by Riley Cole
Hands on her thighs, Meena bent forward as far as her stays would allow, hoping to catch her breath. Not that she could afford the time. Crane might need help finding Alicia.
And he needed to know she wasn’t in danger.
Meena scanned the crowd for his sister’s white straw bonnet or Crane’s unruly thatch of hair. As she cut close to another exhibit, a thick, snake-like body slithered along the glass. Flat black eyes stared.
Meena shuddered, shying away from the tank. “Aren’t you a basket of ugly,” she muttered.
Crane moved into her line of sight. She picked up her skirts and hurried after him. Just as she caught up, he reached a blue uniformed museum guard.
He grabbed the man’s arm. “The chamydosy something? Where is it?”
The man frowned and ran a finger over the edges of his luxurious mutton chops. “Chamydosy… chamy….” He stared at the ceiling, pondering. “Hmmm.”
Still twenty feet away, Meena could see the desperation on Crane’s face. She was sure the guard was unaware of it, but he was close to being throttled.
The guard tapped a finger to his lips and stared up at the arched ceiling for inspiration. “Oh yes. The frilled shark. That must be what you’re talking about. Three tanks down on your left, sir.”
Crane tore off before she could catch him.
Meena sighed and sped up her pace. She tried to ignore the eyebrows that must have risen as her stocking-clad ankles flashed past.
She was only a few steps behind him when he reached the far end of the great hall. Without so much as a pause, he swung to his left and disappeared around a corner.
Meena groaned.
When she rounded the corner, a wall of smells enveloped her. All of them delicious. Freshly popped corn layered over the sugary scents of hot waffle cones and ice cream.
At the far end of the room beneath a panel of windows, Alicia leaned across a high counter, talking with a tall young man who was scooping ice cream into glass dishes.
But there was no sign of Crane.
Meena started across the room, but got only a step before a strong hand grabbed her by the crook of the arm.
“Wait.” Crane pulled her back. “Give them a minute.”
Meena’s mouth dropped open. She expected to have to pry Crane’s hands off of the young man’s throat.
Crane pulled her back out of the café. He poked his nose around the corner of the door and watched his adolescent sister smiling up at the awkward young man. “She looks happy.”
Meena fisted her hands on her hips. “I demand you tell me what you’ve done with Spencer Crane.”
“It’s a good thing he isn’t here, isn’t it?” Crane grinned down at her. “The man can be quite a bore, I’ve heard.”
Meena blinked. “I’ve heard the same. On more than one occasion.”
At the counter, Alicia tilted her head back and giggled. Cheeks flushed, the young man studied the dish he was drying with close attention.
“It wasn’t Ramsay,” Meena said, her attention on the young couple.
“Once I saw where she was heading, I guessed as much.” Crane inclined his head. “Thank you for the effort.”
Meena wrinkled her nose. Praise from Spencer Crane. How odd. Odd in a good way.
She smoothed down the bodice of her deep blue dress and shook out her skirts.
Standing so close to the man made the room feel too small. Perhaps it was the sheer space he took up. Not that Crane was an large man. But he was tall and broad and powerful.
Meena ran a finger under the high neckline of her dress. He seemed to take up more than his fair share of oxygen, and what he didn’t consume, he heated in the most extraordinary manner.
They watched as Alicia attempted to conquer the towering sundae the young man placed before her. After several bites, she pushed the dessert toward him. The boy eyed the empty room and grabbed a spoon. They were making quick work of the treat.
The blissful look on the boy’s face made Meena smile, but the happiness in Alicia’s eyes filled her heart.
Crane was grinning as well. Watching him enjoy his sister’s happiness left Meena with a delightful, giddy feeling. “I’d say this Crane fellow has had reason to be a bore on occasion,” she offered.
“You think so?”
Meena watched Alicia and her young man finish the ice-cream. “I do.”
Spencer sighed. He threaded his arm through hers and pulled her close against him. “I don’t want to be that man. It seems to come naturally.”
Meena kept her gaze on the two young people and their vanishing treat. “You do have a fierce talent for it.”
Crane laughed and released her arm. “What I don’t have a talent for is raising a young girl—a young woman,” he corrected himself.
“You appear to be handling the situation admirably.”
“So far today, I can agree with you. It’s the six other days of the week that worry me.”
The slight smile teasing the outer edge of his lips made her heart lift.
Somehow, she had no idea what to do with her hands. She settled for winding the handles of her purse around her fingers. “Well then.” She cleared her throat. “One of us should find your aunt. I’m sure she’s worried by now.”
Spencer’s smile lingered. “And Alicia’s had enough time with her young man. I’ll get her.”
Suddenly shy, Meena turned away. “I’ll find your aunt. We’ll meet you near the entrance.”
She traced her steps back toward the flaming squids. Even in the artificial dark of the great hall, her steps felt light, as if buoyed by sunshine.
She was halfway past the nasty eel exhibit before she even noticed the sluggish gray creatures. “Good day,” she told them firmly, and stuck out her tongue.
9
He had to force himself to do it, but the next morning Spencer sequestered himself in his small office at the back of the house and closed the door behind him.
If he didn’t get to his accounts before the day got further along, he never would. Between his aunt, his sister, and the surprising distraction Meena presented, it would be far too easy to leave his boring ledgers to collect dust.
He worked until the sun rose above the trees at the edge of the lot, then he tossed down his pen and rubbed his palms over his tired eyes. Chasing numbers across the page made life comfortable and secure, but he had to admit it was a boring existence.
The Jonquil had never been bored. Never bored, never dull, and never safe.
His gaze wandered to the window across from his desk. Sunlight poured in around the overwrought bouquet blocking his view to the street. Spencer slid the heavy vase out of the way. He looked over his shoulder at the second out-sized bouquet standing guard atop his bookcase.
The house seemed to be overrun with floral displays the past few weeks. He frowned. Much as he loved his aunt, he hoped she wasn’t spending all the household money at the flower seller’s stall.
The mixture of lilies, roses and God-knew-what-all was choking off the air in his modest office. He got up to open the window and bring in some crisp sea air.
The sun had done a fine job of burning off the morning fog. With its trim hedges and closely cut lawn, the yard looked green and crisp and tidy. Just staring at it leeched the tension from his neck.
Movement at the edge of the garden caught his eye. Meena was lounging on the seat under the small gazebo reading. No doubt one of her dreadful sensation novels.
Before he could talk himself into being sensible, he grabbed suit coat off the back of his chair, and headed out toward the garden. Meena noticed him as soon as he stepped out into the sunlight. He started across the lawn, all the while soaking in the glory that could be a perfect English summer day.
She swept her skirts aside, making room for him on the bench next to her. “Good morning.” She smiled up at him.
She really was quite lovely. Generally she was so prickly, it was hard to notice. But today, her deep purple walking dress put S
pencer in mind of a sweet, spirited violet. No thorns, no sharply edged leaves, just soft, pleasing velvet.
He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the shaft of desire that cut straight to his loins.
He thought about flowers, about tulips and daisies and roses. Anything but the way the cut of her gown accentuated her slim waist and generous bosom, or the way the dark fabric brought out the red of her kissable lips.
Spencer sat down and pointed at the book open on her lap. “What mayhem is entertaining you this morning?”
Meena shook her head. “No sinister villains today. At least I hope not.” She turned the cover toward him.
Spencer felt his eyebrows rise. “My Brazelton’s review.”
“I borrowed it from your study last night. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I rarely miss a volume.”
Meena appeared to be studying the trellises that ran up the side of the house, heavy with pink and white blossoms. “You invest then?”
Spencer nodded. “Transportation mainly.”
She hugged the book to her chest. “I found this month’s analysis of the Cunard Line’s future prospects intriguing. Did you know, the new Servia has electric lighting and larger engines? They expect it might break the speed record.”
The interest in her eyes was obvious. It intrigued him. “I had no idea you were such an enthusiast.”
“It seems Cunard might finally surpass the White Star line after all these years.”
“Why do I suspect you’ve invested in both?”
“Oh yes.” She turned toward him, her eyes alight with interest. “You?”
He grinned. “For years now. I always knew Cunard would pick up their game.”
“Hah.” She laughed. “We agree on that.”
Her grin stoked the fire glowing inside him, making it burn hotter. “At least that’s something.”
Spencer crossed his legs, letting his foot swing from side to side. Bright green with summer grass, and edged by Aunt Emmeline’s prize sweet peas, his small yard exuded peace, contentment.
He flexed his shoulders and tugged at the lapels of his coat. Anxiety nibbled at the edges of his pleasure. Contentment could be destroyed, smashed to dust with the smallest of missteps.
The Jonquil had always taken care to have nothing to lose.
Meena was studying him intently. When she caught his gaze, she looked away, as if struck by a fit of shyness.
The book sat forgotten in her lap. “You’ve made a beautiful home here.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am utterly flummoxed, if you must know the truth.”
“Are you?”
“The man I knew cared nothing for peace and tranquility.”
How true. That man—that boy—cared only for excitement and challenge. “The man you knew was five kinds of a fool.”
He sank back against the bench and spread his arms out along the wrought-iron top and closed his eyes, allowing the delicate warmth of the summer day to infuse his bones. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why he’d been so worried about Meena seeing this vulnerable side of him.
When he opened his eyes, Meena was watching him. “There must be something odd in the air here.”
Spencer leaned in her direction. “Perhaps it’s something about the company.”
“I doubt that.” Meena sniffed. “We’ve rubbed each other the wrong way from the start.”
Spencer watched a brown curl blow across her cheek. Her beauty had ripened over the years. She’d always been a pretty, vivacious girl, but now she was a truly beautiful woman. More beautiful, more fascinating, more sensual than he’d allowed himself to notice.
“Only from the end of the beginning,” he corrected. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. “The beginning of the beginning was smashing.”
“Hah.” Meena gave a surprised laugh. She pulled her hand back into her own lap. “I suppose that’s true.”
To his surprise, Meena leaned in until their shoulders touched. It was as if he’d brushed against a live wire. Small tendrils of electrical energy rushed all the way to his fingertips.
Astonishing.
“The beginning was spectacular,” Meena admitted. “Almost worth the crash.”
Spencer met her gaze. There was a time when he would have gladly drowned in those caramel brown eyes. If only they’d had more trust. Trust in themselves. Trust in each other. What could they have built from that beginning?
Did she ever wonder?
Before he could make an utter fool of himself by asking, Alicia burst out the back door of the house. “Aunt Emmeline says luncheon is on the table.” She rushed down the steps at her normal, breakneck speed, and then pulled up short.
Spencer had the feeling she was calculating everything about them, their posture, the number of inches on the bench between them, everything they might have been saying.
And not saying.
“But if you’re busy,” she rattled on, “It’s only a ploughman’s lunch. Bread, roast beef, cheese. It’ll keep.”
Meena jumped up. “Not at all.” She turned back toward him. “In hindsight,” she said, her voice low, “you did have your moments.”
Spencer sat rooted to the bench, watching the bows that cascaded down the back of her walking gown sway with each step.
Had his moments. Imagine that.
A grin spread across his face. Damned if it wasn’t turning out to be a fine day.
His touch still set her aflame.
Meena rubbed her fingers across the back of her hand. Hours had passed since they’d sat in the garden, but the electricity still sang through her.
She was trying to help Alicia begin her school report, but the warm sun and the comfortable room were making it difficult to concentrate. Their conversation in the garden played over and over in her head. For an instant, she recalled how well they’d suited, but holding onto the feeling was like trying to capture sunlight.
“It seems so unfair, don’t you think?” Alicia asked.
It did at that. Under different circumstances, she and Spencer would have done well together. Spectacularly well.
Alicia tapped her on the arm. “Meena?”
Meena started. She cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon. What’s unfair?"
“Primogeniture.” Alicia plopped back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Just because they’re men. They get everything.” She shook her head in disgust.
Meena banished all thoughts of Crane’s strong hands. Of his well-shaped lips. Of his— Blast it! She sat up straight and applied all her attention to the conversation at hand. “It is most unfair. I agree.”
Alicia gestured toward the thick, gray volume on the desk between them. “And it leaves us with all these stuffy old men to study.” She huffed. “Can you only imagine if Lady Macbeth had been the ruler? That might have been interesting.”
Meena ran a finger under the high collar of her day dress. Even with the open windows catching the afternoon breeze, the room felt uncommonly warm.
A sneeze built at the back of her throat, taking her by surprise. Then another. Then another still. Gasping for air between explosions, she grabbed her handkerchief from the edge of her sleeve, and gave her nose a most unladylike blow.
“It’s all the flowers,” Alicia said. “Aunt Emmeline has gone over the top with them these past few months.”
Meena gave her nose a final blow. “Unfair or not, primogeniture has left us with a whole list of stuffy old men to study. Which we should get back to.” She tapped her finger on the list of British kings Alicia had before her. “Which one seems the least boring?”
Alicia flopped back in her chair, and sighed.”Well, I suppose Richard the Third.” She rolled her eyes. “At least there were the princes. Murder and intrigue and all that.”
“A wise choice.”
She watched as Alicia frowned over the open book. So like her brother. They had the same beautiful mouths, and, she
was learning, both were well-matched when it came to stubbornness.
A quality Meena quite appreciated in a young woman.
Alicia scratched out a few sentences before putting her pencil down and sighing happily. “It will be so much fun.”
Meena blinked at the change of subject. She was almost certain she hadn’t been daydreaming again.
“The carnival tonight. Spencer says I may bring Edward.”
The happiness shining in her coffee-colored eyes was most contagious. Meena grinned back, then the school work spread out across the table refocused her attention. She tapped the list of dusty old kings. “Then I say we make a little progress on Richard the Third. We only have a few hours.”
Alicia pulled the book toward her and thumbed through it. “Well I suppose we should start with his birth.” She flipped through a few more pages. “Why not start with the princes? Start with the mystery. That’ll be more entertaining.”
Meena blinked in surprise. There was sharp intelligence behind that pretty face. “An outstanding idea.”
While Alicia scribbled down her thoughts, Meena studied the family portraits huddled to one side of the credenza. They were all but overshadowed by a luscious bouquet of tiger lilies, zinnias, and several other delicate flowers Meena couldn’t name.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
Alicia pointed her pencil at the smallest portrait. About the size of Meena’s hand, it took pride of place at the front of the collection.
She noted the resemblance immediately. “Your mother?”
Alicia nodded.
“The resemblance is amazing.”
“Really? By all accounts, she was a beauty. She was an actress you know.”
“I have heard that.”
“Did you ever see her on the stage?”
Meena shook her head. “I never had the pleasure.”
“I wish I could have.”
Meena rested her chin on her hand and studied Alicia from across the table. She had her mother’s eyes, her beautiful mouth and, if the portrait was accurate, the same lively spark. “You’re every bit as lovely.”
“Oh no.” Alicia squirmed. “I won’t be a beauty like her.”