Born of Persuasion (33 page)

I obeyed his touch, surrendering to his will, allowing him to lay me down. I did nothing to halt his fingers from removing the combs from my hair one by one.

After a lingering kiss, Mr. Macy withdrew slightly and looked down at me stretched out over the couch alongside him. The heat of his hand still tingled on my skin. I stared up, out of breath, scarcely cognizant of how we’d gotten into that scandalous position.

He traced the neckline of my gown, running his fingertips just beneath the ruffled lace. His head bent nearer mine. “Finally, a conversation more worthy of our time. Shall we broaden the scope of our topic?”

I stared up, battling my desire to nod. Pride took over his countenance as he viewed me. I wonder now how I must have looked to him, desire smoldering in my eyes, scarcely able to catch my breath.

Suddenly, without warning, he leapt to his knees and snatched a revolver from the closed box on the side table near us.

“Very sorry, sir,” came Reynolds’s voice from the door. “I assumed you were in the hothouse and was delivering this.”

Mr. Macy uttered a low oath as he replaced the firearm, but his face filled with relief before he rested his forehead on his empty hand. “Knock, regardless.”

Free from its combs, my hair tumbled about my shoulders as I sat, trying to hide my face.

“I debated whether to fetch you.” Reynolds continued as if not seeing me. “It’s from London.”

“London?” Mr. Macy stiffened. “Who delivered it?”

“Snyder, sir.”

Mr. Macy glanced at the door. “Has he left?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Macy eyed the leather pouch tucked beneath Reynolds’s arm. “All right, set it on my desk, then leave us.”

As Reynolds crossed the threshold, Mr. Macy laced his fingers in my hair and leaned over to kiss my neck, but I buried myself in his chest, heat emanating from my face.

“It’s only Reynolds,” Mr. Macy said, but I refused to budge until the door banged closed and the lock scraped. “Perhaps it’s time you overcame your demureness,” he said, viewing me. “A blush or two is alluring, darling, but you do take it beyond the normal limits.” His gaze wandered to the package and then the clock. “Do you think you could sleep here?”

“Sleep?” I sat up, feeling as though I’d been doused with cold water. “What? Now?”

He tucked my hair behind my ear, still viewing the desk. “Yes, the letter is undoubtedly urgent, but I loathe leaving you.”

I frowned, wondering what one did with all the cravings he’d set loose. “I can try.”

He finally returned his attention to me and bestowed a knowing smile before kissing my forehead. All too soon, he rose and fetched a blanket, which I punched into a pillow.

At the desk, he opened the pouch, which contained a large number of parchments. From the moment he started to read, I knew I’d been displaced from his thoughts. Biting his thumb, he sat with his eyes moving across the first page. The longer he read, the more his frown deepened. Eventually, I settled down and stared at the blue-green part of the fire near the logs.

Until now, I’d shunned all thought, all memory, of Edward. Yet as I lay tangled in Mr. Macy’s dressing robe, the feel of his
touch still fresh, my thoughts finally turned back to the path I’d declined.

I shut my eyes and saw Edward’s boyish face grinning as it had right after our first kiss. That day, the sun had filtered through the green canopy of leaves, accenting the honey color of Edward’s curls. Nearby, a rushing brook had gushed through mossy rocks, its happy gurgle blending with our laughing voices.

Heartsick, I hugged myself tighter and opened my eyes to stare at the crackling fire fighting the frigid air. I stifled regret and worked to commit new sensations to memory—the smoky fragrance of the fire, the scent of brandy.

I turned over, listening to the susurration of Mr. Macy’s papers. Though I feigned sleep, memories of Edward, one shadowing another, haunted me late into the night.

I woke to find additional blankets covering me and the fire smoldering. Remnants of a dream involving Mr. Greenham sheltering me beneath an umbrella clung to my consciousness. Mr. Macy still sat at his desk, looking over documents, his attention fully absorbed. I watched as he’d read a paragraph or sentence and then leaf through dozens of other papers, comparing them, shaking his head. Finally, an impish grin tugged his mouth and relief softened his face.

I sat up.

He noted me immediately and closed the portfolio, his good mood seemingly secured. “I must hurry you to your room. It’s after six.”

“Who is Mr. Greenham?” My voice was coated with sleep. I sipped the brandy still sitting out to rid my mouth of its ill taste.

“John?” He set down his pen and stretched, grinning. “Of all the people to wake up wondering about. Next to you, he’s my most trusted friend. Only I can rely on him better. He neither
cries nor explores my chambers.” Mr. Macy rose and knelt at my side, smiling.

I placed my arms around his neck. At that moment, he meant more to me than anyone. He was all I had. I breathed in his musk, knowing the scent would soon mean I was in my husband’s arms.

Mr. Macy kissed my cheek. “Are you ready? Every passing minute increases the danger of being seen.”

I stood, grateful his strong arm steadied me. He removed his dressing robe, then unlocked the door, allowing in cool gusts of morning air. “What made you think of John?”

“I dreamed of him holding an umbrella over me.”

Mr. Macy shook his head, chuckling. “Endeavor to become fast friends with him. You shall often find yourself in his company for protection. He’s been in one of his slumps recently. Just ignore it. He experiences them every so often.”

THE BRUSH CAUGHT a snarl of my hair, wrenching my head back. In the oval mirror, I watched Nancy dip her head in apology. Too benumbed to care, I rubbed my eyes. Everything felt blurred, and sitting motionless only increased the leaden feeling.

My eyes evidenced tears, and on my neck there were two blotches that resembled bruises. I frowned, touching one. There wasn’t pain when I pressed it.

“No one will sees them but mysell.” Nancy flitted me a nervous look. “Scented oil will cover th’ cigar scent till thou hast bathed.” She held a section of my hair, indicating what had exuded the smell.

I groaned and buried my head in my arms, feeling no inclination to explain myself to a common scullery girl. Why should I care? I was engaged, wasn’t I? I smiled at the thought. Any reasonable person would doubt my sensibilities. Who else would betroth herself to a man who admitted to shameful secrets? It was madness, but I was firm in my decision.

If Mama’s death taught me how drastically life could change in one moment, Mr. Macy taught me how one’s perspective could change in one cycle of the clock.

Nancy disappeared into one of the side chambers and reappeared with a dark bottle. She uncorked it, and the fresh scent of hyssop filled the room. Her deft fingers kneaded the oil into my hair, giving it a glossy appearance. With pins held between pressed lips, she carefully coiled my braids, then pinned them at the nape of my neck, hiding the marks. At Reynolds’s smart rap on the door, she twisted an imaginary key over her closed lips.

Upon my entering the breakfast chamber, Mr. Greenham rose and studied my appearance. With an annoyed flick of his hand, he threw his napkin on the chair and approached.

Except for Lady Foxmore’s glance, everyone else remained in private worlds. Rooke scanned the newspaper. Henry, sporting a swollen eye, conversed with the Windhams. The table lacked only Mr. Forrester.

“Where shall I seat you?” Mr. Greenham touched his eyelids with a tired air.

I studied him. If he was Macy’s trusted friend, then he was mine. “Next to you, please.”

Mr. Greenham cast me a fatigued look, but obliged before ensconcing himself in his own seat.

“Greetings.” Macy’s voice carried from near the door. He strolled through the breakfast room as various salutations were returned. He smiled seeing Mr. Greenham with me and squeezed his shoulder. Macy winked at me, pulling out his chair. “I trust everyone is rested.”

I unrolled my napkin, wondering how he managed to appear invigorated when he’d slept less than I had, then with gratitude I saw the benefit in that it kept suspicion from us.

Footmen arrived, filling the room with the scent of eggs, anchovy toast, and headcheese. Too exhausted to eat, I leaned back in my chair, using Mr. Greenham’s form to block me from being seen by the others. Silverware clinked against porcelain over the sounds of tea being sipped. Mr. Macy gave me a concerned look, but before he could inquire, the butler entered with a post for him.

Here I finally found occupation. I studied the stationery with interest. It was expensive, and the gold seal looked like a family crest. I gathered the sender was pompous, for the insignia was at least the size of a shilling, wasting precious wax.

Mr. Macy brushed crumbs from his hand and took up the missive. The paper was thick; the sunlight did not bleed the words through the page as he read.

“John.” Mr. Macy’s tone held a new sobriety as he passed the note to Mr. Greenham.

I craned my neck to peek, but Mr. Macy tapped my slippers with his foot and shook his head. I complied but couldn’t resist gauging Mr. Greenham’s response. Perspiration dotted his forehead as he read the note, and his skin turned sallow.

“I fear John and I have an unexpected matter to clear up. We must leave immediately.” Mr. Macy stood, placing his napkin over his plate.

I stiffened, feeling as though all breath had been knocked from me.

“Henry,” Mr. Macy continued, “will you pledge to remain here while I’m away?”

Henry tilted his head, squinting.

“Chance, of all the nonsense.” Lady Foxmore set down her utensils. “It’s at your insistence we’re even here. Don’t you dare even think of it.”

“Perhaps our party constricts you.” Mrs. Windham shielded her eyes from the sun behind Mr. Macy. “Indeed, I shouldn’t mind being amongst my own rooms again. We could leave.”

“I assure you, madam—” Mr. Macy touched the crown of my head—“it is your party that makes me anticipate my return.”

The touch, though improper, had been so brief and so affectionate no one dared to object, though Henry glowered with his one good eye.

“Am I required?” Rooke asked.

“Yes, here. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Having been sandwiched between them, when they rose and left, I felt exposed and then emptied as their footsteps departed.

Elizabeth says I transformed during that breakfast. My face grew haggard and my eyes filled with the terror worn by young mothers losing their first babe. Once when I asked her why she didn’t say anything, she replied, “I didn’t dare. Not while you wore that numb, bereaved expression.”

It is true, though, is it not? People leave grief well enough alone, lest the dark spirit rise and turn its ruthless gaze in their direction.

But did my expression deserve Elizabeth’s censure? I know not, for I passed no looking glasses for the rest of the day. I do, however, recall my thoughts. Outside the Windhams, I had no one: no grandparents, no aunts or uncles, no friends. My entire existence was enclosed within this one sphere.