A Lily Among Thorns (11 page)

It took a moment for her sluggish brain to catch his meaning, and then the slow sideways feeling was gone. Everything was very clear and easy. “I’m nothing if not reasonable, Father.” She stood, putting her palms on her desk and leaning forward. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to lunge across it and get her hands round his throat.

Instead, she let her smile spread. “That’s why I’m not going to have you killed outright. But I recommend you hire
bodyguards
for Solomon, because if he so much as nicks himself shaving, you’ll find yourself in a gutter with your throat cut. You should know I have the means to do it. Don’t think any foolish sentimentality will prevent me.” She nodded toward the door. “Now get out and be grateful for my forbearance.”

He was shaken, but he tried to bluster through. “What, you’d kill your own father? Surely—”

“If you’d ever bothered to inquire, you’d know I never make empty threats. I don’t give a tinker’s damn that you’re my father. I only still call you that because I know how much the connection mortifies you.”

“Does he really mean this much to you, then, this tradesman?”

She couldn’t remember ever being this angry, which was saying a great deal. She laughed softly. “Oh no. I’m not doing this for him.” It was a lie. But her father didn’t seem to know it. She thanked God for that, though she didn’t believe in Him. “No, it’s the principle of the thing. It’s time you learned not to meddle in my affairs. I hate you, you know.” She wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not. The bright sharp feeling that rose like bile in her throat at the sound of his voice—was that hatred? “I daresay I’ve been waiting for this excuse for a long time. I should have done it when you were here last week. But it’s never too late. If I end in Bedlam, you’re dead then too. I have friends who’ll make sure of it. Now get out and leave me alone.”

“Is there no end to your depravity, Reenie? I hear that Frenchman who was keeping you is back as well!” He gave her a sly look. “Maybe I ought to have a word with the fellow, tell him he’s been cuckolded.”

Serena blanched a little at the word “cuckolded.”
There is no way he could know about those marriage lines
, she told herself. “I’m sure if he were here, René would be shocked to hear that I’m not as chaste a mistress as he thought, but he went to the British Museum.” An odd choice, given that he’d never shown the slightest interest in antiquities before, but no doubt he found time hanging heavy on his hands while he waited to take possession of the Arms.

“Hmm, too bad,” Lord Blackthorne said, sounding pleased. Serena felt sure he would head over to the museum the moment he was out the door. At any other time, she would have been amused at her father trying to play Iago to René’s Othello. But the idea lost its piquancy now she knew that, like Iago, her father did not balk at murder.

There would be no apology to make, after all. There was that to be grateful for.

Serena didn’t feel grateful. She took a deep breath, picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, and went to find Solomon.

Solomon still didn’t have a plan to make Serena let him stay. He was hoping that after last night, she would just give in and save him the trouble. In the meantime, he was packing very slowly. He put on his shirt very slowly and buttoned his waistcoat very slowly.

If he couldn’t make her give in, he’d be back in Cheapside by dinnertime. The thought depressed his spirits unutterably.

Depression felt disturbingly normal, as if feeling alive and interested in the day, as he had for the past few mornings, was some sort of aberration.
Welcome back, blue-devils
.

Slowly shrugging into his coat, he looked out the window and saw Lord Blackthorne getting into his carriage. The old bastard must be delighted at this turn of events. A moment later Solomon felt guilty for his surge of resentment. If he left, the threat of Bedlam would be lifted. It would be a blessed relief for Serena, even if Sacreval remained to be dealt with.

But damn it, Solomon wanted to help her deal with him. He yanked open the wardrobe and started throwing things onto the bed.

A knock came at the door, and Serena walked in. She stopped short when she saw the pile of clothes, and his open valise. “Oh, good, you’re going,” she said flatly.

His heart sank. “What did your father want?”

She frowned. “How did you know—never mind. Nothing important. Be gone by lunchtime or I’ll have you evicted for trespassing.”

“Honestly, Serena, only you could add insult to injury with
such—” She put up a hand to rub at her temple, and he saw white dents where her nails had bit the palm. He turned sharp eyes on her and saw her face was bloodless. “Good God, Serena, you look—you look
bleached
! What did that bastard say to you? Did he threaten to have you locked up again?”

She looked at her hand and smiled crookedly. “You’re too knowing by half. But—yes.” She took a breath. “He says he’ll let me alone if you just go. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. You may not have seen Bedlam, but I have. One of my protectors was keen on that sort of thing.” She actually shuddered.

A flood of stupid relief washed over him at the regret in her voice. Perhaps she’d meant to ask him to stay after all. That would have to be enough, because thinking of Serena in an asylum made him—actually, he preferred not to think of it. It didn’t matter what he wanted; it mattered that she was safe. “I understand,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I’ll find the earrings another way.” She was already turning to leave, not meeting his eyes, when he said, stumbling over the words now, “I . . . Good-bye, Serena. I—it’s been . . .”

She turned and fixed her gray eyes on him. He straightened his shoulders and tried to look stoic. He must have been failing because she got that annoyed look she always got—Solomon was beginning to realize—when she felt guilty. Now there was something else in it, too: fear. That bastard Blackthorne should be strung up by his thumbs.

Her next words took him by surprise. “Solomon, don’t go down any dark alleys for the next month or so, will you?”

His eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” she said with absolute assurance and just the right undertone of amused impatience.

Two could play at that game. “All right. It looks to be a fine day, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll go for a walk along the river tonight.”

She gazed at him for long moments. “My father says he’ll have you killed if you stay here.”

“What?” It was Solomon’s turn to stare at his hands and, no doubt, look rather bleached. “R—really?”

She nodded.

“Do you think he would?”

She smiled unpleasantly. “I think he
would
, but I somehow suspect that he
won’t
.”

“And I somehow suspect he didn’t change his mind out of Christian charity.”

“Ah, the wisdom of Solomon! No, you are quite right. I told him that if he harmed you I would have his throat cut.”

“And he believed you?”

“I think so. But he may have thought it was an empty threat.”

He frowned. “Wasn’t it?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. One empty threat can damage a reputation more than twenty direct admissions of weakness. Now, will you be leaving? I think it the wiser course.”

He thought it over. He thought about eating mince pie alone at night. He thought about leaving her to deal with Sacreval on her own. “No.” He gave her a half smile. “I think I’ll feel safer here where you can keep an eye on me.”

She relaxed a little, and he felt warm. He’d lost all sense of proportion. Serena’s shoulders moving an eighth of an inch shouldn’t matter more than a direct threat to his life, but at the moment, it did. “Very well,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I’d better go and spread the word that you’re not to be touched, and put some arrangements in place. Watch your back, will you?”

He caught her wrist. “Don’t do it.”

She turned on him with a mocking smile. “And break my word? Have you no thought for my honor?”

“I mean it, Serena. I’m not worth becoming a murderer for.”

She gently removed his hand. “I’m afraid our opinions are destined to differ on this point, as on so many others. I’m damned if he’ll hurt you.”

He sighed. “A year ago I wouldn’t even have been afraid.”

“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.

“A year ago I would have been tempted to go walking by the river anyway.” He wouldn’t have done it, of course, but he would have thought about it. Never again waking up thinking,
I dreamed Elijah was dead
, and then realizing it was true. Never again finding himself standing in the middle of the room crying and not remembering how he got there. And not even having to do it himself—it would have sounded rather appealing. The sharp stab of fear he’d felt a minute ago had surprised him. He had felt, for a moment, almost like a traitor.

“Don’t even think about it,” Serena said in a biting tone of command, and he looked up in surprise to see that her eyes were blazing. “Don’t
ever
think about it. I wish your brother were here, too. He’d tell you not to be a fool. But I’m happy to do it for him. I meant what I said. If you’re hurt I’m damned.”

He rolled his eyes. For her, surely it was just one more tussle for dominance with her father.

She slammed her fist down on his worktable so hard Solomon had to leap forward to save his muriate of tin from an untimely end. He frowned at her, and she glared unrepentantly back.

“Serena, calm down. I’m not going to do anything rash. I was only saying—”

“Then don’t say it,” she said harshly, “because if I have to go collect your body from God knows where, I will be seriously displeased.”

She was fighting for him now. He couldn’t help it. He smiled at her.

She stood there a little longer, looking vaguely at a loss. Then she said, abruptly, “I’m sorry about last night. With the candle.
That was stupid of me.” She spun on her heel and left the room, presumably to put arrangements in place. This time he didn’t try to stop her.

René came in late, feeling very harassed. Supper was over, and the hall was abandoned except for Serena, waiting alone at the desk for any latecomers in need of a room and going over what looked like next week’s grocery orders. “Well,” she inquired maliciously, “did my father find you?”

René glared at her. “Yes, he did. Really,
sirène
. How could you set him on me like that? I was peacefully viewing the antiquities, and then, there I was, cornered by your father! It was not
amusant
, I assure you!” Seeing Lord Blackthorne was never
amusant
. And the way he was dealing with Serena was a fool’s way. Of course, René had not been precisely clever himself.

Serena smiled. “What did he say?”

“He—er—he said that I must look to you closely, and that you are not faithful to me! I thanked him and tried to duck into the next room, but he had hold of my sleeve. My favorite coat,
sirène
! He
touched
it. I will have to have it washed and pressed!” He thrust the sleeve out for her inspection, but Serena was giggling and didn’t look at it. “Perhaps I should send him the bill, what do you think?”

Not many people, he thought, had seen Serena laugh like that. He’d always been proud of that—how after the first few months of their partnership, when she was too stiff and cold and desperate not to appear a frivolous little girl, he could always make her laugh. She had been so young; she was still so young. The lost look on her face when he’d handed her those marriage documents was like a hole in his chest. But now, for a moment at least, he could pretend everything was all right between them.

He drew himself up theatrically. “It is not to laugh,
sirène
! I can scarcely believe my ears! My beloved, sneaking about with a rascally tailor who is not so handsome as I!” Serena laughed
harder. “Where is he, this wretch who has brought shame to the Sacreval name? I will teach him to cuckold me!”

Serena stopped laughing abruptly, and the hole in his chest widened. “No one can cuckold you, René, because
we’re not married
!” She went through the swinging door to the servants’ corridors, shoving it hard. René stood where she had left him, watching the door sweep back and forth.

In a few minutes Sophy came out. Without a word she walked to the desk, taking care not to come within three feet of him. She wobbled a little. It was Sunday night, so Serena had probably pulled her away from cards and whisky with Antoine. She was wearing long sleeves. He wondered whether she still hid aces up her cuffs.

She had been dear to him, too. “Sophy, we are old friends. Do not—”

“You and Serena are old friends too and it didn’t stop you stabbing her in the back first chance you got. So apparently old friendship permits me to tell you to get your ugly Frog mug out of our front hall. Good night to you,
my lord
.”

René bit his lip. “Good night, Sophy,” he said quietly, and went upstairs.

He stopped before his door—that is, he still thought of it as his door, but it was Solomon Hathaway’s door now. He cursed that damned
anglais
with all his heart. This was his fault. René had never wanted to use the marriage lines; when his superiors had pressed him to do it, he had told them no. He hadn’t thought he would need to. His
sirène
would take him back, and everything would go forward as before.