A Lily Among Thorns (36 page)

Solomon sighed in relief.

“I’m very sorry you had to be subjected to that,” Elijah said stiffly.

Solomon stared at him. “
You’re
apologizing to
me
?”

Elijah’s lips tightened. “I know how unpleasant you must find such insinuations.”

Solomon colored a little. “I only wish that our being twins could also convince people I was dashing and enigmatic.”

Elijah looked away, and Solomon wondered what he had said wrong now. “I say, Lady Serena—if I ask you, will you tell me your dirt on Varney?”

Serena glanced sideways at Solomon. “I think your brother might be too squeamish to know.”

He sighed. “I know you’re fine and I’m being foolish, but when I think about you all alone finding out things about Varney that are too lurid to be published—”

“But I wasn’t alone,” Serena said innocently.

Solomon gave up. “Well, I do love watching you put the fear of God into someone.”

“I never put the fear of God into anyone. I put the fear of me into them.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, lowering his voice. “And you do
such
a good job.”

Elijah looked away. Solomon felt guilty, suddenly, flirting with Serena when Elijah’s lover could already be captured or dead, for all they knew. “Sacreval will be all right,” he said.

Elijah gave him a glance that could have sliced him in half. “None of us has the right to hope for that.”

“That isn’t stopping me.”

“So I see. Interestingly neat pistol graze you’ve got there. Looks almost like it was made by a knife.”

He couldn’t lie to Elijah. “He was about to splatter his brains all over the wall”—Elijah sucked in his breath—“and he asked me to tell you not to feel guilty when he was dead. What was I supposed to do?”

Elijah’s face contorted unpleasantly. “He was manipulating you, you idiot.”

“He wasn’t manipulating me. He said—”

“I don’t want to hear what he said. I thought you didn’t approve of our—connection.”

Solomon flushed. “It’s not that I don’t approve, exactly—only I hate to see you exposing yourself to the insults of men like Varney.” Serena drew in a sharp breath, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Elijah. “When he said that about the pillory, Li—and that’s not the worst of it. You could be—”

“Hanged,” Elijah finished coldly.

Solomon shuddered.

“So I should arrange my life to please Varney now?” Elijah demanded. “I prefer to leave that sort of toadying to you. You’ve always been the dull, conventional one.”

The blood drained from Solomon’s face. “Elijah—”

“You just don’t approve.”

“How can you say that when I saved your lover’s life?”

Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to
thank
you for making me responsible for the escape of one of Napoleon’s best agents?”

“The war is over, Elijah.”

“You didn’t know that. Sol, you let me think he
shot
you!”

“It was the only way I could think of to distract you.”

“So much for all your wondering whether I really care about you. You damned hypocrite. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hated René in that moment.”

Solomon stared at him.

“You abused my trust to make me betray my office,” Elijah said coldly. “And before you chime in with ‘you let me think you were dead for a year and a half’—I
know
. But I did it for my country—I did it so that
you
, so that our family would be safe from Napoleon. And you did this—why? To save Bonaparte’s lackey because you thought I loved him?”

“Don’t you?”

“You’ve made a mockery of both our sacrifices,” Elijah told him. “What was it Varney said? That ‘we sodomites stick together’? Do you expect me to thank you for proving him right?” He turned on his heel and stalked out.

Solomon ran out after him, but Elijah’s door was already locked and he didn’t answer when Solomon pounded on it.

Serena folded her arms and rested her cheek on the cool page of her account book, giving herself up to anxious thoughts. It was past two in the morning. She couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t concentrate long enough to add a single set of figures.

She would have killed René for the Arms, but she had offered to trade it for Solomon. The crisis was over now: Solomon was safe, the Arms was hers, René would not be executed. But she could not feel relieved.

She would have traded anything to save Solomon—air and sunlight and freedom. She would have traded her life. Next time he told her he wouldn’t touch her unless she begged, she would do it. And every time she thought that might be all right, something happened to remind her of who she was and who he
was. There would always be something. What had he said?
I hate to see you exposing yourself to the insults of men like Varney.
She had exposed herself to so many insults.

Serena thought back to six years ago in her father’s study, begging him on her knees not to fire Harry. She had been so afraid and so guilty. Harry’s four-year-old sister might not have enough to eat without his wages. Her father had looked at her with contempt and reminded her what she owed her position. He had reminded her that she would have to marry soon and that no one wanted soiled goods, not even bought titles like the Braithwaites, so she had better stop whining and forget this ever happened.

Eventually she had got off her knees. Their voices had risen, Serena’s getting more and more hysterical until she was nearly shrieking through her sobs. Her father had backed her against the wall, his pointing finger only an inch or two from her face. She had started to be really afraid when a maid had knocked on the door. Serena had been glad for the interruption, even though the maid had borne a message from Lady Blackthorne that all the shouting was making her ill.

Perhaps it had been foolish to leave. If she had known it would cost Harry his life, she certainly wouldn’t have done it. But even after she had realized that there would be no virtuously poor married life with Harry, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back.

She had never been sorry she’d chosen to become a whore instead. Because no matter how bad it got, she had known it could have been worse. She could have been at home. She could have been married to one of the men who bedded her.

She had never been sorry until now, when she wanted a parson’s son more than anything in the world.

Perhaps at the moment he was truly willing to overlook her past for the sake of his lust—and, she would admit, genuine affection. Perhaps he thought—and there was nothing so naive
Solomon mightn’t think it—that people would forget, in time. But Serena knew better.

He would tire of her. Hell, she was tired of herself half the time. He would wake up and find he wanted a sunny-tempered girl who had never threatened to have anyone killed. He would tire of hearing her name bandied about; he would wish her respectable; he would stop trying to talk her into wearing scarlet.

Serena had not worn a low-necked gown since she bought the Arms. But now, with trembling hands, she ripped the linen chemisette out of her dress before it smothered her. She stared down at the tops of her breasts, at the second birthmark no one had seen in years—no one but Solomon. He’d seen everything, it seemed, and yet he stubbornly refused to see how impossible it all was.

She heard his footsteps in the hall before he knocked. It had a kind of inevitability to it. “Come in, Solomon.”

The door opened slowly. She remembered the first time he had come through that door, only two weeks ago, and how her heart had jumped in her chest at the sight of him. Now it pounded, rhythmically, like a headache.

“Serena, are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said wearily. “What do you want?”
He’ll tire of you if you keep treating him like this, he’ll tire of you, he’ll tire of you, he’ll tire of you—

“What’s wrong?” He very carefully did not look at her torn neckline.

She clutched the arms of her chair so she wouldn’t go to him. She wanted to press her ear against his naked chest and hear that his heart was still beating. “Nothing. I was just tired of all the carousing. I was just—tired.”

His eyes searched her face, but after all, it was a plausible enough lie. He didn’t push her. Instead, he came over and smoothed back her hair. She leaned into his touch like a dog. “It was a crazy night, wasn’t it?” he said. “But thank God the war’s over.”

He sounded so happy about that. Serena supposed she was glad. She wished she were gladder, though. War was a brutish thing, but it had always seemed so far away, something that concerned other people. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so selfish, so wrapped up in herself and her own safety, she would have turned in René years ago and Solomon wouldn’t have almost been shot tonight.

“We’re leaving Wednesday morning to take the earrings back to Shropshire,” he said. “Will you come and meet my family?”

Serena’s jaw dropped. “You do realize that’s the worst idea you’ve ever had, don’t you?”

He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, the picture of stubbornness. “I’ve had much worse.”

“Solomon, you can’t bring your mistress into your mother’s house. You can’t let her sit down to dinner with your sister.”

“You’re not my mistress.”

“So soon they forget.”

Solomon took a step closer and tilted her chin up so that she could not keep her eyes averted without seeming afraid. He knew her too damn well. His fingers were warm on her chin. She met his gaze defiantly. “You’re not my mistress,” he said with finality. “And my mother will like you. So will Susannah.”

He didn’t say anything about his father, she noticed. She wanted to beg him to change his mind, to spare her this final humiliation. But she couldn’t. At this point she doubted she could refuse him anything.

So she would do this last thing for him. She would go to meet his family, and when he saw how they despised her, when he saw how he had tainted his pure, sweet sister and his respectable mother, when he realized at last how impossible it was for her to ever be anything
but
his mistress—then she would not refuse him his freedom.

“You’re going where?” Sophy asked.

Serena felt herself flushing. “Mr. Hathaway asked me to—he invited me to meet his family.”

Sophy’s eyebrows flew upward, but she only said, “I hope you have a lovely time.”

Serena rubbed at her forehead. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Sophy, it’s going to be awful. But it’s only for a few days, and I know you’ll do a fine job of managing things while I’m gone.”

“Thank you.” But Sophy looked a little uncertain.

Serena felt suddenly selfish. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot to ask—I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

Sophy’s dark eyes lit with amusement. “So I’d assumed.”

“And—Mr. Hathaway told me you kept his brother away from the tunnel today. I—thank you.”

Sophy nodded. “This is my home, too. Of course I wanted to do my part.”

She didn’t sound resentful, but guilt smote Serena anyway—guilt, and regret. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve been here from the beginning. I don’t know why we—that is—I wish we were better friends.”

Sophy shrugged. “You don’t have to be sorry. You came back and got me from Mme Deveraux’s when you started the place up. You protected me here. You protect us all. That’s enough.”

“Yes, but—” She did not know how to say the truth, one she had forgotten until now; that she had wanted to be friends at first and hadn’t known how. She had been afraid Sophy wouldn’t like her. “I might have made more of an effort.”

“You were busy. You and monseigneur were thick as thieves. It didn’t bother me.”

“I suppose we were,” Serena said slowly. “It was easy to be friends with René. He never demanded confidences.” She’d shown him what she wanted him to see, too: a girl who was frightened but game, who needed his help but could pull her own weight. He’d probably seen more than that, but he’d kept his mouth shut about it. No one had ever demanded confidences of her until Solomon.

Sophy laughed. “Are you saying I’m nosy?” she teased.

Serena smiled with an effort. “I only meant I was afraid.” Christ, this was difficult, like wading through treacle filled with shoals of stinging jellyfish. But it had been too long coming already. And Sophy was listening. She was being friendly.

The Arms was going to be Serena’s forever now. She had to begin as she meant to go on. “I meant that I’ve never—women don’t like me. I don’t know how to—I. Damn.”

Sophy frowned, her face suddenly suffused with pity.
No
, Serena decided,
I won’t call it pity
. With compassion, then. “I like you fine, Serena.”

Tears pricked at Serena’s eyes. She blinked, embarrassed. “Perhaps in future—”

Sophy’s eyes crinkled warmly. “It’s never too late. At least, not if you come back from Shropshire.”

“Of course I’m coming back,” she said, startled.

Sophy looked unconvinced.

“I’m coming back,” Serena repeated. It was Solomon who likely wouldn’t be coming back. She swallowed. Then a thought struck her, such an obvious one that she was ashamed she’d never thought of it before. “Would you be interested in part ownership?”