he didn’t
want
her.

“Did your family fancy the house?” she asked once she’d seated herself and smoothed her skirts. Those she wore today were simpler than she would have preferred. He’d been gone a whole week, and she hadn’t known when he would return.

Otherwise she might have dressed more finely.

She was a silly girl.

He left her shaken and buzzing. She felt appreciated around him, as if she were some better version of herself.

“Fancy?” he said on a wry chuckle. “You’ve no idea, do you?”

“No, but I do enjoy the sound of that.” She waved a hand in the air between them, as if gathering the potential compliments to herself. Her pulse fluttered. “Do tell.”

“My mother was so pleased she had a fit of the vapors.” He snapped the book shut and set it down. Though he’d taken her seat with no mind, he placed the book carefully between two stacks of paper, as if he had no wish to disturb them. “Luckily, she managed to hold herself together long enough to swoon on the velveteen settee in the music room.”

“Oh, I did think she’d favor that room. All that white velvet is delightful.”

He grinned, then let it fade from his agile mouth. Now that she knew what havoc he could wreak on her skin, she could hardly look away from it. But his eyes had darkened to the sea at dawn. “My father played the harpsichord for her.”

“Then she should love that piano.”

“Except that she has no one to play for her.”

Her gaze dropped to his long, graceful fingers. “Not you?”

He shook his head with regret. “No. I was much more preoccupied with learning the business. Henrietta tried, but unfortunately she had a tin ear. I didn’t have patience for lessons.”

“Such a shame,” she breathed. She could imagine his hands playing—on many things. So focused was she on that image, she spoke without thinking. “My mother plays.”

“Does she?”

There was no taking it back now, and indeed it seemed fairly innocuous. But there were more words there, lurking at the back of her throat and burning in her mind. “Not only does she play, she’s excellent at it.”

The room all but spun around her. Or maybe that was her fumbling, flipping mind. She was closer to mad than she’d ever supposed, and all because of him. From him. From the way she dallied with his fire.

“But?” he asked. Gently. So gently. As if he doubted that she’d manage to say anything more.

“But I hate that it was so effortless for her.” The words spilled out like champagne from a bottle—gurgling, sparkling, tripping over themselves. She let out a huge sigh. “I wanted to play. She couldn’t care less. Couldn’t manage to focus long enough to teach me. It…hurt a little.”

He leaned his chin on his fist and watched her. “She seems rather…casually cruel.”

Her hands locked together in her lap. She forced a smile, one of her biggest and brightest. She needed to change the subject. “It’s lucky she’s charming. And taught me how to be, as well.”

“Reached your limit of speaking of difficult things, have you?” He had a knowing smirk. “No worries. Starting small is fine. Real people occasionally have emotions.”

“You’re rather a bastard, aren’t you?” It was so much easier to be annoyed. That wasn’t even the worst of it. She was amused. She found herself hiding away a smile that could turn into a giggle if she allowed.

He gave her a faux put-upon expression. “You come in here and unload your deepest feelings and then call me names and not once have you asked my purpose for being here. If this is high society, maybe I was better off in the country. Or the business world.”

She cut her eyes toward the ceiling. “What a load of ballocks.”

“Now you curse in my delicate presence.” He pushed up from his seat and stalked around the desk. When he pulled her to stand, she went because it would get her closer to him. “There’s a penalty for inflicting such language on me, you know.”

She couldn’t leave well enough alone. Not when she found herself back in the happy circle of his arms and about to be kissed. His mouth hovered over hers, the air between them luscious and scented with mint. Still she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Thank you,” she said on a soft whisper.

“For what?”

Her hands clenched on his firm arms, the fine wool their only barrier. She hardly knew how to put words to it. For taking what she could manage to be and wanting her to be better too.

There were too many confusing, twirling feelings. So she said nothing. Sometimes it was easier to speak with actions. She lifted her mouth and covered the scant distance between them. Kissed him with everything she was feeling—and the feelings rocked straight over her like something alive. She clutched at his shoulders, and his hands curved down, over her back, over the swell of her skirts and ass.

She yanked away on panting breaths. What the hell was that new surge through her body? If it were what happened when one felt for one’s partner, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Not in the least. Nothing that overwhelming should be within her realm.

She didn’t like feeling that shaken up. She couldn’t afford it.

As fast as she could form her lips into the shape, she smiled. Ignored the tremble behind the backs of her knees. “So. Tell me. Why did you come here today after all?”

Ian rather liked having conversations with his hands full of luscious, lithe female. There was something about it that added an extra piquancy to the moment. He nuzzled a tendril of her hair away from her neck. Layer on layer of softness, and most of it covered by the thinnest stratum of gilt he could imagine. Underneath that shine, she was warm and true. Completely at odds with the sides she liked to present.

But she apparently had limits. In talking about her mother’s small cruelties, they’d tumbled headfirst into Lottie’s capabilities. Well enough. He’d gotten the peek at her tender insides that he needed.

Possibilities were a beautiful thing. He’d founded his entire empire on them, taking his father’s happenstance tin mines and parlaying it into a modest fortune. While he was no financial genius, he certainly knew how to work with possibilities.

He cupped both hands around her face. “I’m not giving up on finding Patricia, and I can’t promise that there won’t be any repercussions for your charity. I’ll try, however.”

She cut her eyes toward the ceiling. “I suppose that will have to do.” She pulled out of his arms and moved around the desk to sit in her chair. The grin she put on was mischievous, and she crossed her legs in such a manner that her skirt rose three inches. Her toes bounced against the front hem. The slippers he spotted were silver with a tiny bow, absolutely frivolous for a day in London. “I can’t possibly distract you?”

He hitched a hip on the corner of her desk, though he had to go carefully. A stack of correspondence five inches high threatened to drop like snow across the floor. “You can try. I have about two hours before I’m needed at the townhouse.”