The Love List (23 page)

He sniffed appreciatively.  “I’d stay in the stables for a plateful of that.”

“Don’t tell her that or she’ll sit here all afternoon, just to listen to your praise,” her husband objected.  “Go along and prepare yourself, my love,” he shooed her toward the door.  “Now,” he said to Aldmere.  “Only Robert knows you’re in here.  I’ve given him the description of your pursuers.  He’ll watch and tell you if they pass by.”

“We won’t stay long, either way,” Aldmere assured the man.  “Just long enough for them to lose our trail.”

“Stay as long as you need, and don’t worry, you’ll have the place to yourself.  None of the rest of the staff will enter when they know we are gone.  And Robert will ready your mounts whenever you wish to leave.”

“Thank you,” he said to Bunter.  And he meant it.

“It’s a fair bargain we’ve struck,” the innkeeper answered.  He paused on the threshold and grinned back.  “But if you’d like to sweeten the deal, then a promise to come back sooner next time wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Done,” he answered. 

“Now, I’ve yet to search out my own fancy togs,” Bunter said.  “Until next time, then.”

The door closed and Aldmere watched it a moment, fist flexing and mind engaged in rapid calculations of how long they’d been off the road, the time it might take their pursuers to make their way through Kennington, and if they could possibly know where he was headed in any case.

“A lovely couple,” Brynne Wilmott remarked behind him.

He turned.  “Indeed.”

Frowning, she searched his face.  “Don’t fret.  It’s a good idea.  I don’t know who was in that carriage, but they gave no sign of letting up.  And in a confrontation, I would only have been a hindrance to you.”  She gestured toward the table.  “We’ve a good chance now of avoiding them altogether.  And in the meantime, you’ve tempted me into trying Mrs. Bunter’s pie.  Won’t you join me?”

He hesitated, watching as she became absorbed in fussing with the dishes on the tray, setting out plates and serving slices of the still-steaming pie.  Every small movement spoke of easy grace and homey comfort and he felt the ache of tension fade a bit. 

This was Fate, taunting him again.  The low fire, the simple furniture, the robust smells in the air.  And this girl.  This slip of a woman who packed so many wonders into a tiny, curvy frame.  A will of iron, an enormous heart, a strong and flexible spirit that absorbed life’s blows and bounced back, looking for a way to keep others from suffering the same fate.

He drank her in.  Opened himself fully for a single second.  He would have this memory, at least.  A shining example of what might have been, to keep locked away.  He would revisit it, sometime in the cold future.  Sometime when she was safe and he was safely alone once more, he would lose himself in this lost moment, feel the warmth, taste the contentment when he needed to keep the dark at bay.

She beckoned again and it was over.  But it was enough to treasure.

“You’re not a hindrance,” he said.

She took a seat, a soft, abstracted smile her only answer.

“What are you smiling at?”

She cocked a brow at him.  “What are you scowling at?”

At temptation.  At false opportunity.  At Fate—the cold bitch—for mocking him with everything that drew him and forcing him to pull away instead.

He sat.  The table, slightly off-balance, rocked a bit.  “I’ll answer if you will.”

She nodded agreement.  “But you go first.”

“I was thinking of your father,” he lied.

Everything about her changed in an instant.  A furrowed brow, a spasm of the fingers wrapped around her cup and the ease about her vanished.  Good.

“Why would you be thinking of my father?”

He shrugged.  Gestured.  “It’s not a situation fashioned to earn a father’s favor.”

“My father no longer has cause to concern himself with any of my actions.”  She bit the words out as if they left a bitter taste behind.  Lifting her fork, she pointed it at him.  “It’s me you should be frightened of.”

He laughed.  And wondered if she understood the absolute truth of that statement.

“Laugh if you must.  You know you are safe from me.  Half of England thinks me a whore, and should we fail, all of England will think they know it.  Even now you could take me down the hall to the taproom, tup me on the table and earn nothing more than slaps on the back and congratulations on your virility.”  She pierced him with a narrow-eyed glare.  “But Aldmere?”

“Yes?”  He held perfectly still, forbidding both mind and body from focusing on the image her words called forth.

“I would hold you accountable.”

“As well you should,” he said with utter approval.

“I may be alone in the world, but I have a brain and a backbone.  And I’m strong.”  She tossed her head.  “There are independent women all across London.”

He nodded.  “Indeed there are.  Women raising families and running businesses all over the city.”

“And why should I not be one of them?  I am capable of taking care of myself.  And others.” 

She raised her chin, expecting an argument, but he didn’t wish to give her one.  “I have complete faith in your ability to succeed—at whatever you put your mind to.”  He pressed on, despite the flush rising in her cheeks.  “Would you mind if I ask a horribly inappropriate question?”

She bit her lip.  “Go ahead,” she said after a moment.

“It is absolutely none of my business.  You must feel free to decline to answer.”

“Ask,” she said curtly.

“Your country house full of urchins . . . how do you plan to finance it?”

Her chin elevated even higher.  “My father may have disowned me, but he cannot stop me from taking what is legally mine.  When I left, I brought the jewels that came to me through my mother.  And Hestia thinks I may still be able to get the money meant for my dowry.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that count.  But the jewels?  I hope you have had help finding the right buyer?  Sold them for what they are worth and not been taken advantage of?”

“I’ve done well enough,” she said, still prickly.

“Good.”  He sighed.  “Don’t look so surprised.  I’m not changing my opinion.  I still believe that you are willfully following a path beset with dangers and pitfalls.  But if you are going to do it despite my advice, then you should go about it the right way.”

“The
right
way?”

“Your way—and the way that minimizes the consequences of failure for everyone.  Start small and on your own, without becoming beholden to anyone.”  He nodded approval. “You can shape things according to your own vision.”  He snorted.  “And avoid a great many battles, too.”

He’d clearly surprised her.  She regarded him in silence for a moment, then retrieved her fork and cut into her pie.

“Mmm,” she exhaled.  “It is good.”

He watched her for a moment.  “Miss Wilmott?”

“Yes?”  She gestured at his plate.  “Don’t disappoint Mrs. Bunter, please.”

Obediently, he lifted his fork.  He also dug back into his memory to summon an attitude of reassurance.  “You mentioned earlier—being alone.”

She stiffened again.  “Yes, I did.  There is no shame in it.”

“I hope you believe that.”  He leaned forward.  “For truly, there is not.  I know it’s more difficult, likely
far
more difficult for a woman to live alone.  But there is a certain freedom in it, too.”

“Freedom?”  She frowned.  “Freedom from what, exactly?”

“From expectations.  From risk.”

He’d caught her attention.  She eyed him carefully, like it was the first time she’d seen him.  It unnerved him.

“You’ll find your productivity greatly enhanced,” he hurried on.  “Your focus will increase without distractions.  When you’ve left your burdens behind, you’ll be able to concentrate on what needs to be done.”

She’d begun to frown.  “Aldmere,” she said, suspicion tugging at her brow and layering her tone.  “Is this one of your tricks?  I’ve heard of your legendary ability to persuade with words, seen the power of your address, when you choose to take it out and brush it off.  Is that what this is?  Have you done something?  Are you trying to pacify me?”

He stilled, caught between anger and amusement.  “Don’t be absurd.”

“Don’t be patronizing!”  She set down her fork, abandoning all pretense of eating.  “You speak of being alone, working alone, as if from experience.”

He spread his hands.  “Yes.  And this upsets you.  Why?”

“Because you are a duke!”

He nodded.  “And?”

“And you must surely spend nearly every moment of the day surrounded by people—servants and stewards, secretaries, relatives, peers and tenants.  The list must be longer than my arm.”

“Of course it is.  And yet I had thought that you, of everyone, might understand how easy it is to be alone when surrounded by a crowd.”

A remarkable swirl of emotions chased each other across her expression.  “Yes, I do.  Of course.  But . . .”

“You thought that the title and estates and funds must solve every problem?  Many people do.  In point of fact, I never knew what it was to be alone until I inherited the title.”  His shoulder lifted, as if his body could convince her that the casual manner of his words held the truth.  “My father was a second son, a scholar.  We lived very simply—and happily—until his death.”

“What happened?” she whispered—and then she cleared her throat.  “If you don’t mind my asking an inappropriate question.”

“One of his burdens killed him,” he said harshly. 

He paused, taken aback.  Where had that anger come from?  Expressing it was too revealing, and useless besides, the tragedy was so old.  “Forgive me,” he said.  “You don’t know the story?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, it was the most celebrated scandal of its day, but quite some time ago.”  He gave her an insincere grin.  “So you see why I can empathize with your own situation.”

“Will you tell me?” she asked in a whisper.

He shrugged.  “I believe I mentioned that my uncle suffered a fatal addiction to gambling?”  At her nod, he continued.  “You can take that literally.  He was the older brother, but a weaker man.  A degenerate and a wastrel, he ran through the ducal money in record time, then borrowed more.  A lot more, and from the wrong people.  When he couldn’t pay, he decided to run.”

Impossible to tell this story sitting down.  Pushing away from the table, he crossed the small space to examine a framed sampler on the wall. 

“He asked my father for help.  As if he hadn’t already tried to help, for as long as I could remember, talking, trying to convince him to take up his responsibilities.  My parents would have had every right to turn him away.  But they didn’t.  They hid him, and then they put it about that my father was to attend a lecture at the coast and that my mother would accompany them, making it a special treat for her birthday.”

He sighed.  “I was on break from school.  I waved them away with a false smile.  They looked back, out of the carriage window, waving and nodding at Truitt and I.  My uncle, the Duke of Aldmere, stood perched on the back, disguised as a servant.”

“What happened?”

“The men my uncle borrowed from weren’t fooled.  They must have realized by then that there was no money to be paid back, but they couldn’t allow a nobleman to get away with such behavior.  Bad for business, you see.”

He stopped then, gathering the will to finish.  Had he ever told this story out loud?  No.  He’d never thought to, either.  But if the telling would help her understand . . .

“It was a fire, at a rackety inn in Dover.  There were witnesses, suspicions, but nothing to be proved.  All three of them were killed.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

He heard her swallow, but didn’t turn. 

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Nearly fifteen.”

“So young.”  Thank God it wasn’t pity in her voice, but genuine sympathy.  “But Lord Truitt—you still had your brother.  You cannot say that you were left completely alone.”

He snorted.  “So one would think.  However, my trustees decided amongst themselves that it was time to take the Russells in hand.  They were thrilled to get their hands on me while I was so young and malleable.”

“A fifteen year old boy?” she asked, incredulous.

He laughed over his shoulder.  “Even you know better.  They were not so knowledgeable, but they were set on their course.  I was not to be indulged, as my uncle had been.  I would be made to understand the honor I had been given, the duty that I must shoulder.”

“As if you wouldn’t understand that, in any case, once you were over your grief.”

“They were taking no chances.  I was pulled from school, and Truitt, just a small boy, was sent away in my place.  I had so much to learn.  Morning and night I was to be kept busy, studying accounts, husbandry and land management as well as my usual lessons.  I had to be prepared for my larger role beyond the estates, as well, so I was tutored in economics, politics, instructed in my responsibilities not only to my people, but to my country.”  He turned then, knowing his resentment was visible.  “I was not to think of my old goals or of my own wants.  I was never to indulge in my personal passions.  I was to be set apart.  Not above, but distanced by convention and circumstance.”

She looked aghast.  “What did you do?”

He grinned.  “Rebelled.  Fought tooth and nail, occasionally.  Ran away, once, at the beginning.  I made it all the way to Tru’s school.”  He fell silent, remembering that scene.

“And fell in with your evil cousin, not so long after,” she said.

He’d forgotten he’d shared that story with her.  A dangerous precedent, it would seem.

“He offered you a bit of freedom, in order to tempt you, you said.  He must have seen you chafing at the bit.”  She sat back in her chair, regarding him steadily.  “And you escaped with the help of a friend—the one with the bottle green coat.  So you must not have been completely alone.”

Pain stabbed him, unexpected and thus doubly sharp.  Gritting his teeth, he turned away.

Silence fell, broken only by the distant sound of clanking dishes from the kitchen.

With a sigh, she let it drop.  “But they won you over, your trustees, sometime, somewhere.”  She waved a hand.  “Look at you.   You are a model of what you once rebelled against.”