A Love That Never Tires (16 page)

He bent her backward, grabbing at her bottom and pressing her hips to his. They were all over each other before they knew what hit them. Patrick dug his fingertips into her stiff, corseted waist, while Linley gripped his hips, holding on for dear life.

Neither of them knew how it came to this.

For once, Patrick wasn’t behaving like a gentleman. He was one second away from hiking up her skirts. And judging by the way Linley ground herself against him, she wasn’t about to stop him if he did. But no amount of jealousy or unrequited longing could excuse taking an innocent girl against a dusty brocade wall like some harlot in a dark alleyway.

She pulled away first, panting. Every inch of her skin flushed. She felt warm and dizzy. Linley wanted to speak, to say
something
, but for a moment, all she could do was stare at him.

Patrick blew out a shaky breath and broke the silence. “That was a great deal more kiss than I bargained for.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Patrick, old boy!” Hereford called to him as he came down the stairs. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hello, Hereford. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for arriving so late. Georgiana wanted to come, but after all the work of getting ready, she decided she was too tired. I promised her you would understand even if she missed the only party you’ve thrown in years.”

Patrick smiled. “Of course I understand.” He waved over a servant carrying a silver tray of champagne. Taking two glasses, he held one up to his mouth and perched the other on the wooden banister.

As if on cue, Linley stepped down the stairs behind him. When she reached his side, he handed her the full glass, watching her bring it to her lips with shaking hands.

Hereford cocked an eyebrow but did not say a word. He had his fair share of dalliances before his marriage and knew all too well the importance of discretion—that of one’s lovers, but especially that of one’s friends.

Together, the three of them walked across the foyer and into the ballroom. A group of older gentlemen, seeing Linley positioned between both the Marquess of Kyre and the Duke of Hereford, pointed out, “With friends like that, you should have no trouble financing a lifetime of expeditions, Miss Talbot-Martin.”

“I have no doubt Hereford will do his part,” Patrick said, smiling, “But we all know I don’t have any money.”

The older men laughed, slapped him on the back, and admitted to feeling the strain on their bank accounts as well.

Linley looked up at him. “You don’t have any money?”

“I have some—certainly more than most—but not the kind you’re talking about,” he explained. “Supporting an outfit like your father’s would cost a fortune.”

She lowered her voice, “I had no idea you were skint.”

“I am not skint,” he said, still smiling. “All my money is in land. Land that, I am afraid, is attached to my title and, therefore, cannot be sold away.”

“Not to worry, though,” Hereford said. “I have enough ready money to float the both of us.” Turning to Linley, he added “And your father can expect a fifty pound donation from me by the end of the night.”

***

The party wound down as the night wore on, Sir Bedford Talbot-Martin growing more and more excited with every cheque he received. Patrick found that Linley distanced herself from him as much as possible, and with what happened upstairs, he couldn’t blame her. For his part, he stood in the foyer, thanking his guests for coming and wishing them all a safe trip home.

“You’re a dirty bastard, Kyre!” Allard Robeson said as he passed by him on his way out the door.

“Allard,” Patrick said, never missing a beat. “So good to see you!”

“Didn’t you hear me?” the young man repeated himself. “I said you’re a dirty, sodding bastard. And I will never forgive you for making a fool of me!”

“You should know better than to try to move in on my girl,” Patrick said, his voice low, but not quite menacing. “I don’t want to hear of you ever speaking to her again.”

Without another word, Allard stalked out the front door, but Gaynor was not far behind him. “If you think he’s hot, wait until you see Finchdale,” she said. “He went around all night telling everyone he danced with the Infanta de Nova.”

“Poor Finchdale—living proof that money cannot buy brains or class.”

She chuckled, pulling her satin skirts around her. “Oh but the things money
can
buy, eh, Kyre?” With that, Gaynor swished out of the foyer and into the foggy London night.

After the last guests departed, Patrick went in search of Linley and the rest of the Talbot-Martin team. He found them in the dining room, eating cold roast beef and counting donations.

“Three hundred and fifty pounds!” Archie cried.

They all clapped and cheered.

“That will be more than enough if we economize,” Schoville said.

“Congratulations,” Patrick said, slipping into the room.

Sir Bedford reached out to shake his hand. “We couldn’t have done it without you. Your efforts have truly saved our little team from ruin!”

“I didn’t do it for your team,” he explained. “I did it for Linley.”

Everyone turned toward Linley, who blushed. “I—I was wondering if we could speak privately.” She cleared her throat. “Is there somewhere we could go?”

“Certainly,” Patrick said, leading her out into the hall, and down a long corridor. He stopped at a door, drew a set of keys from his jacket pocket, and unlocked it. “I warn you, this room has not been renovated like the others.”

He pushed open the door and turned on the light switch. Heavy floral wallpaper pulled away from the walls, hanging in curled strips. The skeletons of a few dead pigeons lay heaped in the corner, and a layer of dust a quarter of an inch thick coated the scarred wooden floor.

Patrick walked over and nudged the dead birds with the toe of his glossy black shoe. “Must have come in through the chimney, poor devils.”

Linley covered her face and sneezed. “It’s awfully dusty in here.”

“I’m sorry, would you like to go somewhere else?”

“No,” she said. “This is fine.”

Patrick smiled and crossed the room, stopping in front of her. “When you said you wanted to be alone with me, I wondered if you weren’t looking for round two.”

“What? No!” Linley shook her head. “There will be no more of that. Actually,
that
is exactly why I wanted to talk to you. In light of what happened earlier tonight, I think it would be best if we…well, if we didn’t do that again.”

“You mean we shouldn’t kiss?”

“I mean we shouldn’t even tempt ourselves. I believe from here on out we should remain strictly friends—no kissing, no secluded walks in gardens, no afternoon drives in your motor.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am serious, Patrick,” she said, reaching out and taking one of his hands. “You are a wonderful man and the best friend anyone could ask for…but I don’t see any reason why things should progress any further between us than they already have.”

Patrick snatched his hand away. “I can’t believe you! You have used me all this time just to get what you want, and now that you find out I don’t have any money, you pull this nonsense?”

“No! This has nothing to do with your money,” Linley argued. “This has everything to do with you and I. I am leaving in a few weeks, and you will go on with your life. You will forget that I ever existed, while I will have to remember you until the day I die!”

“That is a touch melodramatic, don’t you think?”

She glared at him and crossed her arms.

“I find it terribly ironic,” Patrick continued, “that you decide to call everything to a halt the minute you learn I don’t have the funds to support your little endeavors. And I find it even more ironic that I was warned you would do exactly this.”

Linley’s mouth dropped. “Your insinuations are insulting.”

“Then prove me wrong!”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked. “Patrick, you know we cannot be anything more than we are now. You know I’m leaving, and you know I won’t be coming back. So what use is there to pretend otherwise? I appreciate everything you have done for me these past few weeks. Really, I do. But I finally understand what everyone has been trying to tell me all along—that I am fooling myself to believe there can be anything between us.”

Linley barreled on, trying to make him understand. “You belong here, with your elegant parties and with girls like Gaynor Robeson. I live out of little more than steamer trunks. You can play at my life for a few months whenever you are bored—taking trips to Africa under a false name—but you can always come back. You can come home to your fancy clothes, and your oyster dinners, and your well-bred ladies. You can impress your friends with stories of your adventures, but you will never know what it is like to actually live them.”

“You think my life is meaningless, is that it?”

“Patrick, I—”

He waved his hand to silence her. “Don’t back down now, Linley. You’ve told me how you feel. You’ve said it plainly and simply. I am man enough to hear it, and you should be woman enough to stand behind it.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

Patrick thrust his hands into his trouser pockets wishing to God he had a cigarette, even though he hadn’t smoked since university. “At least now we know the long and the short of it. And in light of everything said in this room tonight, I have to admit you were right. It was foolish of me to kiss you. I did not think of the consequences. It was unfair, and I apologize.”

Linley nodded.

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Best of luck on your expedition.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Despite ending her friendship with Patrick, Linley kept her chin up that week. It was lonely around Berenice’s townhouse without his visits, but with all the preparations for the Derby, Linley hardly had time to miss him. She ran through an endless circuit of dress fittings, hat selections, itinerary confirmations, and ticket purchases. Schoville assured her it was worth the trouble just to see the horses fly past, but Linley was not convinced. And as they joined the crowd outside Epsom Downs, she was too tired to argue.

“Fine day for a race,” Schoville said, tipping the brim of his hat against the June afternoon sun.

Linley held up her gloved hand to shield her own eyes as she scanned the faces of the eager racegoers. There were more people than Linley ever saw in one place in her entire life. They stood on top of motorcars and four-in-hands to get a better view of the track. Gypsies weaved between it all holding flowers for sale, calling out above the music coming from a brass band on a nearby pavilion. She saw grandstands and spectator boxes, and beyond that, dozens of flags flying atop tents in the infield. Schoville said anyone who was anyone in society attended the Derby, and from the crowd she saw, Linley believed him.

Lucky for her that she and Schoville could only afford a spot by the railings, and not in any of the special boxes or stands reserved for ‘society’. Linley hoped to avoid seeing any familiar faces, and being crammed in among the common folk meant little chance of that happening.

“Do you want to go to the paddock?” Schoville asked. “I’d like to have a look at Craganour. They say he’s the horse to beat.”

At the railing around the pen, Schoville pointed out which horse was which, whom it belonged to, and what its odds were. “That is the King’s horse, Anmer,” he explained as a groom led a lean bay thoroughbred around the grass.

“I never knew you were so fond of racing,” Linley said.

He started to answer, but another horse caught his eye. “Look! There’s Craganour. He’s the favorite at six to four.”

Linley watched as the horse paraded past. They all looked the same to her, and she couldn’t tell just by looking which one was more likely to win the Derby.

“He’s owned by Charles Bower Ismay,” Schoville whispered in her ear. “Brother of the owner of the Titanic.”

Like everyone else, Linley followed the Titanic disaster in the papers over the past year. It almost did not seem fair that Mr. Ismay’s brother could even think to race horses so soon after the tragedy. Not while all those deaths were still so fresh in everyone’s minds.

“We should find a place by the track,” Schoville said, taking her arm. “If we don’t, we won’t stand a chance of seeing the race.”

As they walked back through the crowd, Linley watched the other spectators milling about the grounds. How excited they all seemed. The way everyone carried on, one would think it was a bank holiday. She stopped with the rest of the common racegoers to let a group of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen pass through.

Linley watched as the group made their way to their private box. Other members of society gathered around the rows of boxes, greeting each other and getting in a few last minutes of small talk before the race began.

“We should hurry,” Schoville said, pulling her through the crowd. He led her through a gate and into the general viewing area below the grandstands and the boxes.

It was too late to find a spot near the winning post, but they managed to secure a decent place to watch near the curve of the track known as Tattenham Corner.

***

Standing at the edge of his box, Patrick looked out at the sea of people a few feet below. They talked and laughed without a care in the world, and, for a moment, he felt the pinch of jealousy. He wondered what it would be like to live without worrying about estates, employees, tenants, and all the other responsibilities that concerned men of his standing. Of course, those people down there had their own troubles. Troubles Patrick knew little about—hunger, unemployment, health issues. He counted himself fortunate, but could not help wondering what life would be like on the other side of the fence.

Linley was right about that, though. Patrick could play at it until the game wasn’t fun anymore and then go back to his own life. Those people could never have a taste of the way he lived. Sure, the line was blurring lately—enough to make many of his friends nervous—but no matter how much money the middle class earned, or how great of a title that money could buy, they would always be considered ‘outside looking in’.