The Princess & the Pea (29 page)

"Yes, yes, I know." Jared's lips quirked upward in a tolerant smile. "In America a man with ambition and talent can go far. Creativity and invention is respected and admired. Men who dream are—"

"That is quite enough." she said coolly, all thoughts of passion vanishing beneath justified patriotic indignation. "I needn't stay here and hear my country maligned." She rose to her feet. "It is past time I retired."

"Cece ..." Jared stood and quickly crossed the few steps separating them. He grasped her hands in his. His gaze met hers, meshed and held. "I would never malign a country that could create anything as marvelous as you."

"Oh?" His admission took her bream away, and once again she wanted nothing more man to melt in his arms. "Well, as long as you admit—"

"I would admit anything for you." He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the back of first one and men the other. "I would give up anything for you." He turned her hands over and placed a kiss in one palm and men the next. "I would do anything ..." his midnight eyes burned into hers with the intensity of a single star on a cloudless night"... for you."

"Really?" Her voice was scarcely more man a sigh.

He nodded solemnly, but a twinkle lurked in the corner of his eye. "Really."

He pulled her close and gently drifted his lips across hers in a touch so light, it might have been little more than a dream. She strained toward him., eager to continue the instruction he had begun this morning. He released her abruptly, firmly stepping back and away. "You do need to retire. Now."

"Do I?" Her tone was sultry. inviting. A tiny voice somewhere in her mind argued that she was going far beyond the limits of proper behavior, far beyond the realm of safety, far beyond the possibility of stopping. She no longer cared.

Retiring was the last thing she wanted to do at this moment. What she wanted—what she needed—was Jared and everything that need entailed. A hundred reasons for restraint, for caution, for decorum demanded attention, and she shrugged them off like blossoms in the wind. There was no real reason why a modern woman should not be with the man she loved and planned to wed.

"Why?" she breathed.

He had the look of a man caught between honor and temptation. An intriguing mix of emotions marched across his face: desire; indecision; regret. He drew a deep, shaky breath and laughed, a rough, ragged sound. Jared leaned forward, kissed her on the tip of her nose and withdrew. Disappointment flooded her.

"Because, at this point. I think it would be for the best." Jared shook his head. "I find it difficult to believe my own words, but"—he shrugged wryly and grinned—"it must have something to do with love."

"... with love." she echoed. Yes, it had everything to do with love.

"Now." He grasped her shoulders, turned her toward the door and gave her the tiniest push. "Bid me good night and go to your room." He sighed deeply. "Before I change my bloody mind."

"There is nothing that says a man can't change his mind," she said, an encouraging note in her voice.

He steered her toward the door. "Nothing except common sense and one's own nagging conscience."

"Conscience?" She tried to stop her inexorable progress out of the room, but his touch was unyielding. "What on earth does conscience have to do with anything? You are not taking advantage of me. I am more than ready and extremely willing."

"I realize that," he admitted, but his grip did not ease. "Only an idiot would fail to realize that."

"You are not an idiot." Her protestations seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"No, but I am very likely a fool." he muttered. He opened the library door and firmly pushed her out of the room. "Your enthusiasm does not make this any easier."

"I don't understand you at all." Frustration and denial rang in her voice. "How can you do this to me? To us?"

"I have absolutely no idea." He closed the door with a sharp snap, and she swore she could hear a sigh of relief

"You disappoint me, Jared." She glared at the door. "Your reputation as a rogue is greatly exaggerated!"

A hearty chuckle sounded behind the wooden barrier. "Thank you."

Cece sighed, crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to kick the innocent door. She had clearly indicated to Jared her desire. Why, she had practically thrown herself at him. How on earth could he resist what she offered? And to use that ridiculous excuse about love! Still... her annoyance ebbed, and she absently turned and headed to the west-wing stairway.

A man truly in love just might be willing to forgo his own satisfaction to preserve a lady's honor. When one thought about it rationally, without a cloud of desire fogging one's mind, it made a great deal of sense. Wasn't that exactly what Jared had just done?

And how had she behaved in return?

The cold hand of chagrin gripped her stomach.

A tart. That's what she was, a tart. And a silly tart at that. With nothing better to say in response to his admissions of devotion but "really." She groaned aloud and started up the stairs. He had tried—in fact, he had obviously struggled—to be noble, to save her from himself. Or, more accurately, to save her from herself.

The man was truly wonderful. His only real flaw was his obnoxious view of the abilities of women in general and his attitude toward females and automobiles in particular.

She stopped short between steps, struck by a sudden idea. A sudden interesting idea. Just this morning the thought had occurred to her that Jared had admirably succeeded in educating her as to everything she could possibly know about the workings of an automobile. She had, after all, watched him and others behind the controls. Surely she could teach herself how to drive the vehicle. Abruptly, she realized that Jared was right in one respect: It was ever so much easier to operate a machine if one was acquainted with its inner mechanics. And, if truth were told, the motorcar was not nearly as complicated as she had initially envisioned.

Confidence brought a grin to her lips and she continued up the stairs with a lilt in her step. Teaching herself to drive would take a heavy burden off Jared. The poor man would no longer have to devise ways to keep her from his automobiles. Why, she was doing him a favor.

No doubt Jared would not see it in that light—but ,with any luck, Jared would not know. At least not until she mastered his machine. And master it she would. He would be off first thing in the morning, but she had hours before her return to London. And once she was no longer eager for lessons on driving, she could permit—no, encourage—Jared to instruct her on a subject she found even more fascinating than motorcars. A subject in which just this morning he had demonstrated his expertise. And she had demonstrated enthusiasm and a willingness to learn. Her grin widened.

She wondered, for their next lesson, just who would be teaching whom?

Apprehension mingled with anticipation, and Phoebe could scarcely keep her mind on the matters at hand. The twin emotions seemed her constant companions these days. She sat at the ladies' writing desk in Millicent's drawing room and stared at the papers before her. The lists of guests, of errands, of things still undone for Emily's party two days from now might well have been written in some exotic foreign tongue, for all the sense she made of them.

Phoebe set her pen aside with disgust and gave into the memories that had haunted her since Robin's arrival. She had avoided confronting those thoughts with the same determination she'd avoided the man himself. Neither was easy.

Robin hadn't lived in London for years, and it would be several weeks before his newly acquired townhouse was habitable. Naturally, he stayed here at Millicent's along with Quentin, Phoebe and the rest of the Whites. Millicent's house was every inch as grand as her own in Chicago, and there was no lack of space in which to elude another houseguest. There were the public meetings, of course, at meals and various other gatherings through the course of the week. And while Phoebe had managed never to be alone with him, she could not avoid those heart-stopping moments when his gaze would capture hers, and her breath would catch in her throat.

Today, however, she was completely alone. But solitude did nothing to ease her mind. Millicent was off, preoccupied with errands. The girls were driving in the park with Quentin and Jared. Robin was at some government office, and Henry was once again at the club he had grown so fond of. What men found so appealing at such places was beyond her.

She could have accompanied Millicent. She could even have insisted that the girls stay home. She could have surrounded herself with people, much as the superstitious surrounded themselves with amulets to avoid disaster. A confrontation with Robin was a disaster she was not prepared for.

She pushed her chair back from the desk and rose to her feet. Staving here, in this very communal room. was risking an encounter she did not want. With a speed born of renewed determination and constant anxiety, she gathered up her papers and headed toward the hall.

The sound of the front door opening grated across her senses and halted her in her tracks. The door thudded shut and the low murmur of a servant's voice mixed with a deeper tone too indistinct to identify positively. But her heart fluttered and she wondered—no—she knew. The tread of a man's footfall drew nearer, and she fought the panic-spurred impulse to run. She stilled, as if not moving would somehow allow her to remain undetected.

Robin strode through the wide doorway and stopped abruptly. Surprise washed over his face, followed swiftly by delight.

"Phoebe." He said her name as if it were a gift or a prayer.

She drew a deep breath and resolved to remain cool and collected in spite of the emotions raging within her. Her voice was curt. "Robin."

He walked toward her, and she instinctively stepped back, but he paid no attention and passed her to reach a tray bearing several decanters and a number of glasses. He poured a glass for himself, then turned to her.

"Millicent always was wonderfully prepared." He raised a brow. "Would you care for something?"

Liquor? In the middle of the day? "Please. Sherry, I should think."

"You always preferred sherry, if I recall." he said softly and poured her wine.

He handed her the glass and their fingers touched with a shock that jerked her gaze to his. Deep, devouring: she thought surely he could see into her soul.

"You've been avoiding me."

"No. I—" She wrenched her gaze from his. afraid he'd read her emotions in her eyes. She quickly stepped away, the need to put distance between them stark and unyielding.

"Why?" The word was a gentle accusation.

"I—" She sighed and turned to stare out the window, clutching her lists and notes. It was so much easier to talk to him when she didn't have to face the mute appeal in his eyes. "I simply think it's best, that's all."

"There is still much unresolved between us." His voice reverberated in her blood.

"No, Robin, there is nothing unresolved." She shook her head firmly. "It has been a very long time and life for both of us has continued."

"Has it?" His voice drew closer. "Sometimes I wonder if my life didn't stand still the moment you left, only to resume when I saw you again this week."