He looked again at the words penned by her hand and closed his eyes. She hadn’t any idea that she was already fully in possession of his single desire.
ABACK. The situation of the sails of a ship when they are pressed against the masts by the force of the wind.
—Falconer’s
Dictionary of the Marine
D
éjà vu.
Tavy sat before her dressing table gowned in white silk speckled with tiny pearls and sequins, hair arranged on the crown of her head threaded with white satin ribbon. The usual impossible orange lock stole from the arrangement to dangle over her brow. She smoothed it back but it popped right back down.
She drew in a steadying breath. Just like seven years ago, nerves twisted her belly. But unlike seven years ago, tonight he would actually come to the party. Through the front door.
Lady Ashford arrived early and took up a position by Tavy’s side in the drawing room, from which she commented on each new arrival with wit enough to nearly distract Tavy from her fidgets. Nearly. The drawing room filled, and Tavy began to imagine herself back in Madras in 1814 once again, in a house full of people, yet she only wished to see one who was not present.
Marcus stepped through the door. Eyes wide, she turned to her hostess.
“You invited Lord Crispin?” she whispered.
“ ’Course I invited him. You are betrothed to him. Can’t very well throw a party for you and neglect to include your fiancée, can I?”
“But everyone will imagine this is an engagement party.”
“Daresay they will.” The dowager’s pinpoint eyes stared fixedly beneath yards of purple tulle wrapped into a turban. “You cannot have it both ways, my dear.”
Tavy could not respond. She hadn’t given Marcus a moment’s thought for this evening, only that Ben would come and she could slake her thirst on the sight of him. And, of course, tell him her news.
“It is not what you think,” she finally managed to utter as Constance appeared in the doorway. Heads turned her way, as always. She took Marcus’s arm and they approached.
“You’ve said that before,” Lady Fitzwarren murmured, “but I’ve yet to see evidence to prove it.”
“Good evening, ladies.” Marcus made an elegant leg.
“How lovely you are this evening, Octavia.” Constance smiled fondly. “And you, Valerie. And what a marvelous house you have, Lady Fitzwarren.” She looked about the chamber, furnished entirely in the Egyptian style. “This is quite nice, all the gold and red. And the austere white foyer with columns like a Greek temple. I hear that each chamber in your house is done up in a different style.”
“Yes, yes. I have been enormously diverted redecorating this year. The second parlor is my favorite. Sumerian ziggurat, don’t you know.”
Constance clapped her gloved hands. “Oh, may I see it?”
“ ’Course, my dear. Valerie, do join us and allow these lovebirds a moment’s private conversation.”
Valerie’s dark gaze flashed between Tavy and Marcus, then to the door.
“You know how I adore your fabulous house, Mellicent. But I see Lord Doreé just arriving and I must have a word with him before others gobble him up. He goes about in society so infrequently, everyone is always especially keen to have his attention when he is present.” With a bright smile she moved toward the door.
Tavy forced herself not to stare in Valerie’s direction. The dowager and Constance walked away and Marcus stepped closer. Tavy halted herself from widening the distance between them.
“I hadn’t the opportunity to speak with you before. I was quite busy at Leadenhall Street today. But you will be glad to know the announcement will appear in the journals in four days. Would you prefer to be married here in town or the country?”
Tavy struggled to breathe. It seemed all too real, and now imminent.
“I haven’t given it a thought, truly, Marcus. I am sorry.”
“Do so now. I am eager for the date.” He smiled, nothing of the impatient lover in his look. But they stood in a chamber full of people. He could not very well express his desires in such a way. Although, according to Lady Fitzwarren, Ben had.
She could not resist. She cast her gaze to the doorway. He stood amongst a small group, Valerie at his side. The others laughed at something the viscountess said, he smiled, then looked across the chamber at Tavy.
Her insides seemed to collapse, heating and compressing as though he touched her. He returned his attention to the others and she dragged hers again to Marcus.
The baron’s mouth was a line.
“Yes, Marcus. I will consider—”
“I told you not to encourage him, Octavia.”
Her nerves stilled, a metallic flavor beneath her tongue. “Encourage?”
“You do not ask me which man?”
“You have only ever once given me such an order, Marcus. I cannot very well mistake it.”
“I will not have my wife entertaining the company of other men.”
Tavy could not reply. Marcus’s accusatory look and her own duplicity turned her stomach. She deserved disapproval. Where had she gone? She’d told Lady Fitzwarren she was through with pretense, but that seemed to be all she knew now, and it rested poorly in her soul.
“Marcus, I cannot speak with you again tonight. I would not say anything either of us would like. But tomorrow I hope you will call.”
“I will. Early.” He grasped one of her hands. Tavy allowed it. No one would remark upon it. The announcement had not yet appeared in the journals, but gossip had assured that most present knew of their betrothal. “But do not leave it like this tonight. I beg your pardon for saying such a foolish thing.” A spark of unease lit his gaze, but it was ill situated there. He was unaccustomed to begging.
She drew away and moved to a group of other guests.
For the next hour she barely knew of what she spoke, barely heard the violin trio Lady Fitzwarren had engaged for the occasion or the applause or her hostess’s invitation for guests to enjoy refreshments in the adjoining chamber. Her preoccupation with avoiding her false fiancée and seeking opportunity to discharge her duty paralyzed her with tension. As the drawing room emptied and Ben came to her side by the pianoforte, she could hardly look at him.
He stood close but not remarkably so, hands clasped behind his back.
“I cannot do this.” Her palms were damp. “I cannot lie like this. It turns me inside out.”
“I am sorry for it.”
“But I started it all, didn’t I? I have no one to blame but myself for going to your house that day and asking for help. Nothing but”—
another lie
—“my foolish curiosity.” She had only wished to see him again. To know him once more.
“Rather, your desire to help him.”
The air went out of her. “The blackmailer’s name is Sheeble. He is demanding that Marcus sign a document that will allow illegal cargo to leave port without detection by authorities.”
The last of the guests left the drawing room. Only a footman remained at the doors to the foyer. Merry conversation emanated from the dining chamber. Tavy’s elbow nudged a glass upon the piano, the pungent aroma of its contents lifting to her. She took up the glass and drank the liquid in a gulp, coughing on the fumes.
“It won’t help,” Ben said softly. “Believe me.”
Her gaze snapped up. His eyes were so dark, so beautiful and intense despite their indolent dip. She could fall into them and never have the will to climb out again.
So she must not accidentally trip.
“It’s best that I be the judge of that.” She set down the glass with a jittering clack. A single black brow upon his handsome face rose. She pursed her lips and his gaze went to them. “Do not look at my mouth.”
“I cannot seem to prevent myself from doing so.”
“It makes me think things I should not.”
“I would like quite a lot to hear what things in particular.”
“I daresay you can imagine.”
“I daresay. Still, hearing them upon your tongue would please me.” From the brightness of his eyes, it seemed as though it would please him a great deal.
“It would put me to the blush. In any case, we should not be having this conversation.”
“Perhaps not here. And your blush is very becoming. Everywhere it appears.”
Tavy’s breaths came fast. “I do not think this is—”
He covered her hand still gripping the glass, peeled her fingers loose, and her skin seemed to melt to his. Her entire body. She ought to have worn gloves tonight. She ought to have worn a whole suit of armor, for heaven’s sake.
“I cannot stop thinking about you.” His rough voice rumbled across her senses.
She breathed fast. “Are you for some reason obliged to?”
The crease appeared in his cheek. But he released her. She nearly grabbed him back again.
She straightened her shoulders. “I intend to tell Marcus tomorrow that our betrothal is at an end. Again.”
He did not flicker a lash. “As you wish.”
“You do not want me to obtain any further information through this method?”
“No.”
Her insides crimped with panic. “Then I suppose we will not see one another again, since you go about in society so irregularly.”
Furrows formed between his brows. The slightest shadow of the day’s whiskers hinted about his jaw. Her body’s memory felt that roughness again upon her neck and the insides of her thighs.
“I would like to call upon you,” he said. “May I?”
“I have heard that request before. I do not quite believe it this second time.”
Emotions crossed her face in rapid play. Surprise and doubt. But also hope. Ben’s chest expanded, anticipation pressing against hot relief.
“Perhaps I do not deserve it,” he said, “but allow me the honor. Please.”
She hesitated a moment then nodded. Her gaze shifted to the dining chamber door. But Ben could not turn away from her. The candlelit angle of her jaw and the slope of her throat held him rapt.
“Octavia,” Constance hissed across the chamber. “You are missed.”
Without another word, Octavia moved around him and away. He leaned back against the piano, steadying himself. Constance took Octavia’s arm and drew her into the dining chamber. Lady Fitzwarren replaced them in the doorway.
“Doreé, I must speak with you at once.” She strode forward purposefully.
He bowed. “I am at your service, my lady.”
“Don’t play the pretty with me. You think you know what I have to say but you haven’t the slightest idea.” She halted before him, a swirl of violet perfume.
“I beg you to offer me enlightenment, ma’am.” He had known Mellicent Fitzwarren since his days at Cambridge. Ashford’s godmother, Lady March, had introduced him to the dowager. For what purpose, he hadn’t been wise enough at the time to understand, but he had quickly come to. Lady Fitzwarren knew everyone in town and was as sharp as a tack. That she and Lady Ashford seemed to be Octavia’s patronesses now was sheer . . .
coincidence.
Ben did not believe in coincidence.
“That girl must marry soon,” the lady stated, “and I do not mean Octavia Pierce. Not at the moment, rather.”
No coincidences. Not in Ben’s life.
“You refer to Lady Constance?”
“Intelligent man. Like your father.” She snapped him on the chest with the tip of her furled fan. “Which is precisely to the point. I hoped to say this to you at Fellsbourne, but hadn’t the opportunity. Those graves are no longer fresh but the mystery surrounding your father and brother’s deaths still is. You must investigate it and put it to rest or that darling girl will never release herself from that tragic bond.”
Ben allowed a moment’s pause.
“I appreciate your concern, my lady. I am a great admirer of forthright speech.”
“That is perfectly obvious to me.” Her eyes glinted.
“I admit I had not previously considered the matter so urgent, nor so mysterious.”
“Well, you will now. I had an interesting conversation with Abel Gosworth while at your country place, and discovered I’m not the only one who’s got the notion that fire was no accident.”
“Madam?”
“When the Tories pushed that bill through Parliament to put the Company in the hands of men who didn’t know a damn thing about the East Indies, your father was spanking mad to overturn it.”
“He believed the men best suited to controlling trade in the East were those who understood and worked hand in hand with the natives.” Natives like Ben’s uncle, who prized the back-and-forth sharing of cultures and married his sister to an Englishman, who did too.
The dowager’s lips pursed. “I can see you don’t believe me.”
“Assassination is a heavy accusation, my lady. And, of course, my brother died as well in that fire. In matters of politics he was quite unlike my father.”
“Jack didn’t care a thing about Parliament, you mean. But others did, and that fire did not light itself. You haven’t time to lose. That poor girl is on the edge of hysteria.” She bustled away. “Now, come have something to eat,” she threw over a shoulder draped with filmy purple fabric. “Your complexion is sallow and you are considerably more handsome when you have some color in you. One must maintain appearances, after all, even when one is pining away.”