by C. J. Archer
He bent to pick up Lilly's book from the rushes and handed it to her. She took it and folded both arms over it against her chest. "The problem is, I care about you," he said. "I came home and found my little sister gone, replaced by this miserable ghost. I want her back. I want to see you smile again, Lil."
Their mother sniffed and dabbed at the corner of her eye with a black lace handkerchief. Blake ignored her. This wasn't about her, it was about Lilly. She, however, appeared unmoved by his words, a marble statue staring into the flames of the fire.
"The sooner you tell me who it is," he went on, "the sooner I can speak to him and you can be wed."
"You cannot force him," she said so softly he had to strain to hear her.
"Why not?" Then a sickening thought struck him. "He's not already married is he?"
Their mother gasped. "Lilly!"
"Mother," Blake warned her. He wished he wasn't having this conversation in her presence. She wasn't helping.
Lilly stood still. Her unmoving figure contrasted starkly with the reflection of the orange flames dancing merrily in her eyes. "No," she said.
Only a deaf man would have failed to notice the hesitation.
"Damn it, Lilly, I thought you would have more sense than to attach yourself to someone already wed."
"I said no!" There was none of the warmth from the dancing flames in her eyes now, they were pure ice. "And you leave Henry Wells alone. He's a kind man and he has nothing to do with this."
"Hawkesbury himself then?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Stop behaving like a fool, brother."
"Then tell me who it is!"
She crossed her arms and turned her back to him.
"Why won't you tell me?" When she didn't answer, he said, "How can I help you if you won't tell me?"
She spun back round and pinned him with a murderous glare that reminded him of their older half-brother. "Did I say I wanted your help?"
"Children!" Their mother's shrill voice took Blake back to all the times he'd tested her patience as a youngster. "Enough bickering. Robert, your sister is in a delicate way, you are not to upset her. And Lilly, it is important to rest. No more excitement. Understand?"
That his mother had taken such an interest in the welfare of a bastard child of an unknown man had surprised Blake on his return to London. That her interest had grown with each day, even more so. But that was Lady Warhurst. Always surprising. Never predictable and certainly never dull.
He sighed. It was his great misfortune to be surrounded by headstrong females. Curse them all.
He stormed out of his mother's parlor without looking back and headed to his own apartments on the next floor. Since his father's death almost a year ago, Blake's older half-brother, Leo, had moved into the master's lodgings adjoining their mother's and Blake stayed in Leo's old ones whenever he returned to London. The rooms were spacious and faced south.
He sat in the window and stared in the direction of the Thames. His home was situated several streets from the river but just knowing it was within easy walking distance soothed him. If he listened really hard, and used a little imagination, he could hear the gentle bumping of the wherries against the waterstairs where they were moored for the night.
Water and a vessel on which to float, that's all he wanted. All he needed.
Then why wasn't he on the water now in the Silver Star? She and her crew were ready, waiting like patient mistresses for a lover to return. He could climb aboard tonight and shout the order to sail and it would be done at the first high tide. He would be gone. Free.
But he wouldn't be free, not while Lilly was miserable. If Leo wasn't so far away at his Northumberland estate, Blake would gladly leave it to him to unmask the cur who hurt Lilly. As it stood, Leo wouldn't arrive for another week at least, and only then if the roads were good enough for fast riding, unlikely at this time of year.
As soon as Leo did return, Blake would hand over every scrap of knowledge to his half-brother then leave. Let the self-righteous Baron bloody Warhurst take care of the situation. Leo and Lilly were as block-headed as each other, and just as moody. It would be dangerous living under the same roof as both of them.
At least Blake could be certain Leo wouldn't rest until he'd avenged their sister. He wouldn't allow himself to be distracted by a pair of big gray eyes and a freckle that begged to be kissed.
Blake pressed his forehead to the cool glass and sighed. His warm breath clouded the window and he saw her face reflected back at him.
Min. He'd known from the moment he left her that he would return to her tonight. It was pointless trying to battle against it, trying to deny the way she made him feel.
Best to face this complication head on, sail right through the eye of the storm and hope like the devil he came out the other side still afloat. Only then could he shake off the spell she'd cast over him and move on.
He got up and called for his man. Doyle arrived within seconds. "Supper and fresh water," Blake said. "Scented. I'm going out again."
"Clothing, Master?" Doyle asked.
"If I have to."
Doyle's wrinkles bent into a smile. "I meant what would you like to wear?"
"Something easy to remove."
CHAPTER 10
Min had managed to avoid her father when she entered the house but not Jane. The maid emerged from the kitchen as Min tried to creep past.
"Who was that outside?" she asked, holding a candle up to Min's face.
"Were you spying on me?" Min said.
"Spying is such an ugly word, Mistress."
Min blushed. Oh Lord, Jane had seen Blake kiss her! Or more accurately, Min kiss Blake.
She pushed the candle away—her face was hot enough. "He's a gentleman friend," she said. "He escorted me home from the White Swan."
Jane raised both her eyebrows. "Well? How did it go?"
"I, ah, well, I don't know that I want to answer that," she said, putting as much imperialism into her voice as she could muster.
"I meant the play," Jane said. She wasn't smiling but the flame picked out a gleam in her eyes.
"Oh. The play." Min grinned. She couldn't help it. All of a sudden the realization that she'd seen her play performed on stage by a real company of players hit her. "It was absolutely wonderful. They did a great job. The acting was superb, the costumes perfect and not a single apple core was thrown."
Jane smiled through shimmering tears. "Ooh, how exciting. I can't wait to see it. Is it on again tomorrow?"
Min nodded. "You should go."
Jane pulled at her lip. "I have so much to do here..."
"When was the last time you had an afternoon off?" Before the maid could answer, Min went on, "I'll help you in the morning to do whatever is needed. Between the two of us, we'll have all the day's chores done by dinner time."
Jane took so long to answer, Min thought she'd refuse. But then she suddenly smiled. "You're a dear, sweet girl."
"We'll start at first light. Tonight I have another play to write."
"I'll bring up yer supper. But you best go see yer father first. He's been askin' for you. Here, take in his supper." She went into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray which she handed to Min, but she failed to let her side of the tray go so they performed a kind of tug-of-war over it. "So," she said, "is he the new hat?"
"Is who the new—? Oh." Min's blush returned with a vengeance.
From Jane's sly smile, Min didn't think the maid required any further answer. She'd certainly witnessed the kiss then.
"Well?" Jane prompted.
"Well what?"
"Does he fit?"
Min refused to be cowed by her embarrassment or her own maid's eavesdropping. She pulled hard on the tray and the maid let it go. Min stormed off in the direction of her father's study. Perhaps it was time to remind Jane of her place within the Peabody household.
By the time she opened her father's study door, she'd dismissed the notion and was simply grateful she had the sort of serv
ant who kept secrets.
Sir George looked up. "Ah, there you are. Have you been home long?"
"A while." She balanced the tray in one hand and pulled a small table closer to his desk because there was no room amongst the papers, maps and books covering it.
"And where did you go, my dear?" The too-light tone suggested there was nothing innocent about the question.
She met his bald gaze. "I visited some friends. The Downers." The lie slipped easily off her tongue but the guilt settled immediately like a brick in her stomach.
"Ah, how are the Widow Downer and her daughters?" He seemed to believe her. The brick grew heavier.
She took the candle Jane had placed on the tray and lit it using the fire in the grate. The room wasn't completely dark yet but her father needed more light if he was to continue working. "They're well," she said. "Although Grace's cough has returned. They send their regards." The lie would probably never go detected. Sir George never visited any of their old friends anymore, and although they visited him on occasion, it was always Min who performed the role of hostess while her father remained in his study. He couldn't face them. None of them, even those who'd remained steadfast and not disappeared as soon as the Lucinda May sank without a trace.
He nodded and pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Good, good."
She nudged the tray closer. "Don't let your supper go cold."
He glanced at it. "I suppose I can eat as I work."
She kissed his forehead. "I'll say goodnight now. I have work to do too."
"Ah, yes, good." He smoothed a hand over a map laid out on one side of his desk. "I've been meaning to ask you how my paper is coming along. Have you nearly finished copying it? I've made some corrections, so you'll need to rewrite some of it but I expect it won't take long."
His paper! Oh lord, there was still so much to do! And now with her other play to re-write, there simply wasn't enough time to devote to his work too. She sighed. She would simply have to find the time. There was no other way. "It's coming along nicely." Another lie. Another brick.
"Excellent. When will it be finished? I'm hoping to have it printed for the next Academy lecture."
"You want to present it?"
He blinked owlishly at her. "Yes, of course. It's a good theory. A little complicated but I think most of them will grasp it."
She sat down with a thud on a stool near him. "Are you sure, Father? It's just that, from what I've read, it seems a little..." How to put it so he didn't get upset? "...speculative."
"That's how theories start out, child. As speculation." He stood up and peered down his nose at her. "Are you doubting my work?"
"No-o, it's just that your conclusions seem to be based on a completely different set of calculations than your last theory."
"Have you read the entire paper, Minerva?"
"I...uh..."
"I didn't think so." He stalked to the fireplace and turned his back to the warmth. "Until you finish copying it, we'll not discuss it at all. You need the full picture. Goodnight."
She sighed and stood. At least there was time to change his mind. The Academy of New Sciences met once a month to exchange ideas. Since their last lecture was two weeks ago, there was enough time to write up his paper before the next one. Even if she did manage to change his mind and got him to rethink his more radical conclusions, there would still be time left to rewrite his paper as well as her next play.
She blew out a breath. "Goodnight, Father."
She trudged upstairs to her room and plopped down onto the chair at her desk with a heavy sigh. She should have been the happiest woman in London. She was the first woman in history to see her own play performed on stage by a company of real players. She'd kissed a man desired by women everywhere, and been kissed back. Yet she was miserable. She'd lied to her father again and again. He didn't deserve such an ungrateful, undutiful daughter. He worked so hard, the least she could do was help him now that he needed her.
She found his paper and began to read his scrawl. She could write a page at a time then reward herself by switching to her play. That way both would get done, not quickly, but in good time.
After a paragraph, however, she yawned and put it down. She'd never stay awake long enough to do her own play if she kept reading her father's paper. She put his aside and felt for the key attached to the girdle at her waist. She found it and unlocked the chest near her desk and pulled out a packet bound with blue ribbon. She untied it and brushed a hand over the first page. The Fantastical Life and Loves of Barnaby Fortune. A ridiculous title but it suited the play. She'd keep it. The rest of it needed work. A lot of work.
She began to read, and although she didn't yawn, she knew she was stuck by the time she got to the second page. Nothing was happening. The characters merely plodded along without anyone or anything troubling them. But what could she add to the story to shake up their lives?
Nothing immediately came to her. Ten minutes later she still couldn't think of anything. Gratefully, she welcomed the arrival of Jane carrying a tray of supper. She took the tray from the maid and placed it on the desk beside the play. "I'm starving." She lifted the cover and screwed up her nose. "Not black bread again. And the cheese has mold on it."
"It's all there is, Mistress."
Min sighed. "Is there no left over meat from dinner?"
"Not a shred. I'm afraid it'll be black bread and moldy cheese for the rest of the week unless we find some money under the rushes."
"That reminds me!" Min dug into her skirts and pulled out her purse. She emptied the contents onto the desk.
Jane gasped. "Is all of that for your play?"
"Four pounds." Min tried not to smile at all the glorious money—she didn't want to appear avaricious after all—but she couldn't help it. It was simply a wonderful sight. She handed a sovereign to Jane. "Buy a big, fat haunch of venison at the market tomorrow. Oh and some cheese without mold on it."
The maid put the coin between her teeth and bit down. Satisfied, she closed her fist around it and grinned at Min.
"Keep anything left over for yourself," Min said.
Jane looked like she was about to protest but instead she nodded. "Thank you, dear girl. I'll send it to my sister. Her husband died and she's got three little ones to care for."
Min gasped. "You never told me! Jane, we must send her more." She gave her another coin. When Jane pushed it away, Min slipped it down the maid's bodice.
"That was naughty," Jane mumbled into her chin as she sought the coin. "When I find it, I'll give it back to you. You need it."
"Not as much as your sister."
"My sister will be well, never fear. She'll have herself a new husband as soon as her mournin' is over, if I know her. Until then, her husband's livery company will look after her and the children."
The maid helped Min undress to her linen shift and found her favorite housecoat to go over the top. She sighed into its fur lining, letting its warmth and familiarity envelope her. It had been her mother's best day gown once. The elegant garment had faded from black to a greenish-grey over the years and the lining had worn away in places, but it served Min well enough around the house.
Jane braided Min's hair for the night then left, leaving Min to her supper and her problem play. By the time the last piece of cheese was eaten, she'd progressed only half a page.
She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh and blew on her hands to warm them. It was cold. The fire had shrunk to a few glowing embers but she didn't want to put more wood on. They were trying to save for the winter.
She glanced at the pages of her play then at the fireplace then back at the pages again. It was a hopeless play so why not put it to good use? The paper could keep her warm for, oh, minutes at least.
A tap at the window made her heart jump into her throat. In the darkness, she could just make out the figure of a man standing on her balcony, leaning against her window, his arms crossed. She couldn't quite see his face but she'd know that silhouette anywhere.
Blake.
She opened the window before she changed her mind. "You came."
He climbed through and glanced around her room, taking in the untidy desk, the three large chests filled with books and the two chairs covered with cushions embroidered by her mother's hand. He strode to the fire and placed a log in the grate.
"Make yourself at home," she said then inwardly winced. The poor attempt to bolster her confidence only made her sound more nervous, not like the sophisticated woman she wanted him to think her.
He stayed by the fire, one elbow resting on the corner of the mantelpiece, his cheek propped against his fist. He studied the cover of a book she'd forgotten she'd placed there. He'd not spoken a word since his arrival. Not even a greeting.
"Wine?" she offered. Jane had brought up the remains of an entire bottle, perhaps thinking Min would need it during the long night ahead. They would have to share the single cup though.
"No," he said. "Thank you." It was tacked on like an afterthought.
She poured some wine for herself then nearly drank the entire cup in one gulp. He continued to study the leather book cover. The man could probably stand there all night and not say anything, such was the benefit of having nerves of stone. She, on the other hand, had nerves of water.
"What is it you want?" she asked.
That got his attention. He turned to her, slowly, and the wicked flame in his eyes gave her the answer. Oh lord, she'd teased the devil and now he wanted to come out and play. She gripped the cup tighter.
This was what she wanted.
"But you shook your head earlier," she said, managing to keep her voice steady.
"I changed my mind." He closed the gap between them and took the cup from her hands. He placed it on the desk and then, because she was watching the cup and not him, put a finger under her chin and lifted it.
His eyes smoldered beneath half lowered lids. "The important question is," he said, "have you changed yours?"
"No." She didn't hesitate. Didn't want to. This might be her only chance of ever bedding a man like Blake, a man who made her knees weak and her heart strong.