And then came that fateful day.
My hand went to my eye, as if about to probe a bruise, but the bruise had been gone for eight months now. Molly hadn’t said that she never wanted to see me again, she hadn’t said that she would never forgive me, but I had assumed all that was implied when she struck me.
And I hadn’t said I’m sorry. I hadn’t dropped to my knees and begged for her to forgive me, because I had assumed all that was implied when I’d let her strike me, when I’d turned away and left England.
I changed trains at the outer edges of London, settling in for the short ride to the station near Piccadilly Circus. And that’s when I heard a familiar pair of tinkling laughs.
I turned to see Rhoda and Zona walking towards me down the aisle, the swaying motion of the train barely perturbing the movement of the graceful creatures as they made their way to my row and sat down in a flounce of expensive silk and lace.
“Ladies,” I greeted them, taking their hands to kiss. “What marvelous luck to run into you on my first day back.”
“Silas!” Rhoda exclaimed with a smile. Both she and her sister were studies in pale—pale skin, pale blond hair, pale gray eyes. They looked like twin Nordic goddesses, tall and beautiful, and I felt a familiar tugging in my groin as I remembered the last time we’d been together. Mercy had been there that night too…
At the thought of Mercy Atworth, my mood simultaneously darkened and lightened. Mercy Atworth was part of the reason I’d left the country, part of the reason behind my black eye all those months ago. She was also one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met.
Somehow, as if reading my mind and its tangled, depraved thoughts, Rhoda announced, “Oh, here come Mercy and Hugh.”
I turned, my heart closing with something like panic while my dick started to stiffen, as if the two organs were controlled by different brains. What were the fucking odds? On this train, on this day, at this particular hour, that I should run into the one singular reason why Molly and I fought, why Molly and I never became a we or an us.
Which is a good thing, I reminded myself. You don’t love Molly. Maybe you never really did love her. It was a moment of weakness, a moment where you confused friendship with something more, and you should thank Mercy for proving that to both of you.
Mercy Atworth smiled at me as she came closer, her black hair piled in rich coils on top of her head, her long eyelashes fluttering as she looked down and then up at me. Mercy was beautiful in a very physical sort of way; every feature and every curve could have been lifted entirely from a classical marble statue. But there was something about the secretive press of her mouth and the hooded veil of her eyelids that really made a man (or a woman) take notice. It was like she held ancient, esoteric knowledge, and she wanted you to come discover it inside her. She was seductive and silky and eager to please, and all of a sudden, I felt like Silas from last year, carefree and intent on fucking someone immediately.
Our gazes locked, and for one ridiculous moment, I imagined that I was staring into a pair of blue eyes instead of brown ones. That a different woman was walking toward me with that sultry smile on her face. And then I wanted to scream at myself. I came back because of Molly but not for Molly.
I came back with a business offer.
I wasn’t in love with her.
At all.
Hugh Calvert handed Mercy into the seat next to me while he continued to stand. Like the sisters, Hugh was tall and blond, but in a rich, buttery sort of way. I’d never liked Hugh very much. He was a viscount—the only titled one among our set other than Castor Gravendon, whom we usually called ‘The Baron’—and even though we all had money to spare, there was something in his demeanor that indicated he felt slightly above us all. But Molly had liked him, and what Molly said went, at least for Julian and me, and so he’d become permanently fixed in our circle—for better or for worse.
“Silas,” Hugh said coolly. “Back from France, I see.”
Mercy was adjusting her skirts, and I felt the warm press of her leg through the fabric. “I had some things to take care of for Thomas,” I replied, stretching my legs and giving Mercy my sunniest grin.
She smiled back.
“That’s the only reason?” Hugh asked. I wasn’t watching him, but I could practically hear his eyebrows rising.
I thought of the letter in my pocket. Surely they knew. Molly was a friend to all of us—well, maybe not to Mercy any more—but if Julian had heard about it all the way in Yorkshire, then everybody else here in London must know.
“Actually—” I started, but the train lurched to a halt.
“This is our stop,” Rhoda and Zona said in unison, and Hugh nodded. “Mine too. I was going to escort Mercy to her house, but it’s so close to yours, Silas…”
Delightful. I’d forgotten that Mercy’s London house was a mere block from my own. This could prove very felicitous for me settli
ng back into London life—and more importantly, for proving to myself once again that I wasn’t in love with Molly, that I certainly wasn’t pining for her.
“Of course, it would be no problem,” I grinned. “As long as Miss Atworth doesn’t mind.”
“Oh, I am Miss Atworth now, am I?” Mercy teased from beside me.
In response, I took her hand and raised it to my lips. “Darling, I’ll call you whatever you like.”
“Marvelous,” Hugh said, looking almost gleeful for some reason. I didn’t like the look on his golden face; it seemed both smarmy and ominous somehow. “In that case,” He stood, offering his arms to the twins. “Shall we?”
