Suzanne Robinson (29 page)

“I know.”

Descending to the ground, Prim swallowed hard and attempted to keep her crinoline from flying up with each gust of wind. “You know?”

Louisa’s plump hands were strangling the driving gloves she held.

“Our Luke has been a terrible widgeon, has he not?” She paused to look at Prim’s set features, then patted her cheek. “There now, dearie. One thing you’ll have to learn about men is that they’re proud. The other thing you must learn is how to extract them from the troubles they get themselves into because of their pride.”

Clamping her hands on her bucking crinoline, Prim cleared her throat. “I’m sure I don’t comprehend your meaning, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Dearie, I’ve just spent two hours arguing with my son about his stubborn pride, and I’m in no mood to tolerate a prickly little miss. The two of you must sort things out between you.” Louisa shook a finger in Prim’s face. “That boy loves you so much he can’t say a dozen words without mentioning you, and you’re no better off.”

Stunned, Prim forgot to hold her crinoline, and it nearly flew over her head. Louisa bashed it down with one hand.

“I can see by that witless look on your face that you’ve been struck all of a heap. For no reason, too. Do you think our Luke would have done what he’s done for anyone? Do you think he’d have employed his influence with Mr. Scarlett for any woman?”

“I had not thought.”

“Humph. That’s the problem. Neither of you is thinking.” Louise grabbed Prim’s arm and thrust her toward the hall. “Now you get yourself inside and talk to that boy. He won’t listen to me. Thinks he’s doing the honorable thing, the gentlemanly thing. And the
way I see it, what good is knowing you’ve done the gentlemanly thing if it makes you both miserable?”

Prim felt Louisa’s hand on her back. She was propelled inside. Turning back, she found the doors slammed in her face. She was about to open them when she heard the click of shoes on marble.

Whirling around, she found herself confronting Featherstone. “Oh, good afternoon, Featherstone.”

“Good afternoon, miss.”

Prim brushed nonexistent dust from her sleeve and said casually, “Is Lady Cecilia still here, Featherstone?”

“No, miss.” Featherstone smiled. “She left the morning after Sir Lucas was abducted. Quite precipitately, in fact.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yes, miss.”

There was an uncomfortable lapse in the conversation. Clearing her throat, Prim ventured another remark. “It’s going to rain, Featherstone.”

“Yes, miss.”

“It will be a great storm, I think.”

“Indeed, miss.”

Prim intertwined her gloved fingers and rocked back and forth on her heels.

Featherstone gave her a kindly look. “I was just remarking upon that very possibility to Sir Lucas in the Sky Room, miss.”

“The Sky Room?”

“Yes, miss, in the residential wing, seven doors down from the room you occupied during your visit.” The butler indicated the appropriate direction through the hall. “That way, miss.”

“You—you don’t want to announce me?”

Featherstone smiled at her. “In this instance, miss, surprise, followed by a certain amount of—shall I say—audacity, is indicated.”

Prim glanced down the series of lofty rooms beyond the hall, each as sumptuous and imposing as its predecessor. “Are you sure?”

“Decidedly, miss.”

Featherstone bowed and left, but Prim continued to stare at the vista of rooms. Her anger was fading, leaving in its place the wretchedness of self-doubt. What if Louisa and Featherstone were wrong? What if she was right and Luke really did want to rid himself of her? How could she tell? She had never been in this predicament before.

“Better to know than to wonder forever in misery,” she muttered.

She had to make herself walk through the rooms and upstairs past an endless line of portraits of dead nobles. She came to her former room and counted doors. One. He couldn’t have pretended the love he’d shown her in the town house. Two. He was Nightshade; he could deceive anyone. Three. There was no reason for him to deceive her. Four. What did she know of a man who had been forced to live as he had? Five. He had wanted her love, not just her favors. Six. Then why had he offered her money? Seven. Because even if he loved her, he desired a much better wife.

Prim stopped at the seventh door and touched the handle. Her skin was colder than the metal. Taking in a long breath, she turned the handle and walked into
the room before she could think of reasons to be afraid—and stepped into the sky.

The ceiling had been painted in a glorious heaven blue with misty clouds, but the artist had not stopped at the ceiling. The sky continued down the walls of the room, broken only by gilded pillars. The room was empty of furniture, and Luke was standing with his back against a window frame staring at her as if she were one of the castle’s many resident ghosts.

“What are you doing here?”

Prim marched up to him, pulled a folded sheaf of papers from her bag, and threw them at him. Torn sheets flew in his face. He batted them away and caught one. He glanced at it, flushed, and gave her one of his Nightshade glares.

“Oy! You got no business tearing up bank drafts, Miss Prim.”

Prim’s anger flared. He hadn’t rushed to her with open arms, ecstatic that she’d come to him.

“So, this revolting idea was yours and not Mr. Scarlett’s.”

“Ross? Nah, he didn’t like it.”

“And neither do I, sir. Your conduct in this matter has been woolen-headed, dishonorable, and ungentlemanly.”

“Now see here—”

Prim began to remove her gloves and pace at the same time. “To offer money to rid yourself of an inconvenient connection. To do it in so impersonal and public a manner.” Her fingers fumbled with the button of a glove. “I’ll have nothing to do with your sordid money, sir. You needn’t conduct yourself in so
desperate a manner. I have no intention of demanding an offer from you.”

She gave a sharp tug. The button tore from the glove and sailed across the room to bounce off the wall. Tears stung her eyes as she gazed at the glove in dismay. “Oh, dear.” Her voice broke. “My only good pair. I must f-find the button. It is a p-pearl.”

She tried to see where the button had landed, but her vision was blurred. Luke hadn’t said a word. She turned her back to him and tried to wipe her eyes surreptitiously. Suddenly his hands enveloped hers and dragged them down from her face.

“I wanted to give you an independence, Primmy.”

“It is neither honorable nor proper.”

“And your coming here alone is? Choke me dead, I’m never going to learn etiquette.”

Prim jerked her hands free and nearly shouted at him in her distress. “You’re just afraid you’ll have to marry me instead of some grand titled lady!”

Reddening, Luke shouted back at her.

“I am not. I was afraid you’d be ashamed to marry me.”

“Luke Hawthorne, that is the most insulting, vicious thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, and I suppose you would marry me?”

“Yes, drat you!”

A startled silence reigned for a moment.

“Then you will?” Luke whispered.

Prim nodded. She started when he gave a whooping yell that echoed around the Sky Room. Grasping her by the waist, he swung her around in a circle. Prim squealed and protested until he finally put her
down near the window. The room was growing dark with the approaching storm, but they both ignored it. Prim saw the change come over him, saw the black wickedness flicker in his eyes. Nightshade drew her to him and captured her mouth. Soon she was in a swirling storm of her own.

Lifting his lips, Nightshade said, “You know what I’ve been. You’re certain?”

“There is no greater certainty than mine.”

Nightshade touched her lips gently with the tips of his fingers. “Then you must go back to your aunt’s.”

“No.”

“I’ll want things done properly, Miss Prim. Think of our future children.”

Prim thought, then smiled. “Very well. I’ll go if you give me back my book of hours.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Where is it?”

Luke bent and whispered in her ear.

“The latrine!” Prim gazed up at his smiling face, horrified. “Luke Hawthorne, you take me there at once. The very notion is horrid. The latrine tower.”

Taking her hand, Nightshade kissed it and glanced up at her while still bending over it. “I’m at your service, Miss Dane. It’s my dearest wish to get you alone in a tower.”

S
UZANNE
R
OBINSON
has a doctoral degree in anthropology with a specialty in ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. She has now turned her attention to the creation of the fascinating fictional characters in her unforgettable historical romances.

Suzanne lives in San Antonio with her husband and her two English springer spaniels. She divides her time between writing historical romance and mystery under her first name, Lynda.