A Dream of Desire

by Nina Rowan

  “Now that you have your freedom, Peter, I hope I shall not see you again within these walls,” Mr. Lawford said. “If you seek the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, you will prosper. Depend upon it. And Miss Colston…”

  He moved around the desk to take her hand. “I shall call upon you and your father soon to ensure Peter’s smooth return back into society.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Fletcher held the door open as Alice and Peter exited to the waiting cab. Just before Talia followed them, Lawford’s hand curled around her arm. Though Talia wasn’t particularly alarmed with Mr. Fletcher close by, her apprehension deepened.

  “My lady, I strongly suggest you heed my words,” Lawford murmured. “I will not have my bill for a new prison destroyed because of your ridiculous screeching about reform and juvenile criminals. And you may toss your father’s name about as much as you wish. We both know he will never support your endeavors. In fact, I’d venture to suggest that he would be far more inclined to support mine.”

  “My lady.” Fletcher’s eyes narrowed at Lawford.

  “Keep to your tea parties and ballrooms, Lady Talia,” Lawford said before releasing Talia’s arm. “And stay out of my prison.”

  “Good day, sir,” Fletcher said stiffly.

  “I shall be in London in three days’ time to visit my uncle and meet with Lord Thurlow about my proposal for the construction of a prison at Shipton Fields,” Lawford said. “Perhaps I shall see you both there…well, not you, of course, Fletcher, but Lady Talia in any case. I’ve numerous invitations already.”

  Though Talia did not relish the idea of encountering Mr. Lawford during the whirl of the social season, it might be a potential opportunity to gain more support for her cause. At the very least, he wouldn’t threaten her in the midst of a fancy ball for fear that any unpleasantness might hinder his efforts to improve his social ranking.

  Talia left the office without bidding Lawford a farewell and climbed into the cab. She sat across from Peter and Alice as Mr. Fletcher instructed the driver to return to town.

  “Let’s get Peter settled back at home,” Talia said. “I believe the next train leaves at noon, so we’ve time to stop in town for refreshment. You must be hungry, Peter?”

  The boy shrugged. Talia and Alice exchanged glances, and the despair in the other woman’s eyes made Talia’s heart constrict. They might never know what Peter had endured behind the brick walls of Newhall.

  Although the boy bore no visible evidence of harsh treatment, Talia had heard about Newhall’s disciplinary measures from other boys who had served time there. As much as she despised the thought of any boy enduring brutality at the hands of prison guards, she hoped that Peter would one day speak about what he had experienced. His testimony could be critical to the success of reform measures, which was the only way such conditions would change.

  “Your father is looking forward to your return, Peter,” Mr. Fletcher said.

  “No, he ain’t.” Peter stared out the window.

  “Of course he is, Peter.” Alice patted her brother’s hand, her voice light but her eyes dark with worry. “Papa’s been busy with work, which is why he couldn’t come today, but we’ve a special dinner planned for your return. Boiled ham, greens, and mashed turnips. And Lady Talia brought us a lovely apricot tart for dessert.”

  She might have been discussing the classified advertisements of the Times, for all of Peter’s reaction. Talia tried to suppress another upwelling of guilt as the cab continued toward the town square. Alice squeezed Peter’s hand.

  They resembled each other, Talia thought as she watched them, especially around the eyes. Though Alice’s irises were blue and Peter’s brown, they both had almond-shaped eyes with thick, dark lashes. Otherwise sister and brother were a foil to each other, Alice’s delicate blondness contrasting with Peter’s black hair and sharp-edged features.

  Alice pointed out the window and said something to Peter. Though he still didn’t respond, a faint amusement appeared in his eyes.

  Talia exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Alice and Peter were brother and sister. No matter what Peter had endured at Newhall or even before, no matter what faced him after nine months of incarceration…at least he would always have Alice.

  The redbrick walls of the prison faded into the distance. Sorrow nudged at Talia as she thought of her own four brothers, all living far from London and busy with their own lives. As much as she missed them, Talia hoped they were too busy to be concerned about her.

  For the first time in her twenty-four years of life, that was exactly the way she wanted it. Without her brothers to thwart her efforts, she could finally attempt to pay Peter Colston back for having gone to prison because of her.

  The domed buildings and minarets of Constantinople gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Merchants, porters, and veiled women walked past shops stocked with both local and English-made goods. Soldiers wearing red fezzes patrolled the streets and lounged at the outdoor cafés. Colorful rugs hung from stalls of the bazaar situated across from a mosque, and the scents of smoke and spices drifted on the air.

  A waiter paused by the table to refill James’s cup with coffee. The brew was thick and strong, a robust difference from the watery coffee served in London’s coffeehouses. After setting a plate of honey-and-rice sweets on the table, the man bowed and departed.

  “A prison.” Alexander Hall, Lord Northwood, frowned darkly at James from the other side of the table. “What business would my sister have in a prison?”

  Though James’s chest tightened at the idea of Talia anywhere near a prison—let alone actually in one—he tried to keep his tone politely inquisitive.

  “How do you know she was there?” he asked.

  “Haverton was with Lieutenant-Colonel Jebb when he was conducting a survey,” North explained. “He saw Talia as she was leaving Smithton. Rushton certainly wouldn’t have allowed her to visit a prison, which means he can’t possibly have known about it.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Not yet. He’s visiting St. Petersburg after he finishes the Home Office business in Kiev. He’ll be furious if he learns Talia is involved in something unsavory.”

  “You don’t know that she is, North,” James said, still trying to maintain a practical tone. “She’s a reasonable girl who would never put herself or anyone else in jeopardy.”

  “So I’ve always believed,” Northwood muttered. “But if I’d had an inkling that she was in contact with a criminal element, I’d have put a stop to her charity work long ago. I thought her work with the ragged schools involved providing education for poverty-stricken children. Nothing to do with prisons, for the love of God.”

  James flexed his fingers and tightened them into fists. Though it had been a year since he’d last been in London, he’d dealt with plenty of convicts in his travels, both aboard ship and on the docks. He knew what they were like, the rough, broken men who’d lost hope and didn’t care whom they hurt. If it was true, if Talia was somehow putting herself in danger…a sudden fear rose in his chest, quickening his heartbeat.

  “I don’t like it,” Northwood continued. “Rushton won’t either, but he can’t do anything until he returns to London in September. I know he holds out hope that Talia will have decided to marry by then.”

  James coughed, reaching for his cup to hide the rush of dismay at the mention of Talia’s marrying. He took a sip of coffee and tried to keep his voice even.

  “Heard she didn’t take well to your suggestion last summer that she wed Fulton,” he remarked.

  “Marriage to Fulton would have well secured her future,” Northwood replied. “And when I asked her if she had another prospect in mind, she refused to tell me. She did, however, make it clear that she did not want my interference.”

  James sat back, looking past Northwood’s shoulder at the bazaar. Bright, woven shawls fluttered like giant butterflies from one of the stalls. In the back of James’s mind,
an image surfaced—the expanse of Talia’s white skin, glowing from the light of the fire, a strand of her hair clinging to her throat as she looked at him with eyes like emeralds…

  He shoved the memory down alongside the inevitable flash of heat. For the past year, he’d forced himself not to think of that night, not to remember how his blood had flared at the realization that Lady Talia Hall was not only a beautiful woman, but also an intensely desirable one.

  Though he’d been somewhat successful at suppressing the memory during the day, he had been powerless at night, when salacious images of him and Talia had slipped unguarded into his dreams. Leaving him hot and aching for a woman he had no right to crave.

  Northwood was still talking. James blinked and tried to refocus on his friend’s words.

  “…last heard he was near California,” North said. “And what of your next expedition? You said you’ve encountered difficulties?”

  James nodded, forcing his mind away from Talia and back to the reason he’d come to speak with Northwood in the first place.

  “The Russian vice admiral is blocking our access to the north,” he explained. “We’ve funding from several sources and the preparations are almost completed, but we can’t set sail unless we know we can access the Amur Valley.”

  He pushed a sheaf of papers toward Northwood. “That is the proposal in detail, which I’m certain you’ll find could well benefit your own trading company. Especially once we chart routes to the towns and harbors. I ask for your help with Vice Admiral Petrov.”

  Northwood leafed through the papers, his forehead creasing. James could almost see the thoughts working through his friend’s mind. Even as a boy, North had never been quick in his agreement—he’d always examined issues from all angles before making a decision.

  Though James often did the same thing, he now felt a twinge of impatience as he watched North study the proposal. The Russians had been making substantial advancements into the southern Siberian frontier, which was precisely the reason the government didn’t want to allow a British expedition into the area. Especially if that expedition were able to assess the full scope of Russian acquisitions to the east and possibly conclude that they posed a potential further threat to the south and British territories.

  James had no interest in speculating about Russian land encroachment, much less conveying military intelligence to the British government. He was only interested in charting the land and studying the region’s ethnography, but Vice Admiral Petrov didn’t know that.

  “I’ve made all the plans to depart from London in June,” he told Northwood. “But Petrov denied approval, and the governor-general of western Siberia revoked his previous acceptance of our proposal.”

  North glanced at him. “You’ve made the arrangements already? Secured the crew?”

  “And the ships. I won’t put them at risk, either, if we try to enter the valley of the Amur without permission. But if I’m forced to abandon the entire venture, then I’ll lose credibility with the Royal Geographical Society. They’ll doubt my ability to carry through successful expeditions in the future.”

  James didn’t know what he would do if he lost funding for future expeditions. The idea of being forced to stay in London and to contend with the detritus of his father’s estate and the ugly shadows of the past…

  He took a breath. He needed to travel. Needed the cold, salty air, the churning ocean waves, the pitch of the ship beneath his feet, the vast expanses of uncharted land. He needed to disappear in the world.

  Urgency filled him. He leaned forward. “I need your influence, North. You have a good business relationship with Petrov. If you could assure him we’re interested only in the ethnology and cartography of the valley, he’s far more likely to grant us access.”

  “On my word, you mean.”

  “Yes. Petrov trusts you. So do I.”

  And his trust in Northwood was boundless. North knew why James commanded his expeditions. He was the only person who knew the truth about James’s parents. And while North may have speculated about James’s reasons for not wanting to stay in London, he had the grace not to press the issue.

  “I’m returning to London in two days’ time to complete the paperwork,” James said. “If I don’t have approval to access southern Siberia, I’ll have to cancel the entire project. Put a number of noses out of joint, too, since I’ve got half a dozen financiers involved. Not to mention all the men who’ve been hired.”

  Northwood studied him, his dark brows pulling together. “How long will you be in London?”

  “One month, if we have approval. We’re scheduled to depart on the twelfth of June.” James stifled his impatience. Northwood was analytical when it came to business decisions, but he’d also never shied away from helping a friend. “You’re the only person with enough influence, North. Will you help me or not?”

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “Under one condition.”

  James smothered his initial relief under a twinge of wariness. “I’m in your debt.”

  “Find out exactly what Talia is involved with and ensure she is doing nothing foolish.”

  Dammit.

  James tipped his hat down against the glare of the sun to conceal his reaction. He couldn’t think about seeing Talia again. About having no choice except to see her again.

  Shame inched up his throat. He’d fully intended to return to London and leave again without seeking Talia out. Not because he didn’t want to see her but because he was so tormented by the thoughts he’d had about her the past year.

  Northwood’s sister, for the love of God, and James had hot, restless dreams about her pale skin and the swell of her breasts, the achingly soft touch of her mouth. He thought far too often about her full lips, which he’d never before imagined pressing against his until she’d actually done it. Until her tongue had met his, firing heat and a shockingly ravenous hunger through his blood.

  “Talia will listen to you,” Northwood continued. “She always has. More so than to me or Sebastian, at any rate.”

  James pulled in a breath. His friend’s request was simple and reasonable. North was right too—Talia had always listened to him, though that malleability had likely changed considering their last encounter.

  Not that he could ever tell North that.

  “And she’s always trusted you,” North added. “All the more reason you ought to speak with her.”

  She used to trust him, James thought. Talia might want nothing to do with him anymore, though he couldn’t tell his friend that either. North didn’t know of James’s last encounter with Talia. He didn’t know that James had spent the last year battling lurid thoughts of her. Thoughts he had no right to possess.

  “Well?” Northwood asked.

  James could not decline without providing a reasonable explanation…and he had none. He’d been a close friend of the Halls since he and North were nine years of age. He’d been like a fifth brother to them. And no matter the degree of trepidation he felt at the prospect of seeing Talia again, he could not bear the thought of her in possible danger.

  He steeled himself. He’d once faced down a rampaging elephant and a horde of pirates. He’d been attacked by a venomous snake, fought raging floods. He could certainly muster the courage to see Lady Talia Hall again. Especially if he could somehow ensure her safety, or at least assuage both his and North’s fears.

  “Of course,” he said. “Of course I’ll speak to her.”

  “Good.” Northwood gave a nod of satisfaction. “And I’ll send a telegraph to the vice admiral tomorrow. I promise your next expedition will go forth as planned.”

  As James strode back to his hotel, he was unable to stop thinking about that afternoon in Floreston Manor. His entire view of Talia had changed in the span of less than an hour. She’d walked into the drawing room the same young woman he’d always known—pretty, kind, intelligent, just Talia.

  He’d been pleased to see her but distracted, his mind half on the preparations for the N
ew South Wales trip and the things he needed to do back in London. She’d gone on about the meddlings of her eldest brother, her desire to make her own decisions about marriage…and then she’d dropped her shawl to the floor and declared her love for him.

  James remembered that the shock had immobilized him. He remembered the rush of heat and desire at the sight of Talia’s creamy skin and round breasts, the way the firelight had made her eyes flare with emerald light. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she was a woman.

  God in heaven. Even a year later, he couldn’t think of that kiss without his heart pounding.

  We will carry on as we did before. It had been a stupid thing for him to say. Talia had confessed her love and her desire to marry him. He’d rejected her and yet been stunned by his reaction to their kiss.

  How could anything between them be the same after that?

  James went into his room, the plain, whitewashed walls a welcome respite from the noise of the streets. He sank onto the bed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  It would take a week to reach London from Constantinople. He could only hope that the cold salt air and wind would clear the confusion from his brain.

  Maybe he could even come up with some answers, for he had no idea how best to approach Talia. He didn’t know if she would even speak to him. And he was damn certain she would never again look at him the way she used to.

  Chapter Three

  A week after Peter Colston’s release from Newhall, Talia navigated yet another crowded ballroom, her resolve strengthened anew. This was the first time she had finally learned to appreciate London’s festive season. In the years following her parents’ divorce, she’d despised the endless whirl of balls and parties, all so saturated with an unpleasant combination of frivolity and vindictive gossip.

  Now, however, in her desire to garner support for the Brick Street reformatory school, she’d discovered how to use the social chaos to her benefit. Weaving through the crowds, Talia could move from one person to the next with a quick mention of the school and the upcoming House of Commons committee meeting. Just long enough to plant the idea into the ear of a wealthy industrialist or a peer and hope it would take root.