The King of Threadneedle Street (15 page)

Ring for breakfast. I should return by nine o’clock.

Love, Drew

P.S. You are beautiful asleep. Didn’t want to go.

Shameless romantic.

Not long after she pulled on her robe, the butler, wearing the same smug expression as the chambermaid, informed her Lord Courtenay was waiting below. Alysia didn’t dare keep him waiting any longer. She found him in the study. “Lord Preston is out, my lord.”

“I know. I have come to see you, Miss Villier.” He declined tea and was thoughtful a long while. “I thought we had an understanding,” he said at last.

“And so we do. I have not breached it.”

“Yet the servants tell me they found you abed with my son this morning.”

“It is not what you think.”

He eyed her accusingly, making her mindful of her dressing robe exposing a bit of black lace at the collar, her hair loose and tousled. “Is it not?”

If he came calling at such an impolite hour, he deserved to see whatever spectacle he found. “The Tilmore family line will remain untainted, I assure my lord.”

“Miss Villier, I would not have uttered such an unkindness.”

“And yet it remains the truth,” she said without emotion. “I trust the Marquess of Courtenay did not come to examine the sheets?”

He nodded, betraying a hint of surprise at her directness. “I want to know what it is
you
want.”

“I want nothing from his lordship.”

“Then what is it that you want from my son?”

“Nothing at all, to be quite clear.”

Lord Courtenay pursed his lips; a sign of impatience, Alysia knew. When she had helped manage the estate at Ashton, she always came to their meetings prepared with concise answers. Lord Courtenay would stand for nothing less. But this matter didn’t concern merchant accounts or squabbles with the servants.

“How much?” he asked. “How much to send you away for good?”

Alysia couldn’t help herself, a short burst of laughter escaped before she could compose herself. “You wish to send me away, a devious mistress with a bribe?”

“I wish for Preston to be free of distraction and mind his duty.”

“As do I. However, I am not his mistress, and I am not guilty of conspiring to ensnare him.” She struggled to keep the icy edge from her voice. “I am not so low that I would be tempted by any sort of bribe, my lord.”

“And yet here we are, a year or so after our last discussion which was not unlike this one. I want to know what it will take to make this our last of its kind.”

Alysia stood. “Lord Courtenay.” She paused to cool her temper. “Lord Preston came here without my knowledge, acting on information he obtained from other sources. He rescued me from an ill-advised situation and arranged a more suitable one. Out of friendship and kindness, and as he perceives it, moral duty.”

Before he could interject, Alysia continued, “Whether you like it or not, the fact remains that Lord Preston is my dear friend. It can’t be helped, and one could argue that it is your lordship’s doing, ultimately.”

Lord Courtenay stared, and she saw a hint of pain in his masked expression. Nearly indiscernible, but she had seen him react this way before at the mention of her mother. Alysia stared back, silently reminding him that though he had lost his lover, she had lost her mother. And in all fairness, it had been his bidding that brought Alysia and her mother to Ashton years ago.

“That is not the nature of my concern, Miss Villier.” He leaned forward. “My son has a weakness for you. I am not entirely unsympathetic.” Lord Courtenay clasped his hands as he often did when announcing a decision. “Although I am relieved to hear you entertain no designs, it is clear Preston does not understand the futility of sentimentality and the inescapable mantle of duty.”

“There is no need to convince me, my lord. I quite agree, as you well know.”

“Then you know what I would have you do.”

“It is already decided that I shall go to the country, in England.”

Lord Courtenay eyed her suspiciously. “Not Somerset, I trust?”

“Indeed not.” She would
definitely
stay away from Andrew’s country estate. “I know you wish me to take a benefactor, but I must refuse.”

“You could marry. I might help arrange a suitable match. With an advance on your fortune as dowry, I would expect to attract many eligible offers for you.”

“While I would give a great deal on Lord Preston’s behalf, that is—”

“Exactly what you should do, on his behalf.”

“I don’t want
any
man. Not Lord Preston, not a benefactor, and certainly not a mercenary husband.” What she wouldn’t say, was that since she could not have Andrew, she didn’t want any counterfeit version. She had been willing to forgo love altogether, but engaging in it falsely, even for a worthy cause, seemed too heavy a price to pay.

“Then he will pursue you, to his undoing.”

“I will not allow it.”

“But that is not the point. Miss Villier—” He sighed and dropped his hands mid-gesture. “Take this course now, and wait at least until Preston is married, with an heir. Then I might look the other way.”

She didn’t mean to scoff; it came from her mouth anyway. “That is a
distasteful
suggestion, my lord. I would never come between Lord Preston and his wife.”

“The one you love is not always the one you marry. Again we come full circle on the subject of duty. Alysia,” he said with surprising tenderness, “I do not ask this of you out of animosity. I rather regard you very highly, and have on more than one occasion wished circumstances were such that you could marry my son with my blessing.” He pressed against his temples, a sign of distress unusual for Lord Courtenay.

“Do it for
him
, Alysia. Unless you cut him off, he will not let you go. Allow me to set to work on it for you. Forward your address to me, and I will arrange for you to meet eligible gentlemen. Perhaps you may genuinely like one of them and not be unhappy after all.”

Alysia cocked one eyebrow and sealed her lips against the sarcasm on the tip of her tongue.

He took a pen and paper from the desk. “Where shall I send my correspondence?”

“Rougemont, in Devonshire.”

He dropped the pen, and it clattered to the floor. “Preston is sending you to the
Montegues?
” he nearly roared.

“I am to tutor Lady Devon’s ward while she is expecting the baby.”

“I should have known the moment I saw Lady Chauncey!” He swore under his breath, also unusual for Lord Courtenay. “What the deuce is he about?”

Alysia didn’t know if it was a direct question or if he was wondering aloud. When she determined he was waiting for an answer, she said, “There is no plot, my lord. Lord Preston was only taking into account my desire to live in the country and work on my art. He thought I would be safe at Rougemont.”

“He is up to something, I know it.” Lord Courtenay shook his head. “I allow Preston entirely too much freedom. He exploited it and made himself one of the most powerful men in England. If it were not so disturbing, I might be proud.”

Alysia didn’t dare mention he was years late arriving at that conclusion.

“There is not much time, then. You shall hear from me again soon.” He stood to take his leave. “Thank you, Miss Villier, for being candid. For what it is worth, I think you are twice the woman most peeresses are. I wish the fates were kinder.”

He inclined his head in a nearly polite bow and walked swiftly from the room, leaving Alysia to wonder how Lord Courtenay’s arrangements were the final word, without her ever agreeing to it. She would marry someone of his choosing, then. Or so it seemed. Important men had a way of imposing their will. It left her reeling and confused.

Alysia sank into the chair, blowing a strand of hair from her forehead. She felt unaccountably weary. She should have known such an exquisite evening could only be followed by its opposite. That was the rhythm of life; high, low. She tried to imagine telling Andrew she was engaged, or worse, married. He wouldn’t know the true reason why, and she could envision his reaction. It was painful even to consider.

It seemed she had two choices; disappear again, or be forced into a marriage of convenience. Or a third — run away with Andrew.
If only.

She had to find a way to stall until she could access her inheritance, then live like the Queen of Sheba somewhere in India. There would be interesting things to paint, limitless subjects. There she would see only dusky, exotic men who wouldn’t remind her of Andrew. The idea had merit, but already it sounded so
lonely.
If she acquiesced to Lord Courtenay’s desire that she marry… it would be just as lonely.

What else could she expect, being a courtesan’s bastard daughter?

Andrew barged through the doors his father had passed through only minutes before. Out of breath, he grasped the desk. “My father was here?”

“You just missed him.”

“I am sorry I left you to handle him alone, Lisa. I went to see to a matter of business.”

“Tumble any fortunes this morning?” she asked while pouring him a cup of tea.

“I always do.” He flashed her favorite lopsided smile, the mischievous and boyish one. He took the cup and sat, appearing aimless without a battle to fight. “What did he want?”

“He came to check the sheets.”

Andrew grimaced. “
What?
”

She explained, “Lord Courtenay wanted reassurance there would be no by-blows, among other things.”

Andrew cursed under his breath and shot from his chair. Alysia pulled him back down. “He didn’t say anything he has not told me before, nor anything I didn’t expect,” she lied. “But he knows you are sending me to Rougemont and is displeased. He thinks you are up to something.”

Andrew set the cup back on the table then twirled the saucer on his finger. “Right straight I am up to something.”

“He is worried you have misplaced your sense of duty.” She watched him over the rim of her cup.

Andrew snorted. “He is afraid I will act to secure my own happiness. What is all the fuss about anyhow? It’s not as though I must marry an heiress for money. I even have the support of some influential peers.”

“Is that why you are sending me to the Montegues?”

“I am sending you to Devonshire because I believe you will be happy and protected there,” he replied sternly. “And I cannot deny it is part of my plan.”

“About this
plan
of yours, Andrew—”

“Let me guess. My father wants you to marry one of his sycophants so I will cry off?” He smirked at her startled expression. “Know this, Alysia. If you try to marry the greedy fop my father throws at you just to get rid of me, I will storm the chapel and carry you away, and to the devil with them all!”

“You sound like a spoiled brat when you speak that way.” She set her cup down more roughly than necessary. “I refuse to revisit this argument with you, Andrew.”

One moment she blinked, and the next Andrew was out of his chair and attacking her lips with a violent, possessive kiss. He pressed her into the back of the chair, his arms caging her in. He breathed in between rough kisses, “Then… do not… argue.”

He knelt in front of her and moved his lips over her neck, holding her arms so she couldn’t move away. “You are
mine
.”

A sigh escaped her throat but her mind screamed in protest.

“I liked waking next to you this morning, Lisa.” He nipped her earlobe, and she yelped. “Only, that thing you were wearing, the slip of black silk with the lace straps falling off your shoulder? It gave me ideas, and I found it necessary to flee temptation.” He nudged her sleeve away — with his teeth!
—
and brushed his lips over her shoulder.

Instead of pushing him away as she ought, Alysia gripped the hair at the back of his neck and tugged hard, pulling him closer. With a strangled cry that could have meant either
Stop that!
or
How I love that,
Andrew went straight for her neck. The gentle, caressing way he had kissed her neck last night? A memory. He was angry now. He nipped and pulled, digging his lips into her skin then smoothing the spot with his tongue.

She threw away a thought for the marks he would leave, too delirious to care. Everywhere, nowhere. Both giddy and maudlin. This drunken, frozen-in-time feeling had addictive properties. Andrew was branded in her brain as the source of it. How had she thought moments ago she could ever walk away from it?

“Tell me to stop.” He dragged his hands up her sides and trailed his open mouth down her throat. “Make me stop,” he groaned, cooling her skin with his breath. He slid his hands stiffly down to her knees as though restraining himself.

She slipped her hands inside his collar and rubbed over his shoulders in slow circles, a touch meant to soothe, but the sheen of perspiration on his skin made her fingers slide as though she meant to provoke.

“Always with you I am never sure of what to do, Lisa,” he mourned. “I kissed you to punish you. Self-righteous little—” he blew a gust, likely in place of calling her a name. “But now all I can think about is…” He ran his hand up and down her thigh, as though contemplating following his words with action. Temptation roared in her mind, and she wouldn’t have bet a farthing on being able to resist if he did.

“Remind me why I shouldn’t do it.” His stroking made her arch toward him, she couldn’t help it. “Stop that!” His hands froze but he didn’t move away. “Sorry, Lisa. I apologize.”

She couldn’t move either. The raw hunger burning her from the inside out cooled so slowly, by degrees. Part of the problem was not wanting to let it cool. Finally her wiser self crawled back out of the hole she had stuffed it into the moment Andrew kissed her. She rubbed the corner of his jaw, teasing him to unclench it.

“Yes, it is time to stop, I agree.” She sighed, feeling her wanton half screech in protest. “And now you know just how powerless I am against you. Apparently I am all too willing.”

He cursed and squeezed her thigh, too hard, and it reminded her to move her straying hands from his chest back to his shoulders. “You siren! That is no speech to deter me.”