by Lenora Bell
“Yes. I had finally arrived. I was going to make the most of it, taste it fully, drink it down. Wear red silk dresses, drink brandy, and face danger head on. And then tonight when I came home from Vauxhall, Uncle Malcolm told me I had to go back to Sutton Hall immediately. I just couldn’t. There was only one circumstance that I knew would break his hold over my life. Becoming engaged to a gentleman of his choosing. Namely, you.”
She surprised him, disarmed him and the thin ice was dangerous.
He needed his routine back. He wanted to know precisely what everyone would say and do at precisely what time.
Predictability. Routine. She was the opposite of that. It was as if she’d set herself on a direct collision course intended to knock him completely off his axis and into a state of chaos from which he might never return.
He had to regain control over his life. She was a girl who courted danger, lived for adventure.
She was everything he shouldn’t want. And yet he was dying to take her in his arms. Kiss away her sadness.
That was the problem. She made him feel.
Feelings were dangerous. Emotions were quicksand.
Unreliable, shifting ground that sucked a man down into madness.
“A gentleman of his choosing,” Drew repeated. “He thinks I’m some paragon of gentlemanly virtues, when I can’t stop kissing you every chance I get. That has to end, Mina. Especially now that you’re coming to live under my roof. Your uncle would never forgive me if any harm came to you under my watch. You’re under my protection now and I take that very seriously, no matter how brief my tour of duty.”
“I’m not your duty. I’m temporarily under your protection, but don’t worry, I can take care of myself.” She patted her reticule. “Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll make certain that this episode doesn’t impede your ability to find the perfect, sensible, retiring duchess to provide you with an immediate heir and a spare.”
She averted her eyes, staring at her feet. “I’m utterly replaceable, remember?” There was a dull tone to her voice that wrung regret from his heart.
“You’re not, Mina.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “I didn’t know you when I said those words.”
Damn, she was beautiful. Eyes that belonged to the nighttime. Hair that glowed like lamplight. That lush lower lip the shape and color of a fallen rose petal. He wanted to envelop her in his arms. Crush her lips to his and kiss away her doubt.
The curve of her lips. The taste of her on his lips, like the Burgundy wine. Ripe berries and cinnamon. Sweet and hot.
Warm leather of a saddle after a hard ride.
He wanted to tell her that she was everything he desired, and that he would die to protect her.
“But conventional and replaceable is what you want,” she whispered.
Not anymore, his heart insisted loudly. But he had to repeat the lie to himself until he believed it again. He couldn’t give her the love she craved.
If he allowed her inside his heart, all of his painstakingly erected walls would come crashing down, leaving him vulnerable and lost in the darkness.
“Why, Miss Penny,” said Beatrice when they arrived. “I thought Drew was returning your shawl, not returning with you.”
“Miss Penny’s great-aunt is taken poorly,” Drew said. “So you, dear sister, decided to invite her to stay with you and Mother for the remainder of the Season.”
“Oh?” His sister’s eyebrows winged. “Oh. To be sure. I’ll inform Mama first thing tomorrow morning. Mina, you can have the guest chamber next to mine.”
“Thank you,” Mina said, smiling at Beatrice.
Beatrice grinned at Drew. She thought he was in love with Mina. Which he wasn’t.
It was complicated.
“It’s nothing serious with your great-aunt, I hope?” Beatrice asked.
“Only megrims, but she’ll be confined to her chambers with a maid to tend her and the doctor has prescribed absolute quiet and solitude.”
“Mama will be thrilled. Not about your great-aunt. About you staying here.”
Both mother and sister would be thrilled by this turn of events.
Fake engagements were tricky things. They had a way of going awry and ruining reputations. Men usually survived unscathed but Mina might not be so lucky. But did she truly care? It was freedom she sought, after all.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Beatrice warmly, taking Mina by the hand. “We’ll have a wonderful time together. Mama will want us to attend balls and go shopping at the fashionable places—see and be seen—do other silly things like that, but we’ll revolt, won’t we?”
Revolution was Mina’s middle name.
“Absolutely. What would you like to do instead?” Mina asked.
“Show you my favorite bookshops. And introduce you to some of my new friends.”
“What new friends?” Drew asked, immediately suspicious. A new friend could be suspect.
“You wouldn’t know them. I joined the Mayfair Ladies Knitting League. It’s a charitable committee. We knit garments and blankets for foundling children.”
“Sounds like a worthy charity. I’d like to make a donation,” said Drew.
“That would be most welcome, brother. I can’t wait to bring you to meet them, Mina.”
Mina looked doubtful. “I do have to say that I’m not the best knitter in the world. I never learned any domestic arts, actually. Can’t embroider to save my life.”
“Yes, but you’re very good at picking locks and aiming pistols,” Drew said.
“Are you?” Beatrice asked Mina. “You don’t have to knit. We have very stimulating conversations.”
Drew crossed his arms. “Come to think of it, I’ve never known you to be an enthusiast for domestic arts, sister.”
“Go off to bed now, brother dear, and leave the ladies to plot their own kind of social season.”
Laughter in Mina’s eyes. She liked seeing him dismissed.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you then.”
Walk away. Not nearly far enough away from those sparkling blue-gray eyes. He paused in the doorway. His sister and Mina sat at the table, heads bent together, two clever, powerful young ladies.
He turned his back, resolving to forget about Mina, if only for the space of a few hours of sleep. Dreamless sleep. Mina-less sleep.
“Thorndon?”
He met Mina’s gaze. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” A soft blanket of approval and gratitude in her smile.
“You’re welcome.” Gravelly voice. Cold heart.
Off to his lonely bed.
If he were a stretch of countryside, she would be the new railway track being laid.
He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, that much was clear. Mina was too close. He needed distance.
First close the door of his mother’s house. Next, walk the few steps to Rafe’s front door. There was the shrubbery where she’d crouched and watched him. That was the rosebush that had scratched her cheek.
There was the window she’d climbed through.
Christ. Maybe he should sleep on a bed of thorns tonight. Maybe he needed a painful reminder that he’d chosen a solitary life because the ability to love, to cherish, had been stolen from him.
Though he was obviously still capable of desire.
He’d be hard as a rock in seconds if he allowed himself to relive Vauxhall. The luscious curve of her breasts in his hands.
Give me more.
He’d wanted to give her everything and take everything in return.
When he’d told Sir Malcolm that he’d take care of her, he’d meant it. She was under his protection now.
Everything changed as of this moment, although she didn’t seem to see it that way. For her it was only a little lie, a temporary, secret arrangement.
What he’d said to her uncle, the promises he’d made . . . he didn’t take those lightly. He’d vowed to protect her, and he would.
He was her temporary protector, and her te
mporary adventure—the means by which she could enjoy London outside of her uncle’s control.
His heart chose that moment to remind him that he wanted her, and not just in his bed. He wanted her approval, her companionship.
He couldn’t show her how much he thought about her, or dreamt about her. How she had him thinking about second chances.
She made him want to change, to transform. Crawl out from under his rock and greet the dawn of her smile. But he couldn’t give her this much control. He must impose some order on his life. Attempt to find his routine even here, in London, where the sunshine was filtered through coal smoke and the rooster didn’t crow his sunrise. Where the milk was too thin and there was no true silence.
Keep the solitude of his plant conservatory in his mind. The silence of plants growing, new life sprouting. Sunshine on his face.
The solitude of the sanctuary he’d created was the best method for keeping his balance.
If he lost control, if his hold on his emotions faltered, he’d be at her mercy. He’d plunge back down into the madness and darkness.
The only safe path was to stick with the plan. Find this Lachance woman. Continue the search for Rafe.
And repair the walls around his heart.
Chapter 21
The next morning, Drew found Mina with her head bent over a heap of books and a jumble of papers in his mother’s parlor.
She scratched something out with her pen and stared down at her work, frowning.
“I’m off to search for Miss Lachance and the Princess Eve,” he told her. “I think the Princess Eve is some sort of public house, or gin shop that’s opening soon—I’m not sure where.”
She glanced up from her work, a shaft of sunlight turning her eyes nearly iridescent. “A public house proprietress for a duke’s brother?”
“An improper match—one that merits blackmail. It would be an embarrassment for the family. Although if Rafe is truly in love with the woman, and there are no other impediments, I won’t stand in his way.”
“Olivia Lachance could be working both sides,” she suggested.
“If they’re keeping their engagement secret, why would she want her scheme exposed?”
“Then someone else?” asked Mina. “A jealous lover. Or a servant. Someone who knows their plans and thinks to capitalize on your wealth. I wish I could go with you to search for answers, but I promised to accompany Beatrice to her knitting-society meeting this morning.”
“If the Princess Eve is a gin house, it’s no place for young ladies,” he said.
“You know I don’t care about that. I don’t want to only see the approved places. I want to make up my own mind about what should or shouldn’t be a place for me.”
“Trust me, gin shops are bleak and filled with misery. Usually a filthy old shack that smells of juniper-laced desperation. Gin will rot a person more quickly than any other spirits.”
“If you deprive someone of something it makes it illicit and more thrilling than if you’d offered access, even restricted access. My uncle forbade me to do so many things and now I want to do them all at once, glut myself on the dangers of Town. I want to shed my country ways.”
“So you do have country ways.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little.
“I’ll admit that I’ve led a sheltered life and I haven’t fully broken out of my shell yet. I’m like a sketch done in charcoal right now, and I want to fill in the rich hues.”
“The scarlet gowns. The amber brandies.”
A smile lifted her lips. “I filled in a few colors last night along the dark walks of Vauxhall. I learned quite a bit about . . . fireworks.”
No more fireworks. “I brought you more books to try,” he said abruptly, setting the stack of books he held on the table near her. “These all had markers placed in their pages, or writing in the margins. Are you having any luck with the diary?”
“Not really. We must find the key—the text Lord Rafe used to create the cipher. I can’t remember if there were any books in that room? I was too distracted by other things to notice.”
“There weren’t any books there,” he said hastily. Erotic play-chambers were definitely off-limits from here on out. “I’ll help you when I come back this afternoon. Where is Beatrice?” Now that he’d delivered the money to the extortionist and received no other threats, he wasn’t as concerned for her safety, but caution was still advisable.
“Reading in bed, where else? I promised that I would go with her to this meeting of lady knitters at the Duchess of Ravenwood’s private house. I wish the duchess were going to be there but she’s on an archaeological expedition—I’ve always wanted to meet her.”
“I think you and she would be fast friends.”
“You’ve met her?”
“I attended one of her antiquities exhibitions once, many years ago. Take my manservant, Corbyn, with you when you go out. And when you meet Beatrice’s new friends, see if any of them strike you as the sinister type.”
“The lady knitters?”
“One never knows the nefarious machinations of a knitter’s mind.”
She smiled. “Perhaps after the lady’s society meeting I could join you. Or we could sneak out of the house at night together? I could finally have an occasion to wear my red silk dress.” At his silent—and truth-be-told terrified—look, she shrugged. “I didn’t think so. Well, promise me that you’ll observe Miss Lachance carefully.”
“I will.”
“Do you want to borrow my pistol?”
“I have my own. A matched pair of engraved and gilded flintlock dueling pistols by Manton,” he said.
“Manton’s craftsmanship is superlative. I’ve always wanted to visit his workshop.”
“Why do you know so much about weaponry?”
“Oh, it’s just a hobby of mine. We’ll reconvene later today then.”
He had his marching orders: Find Rafe’s fiancée, help Mina crack the coded diary, locate Rafe, and ensure Beatrice was safe.
As he left he added another item to the list: do not, on any account, abandon all control and fall madly in love with Miss Wilhelmina Penny.
“This is the Duchess of Ravenwood’s former home, which she’s currently letting for a song to her good friend Miss Viola Beaton,” explained Beatrice as she and Mina exited the carriage.
Drew’s manservant, Corbyn, an unsmiling, towering older man with gray-streaked black hair and wary brown eyes, watched them until they entered the building.
Mina and Beatrice were ushered into a cozy sitting room by a fresh-faced young maid.
“The duchess is still in Egypt, isn’t she?” asked Mina.
“She won’t be back for at least six months,” Beatrice confirmed.
There were knitting baskets, one beside each of the gathered ladies, piled high with colorful balls of yarn and gleaming knitting needles, and several half-finished blankets, hats, and sweaters were draped over chair backs.
Something was odd about all of this.
Mina knew a lot about the Duchess of Ravenwood, enough to know that she wasn’t known for knitting. She was an infamous archaeologist known for dressing in male clothing and for convincing the Duke of Ravenwood to abandon his rakish ways and settle into matrimony.
She also knew the inside story—that the duchess had also convinced him to give up his career as Uncle Malcolm’s best and most brutal secret agent. Apparently, these days Ravenwood accompanied his wife on her archaeological expeditions.
Mina had always wanted to meet the unconventional and powerful Duchess of Ravenwood, but she’d have to wait for another chance.
“Fern, we have a new initiate today,” Beatrice told the maid.
“Very good, my lady. I’ll fetch the committee registry.” Fern bobbed a curtsy and left.
“Beatrice,” cried a petite woman with bright green eyes. She jumped up from her chair, sending balls of yarn tumbling onto the carpet, and ran to embrace Lady Beatrice.
“Viola.” Beatrice bore the
embrace stoically, and Mina could tell she didn’t like to be hugged.
“And who’s this?” Viola turned to Mina. “A new recruit?”
“Miss Wilhelmina Penny, may I present Miss Viola Beaton.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Penny,” Miss Beaton grabbed her hand. “We’ll have some tea and a long chat.” She pulled Mina toward an armchair.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to knit. I’m dreadfully sorry,” Mina said.
Several of the ladies chuckled.
“That’s quite all right,” replied Miss Beaton. “None of us knows how to knit. Well, that’s not quite true. Miss Finchley knit all of these coverlets. Which truly are used for cover.” She giggled.
There was some joke here that Mina wasn’t getting. “Ah. How nice.” She nodded at Miss Finchley, a brunette who lived up to her name by darting an amused glance at them and hopping to her feet to pour Mina a cup of tea.
She handed Mina the teacup. All of the ladies leaned in to watch her.
“Very fine weather we’re having,” said Mina.
“Drink your tea,” whispered Beatrice.
The ladies were acting very strange. If she didn’t know better, she might think they were slightly . . . inebriated. Their eyes were bright, their laughter ready, and there was a general air of merriment in the room.
Mina took a sip of tea and nearly choked as the liquid burned her throat. And not because it was hot. “She sniffed the contents of her cup. “This tea is laced with brandy.” She knew the stuff now. She’d rather developed a taste for it.
“And this isn’t a knitting league,” said Beatrice.
“It’s not?” Mina glanced at all of the balls of yarn.
“First, let me make the introductions,” said Beatrice. “We’re a small group today, as several members couldn’t join us. You’ve met Viola Beaton, and Ardella Finchley, and this is Miss Isobel Mayberry.”
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Miss Mayberry, her brown eyes twinkling.
“So what are you, if not a group of knitters?” Mina asked.
“Each of us has talents and ambitions beyond those ordinary for females,” said Miss Mayberry.