“Have you ever played billiards, Miss Elliston?” He presented a cup, speaking loud enough for all to hear.
“I have not.”
“I’ve always wondered how a lady would play the game.”
“What an odd notion,” Lady Foxmore called. “I doubt a true lady would enjoy it. So perhaps you are in luck, Chance.”
“I don’t know if I’d play with her,” Henry said, frowning at me. “I warrant she’d cheat.”
“Do you enjoy reading?” Mr. Macy ignored them by facing me and crossing one leg over the other. I looked up, realizing he was trying to undo the damage from dinner.
Feeling heartened, I turned from Henry too. “I do, very much.”
“Not novels, I hope.”
I fingered the edge of my saucer, feeling juvenile. “I have no objections to them.”
“I’ll never understand why a delicate, blushing lady enjoys reading harrowing tales of distress.”
The clever comment that eluded me at breakfast finally presented itself. “You seem very aware of their contents. How many have you read?”
His hearty laugh rang out. “I have been caught! Yes, it does not hurt for a gentleman to read a novel or two. Especially the ones written by women. I advise it to anyone desiring to learn the art of seduction.”
A shocked hush fell over the room. His statement scandalized, and his eyes shone for it. Mr. Greenham stood and retreated to the window. Henry glared at me before turning his baleful stare on Mr. Macy.
Mr. Macy inclined his head as though submitting to Henry’s decorum, then leaned to my ear. “Shall it please you to learn I’ve ordered countless novels for my library? I hoped you’d have a penchant for them.”
I blushed and the silence deepened. “Sir, we’re alarming the room.”
“And you’re enjoying it as much as I am. Your eyes fairly dance with amusement.”
I couldn’t hide my smile.
“Shall we shock them completely?” He leaned still nearer. “Shall I kiss you here and now?”
“No. Do not!” I cried out before realizing he was jesting.
Heads swivelled in our direction. Henry started to rise, but Mr. Greenham approached first. “Chance, I don’t approve.”
Mr. Macy slowly raised his eyes, allowing an uncomfortable pause. “John,” he eventually said, “we have known each other a long time, and your friendship is more valuable to me than any other. Therefore I would consider it abhorrent should anything—” his eyes indicated me—“come between us. You of all people ought to know I would never act improperly toward Miss Elliston.”
“May we speak privately?” Mr. Greenham asked.
“Not tonight.” Though Mr. Macy returned his gaze in my direction, I doubted he saw me. “I’m uneasy in my mind about you. Perhaps in the morning, after I’ve had opportunity to think.”
After a stiff bow, Mr. Greenham returned to his chair. While everyone tried to ignore the obvious tension, Mr. Forrester rose, his eyes darting between Mr. Macy and Mr. Greenham’s slumped form.
The carefree mood was not restored. Lady Foxmore eventually declared she was tired and needed Henry’s arm. Elizabeth offered her help, likely looking for an excuse to steal a moment alone with Henry. I watched, calculating the length of time before Henry and Elizabeth would return. When ten minutes had passed and Mr. Macy remained submerged in thought, I placed a hand on his arm. “Shall I also retire?”
He stirred and looked around, returning his gaze to me with tenderness. “Not unless you feel fatigued. I’ve waited all day to have you to myself.”
Mr. Greenham stood.
“John, wait.” Mr. Macy left his chair and followed him from the room. Rooke looked up from his book, and taking interest, joined them.
Mr. Forrester alone remained. He peered into the hall before turning his unabashed gaze on me. “Quickly now, are Macy and Greenham fighting?”
My heart fluttering, I picked up my untouched coffee with the air of not having heard.
“You’re the only one privy to their conversation.” He took Mr. Macy’s seat and placed his hand over the top of my coffee, preventing me from taking a sip. “Tell me what they said.”
I twisted my mouth, giving him a hateful glare.
“Don’t tell me you’re half-witted enough to trust him over me.”
“I trust him with my life.” I enunciated my words, growing angry.
“What if I told you I had information that would change your mind?”
“Then I should hope you had hard proof,” Mr. Macy answered from the door with Mr. Greenham looming behind him. “She already knows you’re here to blackmail me. I’ve had enough of your game. I’m calling your bluff. If you have something devastating, let’s hear it. Now.”
Mr. Forrester gritted his teeth.
“I thought as much,” Mr. Macy said. “You may continue your visit, but for now, I’ll thank you for ridding me of your presence.”
With his hands clenched, Mr. Forrester ducked his head and left.
“Are you all right, Miss Elliston?” Mr. Greenham brushed past Mr. Macy and hurried to my side.
I nodded but said to Mr. Macy, “Why are you allowing him to stay?”
“Because if he’s here, he’s not with your guardian, causing more havoc.” Mr. Macy poured himself a brandy. “John, I promised Julia a walk in my hothouses tonight. You’re welcome to join us.”
Mr. Greenham shook his head. “No, but satisfy me this. Now that you’ve met her, are your intentions the same?”
“They are,” Mr. Macy said. “There is a genuine attachment on both sides.”
Mr. Greenham bowed and left the room.
“Well, at least that much is out of the way,” Mr. Macy said once the door closed. He softened, seeing my distress. “Come.” He pulled me from the chair and wrapped his arm around me. “John will be fine. All day, I’ve anticipated this time. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
THE MOONLIGHT that blanketed the grounds that night made every blade of frosted grass glitter, giving the landscape a celestial appearance. I clutched Mr. Macy’s sleeve, wondering what he planned. At the crest of the far hill, another great house stood, barely lit with stars blinking above it. As I stared at the apparently empty house, I shivered, my skirts billowing in the wind.
“The conservatory will be warm,” Mr. Macy promised.
Having crossed the great lawn, he steered us back to the gravel paths passing the kitchen gardens, enclosed in glass frames. At the hothouse, he released me to select a key. I rubbed my arms, viewing the glass, fuzzy with frost. A breath of humidity was expelled when the door opened to reveal a narrow stone path stretched between high beds of scarlet geraniums. I gasped with wonder. After thirty feet, the conservatory expanded into a spacious glasshouse filled with tall palms and flowering creepers.
I entered, hands over heart, breathing the rich scent. Mr. Macy’s mouth twisted in amusement as he locked the door behind us.
I turned. “This is my favorite place in Eastbourne.”
“This?” He seemed further entertained as he gathered me. “There are matters I wish to discuss tonight. Only first, tell me of your day.”
As we brushed past, geranium petals scattered over the walkway. Smaller conservatories connected to the main hothouse, each brimming with green. Mr. Macy indicated for me to sit beneath an orange tree, then crouched on his heels near the bench, enfolding my hands in his. “Tell me everything.”
As I spoke about the rooms and artifacts that interested me, he plucked an orange blossom and tucked it into my hair.
“There was one room . . .” I faltered, hesitant to mention the coffee set.
His smile tightened. “You didn’t wander into my ballroom, did you?”
“Not the ballroom, the billiards room.”
“The billiards room!” He laughed. “Whatever is the matter with it?”
I moistened my lips. “Well, there’s a coffee set . . .”
“The coffee set.” He sat har
d on the ground, still staring at my hands in his. “Yes, I’d rather forgotten that.” An empty, soulless look filled his eyes as he aged the span of years in seconds. He appeared so weary, my heart wrung. “You want an explanation, no doubt.”
At that time, I was young and immature enough to wish I’d never brought up the wretched coffee set. I was used to apologizing in the face of my father’s swift temper, and I feared to upset Mr. Macy. Whatever the explanation, I reasoned, it couldn’t be worse than beginning my life as a servant in Scotland. “No,” I said. “No explanations.”
Fingers dug into the flesh of my upper arm and I was yanked to my feet. I hadn’t even felt him stand. I gasped in pain, turning toward him. He towered over me, malice fixed on his features. “What do you mean, no? Who sent you?” He shook me. “Bradshawl? O’Connor?”
“I . . . I . . .” A tear escaped as I stared at him, bewildered.
He loosened his grip, but his stare bored into me. “You what?”
“I don’t care about the set because . . . I . . . I love you.” The words tumbled from me without permission, but I sensed they were the right ones.
His eyes narrowed but he tipped up my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. A shadow flitted across his countenance, a desperate look. He released me and turned, pinching the bridge of his nose. After several seconds, he came back and gently took my elbow. “Here, come. Sit.”
My arms ached where his fingers had dug into them. I tried to resume my seat, but I was trembling so much, I missed the edge of the bench. He caught me and placed me securely on the seat.
“I’m going to take full advantage of your statement.” He knelt before me, drawing my hands to his chest. “Are you willing to enter into an engagement with me here, now, tonight?”
I stared in disbelief. Did he actually think I would accept him when he had just shown himself capable of violence toward me?
Yet he seemed to, for he watched my rising doubt and panic without offering one word or look of comfort. I faltered as I studied his complete self-possession; here was a personality unlike any I’d ever encountered.
“I need a moment,” I said.
“Take your time.”
My arms smarted, but feeling the strength of his fingers as they gripped mine, I realized he’d restrained himself from causing real injury. But I couldn’t forget the malevolence that had gnarled his features. Had it been to frighten an honest answer from me? I searched his eyes, looking for a hint of his thoughts, but they held depths I didn’t comprehend.
Who was Mr. Macy? I wondered, as he held my hands, waiting.
Thoughts of his bedchamber flooded me with empathy. No matter what the reason for this strange behavior, it didn’t change the fact I’d fallen in love. His hand tightened around mine, giving the impression I was the only light in his dark world. Only if that was so, I couldn’t understand why he continued to wait patiently, his expression concealing all emotion. I wanted him to reason with me, to explain.
I swallowed. From the day of Mama’s burial I’d determined to wed. Had I not spent months struggling to escape my fate? Was I so weak that I wouldn’t dare to reach out and take what I wanted?
I lowered my gaze. My heart felt like an overwound music box.
Then, even more than now, marriages were business arrangements. The upper crust had always been sustained by the economy of matrimony. Two days was scarcely enough time to gauge my future, yet how many marriages were contracted reckoning only on properties and funds? The balance was in my favor. Nonetheless, I felt the chains of becoming the legal property of someone other than Edward.
“Yes.” I lowered my gaze. “I’ll enter an engagement.”
“You took some time coming to that answer. Are you certain?”
I nodded, feeling tears well. “Yes, only I’m frightened.”
His low chuckle filled me with assurance as he lifted my chin. “I swear, never again shall you feel a rough hand laid upon you. Mine or any other. I am a man of my word. You have nothing to fear.”
I nodded again and again, wiping away tears before he slid next to me and gathered me in his arms. “What were your thoughts toward the end of your discourse?” he asked. “I couldn’t follow their sudden twist.”
“You followed the others?”
He wiped my wet cheek with his thumb. “You are very transparent, dear, especially to one skilled in reading people. Now answer.”
“I was thinking of the way wife and servant are synonymous.”
He turned my face with one hand, grinning. “So you read seventeenth-century poetry, do you? Leave Lady Chudleigh on the shelf, for she never married me. I do not intend to lord it over you.” He paused, regarding me. “I’m going to explain the coffee set, so later nothing comes between us.”
“Nothing could.”
He laughed and kissed my forehead. “You are a study, dearest. But come. Let’s return to the house. This is no longer the proper setting for us.”
Mr. Macy locked the study, tossed his keys on the desk, and added kindling to the embers. I remained by the door while he coaxed the fire. He seemed to have composed himself since leaving the greenhouse, but I hadn’t. Only after flames curled around the cedar log did he take notice of me.
“Sweetheart.” He grabbed his housecoat and drew me into the room. “Here, wear this. It will warm you until the fire catches.”
I pressed the satin against my face, yearning for his comforting smell. Reynolds must have laundered the robe, for only lye tingled my nose. While I donned it, Mr. Macy selected a cigar. He faced the hearth, smoking, while I settled in one of the couches. His internal debate seemed to end the same moment he grew weary of his cigar, flicking it into the fire.
“Last night,” he said, turning, “you informed me you required no knowledge of my past. Though gratified, I knew keeping it was an impossibility.” He leaned against the mantel and bit his thumb with an expression of discontentment. “I’ve grown so suspicious over the years, I never imagined you’d require no explanation when confronted with your first hurdle.” He laughed once and rubbed his jaw. “I feared you were a trap. A clever, clever trap.”
When he joined me on the couch, I scooted toward him, knowing the warmth of his arms would remove the sinking feeling in my heart. I didn’t want to know his past. I feared it.
“No, remain there,” he said. “I wish to observe you, lest I reveal too much and you regret your troth.”
“Then tell me nothing. For all I care, you could have stolen the set like a common gypsy.”
His hand angled, and he studied me so long I feared I’d displeased him. Eventually, he stood and sauntered to the drink table. “I would rather spare you this knowledge as well.” He poured two brandies. “Yet you need to know. Not only for an explanation of the coffee set, but your own protection requires it.” He handed me a drink with a wry smile. “I wonder whether you’ll find my account better or worse than the theory that I stole it.” He slouched in the couch opposite me, taking slow sips of brandy.
Uncomfortable, I drew my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees. “Then tell me, and hurry. Had I known tonight would be like this, I never would have mentioned the horrid set.”
“Would you not?” He placed his brandy aside. “That’s scarcely better, darling. The unknown is always more threatening than the known. I shouldn’t like to see you brooding and pacing Eastbourne. Better to come early for explanations.”
I hugged myself tighter.
He opened his cigar case and withdrew another cheroot. When a line of smoke spun idly over his head, he studied the fire, saying, “Tonight, I planned on asking you to marry me. At best, I hoped you would accept for your protection. You’ve taken me by surprise with your declaration of love.” He took a swig of brandy, then stared at the empty tumbler. “I think you’ve known me long enough to understand I have ways of finding valuable information. Call it an uncanny knack, if you like.”
He rose, refilled his glass, then settled himself at my fe
et. “In my youth, I used this ability for gain and, perhaps, amusement. Years ago, I sold information to both your father and your guardian, enabling them to blackmail each other. The coffee set was a payment from your father.”
“My father?” I couldn’t muster surprise. It sounded like him.
Mr. Macy rubbed his forehead. “They hated each other, bitterly. Had I known how far they would take it . . . I will not reveal the particulars, but eventually your father and I had a falling out. In anger, I gave your guardian information that ruined your father, and as it turns out, your mother also.”
I sifted through Mr. Macy’s words, but they were too vague to help me make sense of the situation. “Why is he my guardian, then?”
“Perhaps we ought to end this discussion. I only desired for you to learn why I reacted as I—”
“Tell me.”
“No.” He rose to join me on the couch. “He’s a dangerous man who fears his misdeeds coming to light. The last thing I intend to do is further endanger you by revealing them.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Mr. Macy’s countenance stopped me. Frustrated, I crossed my arms. “Why were you involved in their battle, then?”
“I used to hire myself out for extortion and blackmail. They both sought my aid, and to my deep regret, I betrayed them both to each other.”
During this speech, I had been looking at my hands, but now I raised my gaze. How could anyone sound so matter-of-fact about such things?
“And now you know some small part of my past.” He tilted his head, keeping his acute gaze on me. “I’ve spent my life paying for the mistakes of my youth. It’s why I live in isolation. Why I was suspicious of you tonight.” He crossed his arms. “Do you regret your promise to wed me now?”
I felt as Mr. Greenham must have during dinner, outside of Mr. Macy’s pleasure. Did he expect me to repent of our engagement and beg out of it? His cold gaze certainly gave that impression. My illusion of him was splintered, but not my love. My voice came out unsteady. “But why are you angry with me?”
Warm arms surrounded me, but before I could bury myself in his chest, Mr. Macy kissed my forehead. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been further from anger in my life.”
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