A Secret Surrender Page 11

  The invitation to dinner tonight had arrived a few hours later.

  As if Lady Aylesbury were a party to Selina’s thoughts, she said, “I’m so pleased you and your sister could come tonight.”

  Selina took a vacant chair. “We were elated to be invited, thank you.”

  “Of course!” Lady Aylesbury glanced at her daughters, who sat lined up on a settee. “Lady Gresham sent the most charming missive complimenting our family.” She looked back to Selina. “It’s always good to hear that we haven’t driven people away. We can be rather, ah, raucous.”

  “Harry and North can be raucous,” Rachel said. “We’re far too refined for that.” She winked at her sisters, who smiled in return.

  Selina tried to imagine Mr. Sheffield as raucous and found she couldn’t. “You’re referring to when they were younger, I presume?”

  Imogen laughed. “Goodness, no. They are incredibly competitive. You should come for card night sometime. It can get positively ruthless around the table.” She waggled her red brows and grinned.

  “Oh yes, you must come for that,” Delia said, stroking her belly. “Before I have the babe.”

  Rachel patted her arm. “You’ve a few months yet. Plenty of time for Lady Gresham, and Miss Whitford, of course, to come for cards.”

  “We just need to make sure North will be here.”

  Selina had realized during dinner that North was the nickname the Aylesbury sisters called their eldest brother. That they’d mentioned him after Beatrix made Selina wonder if they were trying to match the two of them as they were clearly trying to do with her and Mr. Sheffield.

  Selina considered how she might let them know that neither she nor Beatrix were interested in being paired off. However, before she could find the right words, Imogen spoke.

  “Do you ride, Lady Gresham? Harry is an excellent horseman.”

  “No, I do not.” Selina had never even owned a horse. She had, out of necessity, learned to drive about ten years before.

  “What a shame,” Delia said. “Do you have an aversion to it?”

  “No. I just never learned.” Selina tried not to lie when it wasn’t necessary. That only complicated matters. She also endeavored not to offer information, just in case a lie became necessary. “I take it you all ride?”

  “We do,” Rachel said. “It’s never too late to learn, you know. Perhaps Harry would give you a lesson.”

  Their efforts were shameless. It was almost enough to make Selina laugh. And she might have if not for the ever-present pull she felt toward Mr. Sheffield. Because of that, there was no humor but an apprehension of where that might lead. Not to horse riding—of that she was certain. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “He’d be happy to teach you,” Lady Aylesbury said enthusiastically.

  “What about chess?” Rachel asked. “Do you play? Harry is quite accomplished at that.”

  “Rarely,” Selina said. Sir Barnabus had taught her, but she hadn’t had time to master the skill needed to win.

  “When you come for card night, you can play with Harry,” Imogen suggested as a maid entered with a tray of Madeira.

  Selina gratefully took a glass and prayed Beatrix would return soon. Perhaps then they could divert the conversation from Mr. Sheffield and what he liked to do. After sipping her wine, Selina said, “It is my impression that Mr. Sheffield’s favorite pastime is his work.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lady Aylesbury began. Before she could continue, Rachel waved her hand.

  “No need to make it seem otherwise, Mama. Lady Gresham’s impression is dead accurate, as we all well know.” Rachel winked at Selina.

  Now Selina did smile. She was torn between enjoying Mr. Sheffield’s family and succumbing to the urge to flee from their presence. She realized their closeness was incredibly unnerving. She didn’t share that with anyone beyond Beatrix, and even then, as Beatrix had pointed out, Selina still kept some things to herself.

  “What do you think of that?” Lady Aylesbury asked.

  Selina wasn’t entirely sure what the countess was getting at. “Of what?”

  “Of Harry having an occupation. Some women, a great many, actually, find that bothersome.”

  That was their loss. A man who knew himself and possessed the drive to pursue what he wanted and help others in the process was a man worth admiring. “How unfortunate for them. I think it’s commendable.”

  It was as if a firework had gone off in the room. The Aylesbury ladies all exchanged looks warmed with enthusiasm and hope. Selina felt heat rise in her face. She rarely bungled things that badly. Now they would be absolutely relentless.

  “Are you all right, Lady Gresham?” Delia asked. “You look a bit warm.”

  “I am, actually. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just step outside for some air.” Selina knew precisely how to find her way to the back garden, since she’d accompanied Mr. Sheffield there on her last visit.

  “Just through there.” Lady Aylesbury gestured to the closed doors, and Selina realized the large drawing room had been opened into another room at the back of the house for the soiree to provide more space.

  “Thank you.” Selina went through the doors and continued on until she was outside on the terrace. From there, she went down the stairs to the garden, where she took a deep breath.

  “Lady Gresham.”

  The familiar sound of Mr. Sheffield’s voice caressing her name drew her to turn. He stood just under the stairs, his eyes gleaming in the light from the torch burning near the house.

  “Mr. Sheffield.” Selina had been looking for respite, but she suddenly felt even more heated than she had upstairs. Her heart beat a fast rhythm as her blood rushed briefly through her ears.

  He stepped out from beneath the stairs and walked toward her. He held his hat and gloves as if he were on his way out. “Is everything all right?”

  She didn’t hesitate to respond. “Yes, thank you.”

  His gaze found hers, and she felt the intensity of his stare deep in the pit of her belly. No, lower than that, if she were honest. And when was she consistently honest? “I must apologize,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic, the resonance thrumming in Selina’s chest. “For my family trying to match us.”

  She took a step toward him, leaving a bare foot between them. “I’m afraid I had to escape their machinations. They suggested you give me riding lessons or teach me to play chess.”

  A faint smile teased his lips. She loved that smile, for it was a combination of mirth, flirtation, and something unknown, something yet to be revealed.

  “You don’t know how to do either?”

  “I play chess passably, but I have never learned to ride.”

  “I would be delighted to teach you.” He grimaced. “Except my family will think they’ve succeeded in their efforts to pair us off. This is how I spend much of my time with them. If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.”

  “You’ve given riding lessons to other ladies? Or taught them chess?”

  His gaze settled on hers with a smoldering intensity. “Not once.”

  A shiver raced down her spine. “Well then, that would be quite troublesome for you. Why don’t you wish to marry?”

  “I’m busy.” He flicked a glance at the terrace above, scowled, then drew her back under the stairs from whence he’d come. “I am fairly certain I saw at least one of my sisters up there spying.”

  Selina looked up even though she wouldn’t be able to see anything from here. “They’re merciless.” She kept her voice low in case they were trying to eavesdrop.

  “Shameless too.” He shook his head, but there was humor in it. “To answer your question, I don’t want to marry just now. I suppose my family pushing me in that direction makes me want it even less. I’m contrary like that.”

  A smile split Selina’s mouth unbidden. “I completely understand. I’m contrary too.” She hated being told what to do—or what she couldn’t do.

  He stared at her a long moment. �
��Perhaps that’s why I like you so much. That, and I needn’t worry you are trying to ensnare me in the parson’s trap because you don’t want that either. You’ve already wed, and for whatever reason—which I would actually love to know—you don’t seek to enter that state again.”

  The torchlight made his eyes glow and his dark lashes seem impossibly long. Selina felt a bit breathless and found the sensation wholly unnerving. But also intoxicating.

  “No, I do not.”

  “Will you tell me why?” he whispered, close enough that she could feel his breath.

  “I see no benefit in marriage.”

  He lifted his free hand and gently caressed her cheek with his bare knuckles. “None?”

  Selina couldn’t answer. She knew what he was referring to, but since she hadn’t really ever been married, she couldn’t say. And her one experience…well, that was nothing like this.

  “I’m attracted to you, Lady Gresham.”

  “Selina,” she breathed.

  His knuckles moved against her jaw. “I’m attracted to you, Selina. If I did want to marry, you would be my first choice.”

  She couldn’t see beyond him, couldn’t hear anything but the beating of their hearts. She couldn’t breathe. Nor did she want to, for it would surely devastate this moment.

  You would also be mine.

  The thought alarmed her. His hand moved back behind her ear, and he drew her toward him.

  “Why?” she asked, captivated by his touch and his words.

  “You’re intelligent, independent, thoughtful, caring, fascinating, and I desperately want to know how your mouth feels beneath mine.” Then his lips were against hers, soft and sure, restoring her breath if not her sanity.

  He dragged his thumb gently along the base of her jaw and pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. He was so close, she could see the thin rims of gold edging his tawny irises.

  “What does this mean?” she asked, still not completely regaining her breath.

  “Whatever we want it to.”

  Selina couldn’t quite make sense of anything. So she gave up trying. “Oh.” She slipped her hands beneath his coat and slid her palms along his waist until she reached his back. Then she tipped her head to the side and kissed him.

  The first kiss had been a question, a curiosity. This was an exploration, a search for…something. Selina had kissed several men, starting with Luther when they’d been little more than children. He’d begged her before she’d gone away to school.

  But none of them had ever felt like this. Like something she’d never been able to attain—a sense of belonging, of rightness, of everything leading to this particular moment.

  His lips brushed and moved across hers, teasing and enticing. Sensation built, and the connections grew longer until his mouth molded against hers, and he held her in his arms, one hand cupping her nape. Then his tongue slid along her lips, and she invited him inside.

  Selina clutched at his back, her fingertips digging into his waistcoat. She kissed him back with what little skill she felt she possessed. He, however, was not remotely deficient. Desire—at least she thought it was desire, because she had nothing to compare this sensation to—streaked through her. It would be so easy to lose herself on this tide.

  Selina brought her hands around him and slid them up his chest. Then she closed her lips against his, giving him one last kiss before she stepped back. Now he was breathless too—if the rapid rise and fall of his chest meant anything, and of course, it did.

  “I need to get back upstairs,” she said. “Beatrix will wonder where I’ve gone.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t accompany you. And glad.” He bent to retrieve his hat and gloves, which he’d apparently tossed aside at some point. Selina had been completely unaware. “Forgive me for not escorting you back to the drawing room. I was just on my way to the mews.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  He cracked a small smile. “It seemed best given my family’s behavior this evening, don’t you think?”

  She couldn’t disagree. “Yes.” His family thought they would make a good match, and if things were different, they actually might. But things weren’t different. He was who he was, and she was…not worthy.

  The sensation of not being able to breathe returned, but for a wholly different reason. Selina fought to calm herself before he noticed her agitation. “Well, good evening, then.” She pivoted and went back to the stairs leading up to the terrace.

  She didn’t look down until she reached the top. He’d made his way to the gate that presumably led to the mews. He hadn’t left, though. She could make him out in the shadows standing there. Looking up at her.

  Turning swiftly, she went into the house, her hand shaking as she opened the door. Once inside, she finally drew a deep breath.

  That couldn’t ever happen again. It was one thing to keep him—her enemy—close. It was quite another to invite him into her life.

  That she must never do.

  Chapter 9

  Every time Harry closed his eyes, he smelled Selina’s fragrance—orange and honeysuckle—and he tasted her lips, more succulent than any fruit. He opened his eyes and took another drink of ale. He’d been walking around all day like an enamored fool.

  “Sheff!” Remy called out as he and Dearborn made their way to Harry’s table in the Brown Bear.

  The two constables sat down, and almost immediately, the serving maid brought them tankards. She also brought a fresh one for Harry and scooped his nearly empty one away.

  “Haven’t seen you in a few days,” Dearborn said as he lifted his tankard.

  “He’s probably been spending all his time around St. Dunstan-in-the-West,” Remy said. “Or investigating his fortune-teller.”

  “Not all my time. And she’s not my fortune-teller.” Harry snorted before taking a drink of the fresh ale. He set his tankard down and looked to Remy. “As you said, the Vicar’s being as elusive as ever. I don’t expect to find him there. I’ve decided to go back to Saffron Hill to investigate the fire and ask about the Vicar. Maybe a new clue will allow me to find him.”

  Remy narrowed his eyes slightly for a brief moment. “Don’t get too caught in the past.” He knew that Harry had begun to care for one of the young women who’d died.

  “I’m not.”

  Remy gave Harry a look that clearly said he thought that was twaddle, but he wasn’t going to pursue the issue in front of Dearborn. “Do you want help?”

  “I’d be glad to help too,” Dearborn offered, seemingly oblivious to what Harry and Remy weren’t saying. Or perhaps he was ignoring it on purpose as a matter of deference.

  “Thank you,” Harry said, relaxing somewhat. “I appreciate that.” He took another drink, then set his tankard down with a light clack. “I must be off.”

  “Where to?” Remy asked.

  “Things to do.” Harry wouldn’t tell them he was going to The Strand to check in on Madame Sybila. Not after the comment Remy had made.

  With a nod, Harry turned and left. His walk to The Ardent Rose was brisk, and not just because a light rain had started to fall. He’d decided it was time to speak with Madame Sybila again, and he was eager to do so.

  Or perhaps he was eager to get to the errand he planned afterward.

  Harry went into the shop just as the rain began to pick up. Instead of the gentleman greeting him as he’d done last time, the woman who’d also been working on his first visit approached him.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, her brow creasing gently. “You’ve been in here before, yes?”

  “I have. To see Madame Sybila. I’d like to do so again, please.”

  “She is busy, I’m afraid.”

  Harry offered a benign smile. “I’ll wait until she’s finished.”

  The shopkeeper, an attractive woman of perhaps sixty with bold features, held his gaze. “I believe she will be busy the rest of the day.”

  “I require only a few minutes of her time. Perhaps you could tel
l her I will compensate her handsomely. And you, if that would help.” He pivoted toward a display of perfume. “I’ll just take a look around while you go and speak with her.” Harry took himself off before she could refuse him.

  He went to a table where scents were arranged. Picking up a bottle labeled rosy peach, he held it near his nose and inhaled. The woman hesitated, watching him a moment, before finally turning and going back through the curtain to Madame Sybila’s closet.

  Wrinkling his nose, Harry set the bottle back down. Moving from bottle to bottle, he sampled them all, not liking a one, until he reached the last. The scent was familiar and more than a bit disarming.

  Selina.

  He looked at the label—fruit and floral. He smelled it again, wondering if he had it right. Yes, that was her.

  Had she purchased it here? She must have. The other day, she’d had a package when they’d met. Harry didn’t like that another woman could purchase her scent. Frowning, he set it back down. He was now in even more of a hurry for his next errand.

  The shopkeeper came toward him. “Madame Sybila is just finishing with her client and said you may speak with her for five minutes.” The woman didn’t look as if she approved. Harry wondered why.

  “You seem protective of Madame Sybila. Is she a friend of yours?” Harry could perhaps find out the true identity of the heavily veiled fortune-teller, or at least where she lived.

  “We have a business arrangement,” the shopkeeper said rather tersely, as if she didn’t want to be linked to the fortune-teller in that way. But if Madame Sybila bothered her, why let her use the back of the perfumery?

  “What sort of business arrangement?” Harry began to speculate that there was a reason for this association beyond financial. When the shopkeeper’s brows drew together and her lips pressed into an irritated line, he added, “I’m Mr. Sheffield, and I work for Bow Street.”

  The woman’s dark eyes flashed with surprise. Her features relaxed from annoyance into wariness. “She pays rent on her space, and my husband and I help with the people who come to see her.”