The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(93)

He laughed. "So…about the theater."

"Yes?" I asked, finding it hard to catch my breath.

"May I take you instead?"

"Only if the others come with us." I said it before I could change my mind, before my resolve melted beneath his intense gaze.

He sat back slowly. His hands fell away and caught the seat on either side of him. "You don't wish to be alone with me."

"We're alone now."

"Don't trifle with me, India." The flat, dull edge of his voice gave way to a hardness that I hated.

I swallowed and forged on. "We need to discuss the kiss, Matt."

"Apparently so."

"It happened in the heat of the moment, after a trying, emotional day. We were both glad that the other was alive. That's all."

He turned to the window and for a moment, I thought he would ignore me completely. "You have feelings for Barratt," he finally said.

"No! This is nothing to do with him."

"You seemed to like the kiss at the time."

My face flamed, forcing me to look down at my lap. Even so, I felt his gaze on me.

"You responded to it, India. Don't deny it."

My fingers twined and untwined. I scrambled to find something to say to end this conversation before he managed to extract my true feelings and expose my lie. But I could think of nothing and the silence dragged on. I watched his rigid profile as we drove home through the streets . No, not my home. Not for much longer.

Slowly, with each passing minute, his jaw softened. The veins in his neck didn't throb quite so much, and he unclenched his fist.

"I see," he said so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

"See what?"

"Sometimes it's easy to forget that I'm ill," he said to his reflection. "Sometimes I allow myself to plan for the future. And then I remember that the future is not mine to plan for. Not until my watch is fixed."

The ache in his voice squeezed my heart. My eyelids fluttered closed. I couldn't bear to look at him anymore.

"I have no right to say what I said to you just now," he went on. "No right to assume. I have no claim over you because of one kiss. You must do what's best for you, India, and for your future. You're not a gambling woman, and it's unfair of me to expect you to gamble on me having a future at all."

My throat closed and my eyes burned. It was both unbearably painful and thrilling at the same time. He sounded miserable, and yet to think that he cared enough for me to want to share more than a kiss…

Somehow I managed to murmur an agreement and we spent the remainder of the journey to Park Street in uncomfortable silence. I did not regret withholding the real reason for my rejection. Matt, with his American ideals of equality, would dismiss the obstacles set by his aunt—and of England as a whole. He would see them as surmountable, and use his own parents as an example. But his father had not been the heir, and his mother didn't owe someone a debt of gratitude.

Miss Glass wanted her nephew to have the sort of life a man in his position should have, and I wanted him to have the life he deserved. He'd not had a settled home in any single country as a child, and his adulthood had been fraught with danger. England could provide him with a family that didn't feel as though he'd betrayed them, and a home that no one could take away from him. A home where he was the master. A wife with the proper connections would help him become a powerful force in any field he chose.

But with me, he'd never be more than the American upstart whose mother's family were outlaws. I could not help him rise above that like a woman of Hope Glass's or Lady Abbington's stature could.

"As soon as the Willesden house is settled, I'll move there," I told him.

He turned sharply to face me.

"It's for the best," I went on, unable to look at him.



"Good, you're here, India, and she's not," Willie said, bursting in on me in the sitting room.

I'd taken luncheon in there with Miss Glass but she'd gone out afterward to make calls. She'd wanted Matt to go with her but he'd declined. They'd argued about it until Matt refused to discuss it any further. She'd left, her steps a little heavier as she walked up Park Street.

I worried that Matt would seek me out to talk to me. I wasn't ready for another discussion about his future—our future—so soon after the last one. It was draining. He hadn't, however, but I was far from glad. Relieved, yes, but not glad.

"I'm alone, if that's what you mean," I said to Willie.

She poured herself a cup of tea and, finding it cold, screwed up her nose and set the cup down. She threw herself into a chair. Her hair fell out of its loose knot and tumbled around her shoulders in loose waves.

"You look very pretty this afternoon," I said.

"What?"

"Miss Glass would think your hair is a mess, but I think it suits you. It frames your face nicely."

She snorted and wiped her hand across her nose. "Don't be a ninny."

"I know you think you're proving a point by behaving like a man, and an uncouth one at that, but I'm not fooled. Nor is Duke."

"What's he got to do with anything?"

"You ought to give him a chance. Don't be so cruel to him when he's only trying to be nice to you."