The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (29 page)

“Then history says I am safe, am I not?”

“I expect so. What a nuisance.” She looked up. “I do not suppose you would consider seducing him instead?”

“I would not want to scandalize you either.”

“I would not mind. Truly. I am two and twenty, and am almost never scandalized anymore, least of all by my brother’s affairs.”

More silence. It had been an odd conversation. Emma had difficulty swallowing her curiosity about just how peculiar it had been.

“Why did you even think he had those intentions?” she asked.

“He has been too interested in that auction house. He invested on a collector’s whim, like a boy buys a toy, and now it is troublesome to him. He feels obligated to make conversation if we have a meal together, and recently I have heard a lot of Miss Fairbourne this and Miss Fairbourne that. I assumed he had some fascination and, being a man,
he would do what men are wont to do when they are fascinated.”

“I am flattered that he spoke well of me to you.”

“Oh, no. He didn’t. Not at all. It was never the
wonderful
Miss Fairbourne. More the annoying Miss Fairbourne and the exasperating Miss Fairbourne.”

“Do tell.” Emma could not help but laugh.

Lydia laughed too. “He was so beside himself with astonishment at your refusal to conform to his will regarding that business that I almost fell in love with you.” She giggled. “‘The woman is impossible,’” she mimicked, matching Southwaite’s voice quite well. “‘Negotiating with ten men would be easier.’”

Emma laughed hard at Lydia’s imitation. She wiped tears from her eyes. “If he was so critical, why would you think he might seduce me?”

“It was the paintings. When he had them taken down the other day, to put in the auction, I thought perhaps he favored the exasperating Miss Fairbourne and wanted to impress her. So I made some plans on the assumption that when that auction was done, he would seduce you.” She made a face. “All in vain, though.”

“I am sorry. I hope that your plans can be rearranged.”

Lydia shook her head. “I do not think so. I am doomed to a life of boring parties with dull people. My brother never lets me be friends with the interesting ones.”

The door opened and the brother in question reappeared then. Lydia cast Emma one more lively, conspiratorial look, then put her mask back on.

D
arius paused outside the door of the library. The sound coming from within halted him in mid-step with his hand already on the latch.

Laughter. Feminine peals of joy. Emma’s laugh sounded hearty and loud, but a softer, more delicate one wove in and out of its notes.

He resisted the impulse to stride in. He had not heard or
seen Lydia laugh in a very long time. Even her smiles were halfhearted, and at best private reactions to personal thoughts. At worst they were the calculated stage business of an actress forced to play a part for which she had no sympathy.

The sound died away. He waited, lest he interrupt a moment that his sister might be enjoying. He heard the distant drone of conversation, but no more chortles or guffaws penetrated the door.

When he entered the library, merriment could still be seen in Emma’s eyes. Lydia, however, showed no humor at all. Or any other emotion. As always.

It delighted him that Lydia had found secret enjoyment in Emma’s company. He would make sure that they spent time together in the future. But not today.

“Miss Fairbourne, will you excuse me for a few minutes more? I need to speak to my sister.”

Emma cradled that fat reticule on her lap while Lydia took her leave.

Darius brought Lydia outside the library. She gazed up at him blankly.

“Aunt Hortense has written to me,” he explained. “She claims the Season has exhausted her. Her headaches have returned and she wants to retreat from town for a spell. She asks to go to Crownhill for a few days.”

“I suppose the sea air might help her.”

“She also asks that you accompany her. You have been wanting to go down to Kent, so I thought you might agree to it.”

“It will be dreadful with her there too. When I spoke of a companion, I meant someone more my age. Aunt Hortense will treat me like a child, and want to know what I am doing every minute.”

Which was exactly why Aunt Hortense would be the ideal companion. “At least she will let you ride. It will not be as bad as if it were Aunt Amelia.”

“That is true.” She made an indifferent shrug. “It will be boring, but at least a different boring. I suppose I will go.”

“She plans to leave at dawn. Have your maid pack and I will call for the carriage. You can stay with Aunt Hortense tonight so her departure tomorrow is not delayed.”

“That would make great sense. You are sure that you will not need me here, to help with Miss Fairbourne?”

“Help?”

“I know how disagreeable you find her.”

“I will muddle through.”

“You are very brave, since she vexes you so. I will go pack, then. Tell them to have the carriage outside in half an hour.”

She drifted off, to make her preparations. Darius gave instructions about the coach, then returned to the library. The champagne had arrived. He sat down beside Emma on the divan and handed her a glass.

“Won’t your sister be rejoining us?” Emma looked at the door expectantly.

“She is otherwise occupied.”

“That is unfortunate. I like her.”

“I will encourage her to call on you. Now, let us toast your—”

“If she does call, does that mean that you find me dull? She said that you only allow her to be friends with uninteresting people.”

Darius thought it astonishing that Lydia had confided her thinking on that, or anything at all, in such a brief time. “I discouraged a few of her friendships—that is true—but I do not restrict her to uninteresting people. She restricts herself. She makes no calls; she shows no emotion; she is—” He threw up his hands. “I confess that she is a worry to me. A cipher.”

Emma sipped her champagne. “Perhaps she is hiding something.”

“What could she have to hide? And if she did have something, why hide it from me? I am her brother.”

“You are more than ten years her senior. She probably has no memories of you as an accomplice during her childhood. Maybe she sees you as more of a parent. I would if I were her.”

That was a ridiculous idea. Except it really wasn’t, he admitted in the next thought.

“This is very good champagne,” she said. “I expect it is very old.”

“Some years. Now, about that toast—”

“Before you praise my victory, I need to explain something,” she said. “You were correct. There are large expenses that will affect the actual profit that Fairbourne’s sees. I have the money for some of them with me, which is why my share looked so much bigger than yours.”

He did not want to talk about this now. She had decided that she did, however. Why did he think that meant he would not be hearing the whole story?

“What kind of expenses?”

“Commissions. I paid someone to find the drawings for me, for example, and I must now give her twenty percent.”

“You paid someone twenty percent to find you those lots? That is ruinous.” He did not care how thick his stack of banknotes ended up being, but giving out 20 percent of the income would close Fairbourne’s within the year for certain.

“It was necessary. Nor is it a practice that I will continue. Why, I only paid ten percent for the count’s collection, for example.”

“Ten percent of the amount of the final bids, or of the count’s commission paid to Fairbourne’s?”

“Of the commission, of course.” She laughed at him like the question had been too stupid to endure. Then a small frown formed. “I am sure I explained it that way to Cassandra. She knows how auctions work and she would never misunderstand.” A bigger frown. “Yes, I am certain she knows it is ten percent of the commission and not the final bids.”

He stood and walked to the front windows. Down below the coach waited. “You had better hope she does, or you will see very little from today.”

Lydia’s bonnet came into view as she left the house. A footman hefted her portmanteau onto the carriage, and
another handed her in. Before her head ducked inside, she glanced back at the house.

Her expression surprised him. She looked happy. It seemed Lydia preferred a boring aunt in Kent to a tedious brother in London.

The carriage moved, taking Lydia away. Free now to contemplate the evening’s privacy, he looked back over his shoulder at Emma.

Her frown remained, deeper now. She reflected hard on something. She appeared worried. Desperately so.

“I am sure that Lady Cassandra has no illusions that she is getting all of Fairbourne’s income from those paintings, Emma,” he said, going back to her. “That is what it would be if she received ten percent of the total take.”

“I wish I were as confident as you are. Now that you raise the chance of it, I am scouring my memory to recall exactly what we said to each other on the matter.”

“If she misunderstood, I will make sure that you are not out anything for the error of her thinking.”

She turned her attention to him. “I am sure it will not come to that. Anyway, I thought that I should explain the commissions, since you noticed so quickly that the expenses were too high. Is there anything else that you found suspicious and want me to explain?”

Suspicious
had been an odd word for her to use. Unfortunately, it had also been an accurate one.

In accordance with his instructions, there had been no lots consigned by discreet anonymous gentlemen except for the drawings and the Raphael. Instead there had been lots of silver and sumptuous silks and lace consigned by Emma herself, on her own account. Emma had obeyed the letter of his command, but not the spirit, he suspected.

The proceeds from those lots now rested in Emma’s reticule too, if his quick reading of her preliminary accounting had been correct.

If he asked her about them, what would she say? That they were family items she decided to turn into coin? He could never disprove that, even if he felt sure it were not
true. As had happened often since they had met, he did not want to accuse her outright. There was little reason to, when he could not prove his suspicions. She would never just break down and confess it all. Nor did he really want her to confess it, he realized. If the sale of illicit goods became a fact instead of a suspicion, it would have to change everything.

Still, he should mind those lots more than he did right now. But then, she appeared very lovely and vulnerable sitting here. The dove gray of the dress she had worn to the auction flattered her hair and emphasized the subtle rose tint on her cheeks.

Confronting her about the source of that silk could wait. Perhaps forever. The sum total of those lots was not very large, and after today she would not do it again. He would make sure of that.

He rested his hands on the back of the divan and bent over her shoulder to pluck the champagne glass from her fingers. The faint scent she had used today teased his nose, and the skin of her neck and face, so close to his own, lured with its promise of velvet softness.

“You can explain the rest at the final accounting, Emma. It is a different matter entirely that we need to settle today.”

S
he could not say he had not warned her. That was Emma’s thought as she turned around to look at the man standing behind her divan.

Her gaze moved up his frock coat to his face, hoping she would see humor in his eyes that indicated he was teasing her now.

His expression made her breath catch. It was apparent that at least one of them did not question what would happen now.

“Lydia…” she tried.

“Gone. To an aunt who requested her company on a journey.”

She found it impossible to conquer what his closeness did to her. His desire might be speaking directly to hers, urging it to wake up and enjoy itself. Her reactions came fast, without mercy.

She turned away and closed her eyes and tried to sort out her good sense from those delicious, insidious sensations. It was both fascinating and horrible how alive sensuality
made one feel. The mere anticipation of pleasure created shivers and pulses in parts of her body that she normally forgot existed.

Still, she should not do this. Nothing had really changed since she left him in Kent. She should reiterate her reasons for rejecting his offer. They still stood, whether he sought a wife or a lover.

Other reasons did too. She wished she could explain all of them. She wished that she could be the plain speaker she always claimed to be. If she told him everything, and how badly it might all turn out, he would lose interest at once.

He came around the divan and sat beside her. With careful fingers he turned her face toward him. He was going to kiss her now, and once he did she knew in her soul that she would not stop him.

She should speak at once if she wanted to claim anything other than immediate surrender had occurred. The words formed in her head, but his lips took hers and the discouraging sentences broke apart and scattered into so many unspoken sounds.

She said nothing. Not one word of objection. She made no effort to resist. She admitted, as he embraced her and the kiss deepened and desire broke free and ran through her, that she did not want to give up the chance to feel extraordinary one more time.

D
arius was not too good to seduce Emma again. He was glad he did not have to, however.

She joined the kiss and embrace as equally as she knew how. It pleased him to see her forthrightness manifested in this new way, and the part of him still capable of thought pictured her more experienced soon, less artless, not waiting for him but demanding passion as she wanted it.

Her tongue finally ventured some equality too. Her attempt at boldness intensified his arousal abruptly. His body
reacted as if he had been starved for years, and not only a fortnight. His imagination already explored her body in ways his body would not for days or weeks.

He held her breast and kissed the unbearable soft swell along the top edge of her dress. Her breaths shortened to a series of surprised inhales when he caressed the fullness he held. His fingers sought the tip and rubbed, and increasingly frantic, anxious cries flowed out on each of her gasps.