Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(38)

“You don’t understand—” he began.

“You’re patronizing me again,” she snapped.

He looked at her, his pale green eyes suddenly hard. “I have my family to consider, my Lady Perfect. Caro has made a fine match, but Megs is still unwed. If she is to find a suitable match, she needs to dress the part—as I’m sure you understand. I cannot give up the still until she is safely wed—until I am financially stable. We need the money from the still to finance her season.”

She closed her eyes and spoke from her heart. “We have had our differences, my Lord Shameless. There have been times in the last several days when I have thought I disliked you quite intensely.” He snorted, but she continued. She needed to make her point before she lost her courage. “But I think we have also learned something about each other. I would like to think that we are friends of a sort.”

The silence was so complete that she thought for a moment that he was holding his breath. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his elbows propped on his knees, his green eyes still but with an expression in their depths that made her catch her breath. She clasped her hands, bolstering her bravery.

“Yes, friends,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to him. “And as a friend, I beg of you: please quit this way of making money.”

“Megs—”

She shook her head violently, cutting him off. “Yes, Lady Margaret needs gowns to catch a husband, but there must be other ways of making money. I’ve seen how gin destroys lives in the poorer parts of London. You may not care right now, you may only see your family and the money you need, but someday you’ll raise your head and look around. When that day comes, you’ll realize the misery you and your gin have caused. And when that happens, gin will destroy you, too.”

“Friends.” He sat back in his seat, ignoring her warning. “Is that what I really am to you? A friend?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected the question. “Yes, why not?”

He shrugged, eyeing her moodily. “Why not indeed. Friend is such a very… benign… word. Do you kiss all your friends the way you kissed me last night?”

Her eyes had narrowed—she had been waiting for the shot. But still she couldn’t quite control a small shudder. His mouth had been hot. “I’ve told you I do not wish to discuss last night. It’s in the past.”

“And forgotten?”

“Yes.”

“Funny.” He stroked his chin. “I find it rather hard to forget it myself. Your lips were so very soft, so very sweet when they parted beneath mine.”

Her body heated at his words. She couldn’t help it, and she felt that same spark of desire. He could light it within her so damned easily.

“Stop it,” she said low. “What do you think you’re doing?”

It was his turn to look away. “I don’t honestly know.”

“I’m marrying Thomas,” she said. “In only five weeks now. If we are to have any sort of brother-sister relationship, you must forget it.”

His mouth twisted as if her words were obscene. “Can you?”

She lifted her chin, saying nothing.

“I thought not,” he murmured. “That’s ducky. Just ducky.”

He reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a book. He tossed it wordlessly onto her lap and went back to staring moodily out the window.

Hero looked down. It was a volume of Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War. She traced the embossing on the leather cover, her eyes suddenly welling with tears.

*      *      *

“OH, MRS. HOLLINGBROOK, you have a letter, ma’am!” Nell Jones came into the home’s kitchen, waving a bit of paper in the air.

Silence looked up from the sad little lump of biscuit dough she was attempting to roll out. Really, it hadn’t been one of her better culinary efforts.

Nell caught sight of the dough and wrinkled her nose. “Here, let me finish that while you have a seat and read your letter.”

Silence gladly relinquished the rolling pin. She brushed off her hands and washed them in a basin before drawing up a chair to the kitchen table. Mary Darling had been playing with a pot and a big spoon on the floor, but when she saw Silence sit down, she crawled over and demanded to be held.

Silence picked her up and kissed the top of her head. In the last seven months, Mary Darling’s hair had grown in thick and inky black, a mass of corkscrew curls.

She set the baby on her lap and showed her the letter. “Now who do you suppose it’s from?” she asked as she carefully lifted the seal.

“Is it Captain Hollingbrook?” Nell asked. Overhead came a thump and then what sounded like a stampede of oxen across the floor. The children were supposed to be doing their afternoon reading under the supervision of the maids, but somehow the daily event often turned into a melee.

Silence sighed and turned her gaze to the letter. “Yes, it’s from William.”

“You’ll be glad of that, I’m sure, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes,” Silence murmured absently.

She deftly kept the paper from Mary Darling’s interested fingers as she read. William wrote about the Finch and its cargo, a storm they’d weathered, and a fight among the ensigns.