A Dream of Desire (12 page)

“What is he doing here?” James asked.

“Mr. Fletcher volunteered to establish a curriculum for these boys. He is an excellent, dedicated teacher who will be the headmaster of Brick Street as soon as we are officially recognized. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back. We’ve two new students who need a bit of extra help.”

She turned and went back to the classroom. James watched her go, his anger and frustration tempered by a twinge of admiration. Though he had known of Talia’s recent dedication to helping people, in his head and heart she had always been the sweet, innocent girl of his childhood. He hadn’t seen this blunt, determined, courageous side of her before…or if he had, he’d ignored it.

But now, her passion echoed inside him, reflecting his own desire to explore distant horizons and unknown lands. For the first time, James thought that Talia would understand the exhilaration sparked by a storm at sea, trekking terra incognita, climbing to the highest peak of a mountain. And he wished there was some way he could share all of that with her.

He went out the front door to the street. He realized, not without a certain degree of consternation, that Talia was no longer the guileless girl he’d left behind. And he had no idea what to do with the woman who had taken her place.

The light behind the windows was beginning to dim when Talia finally left the classroom with Mr. Fletcher at her side. Her throat hurt from the smoky air, and a headache pressed like a pin right behind her eyes.

She had to find better facilities for these boys. No one could learn properly in such stifled, filthy surroundings. The only blessing was that the owner of the lodging house down the street had allowed them to rent the place for use as the dormitories. At least there, the boys were somewhat protected from the stink of the blacksmith shop.

“I’m going to ask Sir Henry about allocating space in the Bethnal Green school,” she told Mr. Fletcher as they stepped outside. “Though I don’t expect it would be easy getting the boys all the way to Bethnal Green for lessons.”

“No, better that we find something in this district,” Mr. Fletcher agreed. His gaze skirted past her for an instant. “Er, isn’t that your—”

Talia turned. Her heart did a somersault at the sight of James standing beside a cab, his hands shoved in his pockets and his expression dark. As he approached, Talia saw the irritation hardening his jaw, sensed his leashed anger. Though trepidation rose in her, she supposed she should be glad he hadn’t tried to haul her from the classroom in front of everyone.

“Have you been here all afternoon?” she asked.

“I would not leave without seeing you safely home.” James narrowed his gaze on Mr. Fletcher, who withstood the glower with impassivity.

“Mr. Fletcher always hires a cab to return me to King’s Street,” Talia said, her spine stiffening.

“That will no longer be necessary, Fletcher,” James said.

Talia almost resisted James’s high-handedness, but she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Mr. Fletcher. She nodded a farewell to him and allowed James to guide her to the waiting cab, where the driver pulled open the door. James handed her up and climbed in after her, snapping an order at the driver. Within seconds, the vehicle jolted into motion.

Talia looked at James across the expanse of the seats. Shadows cut across his hard features and his eyes glittered in the waning light. She realized, quite suddenly, that she’d never borne the brunt of his anger before. He’d always treated her with kindness, courtesy, warmth…but he’d never had reason to be angry with her.

“I won’t have it, Talia.” Coldness edged his voice.

Talia suppressed a wave of responding anger and forced her own voice to remain calm. “It isn’t up to you, James.”

He leaned forward, narrowing his gaze on her face. “If you truly believed this was a safe venture, you’d have told Rushton and Northwood when you first started it. But you didn’t because you know those boys are dangerous.”

“That is not why I didn’t tell them,” Talia replied. “I simply knew that both my father and brother would have thwarted my efforts. They only believe these boys should be locked in prison.”

“Like the criminals they are,” James snapped.

Talia clenched her fists.
Exactly
what her father and Alexander would have said.

“My hope,” she said, staring out the window, “is that my father and brothers will one day recognize the good we are doing.” She paused, her stomach tightening with nerves. “I hope the same will be true of you, James.”

He paced to the carriage and back, his shoulders tense. “I will never believe that you keeping company with criminals will do any
good.
”

Talia took a breath and mustered her courage. “That is exactly why I would like to invite you to spend an afternoon at the Brick Street reformatory school.”

“What?”

“I am issuing you a personal invitation to spend an afternoon at the school with me tomorrow,” Talia repeated. “You can sit in on Mr. Fletcher’s lessons, review the curriculum, see how the class is structured. You can even speak with the boys, if you wish.”

Though Talia hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed at the idea, she also hadn’t expected this weighty silence to descend. James just looked at her, as if he couldn’t fathom the reason for such a proposal. Talia’s nervousness intensified.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“So that you might, at the very least, understand that these boys are redeemable,” Talia replied.

“And if I don’t?”

“I ask only that you try.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Suspicion crackled between them. Talia knew James was torn between his loyalty to both her and Alexander. But if she could convince James of the usefulness of her work, perhaps he might persuade Alexander to let her see it through.

Perhaps he might even help her.

It was a frail hope at best, but Talia did know that James possessed an innate sense of fairness. He would, at the very least, allow her to make a case.

“I shall accompany you,” he finally said. “Not because I want to, but because I’ve no intention of letting you go there alone again.”

Talia controlled another simmer of irritation. “I’m not asking you to come as a protector. I’m asking you to come as my friend.”

“I will always be both to you.”

“I don’t need a protector,” Talia said. “But I do still need you to be my friend.”

His jaw tightened. They fell silent on the drive back to King’s Street. The cab halted in front of Rushton’s town house. Neither she nor James moved. She felt his gaze on her, the slow drain of his anger.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered.

For a moment, they looked at each other. A crackle of energy, red and blue, shimmered through the air. Talia’s pulse thumped.

“I’m not yours to do anything with, James,” she whispered.

A shutter came down over his expression. He pushed to his feet and shoved open the cab door, gesturing for her to precede him. As Talia rose, her fingers brushed against a folded paper on the seat beside her. The paper dropped to the ground, and she bent to retrieve it.

Just as James moved to take it from her, a stream of light illuminated the front of the paper. The name
Lady Talia Hall
was scrawled on the front in James’s distinctive penmanship, the letters joined together like string. Talia would know that hand anywhere.

She held the paper away from James as he tried to grab it again. His fingers grazed her wrist, the light touch sparking a shiver all the way up her arm.

“What is this?” she asked curiously.

Even in the dim light, she saw his face burn with a flush.

“It’s just a note, Talia.” He reached for the paper again, and his hand closed around her wrist, the space of bare skin between her glove and her sleeve.

Talia drew in a breath at the clasp of his strong fingers, knowing he could feel the racing of her pulse beneath her skin even through his glove. She tightened her grip on the paper, sensing it contained something momentous. Her heart pounded.

“Did…did you intend to deliver it to me?” she asked.

“I was bringing it this morning when I saw you leave.” He took hold of the paper with his other hand, and then they were so close together that she could feel the heat of his body radiating into the space between them.

Talia looked up at him, struck by the intense way he was looking at her and seeing herself reflected in his brown eyes. They were both holding the paper, and Talia thought that nothing in the world could make her release her grip on it. James flexed his fingers against her wrist, and she swore he was seeking the rhythm of her heart.

“I…won’t you let me read it?” she whispered.

He let out his breath in a warm rush that stirred the fine hairs at Talia’s temple. She wanted almost desperately to lean into him, to press her forehead against his neck where she knew his pulse beat as rapidly as hers. She felt his surrender before he spoke, just as she had that afternoon at Floreston Manor.

“I suppose.” His voice was low and hoarse, rumbling through his chest.

Talia twisted her hand slightly, and then he let go of her. She moved back, her breathing shaky. His chest heaved, his eyes glittering.

“Th-thank you.” She tucked the paper beneath her cloak and descended the cab. “Good night, James.”

She managed to keep her voice cool, her stride sedate, as she went up the steps to the front door. She felt James watching her as if he were touching her. Only when Soames closed the door behind her did Talia hasten to shed her cloak and hat. She tossed them at the footman and rushed upstairs to her room.

Her hands trembled as she broke the seal on the paper and unfolded it.

Talia’s breath caught. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed the paper to her chest, her heart beating swift as a wind-whipped leaf. For ten years, James’s letters to her from the four corners of the earth had all begun the same way.

She blinked back unexpected tears and settled in a chair beside the fire. After smoothing out the paper, she read the words sweeping like a crescendo across the page.

Talia drank James’s descriptions as if they were the finest wine, picturing the winding rivers, the architecture of Sydney, the colorful cockatoos and parrots with lemon-colored crests, scarlet tail feathers, and speckled wings.

The letter, filled with evocative tales of his travels, was four pages long and ended with his usual signature.

Very truly mine.
Talia let the paper flutter to her lap and gazed at the waning fire.

Her heart would always know the truth, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise. Her love for James was the reason she would never marry. She couldn’t be with one man while still feeling this way about another. It would be unfair to both herself and him.

Talia folded the letter in half and pushed up from the chair. She went to her desk beside the window and opened the bottom drawer.

Inside, bundles of letters lay tied with ribbons, the colorful satin bright against the creased pages, all bearing rows of James’s bold handwriting. Talia tucked James’s newest letter beneath a blue ribbon and closed the drawer.

Peter stopped across the street from his father’s Bell Lane house. Tidy place with its white shutters and flowers lining the front walk. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to quell his nervousness. He’d left the house two days ago and wasn’t sure he’d be welcomed back. His father had given him until the end of the week to attend Brick Street. If Peter refused, he’d be kicked out on his ear.

At least his father would be at work now. Good thing, since he wouldn’t be pleased to see Peter returning. He didn’t feel so bad about his father—the old man had never been happy, no matter what Peter did.

His sister, though…she’d always tried hard to be good to him. Always tried to take their mother’s place. Always blamed herself because he went wrong, even though none of it was her fault. For her sake alone, he’d try again.

Peter crossed the street and went up the steps. Took hold of the door handle and let himself in. Silence greeted him, broken only by the tick of the foyer clock. He thought Alice would be home now. She liked to have her tea precisely at four. Peter remembered that. He took off his coat and hung it on the rack, noticing an unfamiliar greatcoat hanging near the wall.

A man’s voice came through the half-open door of the parlor. Peter frowned. Not his father. He tensed, his footsteps silent as he made his way toward the parlor. He couldn’t understand what the man was saying, but something in his voice made prickles break out on Peter’s neck.

Who…?

He eased open the door farther. Seated on the sofa, his back to the door, was a man with blond hair. He had a rigid, straight-backed posture, and a gold-braided hat rested on the table beside him. Alice sat across from him, leaning forward to pour another cup of tea.

Lawford.
Bile rose in Peter’s throat. The bastard was in his father’s house, speaking to his sister…

“I would greatly appreciate your testimony on the matter,” Lawford said to Alice, his voice polished as a jewel. “Everyone knows my uncle does not actually govern Newhall, so if you were to write a letter to Lord Thurlow telling them of my concern toward your brother, that would greatly aid my proposal for the Shipton Fields prison.”

Peter’s stomach swirled with nausea, pooling into the fear that had become part of him at Newhall.

“I’ll consider it, Mr. Lawford.” Alice extended a plate of cakes. “Though I won’t testify to anything until I have Peter’s consent.”