Written on Your Skin (19 page)

“Yes, quite,” Mrs. Sheldrake said. “See how his horse’s girth is loosened? It denotes compassion, I expect.”

The smiles they directed toward Phin looked as thin as the script in a book of etiquette. He wanted to tell them to sit down. They had called to thank him for his great gift, and seemed intent on repaying it by complimenting his drawing room; this painting was the last in a long list of items to elicit their admiration. It was only common courtesy, but it was making him damned uncomfortable. They would be welcome here even if the rug beneath their feet was not, in fact, the most beautiful piece of art they’d ever had the pleasure to step on. “It is a fine painting,” he said, and called up a smile of his own. He felt resolved today, firm in his determination to behave appropriately; Miss Sheldrake would not be subjected to more nonsense.

“Was your cousin a great horseman, sir?” This from Mrs. Sheldrake, who spoke stiffly. At first, he’d assumed that Laura’s recounting of his odd behavior had put her on guard. But now he wondered if it wasn’t this damned Versailles of a drawing room. Each time she attempted to meet his eyes, her gaze broke away to wander in a skeptical fashion over his shoulder. No doubt the cream and gold paneling, the gilded cornices and pilasters must seem very garish to her, compared to the cottage in Eton. She couldn’t match him with it, probably. The Phin she’d known was all gangling limbs and empty pockets and bottomless stomach. Apart from his friendship with a young viscount, that boy would never have been welcome amid such gilt, much less have had the blunt to purchase the Sheldrakes’ house for them.

Or, hell, perhaps what constrained her was the very fact that he’d purchased their house for them. But what else had he been meant to do? When he’d found out that they could no longer make payments on the lease, he’d acted without considering the more subtle repercussions. That house had been open to him when he’d had no other home to go to. He would not let them be expelled from it.

They were waiting for his response. He cleared his throat and set down his teacup. “I suppose he was a great horseman. But that isn’t my cousin.”

Pin-drop silence. A flush mounted Miss Sheldrake’s cheeks. “Who is it, then?”

“I am abashed to admit I have no idea. I had the place furnished before I assumed occupancy.”

“But why?” Her face disguised nothing of her thoughts; she found his actions bewildering. “Did the late earl leave you no furnishings?”

He hesitated. They clearly did not subscribe to any of the society dailies, or they would have known of his decision to let out his cousin’s house to a family of foreigners. He’d borne William no ill will; it was Will’s father who had ruined that house for him. The seventh Earl of Ashmore had provided him with an education, for which he was grateful, but the man had exacted a price for it. Phin had never been welcome there, and on the few occasions he’d visited, he’d been made to listen to lengthy sermons on his father’s faults, when in fact he could have written a book on them with no help at all.

The Sheldrakes knew something of this strained relationship. When he’d been sent down from Eton for brawling with Tilney, it was to them he’d gone, for his uncle had refused to take him. Thus, to explain his decision regarding the family house would mean introducing a host of uncomfortable memories. His drawing-room manners were rusty, but he did not think that the echoes of that pungent antagonism would complement their biscuits and tea. “I wanted a fresh start,” he said.

The absurdity of that statement dawned on him as soon as he’d spoken it. But the ladies nodded, as if a fresh start were not a very ironic policy with which to assume an earldom stretching back some three hundred years.

“A fresh start is always lovely,” Miss Sheldrake said.

“Oh, yes,” agreed her mother, “perfectly smart.”

With the way things were going, if he told them that he’d used the earl’s furniture for kindling, they would promptly express admiration for his thrift with firewood.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He’d slept poorly again, and his thoughts were straying with irksome frequency to the small, scented catastrophe sealed in a room upstairs. She was locked in; he’d checked the door thrice before receiving the Sheldrakes. But her very presence in the house scraped his nerves like a blade. He felt not at all prepared for this visit, and certainly ill equipped to play the suitor.

He schooled himself to the task as the ladies returned to their chairs, focusing on the simple economy of Laura’s movements as she took her seat. Here was what he should dwell on. What a difference her manner posed to Miss Masters’s artful flourishes. Laura had no need for artifice; she presented herself frankly, in a quiet green gown that neither accentuated her curves nor sought to disguise them. And the man who married her would not be purchasing entertainment, but comfort and stability. She would never throw him out of line. Rather, she would keep him within it.

They were making appreciative note of the fine brocade upholstery. He fought to keep his mounting frustration from coloring his tone. “I’m so glad of your visit,” he said, because he was damned if he would thank them for admiring his brocade.

“Of course we had to thank you in person,” Mrs. Sheldrake said. You left us no choice, her tone suggested, with that outlandish thing you did. “And I do hope you will enjoy the globe. Mr. Sheldrake would have wanted you to have it, although I fear it is small thanks for the great service you’ve done us.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” he said. “But I greatly appreciate the gift.” He was going to lock that globe away in the darkest, most distant corner he could find. He would have smashed it, had his conscience not forbidden him.

Miss Sheldrake’s green eyes rounded earnestly. There was a soothing simplicity to her wide face; he felt he could chart entire countries in the blank expanses of her cheeks. “Oh, but we had to give it to you!”

“Of course we did.” Mrs. Sheldrake did not sound happy about it.

An awkward silence fell. “Well,” he said. “I very much hope that you’ll be able to stay for a few days.” Pray God they did not. Not until Miss Masters was gone.

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Sheldrake, sounding startled by the very idea. Laura was blushing. Had he committed some breach of etiquette, then? Perhaps it was only in the colonies that people paid house visits without warning.

Yes, of course, that was right. Damn it. He shifted uneasily in his chair. These small, crucial tidbits were coming back to him more slowly than he’d counted on. “Some other time, then,” he said.

The women exchanged an opaque look. “We don’t wish to impose upon your hospitality,” said Mrs. Sheldrake.

“You could not impose,” he said. “That is, I’ve imposed on your hospitality so many times throughout the years that the very idea is nonsense.” Very carefully, he chose his next words. “Indeed, I want you to know that I would consider you more than guests. You should consider this to be your very own home in town.” Mrs. Sheldrake pressed her lips together, shocked or disapproving, but Laura bent her head to disguise a smile. This encouraged him. “I hope,” he said lightly, “that the lack of my uncle’s antiques will not discomfit you too much, Miss Sheldrake.”

“Oh, no,” she said softly. “Not at all.”

All right, he was remembering the way of it now. And so was she, apparently. She’d formed an ardent attachment to him when he was at Eton, doing everything possible to win his attention. Once she’d told him that she would name her first son Anaximander. The first mapmaker in recorded history; what a fine legacy to bequeath! And—he smiled a little, remembering his sober, officious tone—he’d cautioned her against it. It will be your job as a wife to trammel rash whims, not to encourage them. Anaximander! Good grief, he’d be thrashed every night at school. “Tell me,” he said. “Are you still determined to curse your sons with terrible names?”

She remembered instantly; there was no need to explain it. She blushed and gazed at her feet. “Philip or Stephen would do, I expect.”

Mrs. Sheldrake made a sharp noise and came to her feet. “Well, we must be off, I fear. We plan to see the Crace collection at the museum before our train departs.”

Laura, looking startled, rose as well. He came to his feet, understanding from the narrow look Mrs. Sheldrake gave him that she saw him a bit more clearly than her daughter did. You have bought us a house, that look said, but you have not bought us. “I understand,” he told her, and then, after a pause, added, “It’s a very fine exhibit.”

“Hullo!”

Good God. How the hell had she gotten out?

Her cheery announcement won the ladies’ instant and wide-eyed attention. He turned. She was draped along one side of the doorframe, a small, curvaceous package done up in scarlet silk. “Miss Masters,” he said. There was no help for it; he had to introduce her, as she well knew and had certainly counted upon. “Do come in.”

As she let go of the door and slinked toward them, he caught sight of his pathetic, incompetent, bloody fool of a footman skidding to a stop outside the door. He gave Gompers a small shake of his head, which turned into an astonished double take as the full effect of Miss Masters’s gown became clear. All at once, he understood that his earlier unease had been a premonition of disaster. The gown had no structure or tailoring, save for the high, square neckline and the capped sleeves. The gold sash tied at her waist drew the thin fabric tight around her hips, announcing, very bluntly, that she did not wear a corset.

At her next step, petticoats also began to seem doubtful.

He cut a glance to Laura, who was gawking. Eton had yet to embrace the aesthetic style, and this was a very rude introduction. “Mrs. Sheldrake,” he said. “Miss Sheldrake. Allow me to present to you my cousin.”

“How do you do,” Laura said faintly. Mrs. Sheldrake managed a nod, and cast him a glance in which he read a story of deep disappointment, of sad suspicions confirmed.

“Smashingly,” Miss Masters replied. “I got your globe, I think? Very pretty, very…round?”

Laura cast him a horrified look. God above, did she think he’d given the thing away so quickly? “Miss Masters’s luggage was delivered today,” he said. “The servants must have mixed your very kind gift with her things.”

“Yes,” Miss Masters said cheerily, “that’s what I assumed.” She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. To complete the artistic effect, she’d left it unbound, and it fell in a shimmering sheet to the tops of her thighs, the shade of sunlight on a cold winter day. The ladies gawked at it. He could not blame them. It seemed she was a better businesswoman than he’d guessed; that hair was the best damned advertisement for hair tonic imaginable.

He wrenched his eyes away. Laura was looking rapidly between him and his new family member as though her opinion, too, was rapidly being revised. “But I thought…” She put a hand to her cheek. “How lovely to hear you’ve reconciled with your family.”

“Laura,” Mrs. Sheldrake chided, but without much force. Her eyes rested on the doorway, probably awaiting the appearance of the chaperone that etiquette demanded. Damn it.

Miss Masters seemed oblivious to the complexities of the moment, including the progressive stiffening of her new acquaintances as the doorway remained empty. No surprise there—she had, after all, been raised among wolves, or in America; he was not sure there was a difference. “Yes,” he said. “The reconciliation was a surprise to me as well.”

“But a happy one,” said Miss Masters. She slipped her arm through his; she was definitely not wearing a corset. He could feel the soft weight of her breast pressing against his elbow, and for a second, his awareness contracted to that single sensation. He forced himself to attend to her words, to ignore the warmth of her body and how it brought back to mind, with sudden and searing immediacy, the taste of her skin. “We decided, why bother with all that silliness our parents started? Blood is thicker than water, after all.” She paused as if struck; her expression gave him an inkling of what was coming. “Why, what a clever turn of phrase,” she marveled, “how striking, don’t you think?” He blackly congratulated himself: at least he had a handle on one of her routines. “Yes, I should find a way to use it in my advertisements.”

Laura made a mild noise that might have signified interest, but also worked perfectly well to communicate disbelief. “Indeed, Miss Masters, very original.” She looked to Phin, her brow arching.

He sighed. If Miss Masters had decided to masquerade as the family idiot, then his own role had also been cast. He gave a small shrug, the noble, martyred relative.

It did not serve. Laura frowned. “I had no idea that you had American family.”

“Laura,” Mrs. Sheldrake said more sharply. Her daughter’s stress on the nationality had unwittingly made it sound like a slur.

He cleared his throat. “In fact—”

“And I had no idea you had country friends,” said Miss Masters. She was eyeing Laura head to toe; the gown did not appear to impress her. “How delightful. Wherever did you acquire them?”

He slipped his hand down to her wrist and squeezed a warning. In response, she snuggled closer into his side. He gritted his teeth and disengaged; he needed his hands free, in case he decided to throttle her.

Offense had tugged Laura’s shoulders rigid. Brilliant. “We are from Eton.”

“Precisely.” His voice emerged curtly. “I am surprised, cousin, that you do not recall the many, many times I’ve regaled you with tales of the Sheldrakes’ kindness.”