by Lisa Kleypas
Gideon stared at her intently. “Tell me.”
“I can’t,” Livia said unhappily. “I promised my sister that I would never reveal her secrets. Once such a promise was made to me by a friend, and then she broke her word, and it caused me a great deal of pain. I could never betray Aline that way.” Unable to read his expression, she frowned apologetically. “I know that you must fault me for remaining silent, but—”
“That’s not what I’m thinking.”
“Then what are you thinking?”
“That everything I learn about you makes me love you more.”
Livia stopped breathing for a second, stunned by the admission. It took a long time for her to speak. “Gideon…”
“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured. “For once, I want to have the pleasure of loving someone without asking for anything in return.”
There were two kinds of theatergoers—those who actually went to enjoy the play, and then the great majority who went for purely social reasons. The theater was a place to be seen, exchange gossip, and carry on flirtations. Seated in a box along with Gideon Shaw, McKenna, Mrs. Smedley, and two other couples, Livia soon gave up all attempts to hear what was taking place onstage, as most of the audience had elected to talk through the entire performance. Instead she sat back and watched the parade of men and women who came by their box. It was remarkable, the amount of attention that two wealthy American industrialists could attract.
Gideon was an expert at social banter, appearing relaxed and smiling as he chatted with the visitors. McKenna, on the other hand, was far more reserved, making few remarks, and choosing his words with care. Dressed in a formal scheme of black and white, he was the perfect dark foil for Gideon’s golden elegance. Livia was more than a little intimidated by McKenna, and awed that Aline held a man like this in her thrall.
As Gideon went to fetch her a glass of lemonade for her, and a cordial for Mrs. Smedley, Livia had the opportunity to speak with McKenna more or less privately, as her chaperone was deaf as a post. McKenna was polite and a bit distant, certainly seeming far from needing anyone’s sympathy, and yet Livia couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Despite McKenna’s invulnerable facade, she saw signs of fatigue in his swarthy face, and shadows beneath his eyes that bespoke many sleepless nights. She knew how terrible it was to love someone that you couldn’t have—and it was even worse for McKenna, because he would never know why Aline had rejected him. As Livia’s guilty conscience reminded her of the part she had played in causing McKenna to be sent away from Stony Cross all those years ago, she felt herself turn red. To her consternation, McKenna noticed the telltale blush.
“My lady,” he murmured, “does my company disturb you for some reason?”
“No,” she said swiftly.
McKenna held her gaze as he replied gently. “I think it does. I will find another place from which to view the play, if it would ease your discomfort.”
As Livia stared into his weary blue-green eyes, she remembered the dashing boy he had once been, and she thought of the apology she had wanted to make for a dozen years. Agitation filled her as she considered the promise she had made to Aline—but that promise had been never to talk about the scars. She hadn’t promised not to talk about their father’s manipulations.
“McKenna,” she said hesitantly, “my distress arises from the memory of something I did a long time ago. An injustice that I did to you, actually.”
“Are you referring to the time I was in service at Stony Cross Park?” he asked with a slight frown. “You were only a little girl.”
Livia fidgeted as she replied in a low voice. “I fear that little girls are quite adept at mischief making—and I was no exception. I was the reason that you were bundled off to Bristol so suddenly.”
McKenna stared at her with sudden intensity, remaining silent as she continued.
“You know how I used to follow Aline around, watching everything she did. I worshipped her. And of course I knew about the attachment between the two of you. I suppose I was a bit jealous, wanting all of Aline’s love and attention, as she was like a second mother to me. So when I happened to see you in the carriage room one day, while the two of you were—” Livia stopped and blushed even harder. “I did the worst possible thing—I didn’t realize what the consequences would be. I went to my father and told him what I had seen. And that is why you were dismissed and sent to Bristol. Afterward, when I comprehended the results of my actions, and saw how Aline was suffering, I felt the worst kind of remorse. I’ve always regretted what I did, and although I do not expect you to forgive me, I do want to tell you how sorry I am.”
“Suffering?” McKenna repeated tonelessly. “Lady Aline had me sent to Bristol because she regretted having feelings for a servant. She knew I would soon become an embarrassment to her—”
“No,” Livia interrupted earnestly. “It was our father—you can’t know what a vindictive man he was. He told my sister that if she ever saw you again, he would destroy you. He vowed that he wouldn’t rest until you were left without a home or any means of supporting yourself—you would have ended up dead or in prison. And Aline believed him, because she knew what he was capable of. She never wanted you to leave Stony Cross—but she did what was necessary to protect you. To save you. In fact, the only reason Father secured your apprenticeship in Bristol, rather than cast you into the streets, was because Aline demanded it.”
McKenna gave her a derisive glance. “Then why didn’t she tell me so at the time?”
“My sister believed that if she had given you any reason to hope, you would have risked everything to come back to her.” Livia looked down into her lap, smoothing the silk of her gown as she murmured, “Was she wrong about that?”
An endless silence passed. “No,” he finally whispered.
Lifting her gaze, Livia saw that McKenna was staring blindly at the action onstage. He seemed composed…until one noticed the mist of sweat on his forehead, and the blanched surface of his knuckles as his fist rested on his thigh. Livia reflected uneasily that she had revealed too much, but now that she had started, she found it difficult to stop. She had to set things right, if only to make McKenna understand the truth about this one facet of the past. “After you left,” she said, “Aline was never the same. She loved you, McKenna…enough that she chose to make you hate her, rather than see you harmed in any way.”
His voice was thick with condensed hostility. “If that was true, she would have told me about it by now. Your father is dead, devil take his soul—and there is nothing to stop Aline from setting the record straight.”
“Perhaps,” Livia said carefully, “she does not want you to feel obligated to her in any way. Or perhaps she is afraid, for some reason that you have yet to learn. If you would only—”
She fell silent as McKenna unclenched his hand suddenly and gestured for her to stop, while his unseeing gaze remained locked on the stage. Noticing the slight tremor of his hand, Livia realized that the information had upset him, when she had thought he would receive it with gratitude, or even relief. Chewing the inside of her lip, Livia sat in abashed silence, while McKenna lowered his hand and continued to focus on some distant object.
It was with relief that Livia saw Gideon return to the box with her lemonade. He glanced alertly from her face to McKenna’s, sensitive to the brittle tension in the air. Resuming his place beside Livia, Gideon engaged her with his easy charm until her uncomfortable flush faded, and she was able to smile naturally.
McKenna, on the other hand, looked as if he were staring into the bowels of hell. The perspiration on his face accumulated until the mist had transformed into heavy streaks, and every line of his body was tense and tightly marshaled. He seemed unaware of what was going on around him, or even where he was. When it seemed that he could stand it no longer, he rose from his seat with a murmur, and left the box swiftly.
Gideon turned to Livia with an astonished gaze. “What in God’s name was said between you while I was
gone?”
McKenna made his way outside the theater, where street vendors walked back and forth from Covent Garden. Passing the massive columns that braced the pedimented entrance, McKenna stopped in the lee of the farthest one, where he could stand in shadow. His mind and body were in chaos. The echo of Livia’s words buzzed in his ears, eroding his self-possession, making him wonder angrily what the hell he should believe. The idea that everything he had thought for twelve years might not be true…It jarred him to the core. It terrified him.
Suddenly he remembered his own long-ago words. “Aline…I would never leave unless you told me to go…”
That hadn’t been entirely true. The fact was, it would have required far more than that. Had McKenna retained any hope that Aline had loved him, he would have kept coming back to her, compelled by a need that far outweighed any sense of self-preservation.
Aline had known that.
McKenna dragged the sleeve of his fine broadcloth coat over his face. If it was true, if Aline had driven him away to protect him from the old earl’s vengeance…then she had loved him. Perhaps there was nothing of it left by now, but she had loved him once. He struggled to keep from believing it, while at the same time he was filled with an agony of emotion that seemed impossible for mere human flesh to contain. He needed to go to her, and ask if it was true. But he already knew the answer, which was confirmed by a sudden certainty that emanated from the very marrow of his bones.
Aline had loved him…the knowledge sent him reeling.
A few passers-by glanced curiously at the dark figure that leaned against the massive column, his head bowed like that of a battered colossus. However, no one dared to stop or ask after his welfare. They sensed a coiled threat in his stillness, as if he were possibly a madman who might be provoked into some desperate action. Easier, and far safer, to walk away and pretend they had not seen him.
Gideon came to Livia later that night, slipping into the house and up to her bedroom. He undressed her carefully and made love to her for a long time, moving inside her with deep, languid glides, lifting her gently to change positions. Her moans were smothered by silken, questioning kisses, while her shivering body welcomed his anchoring weight.
It occurred to Livia that she was doing things with him that she had never even done with Amberley. There were no illusions in this bed, nothing but a terrible, wonderful honesty that left no corner of her soul to hide in. She wanted Gideon to know her completely, even her defects. Something about him—his intense physicality, perhaps, seemed to melt the reserve she had worn like a hair shirt, leaving her free to respond to him without inhibition. Whatever he wanted, she did with shameless delight, and in turn he loved her in ways that she would never have thought to ask for.
They lay peaceful and winded and sated in the aftermath, with Livia half lying on top of Gideon’s body, her leg thrown heedlessly across his. She felt his fingers moving in her hair, finding the hot curve of her scalp beneath the fine locks, stroking his way down to the nape of her neck. As her leg shifted higher, she felt the pressure of his sex against her thigh, still half-turgid even after climax. Lazily she reached down to fondle him.
“You’re insatiable,” she accused with a tremor of laughter in her voice.
Smiling, Gideon hooked his hands beneath her arms and shifted her fully over him. “No more so than you.”
She leaned down until their noses were touching. “I will confess, Mr. Shaw, that I am becoming rather enamored of you.”
“Enamored?” he scoffed. “You’re madly in love with me.”
Livia felt her heart skip a beat, but she kept her tone light. “Now, why would I be so silly as to fall in love with you?”
“There are a multitude of reasons,” he informed her. “Not only do I satisfy you in bed, I also happen to be one of the richest men in the civilized world—”
“I don’t care about your money.”
“I know that, damn it.” Now he began to sound disgruntled. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve got to have you.”
“Have?”
“Marry.”
Frowning, Livia began to slide off him, but Gideon grasped her hips and made her stay. “It’s worth considering, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Not when we’ve known each other for little more than a fortnight!”
“Then tell me how long a courtship you want. I can wait.”
“You have to go back to New York.”
“I can wait,” he repeated stubbornly.
Sighing, Livia lowered her face to his chest and rested her cheek against the crisp, curling hair. She forced herself to be honest. “Nothing would induce me to marry you, my darling.”
Gideon’s arms went around her then. He held her a little too tightly, and ran his hands over her back in a long, supplicating stroke. “Why not?”
“Because I care for you too much to watch you destroy yourself.”
She felt the sudden tension in the long body beneath hers. Again she moved to roll away from him, expecting that this time he would let her go. But his arm tightened around her slender back, and one hand came to press her head more firmly against his chest. Resignation flattened his tone. “You want me to stop drinking.”
“No—I want no part of that decision.”
“But you would consider marrying me if I didn’t drink?” At her long hesitation, he urged her to raise her head and look at him.
“Yes,” she said reluctantly. “In that case, I would probably consider it.”
Gideon’s expression was shuttered, his mouth twisting as if he were looking inside himself and was dissatisfied with what he saw. “I don’t know if I can stop,” he muttered with a frankness that she admired, even if the words were unwelcome. “I don’t even know if I want to. I’d rather just keep drinking, and have you as well.”
“You can’t,” she said flatly. “Even if you are a Shaw.”
Gideon turned to his side, holding her head in the crook of his arm as he looked down at her. “I would give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I would take you anywhere in the world. Anything you asked for—”
“It would come between us, eventually.” Livia began to wonder if she weren’t insane, turning down a proposal from him when most women would have fallen to their knees in gratitude. A tremulous smile came to her lips as she saw his expression. Clearly he was not a man accustomed to being refused for any reason. “Let’s just enjoy the time that we have together now. I’ll be returning to Stony Cross in a few days, but until then—”
“A few days? No, stay longer, and go back with me.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t do for us to travel together—people would talk.”
“I don’t give a damn.” Desperation threaded through his voice. “Just take me as I am, Livia.”
“Perhaps I could, if I cared less,” she returned, keeping her eyes closed as he brushed his lips over her delicate lids, her lashes, her hot cheeks, the tip of her nose.
“But I won’t subject myself to the process of losing you little by little, until you’ve either killed yourself or become someone that I don’t recognize.”
Gideon drew back and gave her a sullen stare. “At least tell me one thing—do you love me?”
Livia remained silent, uncertain whether the admission would make things better or worse.
“I have to know,” Gideon said, his mouth twisting with self-derision as he heard the plea in his own voice. “If I’m to change my life for you, I’ve got to have some hope.”
“I don’t want you to change your life for me. You’ll have to make the same decision every day, over and over—it must be for yourself alone. Otherwise you will come to resent me.”
She saw how much he wanted to argue with her. Instead he settled beside her, loosely wrapping his arm around her waist. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
Stroking the back of his hand, Livia sighed. “I’ve been adrift for so long, ever since Amberley’s death, and now I’m finally ready to start livi
ng again. You came along just at the time I needed you, and for that I will always remember you with fondness and gratitude.”
“Fondness?” he repeated, his mouth twisting. “Gratitude?”
“I’m not going to admit that I feel anything more than that. It would be a form of coercion.”
Grumbling beneath his breath, Gideon rose above her. “Maybe I should test your resolve.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Livia said, but instead of sounding flirtatious, her voice was melancholy, and she found herself wrapping him in her arms and legs as if she could somehow protect him from the demons within himself.
Aline sighed as she extracted yet another sheet of cream paper from the drawer of her writing desk and wiped the quill of her pen with a square of black felt. Nearly a dozen letters were piled in front of her, from friends and relatives who were doubtless peeved at her lateness in replying. However, one could not simply dash off a conveniently quick reply. Letter writing was an art that demanded close attention to detail. One had to convey the latest news with style and verve…and if there had been a lack of noteworthy events to write about, one had to be creatively amusing, or philosophical.
Aline frowned at the three letters that she had already finished. So far she had described minor household complaints, related some choice bits of gossip, and even given commentary on the recent weather. “How skillful I’ve become at talking about everything but the truth,” she commented to herself with a mocking smile. But she doubted that her real news would be music to the ears of her relatives…I have recently taken a lover, and have participated in two decidedly torrid encounters, in the forest and in my bedroom cabinet. My sister Livia is enjoying good health, and is currently on a visit to London, where at this moment she is probably rolling in bed with a perpetually inebriated American…
Picturing how such a missive would be received by her starchy cousin Georgina, or Great-Aunt Maude, Aline stifled a grin.
Her brother’s voice came from the doorway, providing a welcome interruption. “Good God. You must be at a complete loss for something to do, if you’ve resorted to writing letters.”