Which meant that Mr Hunter was at home. Cordelia’s heart began to bump uncomfortably. The creatures which had been resident in her stomach during that first interview with her father returned. Cicadas, she thought distractedly, that’s what she had decided they were. All scales and big eyes and spindly legs and fluttering wings. Revolting things.
‘Cordelia. What the hell!’ Iain was in his shirtsleeves, his waistcoat unfastened, his shirt open at the neck. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said as she moved towards the stairs.
‘You have called on me several times at Milvert’s. Besides, I rather think we are beyond worrying about the proprieties.’ She looked up at him from the bottom step. She liked him better dishevelled. He needed to shave. His hair needed brushing. There was a spot of ink on his cheek. Shadows under his eyes. A golden fuzz of hair on his forearms. The cicadas began to disperse, their leaping and fluttering giving way to a different kind of tension.
‘I would have called on you in the morning if you’d sent me a note,’ Iain said.
‘I did not want to wait until the morning,’ Cordelia replied. ‘I did not want to have to spend the night wondering if you would come.’
His smile was a little twist of his mouth, the faintest lift of his brow. ‘I wouldn’t have, this morning.’
‘Well, I’ve saved you the bother this evening. Can we go up?’
He stood back to allow her to precede him. Her skirts brushed against him as she passed. His rooms were practical, simply but comfortably furnished. A fire burned in a small grate. A lamp sat on a table strewn with papers. Through a half-open door she could see a bed, a chest of drawers. She sat down on a worn leather chair by the hearth and pulled off her bonnet, stripped off her gloves. Iain took the seat opposite her, sitting up straight in the chair, his legs curled under it.
Silence. He stared not at her but into the fire. Waiting. The cicadas were back. He looked forbidding, distant. Not a man to accept second-best, Bella had said. Not a man to play games. Cordelia squared her shoulders, physically and metaphorically, and launched in.
‘We made a deal, you and I. Our betrothal has nothing to do with this other thing between us. You said yourself that regardless of what happened on—on that front, you would still honour our contract.’
She spoke carefully, clearly, without a tremor. Businesslike, was what she was aiming for. Man to man. Man to woman? Correct, but not right. Iain was looking at her and not the fire now, but still he said nothing. ‘The circumstances which necessitated our contract have not changed,’ Cordelia continued. ‘I am most eager to meet my sisters in Arabia. I presume you are similarly eager to build your steamships?’
He nodded.
‘So when you suggested—last night, when you suggested that our contract be terminated— No, that’s not what you said.’ Cordelia tugged at a pin which was sticking into her scalp and pulled it free. At a loss as to what to do with it, she stuck it into the arm of the chair. There was a faint tearing sound. ‘What you suggested was that I might wish to end it,’ she continued. ‘But why would I wish to do that, Iain, when it will not get me to Arabia?’
He looked quite nonplussed by this, Cordelia was pleased to see. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said.
‘I know. You were confusing our—let us call it the business side or our relationship —with the other, personal aspect of it.’
He gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Aye, you’re right, but I wasn’t the only one.’
‘No, you were not. We were both overwrought last night.’
‘Overwrought,’ Iain said heavily. ‘That’s one way of describing it.’
Cordelia frowned down at her hands, tightly laced in her lap. ‘We made a deal. As far as I am concerned, it stands. We are, for the moment, betrothed, and we are going to Arabia.’ She met his gaze unwaveringly. His eyes were very blue. Every time she saw him, it gave her a little shock, the blueness of them. Which was entirely beside the point. ‘So unless you have changed your mind?’
Iain ran his hand through his already ruffled hair. ‘But this isn’t just business, is it? It’s not about whether I’ve changed my mind or not, it’s about your future.’
‘Which, beyond the duration of our contract, is none of your business,’ Cordelia replied tartly. ‘And even while we are betrothed—faux betrothed—I do not recall that there was anything in our agreement about meddling in each other’s lives. I would not dream of interfering in your matrimonial plans.’
‘I don’t have any. I’ve no intentions of getting married.’
‘What, never?’
‘What, no interest, Lady Cordelia?’
She bit back her angry retort with difficulty. ‘Touché,’ she said instead. In the silence which followed, the fire crackled. The conversation seemed to be going around in circles. Because despite her resolution, Cordelia realised, she was dancing around the issue. She gave a frustrated little sigh, which came out sounding like a strangled kitten, not that she’d ever actually heard a kitten being strangled, but...
Cordelia got to her feet and paced the short distance to the window. When she got there, when she turned around, then she would speak up. She got there. She turned around. Iain’s expression was unreadable. She turned back to the window. Why didn’t he say something!
She turned back to face the room and took a deep breath. ‘Two things,’ she said. ‘I came here to get two things cleared up. First of all, I want to go to Arabia. It is what I want more than anything. I want to be on that ship out of Plymouth in three days’ time. So I need to understand once and for all whether you’re prepared to go through with our betrothal—faux betrothal?’
Iain shook his head, but his expression had softened considerably. ‘Of course I’m prepared to go through with it if you are, that was never in doubt—at least if it was, then I’m sorry. I would have called on you tomorrow to say as much. I was— Last night, we were both, as you said, overwrought. But it’s the other matter that still bothers me, Cordelia, for if you are thinking that you and D’Amery have a future together, I don’t think sailing off to Arabia with me is very wise.’
‘My future plans don’t involve Gideon.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Iain, I couldn’t be more sure. Actually, I thought I couldn’t be more sure until last night. Now I’m very, very sure indeed.’
‘Then it’s a deal.’
‘Good.’ Cordelia took a quick turn to the window and back again. ‘Which brings me to the second thing I wanted to clear up.’
‘If it’s about last night, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘It’s not exactly a subject I relish either, but—frankly, Iain, I don’t want Gideon’s ghost following us on to that boat.’
‘You admit it was your fault then.’
She could argue with him, but where would that get her? ‘I’m not trying to apportion blame, I’m trying to— Look, you were right, for what it’s worth. Gideon was there with us, in the room. And I wasn’t thinking about him, but I knew you were, and I— So it— I couldn’t. And so— But that is not what I— Oh, why is this so confusing!’
It had all seemed so clear when she was hurrying here, but now it was all jumbled in her head. She had his agreement on the betrothal. She would sail with him to Plymouth in just a few days. She could forget about this other thing between them, pretend last night never happened, quit now while she was ahead. Then she remembered Bella, complacently telling her that she had chosen too difficult a path. Maybe so, but it was her path.
The cicadas in Cordelia’s stomach had multiplied. Bred? She shuddered at the image she had inadvertently conjured up. She clasped her hands behind her back, very tightly. She wished fervently she had a glass of wine. She imagined taking a steadying sip and felt her resolve return.
* * *
‘Iain.’
&
nbsp; The change in her tone alerted him. She wasn’t going to let this go. He couldn’t help admiring her for that. As he watched her take another turn to the window and back, a total of eight steps, he was almost relieved to have the topic which had kept him awake the entire night forced on him.
‘Iain.’ Cordelia took another deep breath. ‘Last night, I was wrong. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was using you. I was trying to—to reclaim the night, I think, to make it ours, to push Gideon away from—from centre stage. I’m sorry.’
Guilt and admiration made him feel about six inches high. ‘It wasn’t just you. There were two of us there in—in the bedchamber. You were right, I did go on and on. I just couldn’t let it go.’
‘And there, as the Bard would say, is the rub.’ Cordelia managed a faint smile. ‘I won’t lie, Iain, I won’t rewrite my history in order to make things easier between us. That’s what I was trying to do, I think—not lying so much as failing to tell the whole truth. It’s what Bella does now. Do you know, her daughter is not my father’s child?’
‘You seem remarkably sanguine about that fact.’
‘I’m shocked, of course I am, but when she told me the circumstances...’
Cordelia related them. Iain listened with growing astonishment tinged, it had to be admitted, with a sense of satisfaction that Armstrong was getting his just desserts, though the satisfaction waned when he realised that he was applying standards that were more than double when condoning Lady Armstrong for something far worse than he was condemning her stepdaughter.
‘Bella blackmailed my father into acknowledging Isabella as his own, and my father allowed himself to be blackmailed. She threatened to expose him as a cuckold, but he could just as easily have labelled her an adulteress. He chose not to, because—I think because he felt he owed it to her. She had done her duty in giving him the sons he craved. It was due payment, not bribery. That’s how Bella sees it anyway. I’m pretty certain my father does too. He would not play along with it elsewise.’ Cordelia was frowning. ‘I’m not like that, Iain. Unorthodox, Bella called me. I suppose I am, though as you know, I prefer to call it independent. Bella thinks that she is making her own terms with her life, but she’s not, she’s— I don’t know, playing within someone else’s set of rules. Paying lip service. Lying. Whatever you want to call it, I won’t do it. I won’t pretend. I thought you had no right to know about Gideon, I thought it was history, but maybe the Scots have a point.’
‘There’s no need of history when memories are long,’ Iain explained in response to her puzzled look, realising he’d spoken the Gaelic first.
‘You speak like a native.’
‘My mother was from the Highlands. I was born and bred in Glasgow. I only have a few words.’ It was more than he ever told anyone, and he was as taken aback as Cordelia by this revelation. Iain resorted to throwing more unnecessary coals on the fire to hide his confusion. His mother again. He had to be rid of this association. ‘I was jealous,’ he said abruptly, ‘I had no right to be and I’m not proud of the fact. As you keep reminding me, our betrothal is not real, but there it is, I was jealous.’
Now that it was out, he felt better. Iain began to straighten the papers on his table, then realised this was one of Cordelia’s habits. ‘It’s— That— What happened— What didn’t happen in the bedchamber— It’s never happened to me before.’ He could feel himself flushing like a wee lassie. ‘I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, if you must know.’
‘I can see you haven’t.’ She touched his face briefly, her fingertips soft on his bristles. ‘I didn’t sleep either.’
‘You look a hell of a lot better for it than I do.’
‘Perhaps I’m more practised in concealment. Bella thinks I am. She said that I was always an inventive prevaricator. I fear she was right.’
‘Poor wee soul. You really have had quite a day of it.’
Cordelia grimaced. ‘Home truths, the kind I hate the most. I notice you don’t defend me.’
Iain caught her hand. ‘I don’t doubt you had just cause.’ Her fingers curled into his. It was the simplest thing, the most basic of contact, and yet more intimate than anything that had happened last night. The only other hand he’d ever held had been Jeannie’s. Her wee hand was so tiny, the fingers chubby, the nails grimy. Closing his eyes, he could feel it, hot and usually sticky, always trusting. He gazed down at the slenderness of Cordelia’s fingers twined in his. Trust. ‘I had a sister once.’
He felt the shock of his revelation in the way her fingers tightened around his. ‘Jeannie,’ he said, though her name came out sounding strangled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it aloud. It was the reason he’d been unable to name a single one of his ships after her. ‘Jeannie,’ he said again.
‘What happened to her?’
He couldn’t answer, but his face must have spoken for him. ‘Oh, Iain.’ Cordelia lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his taut knuckles. ‘I’m so sorry. Was she very young?’
‘Seven.’ He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Already he had said more than he had to anyone. Already it was too much.
‘It’s why you are so determined I shall see my own sisters?’ Cordelia kissed his hand again, her fingers twined even tighter around his.
‘Aye.’ He had a grip on himself now, and forced his eyes open. Hers were wide, fixed on his, more grey than blue today, shadowed from her sleepless night. She’d not lied about that. She had not lied at all. Yes, she had omitted salient facts, but faced with his reaction, who could blame her? Didn’t he have his own shameful secrets? Cordelia had at least had the courage to reveal hers, while he...
Iain reluctantly disengaged his fingers. ‘It’s because of Jeannie that I feel so strongly you’ve a right to go to Arabia, but she’s not the only reason I’m here, pretending to be your future husband, Cordelia. I tried to kid myself on, told myself that I was being noble, and I tried to pretend that it was about my ships as much as your sisters, but last night proved me wrong. It’s about us. This— What did you call it?’
‘Personal aspect?’
‘Aye, that.’ Iain grinned. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m a Glasgow docker, when all’s said and done.’
‘I think you’re underestimating yourself.’
‘A wee bit, maybe.’ Iain realised he’d been aligning his papers again. Cordelia’s habit. ‘I’ve said some things that I’m ashamed of—not because they were lies, but because I’ve felt them. It is a man’s world, and I’m but a man. Humbling as it is, my reactions last night were about as clichéd and unthinking as it’s possible to be. You’ve not once cast my experience up at me.’
‘Rather because I haven’t let my mind dwell on it than because it doesn’t affect me,’ Cordelia interrupted, looking faintly uncomfortable.
‘I’m glad to hear it, but all that goes to show is that you’re a lot more honest than me.’ He meant it as a compliment, but she looked even more uncomfortable. ‘What have I said?’
‘I— It’s nothing.’
‘It’s because I’m rambling, isn’t it? I’m trying to get to the point, but it’s difficult.’ Iain strode over to the window and back. Six steps. Two less than Cordelia. ‘Look, I’ll stop beating about the bush. I want you. I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you, but I don’t want that—that man to come between us. I need to be sure I’m not just paying lip service.’
‘Pretending to come to terms with it, then casting it up later, you mean?’ she said drily.
He flinched, but did not deny it.
‘At least we know where we stand now.’ She moved past him to pick up her bonnet and gloves, her expression for once quite closed to him.
‘No, you misunderstand me. I’m saying that I’m wrong and you’re right, but I’m also saying I need time to be sure of that. And
for you to be sure of that.’
‘Yes. You know I can’t help feeling that all this talk of something that simply happened that day in Glasgow is putting the whole thing out of proportion. When all is said and done, it is simply an act that people do every day.’
‘Is this your attempt to sound like a man?’
‘It’s my attempt to put things in proportion.’
‘And to remind me, no doubt, that you’re not interested in our faux betrothal becoming real.’
Cordelia eyed him warily. ‘You don’t need reminding. You are not interested in marriage any more than I am. Besides, I seem to recall that we agreed familiarity would breed indifference.’
Iain swore under his breath. ‘If we go on at this rate, we’ll end up hating each other. I think you’d better go.’
Her expression clouded. ‘I see.’
‘You don’t. You’re not the only one who struggles with home truths, and you’ve dealt out a fair few this evening. It was a brave thing to do, to come here and talk to me like you did, even if it wasn’t quite the done thing, and I am very glad you did, but I can’t look at you without thinking—frankly, wanting to prove to you that last night was an aberration. I need a bit of thinking time and I need to be alone, that’s all, and before you ask, for the last time, I’m not going to renege on our contract. As far as the world and your father are concerned, we are betrothed, and in three days’ time, we’ll be aboard that ship sailing from Plymouth.’
‘Bella suspects it is a ruse, our engagement.’
‘You know, there’s a bit of me that would like to consign Bella to the devil.’
Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch Page 14