Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(77)

He let her legs touch the ground, but when she would’ve fled from him, he simply picked her up in his arms and crossed to a settee, settling her in his lap like a little child. He couldn’t count the number of times he had comforted weeping children in this position.

“Winter—” she began.

“Shhh.” He put his fingers to her lips. “Hear me out. I cannot deny that I would’ve liked to have made babies with you. A little girl with your hair and eyes would’ve been the delight of my life. But it is you that I want primarily, not mythical children. I can survive the loss of something I’ve never had. I cannot survive losing you.”

She was already shaking her head, disobeying his wish to be heard. “You’re a young man, Winter Makepeace. You may think now that you don’t care about your own children, but that will change. Why do you think I’ve never remarried? Someday you’ll look at me and see a barren hag.”

Something in her voice made him look closer at her. Her eyes were haunted, her face ashamed. “Did your husband look at you thus?”

“No. No, of course not.” But she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear some awful pain. “Edmund was always the gentleman.”

“And yet he left you with his bastard to raise. Salt to rub in the wound.”

Her eyes flew open, desperate and wild. She shook her head even as she said, “I’ll not be a millstone about your neck keeping you from having a real family. I couldn’t bear for any man to look at me like that again, but especially not… not you.”

That small stutter at the end of her speech made his heart swell. He knew then that it was only a matter of time and patience. Probably quite a lot of patience.

“I’ll never look at you in any way but complete admiration.” He stroked her hair soothingly. “You will never be a millstone about my neck. Rather you’re the sunshine that brightens my day.” He swallowed. “Don’t you see? You brought me into the daylight. You’ve embraced parts of me that I was never able to let see light. Don’t make me retreat again into the night.”

She closed her eyes wearily. “It isn’t enough. Don’t do this to yourself—to me. Not even my money will make it seem worth marrying me in a couple of years.”

He winced at her jibe. Her husband had scarred her deeply and she was mentally fleeing in panic. He’d not talk her into this right now. Gently he set her on the settee and got up, fastening his breeches. “It’s evident that I’ll not convince you tonight. You’re tired and I confess so am I. Let us leave this for the morrow.”

Naturally she opened her mouth again, but he was expecting that and covered her sweet lips with his own mouth, kissing her until she softened.

Then he lifted his head. “And mind, precious Isabel, not to insult me too badly when we argue, hmm?”

He made sure to leave swiftly—before she could say more.

“MY LADY!”

Isabel opened her eyes to see Pinkney standing hesitantly by her bedside.

The maid proffered a folded scrap of paper. “My lady, this note came for you just now. The lad who brought it said he’d been paid a shilling extra to run it here. I think it must be important, don’t you?”

The events of the night before rushed back into her mind before she could brace herself against them. Winter’s proposal. Her own shocked decline. They’d enjoyed each other. Why did he want to change everything? Isabel just wanted to stick her head under the pillow.

She groaned. “What time is it?”

“Only one of the afternoon,” Pinkney said apologetically. Of course. The lady’s maid thought it the height of elegance to sleep in until midafternoon.

But Isabel was awake now.

She sat up in the bed. “Call for some coffee, will you? And let me see that note.”

The note was folded and sealed, and Isabel broke the wax as Pinkney went to the bedroom door to order the coffee. She opened the message and read:

L. Penelope accompanies L. d’Arque to the home this afternoon. I think they mean to send Mr. Makepeace away.

—A.G.

Artemis Greaves. The lady’s companion was risking her position. Isabel was already crumpling the note as she climbed from the bed.

He’d said he loved her. She couldn’t think about that now. Not if she were to help Winter.

“My lady?” Pinkney looked startled when she turned and found her mistress already up and rummaging through her chest of drawers.

“Never mind the coffee,” Isabel said distractedly as she threw the note into the fire. “Help me get dressed.”

Ten minutes later—an extraordinary record for her toilet, which nearly sent Pinkney into fits—Isabel was climbing into her carriage.

“If I’d only had five more minutes, you could’ve worn your new green military jacket,” Pinkney moaned.

Isabel settled against the squabs, watching impatiently out the window. “But that’s just it—I didn’t have five minutes more. I only hope the time we did take didn’t delay us too much.”

The London streets seemed even more crowded than usual today. Twice her carriage was brought to a complete stop by animals in the roadway, and even when moving they hardly progressed at better than a walk.

It seemed to take agonizing hours to reach the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, but it couldn’t have been more than half an hour.