A Dream of Desire (19 page)

“You
spy
on me,” Talia snapped. She fisted her hands in her skirt. “That’s why you followed me, isn’t it, James? That’s why you came to see me again. Because you made a bargain with Alexander.”

“No, I…” The protest died in his throat. He hated knowing that he would
not
have come to see Talia had it not been for his promise to Northwood.

“I would expect such high-handed conduct from Alexander, even from thousands of miles away,” Talia continued. “In fact, I’ve become accustomed to it. But…but
you
?”

“I’m sorry.” Desperation rose in him suddenly. Never before had Talia looked at him with such disappointment, not even during that life-changing afternoon at Floreston Manor. “I wasn’t trying to deceive you.”

“But you did.”

“I wanted to protect you.”

“No, you didn’t! You wanted to honor your bargain with Alexander, which might as well have involved balancing his accounts, for all it would have mattered to you.” She held up a hand when he tried to protest again. “James, please. I…that day at Floreston Manor, I meant what I said. I truly did.
At the time.
But now? You’ve spent the last year avoiding me, you wouldn’t have come to see me on your own, you’re running off again in less than a fortnight, you offered your help with the ragged schools yet you refuse to commit your support to boys who desperately need someone like you…”

She shook her head. “I loved you when you were brave and honorable, James. But you’ve changed. And somehow you’ve become…the opposite of the man I once knew.”

No. I’m not. I’m the same.

The words stuck in his throat because he knew they were a lie. And he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear this evidence that Talia Hall no longer loved him. Not only that, she didn’t much
like
him anymore.

Given all she’d recounted, why should she? And wasn’t that what he wanted, for her to keep the wall firmly between them?

“Go ahead and tell Alexander, if you must.” Talia’s voice dulled as she turned away from him. “I’ve butted heads with him and my father before. I’ve hoped I wouldn’t have to do so again, but make no mistake. I will if I must.”

James dug his fingers into the edge of the mantel to stop himself from going after her.
Let her go. If she hates you, you’ve no excuse to go near her. Maybe you’ll finally be ashamed enough to stop thinking about her.

“My father’s kitchen staff will be here at noon on Friday,” Talia said as she walked to the door. “My aunt and I will be here at five, ostensibly for tea, but of course to ensure everything is going smoothly. Your guests should arrive around eight.”

The door clicked shut behind her. James scrubbed his hands over his face. He suddenly couldn’t wait to get the hell out of London again. Nothing good ever happened here.

Peter woke to a gray light shining in parallel bars across from him. He rubbed his sore eyes and pushed to a sitting position on the narrow cot. His brain prickled with fear and dismay. He’d never thought he would ever be the success his father wanted, but he certainly hadn’t expected to end up in prison again.

He dragged himself to the bucket in the corner and splashed cold water over his face. He wasn’t in Newhall again; he could determine that much from the cell itself and the street noise filtering through the barred window. The constable had told him he’d been accused of stealing from the mariner’s shop on Ratcliffe Highway, and they’d found the compass in the pocket of the coat he’d left at his father’s house.

Peter didn’t give himself much credit for being intelligent, but even he could figure out that Lawford had arranged this.

He turned as a key twisted in the lock. His heartbeat kicked up as Lawford stepped into the cell. For an instant, Peter was thrown back into Newhall, the countless times he’d been trapped in his cell while Lawford loomed over him.

“Hello, Peter.” Lawford’s voice was deceptively friendly.

Peter fought the urge to cower. He folded his arms in front of him and lifted his head to meet Lawford’s gaze. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“I can’t have you getting in my way.” Lawford bent to pick up a tray from just outside the door and placed it on the foot of the bed. “You’d have been better off if you hadn’t agreed to attend Brick Street.”

The mention of Brick Street sparked something inside Peter. Lady Talia Hall had helped him before, so maybe…

Lawford shook his head. “She’s finished with you, Peter. They all are. Your father and sister want nothing to do with you anymore, not now that you’ve gotten yourself locked up again. And Lady Talia has exhausted her efforts on your behalf, hasn’t she?”

Peter swallowed to try to ease his dry throat. “What…what’s next, then?”

“You’ll be scheduled for a hearing, though I wouldn’t expect much sympathy considering your past. I’ve already spoken to the magistrate myself.”

Lawford didn’t have to say any more, Peter thought. He’d be going back to Newhall in due course, and if he—

“Ever wished to travel, Peter?”

The unexpected question sparked new wariness. Peter eyed Lawford and shook his head, though that wasn’t quite a true response. He had thought about traveling once, imagining the destinations of all the docked ships, but he suspected Lawford was speaking about a very different kind of travel.

“Where’re you sending me?” he asked. He hated the sound of his voice, thin and reedy. Scared.

“There’s a ship bound for Australia next Wednesday. The prison hulk supervisor assures me there’s a cell available for you.” Lawford straightened, his hands on his hips. “Shouldn’t be too difficult a journey, likely one of the last convict transports. And I’m certain the colony will appeal to you more than Newhall.”

“I want to speak to my sister.”

“She won’t come, Peter. Neither will your father.” Lawford turned and headed back to the door. “You’re alone.”

Just as he was all those months in Newhall. And like then, Peter had no idea what to do next.

O
ne day
it will stop hurting.

Talia repeated the thought to herself again as she turned to let the maid fasten her corset. She looked in the mirror as Lucy tightened the stays, then helped her into a forest-green gown with russet trim and a heart-shaped bodice that, only now, Talia realized was reminiscent of the neckline of her gown that afternoon at Floreston Manor.

No matter. James certainly wouldn’t remember.

One day…

She hoped that day dawned sooner rather than later. She sat at the dressing table while Lucy arranged her hair, adding green satin ribbons that trailed over her bare neck. A few puffs of rice powder on her skin, and Talia felt ready to face another evening in James’s presence. He hadn’t been at home that afternoon when she went to his house to oversee the final preparations. Tonight would be more challenging, however, since she wouldn’t have the crush of a crowd to hide in.

Well, she wasn’t the one who ought to hide, in any case. James was the fickle friend who would rather lie to both her and himself rather than admit he was a coward.

“Will that be all, milady?” Lucy asked, clasping a strand of pearls around Talia’s neck.

“Yes, thank you. Please tell Lady Sally I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“Oh, she’s feelin’ a bit poorly, milady, didn’t she tell you?”

Talia frowned with concern. “No, she didn’t. What’s the matter?”

“Headache, I think, milady. I don’t know if she’s planning to accompany you tonight.”

Talia rose and went down the corridor to the bedchamber where her aunt was staying. She knocked once and opened the door when Sally bade her enter. She was sitting beside the fire, a book open on her lap and her glasses perched on her nose.

“Are you all right?” Talia hurried across the room. “Lucy said you were feeling ill.”

“Just a bit of a headache, my dear.” Sally pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m terribly sorry, but I would hate to attend the party and then make you leave early if I begin to feel worse. Do convey my regrets to his lordship.”

“Well, I can’t leave you alone if you—”

“For pity’s sake, Talia, it’s a headache, not the plague,” Sally remarked.

Talia hesitated, torn between her duty to her aunt and her promise to James.

“Go, go.” Sally waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ll just take a nap instead of having supper, Talia. If I’m feeling better later, I’ll take myself to James’s house. In the meantime, please don’t worry about me.”

“All right, but I’ll be back early.” Talia kissed her aunt’s forehead, then went downstairs.

“I asked Soames to assist at Lord Castleford’s tonight,” she told the housekeeper as she pulled on her cloak. “So please send Kinley to fetch me if my aunt’s condition worsens.”

Talia had the driver take her to Arlington Street, where Soames opened the front door of James’s town house.

“Everything is progressing well, my lady,” the footman assured her. “Lord Castleford is in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Soames.” Talia stopped in the dining room to ensure the table was set properly, then went to the kitchen for a last-minute consultation with the cook.

Smoothing her skirts, she went to the drawing room. Another footman opened the door for her and stepped aside to allow her entry.

Talia stopped for an instant to absorb the jolt of awareness that shot through her at the sight of James. Her heart thumped.

He turned from the sideboard, a glass of sherry in his hand, his figure so tall and striking that Talia’s breath caught in her throat. He wore a beautiful, black superfine evening coat and a snowy white shirt that made his skin seem even darker in contrast. A green silk waistcoat hugged his lean torso, the silver buttons gleaming in the light. His hair, which had been unfashionably long, was now cropped short—a style that emphasized the masculine planes of his face and wide mouth.

“You’ve cut your hair.” It was the first thing she could think of to say.

James blinked, as if he’d forgotten. “Yes. Paid a visit to the barber this afternoon. Had a shave, as well.”

“It looks very…distinguished.”

“Thank you.” He gestured to the sideboard. “Sherry?”

“Please.” She accepted the glass he poured, determined to ignore the awkwardness shimmering between them. Just as she finished telling him about Aunt Sally’s absence, the front bell rang again.

James moved forward to greet Lord Ridley and his father, Lord Greenburg, a robust man with bristling side whiskers and a merry twinkle in his eye. Ridley came to Talia’s side almost immediately after his arrival. For once, she was grateful for his presence, as it allowed her to try to ignore James.

She admitted, too, that she liked Ridley—unlike so many other young men, he didn’t look at her with that faint gleam of curiosity, as if wondering whether or not to ask about her mother. As if wondering if Talia, too, had those same immoral urges.

She blushed suddenly, remembering what
else
she had confessed to James about the thoughts that had blossomed vividly in her dreams. Heavens, would she never learn to keep her secrets locked away from him?

“Lord Ridley, you told me you had a fencing match on Wednesday.” She pulled her attention back to the young man. “Do tell me how you fared.”

“Quite well, won two bouts with a riposte and parry.” He launched into a discussion of the details of the match before pausing to take a glass of sherry from a footman. “My mother had another engagement this evening, but instructed me to ask if you might be available for a call next week.”

Unease flickered in Talia’s belly. She was well acquainted with the rituals of courting, though she had never carried them through to their anticipated conclusion.

“Of course.”

She glanced over his shoulder to find James watching them. Their eyes met. Her heart jumped as that inevitable current of energy passed between them. Then a shutter came down over his expression and he turned away.

Talia deflected an arrow of hurt and tried to focus on what Ridley was saying. She would no longer struggle to understand James Forester’s strange moods, as capricious as the sea these days. Especially when another man was making such an effort to engage her attention. She spent the next half hour talking to Ridley about his recent trip to Italy before Soames informed them that dinner was served.

The dinner went beautifully—Cook’s food was succulent and delicious, and Rushton’s staff served with crisp precision. Though Talia’s feelings for James were still in utter turmoil, she was pleased that she’d been able to help with the dinner party. No one could fault him for being a shabby host. Even if she still couldn’t fathom why he’d wanted to have a dinner party in the first place.

And she mustered all her efforts to serve as an excellent hostess. She spoke with all the guests, ensured everyone had what they needed, and was pleased to make the acquaintance of Lady Byron, a diminutive elderly woman with a birdlike face and sharp blue eyes.

“I’ve heard of your good works and admire your dedication, Lady Byron,” Talia told her. “Was that how you became acquainted with Lord Castleford’s mother?”

“We met through our church.” Distress darkened Lady Byron’s eyes. “Kind lady. Deserved more than she received.”

The pained note in her voice struck Talia, reminding her of the other day when James had spoken of his mother.

“That’s the case with most women, isn’t it?” Lady Byron continued. “We deserve more than we receive.”

Talia wondered if the other woman included herself in that statement. She had heard plenty of rumors about Lady Byron’s brief but tumultuous marriage to Lord Byron, the beautiful, selfish, eccentric poet who had died some thirty years prior.

“Lord Castleford tells me you’re involved with the ragged schools,” Lady Byron remarked. “Do tell me about them.”

Talia did, pleased by the other woman’s interest and her intelligent understanding of the need for social reform. After dessert, the men drank port while the women had tea and chatted. Finally when the clock neared one o’clock, everyone prepared to depart.

“May I call upon you tomorrow?” Ridley asked Talia as they stood in the foyer.

“Oh, I…” Talia hesitated. She couldn’t refuse him in front of the other guests. She shouldn’t
want
to refuse him, she reminded herself. “Yes, both my aunt and I will be at home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.” Ridley smiled and bent to brush his lips across the back of her hand.

Talia tugged her hand from his with a murmur of farewell, then went toward the foyer. James stepped in front of her, blocking her path. An odd emotion radiated from him, one that Talia could not identify.

“It was a lovely party, my lord.”

“Yes, it was. Because of you.”

Talia shook her head. “My father’s staff did the work, James, but I’m glad I was able to help you.”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Help people.”

Talia looked up, puzzled by the faint note of irritation in his voice. Only within the past few years had she discovered a new avenue in her charity work, one that allowed her to finally stop living in the shadow of scandal.

“I find great satisfaction in helping others, yes,” she admitted. “It’s a valuable way to live one’s life. Being useful.”

He slanted his gaze past her to where Ridley stood. “What does Ridley think of your work?”

“We haven’t spoken much about it, but he finds it admirable, I think.” Apprehension flickered in Talia as she studied him—the set of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes. She’d thought he and Ridley were good friends. “I’d best be going home now, James.”

“Wait here and I’ll see you home safely.”

“There’s no need. I can—”

“Wait.” He snapped the order at her before striding to say good night to the last of his guests.

Talia suppressed a surge of irritation as she went to the foyer to retrieve her cloak. The clatter of carriage wheels echoed on the street as the guests either returned home or went off to another event. Since she’d sent her father’s carriage back home for Aunt Sally, Talia waited for James to fetch a cab.

He reached past her to open the door, then extended a hand. Talia grasped it without thinking as she climbed into the carriage. As usual, a shock jolted up her arm as his gloved hand closed strong and firm around hers.

Oh…

How often in the past had James clasped her hand? How often had she thought, “He will not let go of me.” And he hadn’t.

She remembered ice-skating on the pond at Floreston Manor when they were children—James’s hand gripping hers tightly as they skated over the ice with increasing speed, before he’d taken hold of her other hand and spun her in dizzying circles, so fast that the world spun around her and their laughter floated on white clouds.

He won’t let go
, she’d thought then.
He will never let go.

And he hadn’t. No matter how fast they skated, no matter how many times her brothers darted past them and around them, no matter how rutted the surface was…James’s grip remained tight and secure. He caught her when she skidded, stopped her from falling, guided her back to the safety of the shore.

She hadn’t feared anything when James was holding her hand.

Now she pulled her hand from his as she sank onto the bench, her heart beating too fast. A painful longing rose within her—a wish for the return of those bygone days when her brothers had filled their house with boisterous laughter and teasing, when James had smiled at her with warm affection, when her parents had been…well, if not happy, at least together. In those days, they’d still been a family.

Now they were fractured beyond repair, flung to all corners of the world, and Talia didn’t even have the security of her friendship with James to hold on to anymore.

He sat across from her, his features still hard. They didn’t speak on the drive to King’s Street, but he thanked her again for her help as he saw her to the door.

“You’ve gone above and beyond what I deserve from you,” he said, his voice roughening with the admission.

“I still consider you a friend, James, no matter what else has changed. Good night.” She went into the house, tossing her cloak on the rack before trudging upstairs.

She stopped at Aunt Sally’s bedchamber to check on her aunt. Sally was still awake, sitting up in bed with a book.

“How do you feel?” Talia sat on the edge of the bed.

“Much better, my dear, thank you. How was the party?”

“Successful. Everyone appeared to enjoy themselves, and the food was excellent. It won’t be the talk of the town tomorrow, but everyone will speak highly of James.”

“They do already. He is very well respected.”

Talia kicked off her shoes and drew her legs up beneath her. “He’d invited Lady Byron. What do you know of her?”

“Oh, heavens, she’s a bit of an odd bird, isn’t she? Hardly a wonder, given her marriage to Lord Byron. One can only surmise what that relationship must have been like.”

“Why do you suppose she married him?”

“Because he was mad, bad, and dangerous to know, as Lady Caroline Lamb remarked,” Sally said. “Some women think they can save men like that. Lady Byron said as much herself, I believe. She spoke of Byron having an angel inside him.” Sally shook her head. “I wouldn’t imagine many others believed the same thing.”

“Perhaps she loved him,” Talia suggested.

“Perhaps, though by all accounts he treated her abominably. I can’t imagine falling in love with a man who didn’t treat me with the utmost respect and love.”

“The way Uncle Harold did.”

“Yes. He wasn’t the most handsome of men, of course. Didn’t have women flocking around his feet. He wasn’t dashing, you know, but he was so very kind and caring. He valued me. And I gave him the same in return, which is how we passed forty lovely years together.”

Talia drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them as she studied her aunt. “I never wanted to marry, after my mother left.”

“I know, dear. And perhaps you won’t. But if I may suggest that you don’t entirely dismiss the idea just yet…marriage can be a wonderful thing, with the right man.”