Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(70)

“I’m going to fetch her at once.” Squaring the muscled bulk of his shoulders, Marcus started for the door.

“No!” Well intentioned he might be, but her brother’s high-handedness had just reached its limits. “You will not, Marcus.” Although she did not raise her voice, her tone stopped him in his tracks. “If you dare try to follow her, I will shoot your horse out from under you.”

Marcus swiveled around to stare at her incredulously. “Good God, Aline, I don’t have to tell you what she’s risking—”

“I know perfectly well what Livia is risking. And so does she.” Sailing past him, Aline went to the parlor that adjoined the entrance hall, while he followed at her heels.

Marcus closed the door with a perfectly executed swipe of his foot. “Give me one good reason why I should stand by and do nothing!”

“Because Livia will resent you forever if you interfere.”

Their gazes locked for a long time. Gradually the fury seemed to drain from Marcus, and he went to sit heavily in the nearest chair. Aline could not help but feel a flicker of sympathy for him, knowing that for a man like her brother, this enforced helplessness was the worst sort of torture. “Why does it have to be him?” he grumbled. “Why couldn’t she pick some decent young man from a solid English family?”

“Mr. Shaw is not so terrible,” Aline said, unable to repress a smile.

He gave her a dark look. “You refuse to see anything past that blond hair and all that empty charm, and that damned American insolence that women seem to find so alluring.”

“You forgot to mention all that nice American money,” Aline teased.

Marcus lifted his gaze heavenward, clearly wondering what he had done to deserve such infernal aggravation. “He’s going to use her, and then break her heart,” he said flatly. Only someone who knew him well could hear the edge of fearful worry in his voice.

“Oh, Marcus,” Aline said gently, “Livia and I are both stronger than you seem to believe. And everyone must risk heartbreak, at one time or another.” Coming to stand by his chair, she smoothed a hand over his crisp black hair. “Even you.”

He shrugged irritably and ducked away from her hand. “I don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Not even for love?”

“Especially not for that.”

Smiling fondly, Aline shook her head. “Poor Marcus…how I look forward to the day when you fall under some woman’s spell.”

Marcus stood from the chair. “You’ll have to wait a long time for that,” he said, and left the parlor with his usual impatient stride.

The Rutledge Hotel was currently approaching a remarkable metamorphosis, at the conclusion of which it would undoubtedly be the most elegant and modern hotel in Europe. In the past five years, the owner, Harry Rutledge—a gentleman of somewhat mysterious origins—had quietly and ruthlessly acquired every lot on the street between the Capitol Theater and the Embankment, in the heart of the London theater district. It was said that in his ambitions to create the ultimate hotel, Rutledge had visited America to observe the latest in hotel design and service, which was developing much faster there than anywhere else. Currently the Rutledge consisted of a row of private homes, but these structures would soon be razed in preparation for a monumental building the likes of which London had never seen.

Although Lord Westcliff had offered McKenna and Gideon the use of Marsden Terrace, they had opted for the more convenient location of the Rutledge. Not unexpectedly, Harry Rutledge had identified himself as a close friend of Westcliff’s, leading Gideon to observe sourly that the earl certainly had a healthy proliferation of acquaintances.

Taking up residence in an elegantly appointed suite filled with brass-bound mahogany furniture, Gideon soon discovered that the hotel’s reputation for quality was well deserved. After a night of sound sleep and a breakfast of crepes and out-of-season plovers’ eggs, Gideon had decided to amend his opinion of London. He had to admit that a city with so many coffeehouses, gardens, and theaters couldn’t be all bad. Moreover, it was the birthplace of the sandwich and the modern umbrella, surely two of man’s greatest inventions.

A day of meetings and a long supper at a local tavern should have left Gideon exhausted, but he found it difficult to fall asleep that night. There was no mystery as to why he was so restless—his usual talent for self-deception was failing him. He very much feared that he was falling in love with Livia Marsden. He wanted her, adored her, craved her, every waking moment. However, whenever Gideon tried to think of what to do about Livia, he was helpless to arrive at a solution. He was not the marrying kind, and even if he were, he cared for her too much to expose her to the pack of sharks that was his family. Most of all, he was far too closely wed to the bottle to consider taking a bride—and that was something he doubted that he could change, even if he wanted to.

It began to storm outside, thunder growling and clapping while rain fell in intermittent bursts. Gideon opened a window an inch or two to admit the smell of summer rain into the room. Resting fitfully between freshly ironed linen sheets, he tried—and failed—to stop thinking about Livia. Sometime in the middle of the night, however, he was rescued by a rap on his bedroom door and his valet’s quiet murmur.

“Mr. Shaw? Pardon, Mr. Shaw…someone is waiting for you in the entrance hall. I requested that she return at a more suitable hour, but she will not go.”