What Happened at Midnight(33)

“Are we talking to your banker again?” he asked dubiously.

“Something like that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Ah, here we are!”

Her carriage drew up in front of a public house.

He’d been traveling by rail for the better part of the day, and it was already six in the evening. The sun was still out, but he was nonetheless exhausted. He was not in the mood for a beer and a friendly chat. But Eliza had always put him in mind of a tropical cyclone. If she touched land in the vicinity, one couldn’t say no to her. She wouldn’t even understand what the word meant.

She let him hand her out of the carriage and then marched into the building. Apparently, they were expected; the proprietor took one look at the two of them, bowed, and escorted them to a back room.

“Who is here so far?” Eliza asked.

“Just the lady who was here when you left earlier, ma’am.”

“Good,” Eliza said. And she swept into the room as the man opened the door.

John followed. He took two steps into the private chamber before stopping completely. He hadn’t known what to expect—he’d supposed that he was here to act as mediator in some dispute with Eliza’s neighbors or to smooth the way for Eliza with the banker.

But Mary was sitting at the table in front of him. She was wearing a new gown—a blue satin that brought out the gray of her eyes. He simply stared, unable to say anything. Unable to even step forward and take her in his arms. All he could do was want, and that more deeply than he had ever done.

Eliza swept up to her, as if finding her here after an absence of a year and a half was hardly a surprise, and kissed her on the cheek.

Mary’s pale hair was bound up into a pretty little chignon, complete with curls; she returned Eliza’s kiss and then looked over at John. And then, little minx, she winked at him.

“You,” he said stupidly. “Do you know how I’ve worried about you?”

Her eyes sparkled in response. Sparkled was the wrong word for it. Sparkling made him think of candlelight glinting off silver—all shine, no depth. Her eyes put him in mind of moonlight reflecting off a deep lake. All that brilliant luster, reflected from untold deeps.

“Miss Chartley has been telling me quite the tale,” his sister said.

“She’s right,” John said swiftly. “I believe her implicitly. Because she’s right. And because it’s logical—because it’s the only explanation that makes sense of the available evidence. I’m not merely saying that because I—”

Because I want to get her in bed. Because I have to have her in my life. Because I can’t bear to have her leave me again.

Beside him, Eliza shook her head. “Goodness,” she said. “Could you babble any more, John?”

Mary smiled more broadly, and something in the vicinity of his chest cracked. His heart, maybe, or his lungs. All his internal organs. He reached out to take her hand.

Eliza smacked his wrist with her fan so hard that it stung. “Behave yourself, John,” she admonished. “Spare my nerves and save your lovemaking for when I am not present. As I was saying, Miss Chartley has told me everything.” She gave a sniff.

“Not precisely everything, I hope.” If she had, Eliza might well have aimed her fan rather lower than his hand.

“Attend to me for five minutes,” his sister said. “Five minutes. This is your duty: You are to sit quietly, act like a hulking male, and observe.” She pointed at a chair at the head of the table, and John sat.

Eliza gave him a sharp nod.

To Mary, John said, “I know it appears that my sister is browbeating me. Don’t worry. I can stand up to her. It’s just easier to let her think she’s getting her way for the things that don’t matter.”

Eliza stuck out her tongue at him. “Fiddlesticks. You listen to me because I’m right. I always am.”

John thumbed his nose at her; she smiled back cordially.

“There,” Eliza said, turning to Mary. “That is how one handles him. You can thank me for the lesson later.”

Mary shook her head and smiled. “Perhaps, but I think I’d prefer less sisterly methods.”

The two women held each other’s gazes for a long moment. And that was when John realized there was no tension in their exchange. Mary’s father had stolen Eliza’s son’s inheritance. Eliza should have been on the verge of tearing her hair out or screaming imprecations. Instead, the two were sitting at a table together and exchanging meaningful glances.

Something had happened. His sister and the love of his life were in league with one another. And that made him feel… Befuddled. Amazed. Delighted. And very, very afraid. He’d wondered how to convince Eliza to be polite; now he was yearning to be a part of whatever it was they had planned.

Eliza sniffed. “We’ve distracted ourselves. The substance of the matter, John, is that Miss Chartley has brought the most unimaginable—”

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence. The door opened behind them, and two men entered the room.

It had been a few months since John had last seen Mr. Frost and Mr. Lawson, the other partners. They swept in.

“Mr. Mason. Mrs. Tallant.” That last with a nod in the direction of his sister, but they scarcely glanced at the women sitting at the table.

John stood and shook their hands; behind their backs, Eliza made a face.