Page 39 of Lady Gambit
“I forgot to ask Mrs Haggert if she’d told Aaron my name was Caterina,” she said softly when they entered Daventry’s study. “I never asked why I was wearing a dress belonging to a girl named Delphine.”
Daventry gestured to the row of decanters on the drinks table. “Miss Chance requires a glass of sherry. I must visit BowStreet but will be no more than twenty minutes. There’s paper and ink at your disposal. Make a list of suspects and potential witnesses. When I return, we’ll devise a plan.”
He left them in the study and closed the door.
Dorian’s fingers trembled when he tugged the stopper from the decanter and filled the lady’s glass. Nothing fazed him but his desire to ease this woman’s troubled mind and the knowledge he would kiss her again in a heartbeat.
“I’ll make a note of any relevant questions,” he said, handing her the glass. “Do you remember anything about your time with Mrs Haggert?”
She sat in the chair and sipped her sherry. “No, but when she spoke to me directly, I wasn’t afraid.”
He perched on the desk beside her. “You don’t remember her. Perhaps life wasn’t so bad there.” Despite everything Mrs Haggert had said, he was convinced she had omitted certain aspects of the story.
“Some people come into our life for a reason. To teach us a lesson. To help us grow.” Like a lover’s sensual caress, her gaze fell slowly from his face to his thighs. “After the trouble I’ve caused you, a simple existence is all you’ll long for.”
He knew where this was going. “I live a simple existence.”
He rose at dawn each morning and worked until dusk. Until the last vestiges of daylight disappeared beyond the horizon. He dined alone, the clatter of cutlery on china the only sound. He slept alone in a cold bed and kept to the same routine daily.
“Mr Daventry once explained the importance of balance. By day, he walks through the bowels of hell. By night, when he returns home to his beloved wife, he said it’s like bathing in the splendours of heaven.”
Dorian had tasted heaven once. When he had dared to grasp Miss Chance’s wrist and make a scandalous suggestion. Nomatter how hard he tried to fight it, he needed to sup from her heavenly lips again. “What has that to do with me?”
She struggled to meet his gaze. “Perhaps you should consider your father’s proposal and marry a woman befitting your station. I cannot help but feel something is missing at Mile End.”
What could be missing?
He’d catered for every comfort.
A mocking chuckle burst from his lips. “An illegitimate son has no station. My father means to see me elevated from working man to lazy lout. He’s happy for me to repeat his mistake and marry for money. The man knows nothing about love.”
Miss Chance swallowed hard. “Is she beautiful?”
“Who?”
“The lady he wants you to marry.”
“Miss Montague? Most men think so.” Though he doubted his heart would ache if he kissed her. He didn’t wake at night wishing she was sprawled naked beside him in bed. He didn’t long to gather her close, keep her safe and chase her demons away. “It’s not enough for me.”
“Perhaps you should kiss her the way you kissed me. Beneath your stony facade, you’re a passionate man. You might be surprised to find you share a similar connection with Miss Montague.”
He stared at her, wondering why she would suggest he lock lips with another woman when it was obvious they wanted to kiss each other. “Our kiss was unique. As you said, I was suffering under the strain of having saved your brother’s life. It’s the reason for my fervent attentions.”
“Yes, it’s doubtful we would share such a powerful experience again.” Her tongue grazed her bottom lip, the sight firing his blood. “And I cannot help but wonder if you kissed me to defy your father.”
Everything he did was to show his disdain for the Earl of Retford’s schemes. Everything except for that one unbridled moment when he’d lost sight of the war. When he’d dared to surrender to the curious whispers of his heart.
“We were alone. My father thinks I live above the Old Swan.” And by God, it had better stay that way. He would rather call Mrs Haggert a liar than deal with the earl’s unwanted visits. “We’re the only ones who know what occurred in that bedchamber. The only ones who know what it meant in that moment.”
The pleasure of that memory was evident in her gentle sigh. “The unconscious mind has its own agenda. Perhaps yours is seeking to reclaim control.”
“And yours is on a quest for freedom.”
She placed her empty sherry glass on the desk before her eyes found his. “Or perhaps I see a hero in you, Mr Flynn. A quality I find as attractive as your handsome visage.”
What happened next would leave him baffled for hours.
Why did her simple statement have him reaching for her?
