by Amanda Quick
“Do you really think the dress will be ready on time?” Patricia asked. “We gave the modiste such short notice.”
Imogen grinned. “Aunt Horatia promised Madame Maud a king’s ransom. You may be assured it will arrive on time.”
Patricia did not appear reassured. In fact, she looked more worried than ever. “Are you quite certain that my brother will not be furious when he learns how much money we have spent today?”
“You seem inordinately concerned about Colchester’s attitude toward your expenses. What makes you think that he will be angry?”
“Because he hates me,” Patricia whispered.
Imogen stared at her. “Impossible.”
“It’s true, Miss Waterstone. He holds me in the lowest regard because I am the daughter of our father’s second wife.”
“Surely not.”
“Mama explained it all to me the day she told me that I had an older brother. She said I must never expect anything from Colchester. She told me that he was very dangerous and that he possessed none of the more refined emotions.”
“Rubbish. For heaven’s sake, Patricia, that’s ridiculous.”
“She told me that he was given the name Coldblooded Colchester when he was barely four and twenty.”
“I assure you, Colchester is the victim of malicious gossip.”
Patricia struggled with a hankie, “Two years ago Papa told me that if anything ever happened to him and Mama and if I felt I would not be happy in my uncle’s house, I must call on Colchester. Papa said he had promised to take care of me.”
“And so he shall.”
“Papa said that the only good thing about Matthias was that he had a reputation for keeping his promises.”
“Very true.”
“But I know he does not want me in his home, Miss Waterstone. He will seek any excuse to be rid of me. When he receives the bills for my gowns, he may very well decide that I am too expensive. And then where will I go? I dare not go back to my uncle’s house. I shall surely end in the workhouse or worse. Perhaps I shall be forced to sell myself on the streets.”
“Somehow I don’t think it will come to that,” Imogen muttered.
“Oh, Miss Waterstone, I miss Mama and Papa so much.”
Sympathy surged through Imogen. She had been the same age as Patricia when she had lost her own dearly loved parents. She recalled the loneliness and the sense of loss far too well. There had been little comfort from anyone except Lucy. Horatia had been unable to visit often because the demands of her sickly husband had kept her trapped in Yorkshire. Her uncle, Selwyn, had been consumed by his sepulchral interests. Yes, Imogen thought. She knew precisely what Patricia felt.
Ignoring the disapproving glances of the bookshop patrons, Imogen put her arm around Patricia and gave her a quick, warm hug. “Things will be different now, Patricia. You are no longer alone.”
Chapter 7
The commotion in the hall brought Matthias to the door of the library. He lounged there and watched, bemused, as the intrepid shoppers returned from their whirlwind tour of Pall Mall and Oxford Street.
Boxes and bundles of every description were in the process of being unloaded from the carriage. Ufton stationed himself to one side, a stoic expression on his stony face as Imogen assumed command. She stood on the front step, looking very cheerful in a Zamarian-green sprigged walking dress and a huge bonnet trimmed with shells.
She issued instructions to the footmen with the crisp precision of a military officer. Horatia fluttered about, checking the packages as they were brought into the hall. Patricia hovered, her expression anxious, as usual. She kept shooting uneasy glances in Matthias’s direction.
His sister had been in the house for only a matter of days, and already he had grown weary of her nervous manner and her tendency to weep at the least provocation. She reminded him of a frightened rabbit.
“Yes, yes, bring everything inside.” Imogen motioned briskly with her dolphin-handled parasol. “And then take the whole lot upstairs to Lady Patricia’s bedchamber. My aunt will accompany you and see to the unpacking. She knows about the proper care and storage of fine materials and such.” She glanced at Horatia. “You will handle that end of things, will you not? I wish to have a word with Colchester.”
“Yes, of course.” Horatia smiled with satisfaction. “We must also set out the things that will be needed for Patricia’s first appearance tonight.” She beckoned toward Patricia. “Come along, my dear. We have a great deal to accomplish.”
Horatia started toward the stairs. Patricia gave Matthias one last skittish glance and then scurried after her.
Imogen turned to Colchester with a determined air. “May I speak with you in private for a moment, my lord? There is something I wish to discuss.”
“I am at your service, Miss Waterstone.” Matthias moved politely out of the doorway. “As always.”
“Thank you, sir.” Imogen untied the strings of her oversized bonnet as she strode past him into the library. “This will not take long. A slight misunderstanding I wish to correct.”
“Another one?”
“This one has to do with your sister.” Imogen broke off on a sharp gasp of delighted astonishment. She gazed in rapt fascination at the interior of the library. “Good heavens. This is amazing.”
Matthias watched as she came to an abrupt halt just inside the door. He realized he had been awaiting her reaction. This was, after all, I. A. Stone, the only other person in all of England who could properly appreciate what he had created in this room. Her expression of unabashed wonder was deeply gratifying.
“Do you like it?” he inquired offhandedly as Ufton softly closed the door behind him.
“It is really quite wonderful,” Imogen whispered. She tipped her head back to study the green and gold ceiling hangings. “Extraordinary.”
Slowly she began to walk through the room, pausing here and there to examine the exotic landscape scenes on the walls and the vases sitting on the carved pedestals.
“You have captured the very essence of ancient Zamar. I vow, its spirit lives and breathes in this room.” She stopped in front of the towering statue of Anizamara, Goddess of the Day. “Exquisite.”
“I brought it back with me on my last trip. I discovered her and the statue of Zamaris in a prince’s tomb.”
“It is fantastic, my lord.” She ran her gloved hand lovingly along the back of one of the twin dolphins that supported the sofa. “Absolutely fantastic. How I envy you.”
“I would not go so far as to say that it is a perfect copy of the Zamarian library.” Matthias tried to maintain a semblance of modesty, but it was not easy. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossed his booted ankles, and folded his arms. “But I admit that I am pleased with the way it turned out.”
“Incredible,” Imogen murmured. “Absolutely incredible.”
Matthias had a sudden vision of Imogen lying nude on the dolphin sofa. The vision was excruciatingly clear. He could see her tawny hair tumbled around her shoulders, her gentle curves bathed in firelight, one knee gracefully raised. He felt his lower body harden with a desire that was almost painful.
“You are fortunate to have been able to recreate this wonderful setting for yourself, my lord.” Imogen stooped to study the script on a clay tablet. “A bit of verse. How unusual.”
“I discovered it in a tomb. Most of the Zamarian clay tablets that are floating around London these days are rather dull records of business transactions. Rutledge arranged to send hundreds of them back to England. He thought he would make a tidy fortune selling them. And so he did.”
“Speaking of financial matters, I have a question to put to you.” Imogen glanced at him with perceptive eyes. “Tell me, Colchester, did you establish The Lost Soul in order to pay for your venture to Zamar?”
He raised his brows. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
She nodded with evident satisfaction. “I thought that might be the reason. Well, that explains everything, of course
.”
“I asked my father for the funds,” Matthias said slowly. It was the only thing he had ever asked of his father in his adult life. “He refused. So I opened the hell.”
“Perfectly natural. You had to find a way to come up with the money. Zamar was simply too important.”
“Yes.”
Imogen touched a vase with delicate fingers. “About Mrs. Slott.”
Matthias grimaced. “I caught her lover, Jonathan Exelby, cheating at cards one night in The Lost Soul. I told him he would have to leave. He was outraged. Said I had impugned his honor, which I certainly had. He challenged me to a duel but thought better of it once he grew sober. He decided to seek his fortunes in America instead. He never appeared in London again, but the rumors of his death were legion.”
Imogen gave him a serene smile. “I thought it must have been something along those lines. Well, then, on to other matters. I wish to discuss your sister, sir.”
Matthias frowned. “What about her?”
“For some odd reason, she appears to feel unwelcome in your household. Indeed, she is living in a state of near terror.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why should she be terrified?”
“Perhaps nervous weakness runs in your family, sir. It is not uncommon to observe families in which each generation reflects a certain temperament just as they often reflect a chin or a nose or”—she glanced at the icy streak in his hair—“other physical attributes received from a parent.”
“Nervous weakness?” Matthias decided he was tired of listening to Imogen’s theories concerning his temperament. “Where the devil did you come up with such an idiotic notion?”
“Lady Patricia certainly seems to have inherited your tendency toward anxious forebodings and uncertainties.”
“That is quite enough on the subject of my sister,” he said coldly. “You need not concern yourself with anything other than getting her launched into her second Season.”
Imogen ignored him. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace thoughtfully across the green and gold carpet. “I am of the opinion that you must make more of an effort to encourage her to feel at home. The poor girl believes that she is here on sufferance. As if she did not have a legitimate claim on your assistance.”
Anger flashed without warning deep inside Matthias. It went through him with the force of a storm, overcoming his self-mastery before he realized what had happened. He unfolded his arms and straightened away from the desk. “I do not want your advice on this matter.”
This time his tone of voice had some impact on Imogen. She stopped pacing and turned to stare at him. “But, my lord, you do not appear to comprehend Patricia’s anxious nature. I am merely attempting to explain that she, too, possesses extremely delicate sensibilities, just as you yourself do and that she—”
“I do not give a damn about her nerves,” Matthias said through his teeth. “I have done my duty by my half sister. I have provided her with a roof over her head. From what I saw out there in the hall a short while ago, I shall very shortly be paying some extremely large bills. I am prepared to settle a suitable portion on her when she marries. You cannot ask any more of me.”
“But, sir, you speak only of your financial obligations. I grant you that they are important, but not nearly so crucial as kindness and brotherly affection. That is what your sister needs most at the moment.”
“Then she should not have thrown herself on my mercy.”
“But surely you feel some degree of warmth toward her.”
“I made her acquaintance for the first time a few days ago,” Matthias said. “I barely even know her.”
“Well, she knows entirely too much about you, sir, and it appears that everything she has learned is wrong.” Imogen gave a tiny snort of disgust. “She actually believes that there is some foundation for that outrageous nickname you acquired. Can you imagine? It is up to you to correct her false impression.”
Matthias needed to move. He forced himself to walk slowly, deliberately, to the window. When he reached it, he stood there, staring blindly out into the garden. “What makes you so bloody certain that it is a false impression?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my lord. You are Colchester of Zamar.” She waved a hand to indicate the library and its treasures. “Any man who possesses your elevated taste in artifacts, your keen perception of the history of ancient Zamar, your passion for its wonders … well. Such a man cannot possibly be lacking the warmer emotions and delicate sensibilities.”
He swung around to face her. “I give you fair warning. You do not know me nearly so well as you seem to think you do. A lack of knowledge can be extremely dangerous.”
Imogen looked confused rather than dismayed by his harsh words. Then her eyes softened. “I can see that this is a painful subject for you, sir.”
“Not painful. Boring.”
She smiled wryly. “As you wish. But I urge you to bear in mind that your sister is extremely distraught. From our conversation today, I collect that she is all alone in the world. You are the only person to whom she can turn. I would have you remember two things, my lord.”
“I have a feeling that I shall not escape this damnable conversation until you have spelled those two things out for me in detail. Get on with it.”
“First, I would have you recall that regardless of whatever happened, Patricia is innocent. As you are yourself. Second, bear in mind that just as you are the only close relation she has in the world, she is the only one you have, my lord. The two of you must stick together.”
“Bloody hell. Who told you about the history of my family?”
“I do not know a great deal about it,” Imogen said. “But I assume from what Patricia said this afternoon that there was a rift between you and your father following the death of your mother.”
“You are correct, Imogen. You know nothing at all about the matter. I suggest you do not interfere. I have fulfilled the promise I made to my father, and that is the end of it.”
“You are both very fortunate to have each other, you know,” Imogen said quietly. “In the months following the death of my parents, I would have sold my soul for a brother or a sister.”
“Imogen—”
She turned and walked to the door, where she halted again briefly, her hand on the knob. “I almost forgot. There is one other thing I intended to tell you.”
Matthias watched her with brooding fascination. “Pray, do not contain yourself another second, Miss Waterstone.”
“I encountered Vanneck in a bookshop today. I can safely report that he has taken the bait. He is even now planning to form a consortium. My scheme is afoot.”
She went out the door. Ufton closed it behind her.
Matthias shut his eyes and groaned. His delicate nerves were not going to survive this affair unscathed. He would be fortunate if he did not find himself locked away in Bedlam before the thing was finished.
Matthias walked to the balcony rail and looked down at the crowded ballroom. It was nearly midnight and the soiree was at high tide. The chandeliers cast a brilliant light over the elegantly dressed men and women below. His mouth twisted in mild disgust. He had no use for Society.
It took him only a moment to locate Imogen among the dancers. His eye went to her as if she were the only woman in the room. For a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the vision. The green silk skirts of her gown flirted about her ankles. She wore matching dancing slippers and long green gloves. Ringlets of tawny hair peeked out from beneath a towering evening turban.
She would have been a riveting sight. Matthias thought, if it were not for the fact that she was in the arms of Alastair Drake. The only consolation was that Drake was obviously having difficulty maintaining his balance. Even from where he stood, Matthias could see that Imogen was charting the course across the floor. He grinned briefly and felt his mood lighten.
He pulled his attention away from Imogen and searched for his sister. He was surprised to see Patricia in the center of a c
luster of male admirers. She looked flushed and excited. Her pink and white gown was all that was proper for a well-bred, stylish young lady.
Horatia stood dutifully nearby, smiling with the air of a proud hen presenting her only chick. She was chatting with Selena, Lady Lyndhurst, who was her customary celestial self in a pale blue gown.
Well, that took care of one problem, Matthias thought. Thanks to Imogen and Horatia, his sister was a success. With any luck, his solicitor would be drawing up marriage settlement papers by June.
His sense of satisfaction vanished when he noticed that Hugo Bagshaw was making his way through the crowd toward Patricia. His hand tightened around the balcony rail. He made a note to warn his sister that Bagshaw’s attentions were not to be encouraged.
Matthias glanced again at Imogen, who had just finished the waltz with Drake. He could tell that she was waxing enthusiastic on some subject, most likely lost Zamar. She motioned energetically with her fan as she made a point. She was so involved with her subject that she failed to see a nearby footman who carried a tray full of glasses. Unfortunately, Drake did not notice the impending disaster either until it was too late.
Matthias winced as Imogen swept her fan out in a wide arc and dashed several glasses of champagne to the floor. Then he leaned forward to watch the animated spectacle that ensued. The hapless guests in the immediate vicinity hopped quickly aside.
The footman cast a reproachful look at Imogen and then went to his knees to retrieve the bits of broken glass. Imogen, looking extremely distressed, stooped to assist him. She was forcibly constrained from doing so by Drake, who hastily whisked her away from the scene.
It was all over in a matter of moments. Matthias smiled to himself as he turned and strode toward the staircase.
It took several minutes to reach Imogen, who now stood with Patricia, Horatia, and Selena. When he arrived, the young men gathered in the vicinity quickly edged aside to allow him to make his way to the center of the circle. He could see Hugo watching him from the outer perimeter.