Thief of Hearts (25 page)

Brodie saw that the left side of his face was all but immobile when he spoke. "Yes, sir," he answered, taking Thomas's veiny old hand and holding it. Anna had said her father was ill, but he hadn't been prepared for this. He glanced at her; she seemed disturbed at the sight of him, too. "It's good to be home, sir."

"You've got it all now, boy," the old man said cryptically, then explained. "Even my room. They've got me on the first floor now, turned my study into a bedroom, damned if they didn't."

"Papa," breathed Anna, shocked.

He waved her off. "Now it's you and Anna who'll run everything. Out with the old, in with the new." What started as a harsh laugh ended in a painful fit of coughing. Sir Thomas pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and buried his mouth in it while Anna hovered over him, patting his shoulder, touching his back. Brodie stood by helplessly, filled with sympathy for this crusty old wreck of a man. Even so, another part of his mind couldn't help gloating over the thought of himself and Anna alone, together, in Thomas's old bedroom, tonight, as soon as this damned party was over.

"Will you be in to work tomorrow, do you think?" asked a man Brodie hadn't noticed until now. He was a younger version of Thomas, with the same brown eyes and determined mouth, but without the massive, bulging forehead that gave his uncle, even in his diminished condition, a look of bullish authority. Anna's hurried "Stephen" wasn't necessary; Brodie knew who he was. He watched her embrace her cousin quickly, noting little warmth between them.

"Tomorrow I think Anna and I will take some time to recover from our trip," Brodie said smoothly, shaking hands. "Aiden's due back from Scotland tomorrow, isn't he? I'll be in on Wednesday, Stephen. Bright and early."

Stephen Meredith nodded as his mouth tightened disapprovingly, and Brodie felt a faint but definite chill.

Thomas began to cough again. The heavyset, humorless-looking woman who had been standing behind his chair held a clean handkerchief to his purplish lips. "Sir Thomas will be retiring now," she announced with a darting look of challenge. Miss Fitch was her name, Brodie recalled. Anna couldn't stand her.

Anna hugged her father again, he hardly seemed to notice and Miss Fitch wheeled him smartly from the room.

A gaggle of young women friends effectively surrounded her then, all talking at once, demanding to know everything about her wedding trip. Brodie wanted to hear her soft-spoken responses, but Cousin Stephen came and stood in front of him, blocking his view.

"If you're not coming in tomorrow, perhaps you could spare time now to answer a quick question."

"At your service," he said easily.

"They're laying the keel for that deepwater brig for the Norwegians tomorrow. How much hog spring do you want to allow for?"

Brodie stared, then blinked to keep his eyes from glazing over. Hog spring? He squeezed the bridge of his nose, squinting at the ceiling. "Let me see. Let's say… "
Hog spring
? What the hell was that? You "allowed" for it. Some compensating measurement, then. Could it be the natural sag of the keel before the ship was launched? What if it wasn't? He could feel his neck getting hot.

A ripple of feminine laughter sounded from behind Stephen. Brodie glanced over, as if distracted by it, and caught Anna's eye. His expression must have communicated panic; she excused herself prettily and came to him. The surprise on her face was comical when he took her hands and then, as if on impulse, pulled her into a very close, very intimate embrace. Guests stared or looked away, according to their inclinations, while he seemed to nuzzle the hair at the base of her neck and nibble at her earlobe. All who knew the Anna Jourdaine of old were stunned and amazed to see her not only accept these unsuitable public endearments but actually return them in kind, with no show of remorse except the deep pink flush staining her cheeks afterward. From across the room, her aunt was heard to make shocked clucking sounds.

"I believe I'll have some punch," Anna declared breathlessly, backing up and giving her husband a stiff and peculiar little wave before moving off toward the sideboard.

With a twisted smile, Brodie watched her go. It was a moment before he heard Stephen say, "Well? How much, Nick?" His distaste was poorly disguised. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to be able to tell them first thing in the morning."

Brodie hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, as Anna had told him Nick used to do. "Oh, sorry; I got sidetracked. Hog spring, was it? Well, let's see, she's to be a hundred and seventy-five feet long, isn't she?"

"A hundred and seventy-eight."

"Mm. Let's give her two and a quarter inches, then. They can dub the top block afterward, and fay it to the bottom of the keel. All right?"

Stephen nodded, satisfied. Brodie almost laughed his relief out loud.

After that, things got easier. People asked him casual questions, how had he liked Italy, had he seen the ruins, how were his lodgings? He had no trouble answering; O'Dunne had spent no small amount of time preparing him and Anna for just such questions during the journey home, to insure that they told the same stories. Brodie chatted easily, noting that Nick's men friends were cordial but showed him more respect than warmth, as if they were afraid or unwilling to loosen up too much with him. His women friends, on the other hand, had no trouble showing warmth, or loosening up. He glanced around for Anna; she was surrounded by another group of eager welcomers. But she looked up and their eyes met, and they exchanged a quick message that said all was well. For now.

A small orchestra was tuning up in what looked to Brodie like another drawing room, attached to this room but cleared of rugs and furniture and all the knickknacks and bric-a-brac and folderol that cluttered this one. Jenny flounced up to him and took hold of his arm in a friendly grip. "Dance with me, Nick! We've been waiting all afternoon for you and Anna to come." She pulled on him playfully.

Brodie knew nothing about upper-class social protocol, but common sense told him he ought to dance the first dance with his wife. He said so.

"Oh, pooh! Anna hardly ever dances, you know that." She pulled harder, smiling up at him with winsome determination. "Come on, Nick. Why be so formal? If we start, then everyone can dance. Please?"

It would be rude to keep saying no. Smiling uneasily, Brodie let himself be led through the archway into the smaller drawing room, and he and Jenny began to dance a waltz.

"Oh," said Milly Pollinax, Anna's best friend, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Jenny and Nick are dancing." She raised a perfect black brow and looked across Anna's shoulder.

Anna turned slowly, remembering to widen her lips in a pleased smile at the last minute. "Yes," she agreed, on the same note. Jenny, she saw, was at her most animated, eyes sparkling with excitement, face flushed, talking and talking and talking. Brodie smiled down at her indulgently
fondly
, Anna would have to say. She felt a peculiar coldness when Jenny moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of his smooth-shaven chin and said something that made him throw his handsome head back and laugh. He never laughed at anything
she
said, it suddenly occurred to her. At least, nothing she said deliberately. She turned toward Milly again. "How's George?" she asked, hardly knowing what she was saying. Milly's long pause finally captured her full attention, though not as much as her answer. "I've left him."

"What?" Her jaw dropped. She took hold of Milly's hands, seeing for the first time the pain in her friend's dark, lovely eyes, the lines of tension around her mouth.

"No one knows yet. Needless to say, your aunt would never have asked me to come today if she had."

"Milly, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm not. I'm happier than I've been in years. I only wish I'd done it sooner."

She didn't look happy to Anna. Someone was waving to her across the way. "We can't talk now. Where are you staying? I'll come and see you tomor—"

"No," Milly said firmly, pressing her fingers. "You can't come. Write to me if you—"

"What do you mean? Of course I'll come."

"No, Anna. Think for a second. I mean to divorce George. I'm about to become a fallen woman," she said on a grim little laugh. "Decent society will have to cast me out."

"Don't be absurd!"

"Your aunt will see to it that our friendship is finished. And she's right, because knowing me would only hurt you, your position in—"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Anna hissed, ready to shake her. "Tell me where you're staying."

"In Lord Street, but—"

"I'll come tomorrow." The words were barely out when she felt a too-familiar hand on her arm and turned to see Brodie grinning down at her wolfishly.

"Care to dance, Annie?"

She saw Milly's eyes widen a trifle at the new nickname. She considered turning him down, still piqued because she was his second choice, but quickly saw the folly in that. "Yes, I'd love to." She squeezed her friend's hand one last time. "Tomorrow," she repeated, and moved toward the dance floor with Brodie.

Other couples were dancing now. She stepped into his arms stiffly, endeavoring to hold herself away from him. "Nicholas didn't dance like this!" she whispered when he pulled her closer, so close that their bodies touched and she had to tilt her head sideways to see him.

His mouth curved in a smile and he raised one silky eyebrow. "He's a changed man," he murmured, sliding his thumb across her knuckles in a slow and suggestive rhythm. "Now he can't keep his hands off his wife."

"Or his wife's cousin," she blurted out, then bit her tongue. Another of his lazy smiles antagonized her. "Not that it's anything to me." To her amazement, he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose. "What are you
doing
?"

"Acting like a bridegroom. Stop scowling, Annie, people will think we don't like each other."

"We don't. Oh, I might've known you'd try to take advantage of the situation," she seethed, trying with little success to keep her expression pleasant. "But I can assure you it'll do you no good."

He leaned in. "It's already doing me good." He chuckled at the look on her face as she realized his meaning. People watched them with fond, tolerant expressions; under cover of the music, their words were inaudible to all but each other. "Why didn't Stephen like Nick?" he asked abruptly.

"Stephen? He did like him." She frowned, and reconsidered. "Perhaps they weren't friends, but they got along fairly well. Why would you think otherwise?"

"A feeling. A strong one."

"Well… " Some devil made her say it. "Maybe Stephen was jealous."

"Of what?"

"Of you, of Nicholas. He asked me to marry him once."

"Your
cousin
asked you to
marry
him?"

His look of astonishment irritated her inordinately. "You find that hard to believe?"

"I certainly do."

"Well, thank you very much indeed." She almost jerked away, she was so riled.

"Steady as she goes," he said softly, holding on, pulling her even closer. "It doesn't surprise me that any man would want to marry you, sweet Annie. But I can't see you and your cousin together, that's all. He's not your type."

Unwillingly mollified, she relaxed slightly. "I didn't think so either," she admitted into the air over his shoulder. She remembered how much Stephen's proposal had surprised her. It had come soon after T.J.'s death. She'd turned him down gently, flattered but privately amazed that he could think of her in that way. She thought of him only as Cousin Stephen, older, remote, a rather formal man. She saw him now across the way, standing beside her aunt. They had the same faded reddish hair, the same upright posture, the same stuffiness.

The dance ended. Instead of letting her go, Brodie joined his hands behind her back, keeping her in a loose clasp. "I like your father."

She had to lean back in his arms to see his face. The impropriety of this was making her squirm; she could feel the attention of the nearby guests on them again. "Please let me go," she muttered without moving her lips.

"What I like most about him is his generosity. When are all these people going to go away, Annie, so you and I can go up to your father's old room? Wasn't it thoughtful of him to give it to us?"

Her scowl faded; she almost smiled. "Indeed, yes. Father's a very generous man."

Now Brodie scowled. Something was wrong. She wasn't worried nearly enough.

Anna felt a sharp pressure on her arm and turned to face her aunt.

"Are you having a nice time, dear?" She drew Anna away from Brodie as she spoke, smiling an insincere apology.

"Yes, very. It was… kind of you to think of a homecoming party." She wouldn't call it a wedding reception; it might lay her open to untimely recriminations. Aunt Charlotte had forgiven her, by letter, for eloping, but it seemed best to steer clear of that subject for now.

"You're quite welcome. It was fortunate that the Steubens of Bath happened to be passing through town this week. But I don't believe you've spoken to them yet."

That mystery was solved: this wasn't a party for her and Nicholas at all, it was for the Steubens of Bath. "No, I haven't seen them. Where—"

"You've been a bit wrapped up in other things, haven't you?" The hand on Anna's wrist tightened almost painfully. They were in a vacant alcove between the two drawing rooms, with no guests nearby to overhear them. Her aunt's voice changed; she gave up all pretense of graciousness. "What you do is out of my control now; you're a married woman, and I'm only a guest in your home."

"Oh, Aunt—"

"But I will say this anyway, out of a sense of duty and for your own good." The massive bosom expanded on a deep breath, and Anna dreaded what was coming. "The behavior I've witnessed tonight between you and Nicholas has shocked me deeply. What might've been acceptable in that libertine country you've just come from is quite the reverse here."

"But we're married!"

"What has that to do with anything?"

Anna blinked, at a loss.

"Do you suppose the bare fact of a wedding absolves you from any further responsibility to conduct yourself with propriety and decency?"