Anew: Book Three: Entwined (21 page)

Ian

E
dward looks so frigging smug that I’m forced to
remind myself how long we’ve been friends. From the moment he ushered me into
his study for a “little chat”, as he put it, he’s been playing the big brother
role to the hilt.

Not that I can blame him. Amelia
deserves all the love and protection he has to give her.

But still--

“So,” he says, leaning back in his
chair and regarding me benignly, “summing up, you anticipate a successful
conclusion to your legislative initiative. No surprise given the incentive
you’ve provided for everyone to fall in line. That being the case, you’d like
to move forward in your relationship with my sister. Your intentions are
entirely honorable, you’re in decent enough financial shape--”

He shoots me a hard look. “And you understand
that Amelia’s happiness is very important to me. Screw it up and we’ll have a
problem. Is there anything else that you’d like to add?”

I take a draw on the rare Cuban
cigar he’s so thoughtfully provided, watch the smoke curl toward the ceiling,
and say, “Only that I’ve really enjoyed this little trip back to the 1800s or
whenever the hell we are. We should do this more often.”

In fact, I appreciate Edward’s
insistence on a private face-to-face. We both know full well that women are our
complete equals, capable, intelligent, in charge of their own destinies, etc.,
etc. Neither of us would have it any other way. But we also both have deeply
engrained instincts to do with taking responsibility and being protective. We’re
not about to deny them even if they aren’t considered politically correct.

I can’t help noticing that Edward’s
study with its dark wood paneled walls, muted carpets, and heavy, masculine furnishings
looks like it came straight out of an earlier age. Moreover, all the usual
technology is discreetly out of sight. There are even rows of books printed on
dead trees and bound in the skins of dead animals on the shelves behind him.

Yet from here--and a similar office
downtown in a building his family has owned for more than two hundred years--he
runs a global financial empire that controls more wealth than a host of small
countries combined. I have to hand it to Edward, he meets life on his own
terms.

“Wait until it’s your turn,” I say
cheerfully.

I’m well aware that my younger
sister, Marianne has a thing for him. Not that it’s gone anywhere from what I
can tell. Still, I wouldn’t mind if the custom-made shoe ended up on the other
foot, so to speak.

Edward shifts in his chair, looking
a little uncomfortable. “We should join the ladies,” he says.

I nod and snuff the remains of the
cigar out in a heavy crystal ashtray. It, too, must be an antique. Such items aren’t
made anymore since smoking became a furtive activity usually confined to back
alleyways.

Stepping into the hall, I sniff
appreciatively. Someone has prepared dinner and it smells damn good.

“You weren’t affected by the
strike?” Since I arrived, I haven’t seen any staff other than security.

“Officially, we were,” Edward says.
“Actually, I just told everyone to take the day off with pay. But don’t worry,
Adele and Amelia cooked.”

If he expects me to be alarmed,
he’s disappointed. I’d happily eat cardboard if Amelia dished it up but I know
she can do a whole lot better than that.

Adele is waiting for us in the
parlor next to the family dining room. She’s sipping a sherry and thumbing
through an old-style photo album but she puts it aside when she sees us.

“Dear boy!” she says, holding out
her hands to me. I cross the room and take them in mine, bending to give her a
swift kiss on the cheek. I genuinely like Adele McClellan and I also admire
her. She’s a tough, feisty woman who’s stayed true to the principles she was
raised with despite all the changes sweeping over our world.

Her bright eyes flit from one of us
to the other. “Did you and Edward have a nice chat?”

“We smoked cigars and spoke of
manly matters,” I tell her with a smile. “It was very enjoyable.”

She nods knowingly. “I’m delighted
to hear it. Come, sit by me.” She pats the sofa cushion beside her. “Have your
mother and sister returned to town yet?”

I’m about to answer when
something--a soft inhalation of breath, a ripple in the air, the scent of a
familiar perfume--distracts me. I turn and she’s there--Amelia, standing in the
entrance to the room, framed by the tall door.

She looks amazing in something
silky and soft that lightly hugs her curves. Her chestnut hair is loose and
tumbling in wild curls over her shoulders. She’s a bit flushed and her eyes are
wide and luminous.

We’ve only been apart for a few
hours but my blood flares at the sight of her. It’s all I can do not to go to
her, take her in my arms, and forget that anyone but the two of us exists.

“Ian,” she murmurs and the sound
goes right through me. I still can’t believe that in a world that can be so
twisted and cruel something this astonishingly good has happened to me.

All I can see is Amelia, gazing
back at me with the same rapt attention I’m giving her. I’m barely aware of
Edward and Adele sharing an amused look.

He nudges me and with an avuncular
grin, says, “Enough, you two. Let’s eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia

I can barely
taste the food but it must be all right because everyone is eating with
apparent enjoyment. Ian, in particular, has been very complimentary.

We’re sitting
directly across from one another around the mahogany table in the small family
dining room, a far more intimate setting than the formal room nearby where
several dozen can dine in splendor. I’m grateful for the seating arrangement.
If we were next to each other, the temptation to touch him would be
overwhelming.

I make a show of
eating but that mostly amounts to moving the contents of my plate around. My
appetite, for food at least, is gone.

Even though I
knew Ian was expected, the shock of seeing him has me more than a little dazed.
He looks so formal, wearing a charcoal gray bespoke suit perfectly tailored to
his powerful body. The light from the crystal chandelier turns strands of his
hair to dark gold. He’s freshly shaven. My fingers twitch with yearning to
stroke the hard line of his jaw, trace his sculpted lips, part them and feel
the quick nip of his teeth.

The last time I
saw him like this was when he came for me at the club but I don’t want to think
of that. The truth is, I don’t want to think about anything other than Ian,
right here, right now, in this moment.

I take a sip of
wine, hoping it will calm my nerves. At the very least, I should try to join in
the conversation.

“Frankly,” my
grand-mother is saying, “I’m astonished that the workers have been able to
organize themselves so effectively. Don’t the authorities have informants among
them?”

 “That’s been
common practice for years,” Edward acknowledges. “But if you know the identity
of the informants, it’s a simple enough matter to feed them disinformation that
they then pass on to their masters, creating a false sense of complacency.
There’s nothing really complicated about it.”

“Except the part
about finding out the names of the informants,” Ian says. “There can’t be more
than a few people in the city who know who they are.” Pointedly, he adds, “And
considerably fewer than that with the means to acquire such knowledge.”

Edward doesn’t attempt
to deny the implication of his involvement, he merely shrugs. “Everything has a
price, or almost everything. At any rate, what’s needed now is for the workers
to see some sign of progress. Otherwise, the more extreme among them will be
tempted to turn to violence.”

His expression
darkens. “That would give the Council the excuse they’re looking for to stage a
brutal crackdown.”

I shudder at the
thought. Having seen one man, a scavenger, beaten in the street by members of
the MPS, I fervently hope never to see another.

“The Council
won’t do anything of the kind,” Ian says quietly. “Not if I can prevent it.”

“I think we all
know that you can,” Adele says quietly. Her gaze sharpens. She looks at Ian
very directly. “Are you saying that if it comes down to it, Slade Enterprises
will step in to protect the workers?”

I lower my glass
slowly. Up until a few moments ago, the conversation was light but with this
sudden turn, a far more serious mood settles over the table. I can’t help suspecting
that my grand-mother has done this deliberately. In her gracious, society
matron way, she appears determined to draw Ian out on a subject of real
importance.

Is that simply
because she wants to know where he stands? Glancing at her as she waits for his
response, I have to wonder-- Is it possible that she wants me to know?

I think back to
her asking me to give some thought to what sort of future I want. Just before she
questioned why Ian chose this moment to change my legal status.

A thought
uncurls in the back of my mind, a possibility so breathtaking that I can
scarcely credit it. A wave of memories, images, sensations overtakes me. In
quick flashes, I recall Ian’s passion, his tenderness, his humor, his unfailing
support and encouragement, even his anger and ruthlessness when I’ve been in
danger.

We’ve shared so
much in such a short time. I know him better than I know anyone and I can’t
imagine my life without him. But even so--

I’ve never
thought of marriage, not once, except to be certain that the arranged variety
common among our social class could never be for me. Now I have to wonder why I
haven’t considered it. Is it because of the struggle I’ve had to wage to be
certain of my own self-worth?

Or because of my
status in relation to Ian, namely that the law sees me only as his property?
But that is about to change. From what he’s said, my rights as a human being
are about to be fully recognized. Thanks to him.

I don’t doubt
that he took the action that he did first and foremost for my sake but now I
have to consider if he may have also done it for the two of us. And for the
future we could have together.

 “It means that
I won’t sit back and see the streets of this city run with blood,” Ian says
quietly. He looks at me as he does so. In his gaze, I see the acknowledgement
that the commitment he’s making would take him into the center of the storm
that may be about to engulf our world.

Unless we can
find a way to prevent it.

“The last time
we talked about this,” Edward says, “you were more reluctant to become involved.
If you don’t mind my asking, why the change?”

Still holding my
gaze, Ian nods. “I’ve had cause to reconsider the benefits of maintaining the
social order when all that really amounts to is oppression. We need to
recognize that we’re all in this together and do what’s right.”

Adele appears
satisfied. She turns the conversation again, this time in a much lighter
direction. Soon we’re laughing at the antics of several of the city’s best
known hosts and hostesses who are struggling, in the face of the current
unpleasantness, to maintain their accustomed air of frivolity.

“Poor Bunny
realized at the last moment that hiring a quartet of violinists for a party
with an Italianate theme could invite unfortunate comparisons to Nero fiddling
while Rome burned,” Adele says.

“What is she
going to do instead?” Edward asks idly. He selects a cluster of grapes from
those I found in the refrigerator along with a selection of cheeses for dessert,
and pops one into his mouth.

“I have no
idea,” my grand-mother replies. “But I suggested a Robespierre party. Very
French, very elegant, music, dancing, gaiety, what could be better?”

My brother frowns.
“Wasn’t he the guy with the guillotine?”

“Well, yes,” she
admits, “and the original 18
^th
century partygoers at the
bals des
victimes
did wear red ribbons around their necks at the point where the
blade traditionally struck.” She smiles wickedly. “But it was all in good fun,
I’m sure.”

“Hopefully, it
won’t come to that,” Ian murmurs. He lays his napkin beside his plate and
stands. Holding out his hand to me, he says, “It’s been a very enjoyable dinner,
Amelia, but now I wonder if you would join me for a stroll?”

I spare a quick
glance at my brother and grand-mother, neither of whom appears the least
surprised by Ian’s sudden desire to take the evening air.

With their
reaction in mind, I rise, aware that my legs are approaching the consistency of
a popular gelatinous dessert. I could be entirely wrong. I probably am. But if
I’m not--

“Yes, of
course,” I say and put my hand in his.

Amelia

“D
o you need a wrap?” Ian asks as we step outside. He
looks serious and intent, not at all like a man setting out for a casual evening
stroll. We’re standing under the portico, separated from the avenue and the
park beyond by a row of slender Lombardy pines that sways gently in the breeze.

“I don’t think so,” I say,
appreciating the cool breeze against my heated skin. “It’s a lovely night.”

The dress I’m wearing is a pale
apricot silk, off the shoulders with a gathered waist and a skirt that flares
at the knees. I chose it because Ian hasn’t seen it before and because when I
looked in the mirror, a young woman who seemed confident and comfortable with
herself looked back at me.

The impression must have been
deceptive because all I can feel right now is the fluttering of anxiousness and
excitement deep inside me.

“It’s very quiet,” Ian observes as
we leave the house.

The city is rarely noisy, the most
common sounds being the soft woosh of electric vehicles and the occasionally
raucous voices of residents. But I understand what he means all the same. Far
fewer people are on the streets than is normal for this time of the evening.
Given the present troubles, they seem to be choosing to stay at home instead or
perhaps clustering together inside for comfort.

 With my hand still in his, we walk
down the driveway lined in Belgian block and out through the wide, double gate.
I’m accustomed to seeing it standing open, as it is tonight. But I can’t help
noticing that there is more security in evidence, both around the house and
immediately beyond it. As we turn toward the park, several men and women in
dark suits fall into step behind us.

“Are they necessary?” I ask,
glancing over my shoulder.

Ian frowns. “I can send them away,
if you prefer.”

I realize what a concession this is
for him and shake my head. “No, they’re fine.” Smiling, I add, “So long as they
weren’t Edward’s idea.”

“As chaperones, you mean?” he
grins. “I wouldn’t put that past him. He’s very protective of you.”

From his tone, Ian doesn’t have a
problem with that. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What were you two talking
about in the study?”

His hand tightens on mine. “Oh, you
know, the usual guy stuff. Sports, cigars…the future.”

“What about the future?” My voice
is suddenly breathy. I’m glad I declined a wrap. The prickles of heat moving
over my skin would have made one uncomfortable.

We cross the avenue and enter the
park before Ian answers. Quietly, he says, “Edward wants to be sure that you
are always safe and happy.”

I have a choice to make, right
here, right now. I can play the proper decorous maiden--in the allegorical
sense--and smile demurely. In which case, Ian is likely to move right on to
what he has planned. At the very least, my nervous anticipation will be over.

Or I can be myself.

Rarely have I had an easier
decision to make.

“Does he?” I ask. “That’s sweet but
no one can assure anything of the kind, not for me or for anyone else.”

Ian looks a bit taken aback but
recovers quickly. “Even so, it’s a worthy goal. You deserve to be all that and
more.”

“I deserve…? “ I tilt my head and
look at him. “That’s an interesting idea. I think that I deserve what everyone
does, a chance to pursue happiness. No guarantee that I’ll get it and certainly
not all the time, but I can at least try. As for safety--” My voice strengthens
with the force of my conviction. “From what I’ve seen, it’s highly over-rated.”

I’m hoping that he will understand
me. I want to be his full partner in every way, accepting both the joys and the
travails of a life together.

His mouth twitches. “You’re always
going to be a challenge, aren’t you?” He sounds rather pleased by the idea.

“I am and so are you. That’s just
who we are.”

The light in his eyes--passionate,
consuming--has me wondering if the shadows around the trees are deep enough to
shelter us from the eyes of our watchers. Or if they are professionally
discreet enough to look away.

But Ian apparently has other ideas.
He draws me farther into the park, toward the lovely arched stone bridge that
spans a meandering pond where ducks sleep among the reeds, their heads ducked
under their wings.

As we approach, I gasp softly. The
surrounding trees, heavy with newly unfurled leaves, are filled with tiny fairy
lights. Glowing paper lanterns line the bridge. From the near distance, the
strands of a Vivaldi concerto waft gently.

No other visitors are in sight.
Apparently, we have the park to ourselves.

“Ian--?”

He shrugs, looking
uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I got in touch with my inner romantic.
Poor guy hasn’t seen much action but I hope he came through all the same.”

He doesn’t believe he’s romantic? I
could tell him otherwise but at the moment all I can say is, “You did all this?
Why?” I think I know. I hope I do. My heart is in my throat.

“I’ll get to that. I
just…first…what you said about safety. I have to be sure that you understand.”

We are standing at the mid-point of
the bridge. I can see the reflection of the fairy lights in the water below us.
But above, soaring in the near distance at the southern edge of the park, I can
also see the shimmering steel and glass spear that is Pinnacle House.

Its presence at the center of the
city has always been a source of anxiety for the ruling elite. But now I suspect
it’s much more. With Davos’ killing, more than a few powerful people have every
reason to fear Ian.

“The world has to change,” he says
quietly. “For better or worse, I’m going to be involved in making that happen.
Anyone close to me will be, too.”

I can’t make light of his concerns.
They’re real and they have to be taken seriously. But I refuse to be
intimidated by the nature of the world we live in.

With a smile, I say “It sounds as
though life will never be boring.”

He laughs ruefully. “There is that
but…” His manner turns serious again. “No one is going to know on the face of
it that the change in the law regarding clones has anything to do with you. But
they will know that I was behind it. If you’re linked to me, some will suspect
the truth.”

“You mean my origins are likely to
be exposed?”

Watching me carefully, he nods. “We
live in a society that feeds on gossip, innuendo, backbiting. The thought of
you being subjected to that--”

I touch a finger gently to his
lips. “I’m not ashamed of who I am or how I came to be. Whatever wrong was
involved wasn’t mine.”

I sound a little braver than I
feel. The thought of having to face people, knowing what they will be saying
and speculating about me makes my skin crawl. But I’m not about to let that
effect what Ian and I have between us.

“Now,” I add gently, “before you
sound anymore like a lawyer exercising due diligence, perhaps you can tell me
why we’re here.”

He takes a breath, lets it out, and
nods. Before I realize what he intends, Ian in his elegant bespoke suit goes
down on one knee in front of me.

Holding my hands, he says, “Amelia,
your beauty and passion, your courage and strength, all astound me. I love you
more than I ever knew was possible. You’ve awakened me to a whole new world.
I’ll be the happiest man alive if you’ll agree to share it with me. Be my
wife…please.”

His beautiful, beloved face
shimmers in front of me. My eyes are swimming with tears as joy beyond anything
I have ever experienced rockets through me.

“Oh, Ian, yes! Yes, yes, yes! I
love you utterly and completely.” I sink to my knees beside him. “Of course, I
want to marry you. What you said was so beautiful but honestly, you had me at
‘Amelia’. You, saying my name, was the first word I ever heard. I’ll never
forget how alive you made me feel at that moment and every moment since.”

He groans and wraps an arm around
my waist. With his free hand, he tilts my chin back, his thumb tugging at my
lower lip.

“Open for me,” he murmurs.

I obey without hesitation. His kiss
is deep, consuming, filled with all the desire and longing we share for each
other. I can’t get enough of him--his touch, his taste, the slide of his tongue
over mine, all make me tremble with longing.

Abruptly, he wrenches his mouth
away and gazes down at me. His breathing is ragged, his gaze filled with wonder
even as he laughs.

“You can make me forget anything,
but not this--”

He reaches into the pocket of his
jacket and withdraws a small box covered in black velvet. Still holding me, he
flips the box open. The glow of the fairy lights and the lanterns are turned to
fire inside the diamond that is nestled there.

I hold out my left hand, noting as
I do that it’s shaking. Ian slips the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, a
large but not overly so oval-shaped diamond. The band is platinum with an
antique scroll. It’s at once thoroughly modern yet reminiscent of an earlier
age, not unlike Ian himself.

“It’s perfect,” I murmur, staring
not at the ring but at the man. This extraordinary, astounding man who is
somehow…mine. As I am his.

He stands, drawing me up with him.
His smile is blinding. He looks like he’s won the ultimate price, exactly how I
feel.

The brush of his fingers along my
cheek sends shivers of pleasure through me. I can feel my nipples hardening and
the wetness gathering between my thighs.

As beautiful as this moment is, I
desperately need to be alone with him.

He chuckles as though he knows
exactly what I’m thinking and takes me in his arms. Under the stars, we dance
to the music of Vivaldi. His movements are graceful and easy, carrying my
along.

“We feel so perfect together,” I
say on a note of wonder.

“We are,” he says. “We have been
from the very beginning. That’s why we’re so good together in--” He breaks off,
at once teasing and tempting me.

“I don’t suppose you thought of--”
I murmur even as my face reddens. What am I asking him for? A hidden bed among
the trees?

“Miss McClellan,” he says with mock
dismay, “in a public park?”

“Not so public tonight,” I remind
him, daring greatly.

“No,” he agrees. “But you deserve
better. Besides, I have a feeling that Edward and your grand-mother are
expecting us back shortly.”

Disappointment hits me hard. If
there’s no place to be had close to hand, there’s always Pinnacle House, Ian’s
penthouse there, and the bedroom I remember so fondly.

“Take me home with you,” I plead
unashamedly.

His expression turns suddenly
stern. “Don’t tempt me, Amelia. I could lay you down right here and now. But
we’re going to do this properly.”

What does that mean? And since when
has Ian concerned himself with propriety? I try to remember a single incident
without success.

Still, the thought of sharing our
news with my family does have undeniable appeal. “Fine, let’s go back but
afterward--”

I’m envisioning Ian in the
white-and-gold canopied bed, his big, hard body thrusting into mine--

He raises my hand and kisses the
ring that gleams as the enduring sign of our commitment to one another. Turning
my palm up, he touches his mouth there, the flick of his tongue right at the
center making me quicken deep inside.

“I want you alone,” Ian murmurs.
“Naked, spread wide, open to everything I want to do to you.”

“Oh, yes…”

“But first…” he takes a step back. With
a grin, he says, “We’d better hurry. The champagne will be on ice by now.”

“Edward and Adele know?” How can
they?

 “Your brother insisted that we
have a little chat this evening before he’d even let me see you,” Ian says
dryly.

“
That’s
what you were
discussing in the study?”

The possibility that he sought my
brother’s agreement before my own leaves me dumbfounded. Far in the back of my
mind, the dark fear flickers that on some level I am still being treated like
property. I put that aside at once, knowing that to entertain it even for an
instant is a grave injustice to the two men involved.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Ian says
gently. “Edward cares about you and he’s protective. There’s nothing wrong with
that. Besides,” he adds, “don’t you feel the same way toward him?”

I can’t deny it. When the time
comes that Edward is serious about someone, I will do everything in my power to
assure that she deserves him.

We walk back to the house
hand-in-hand, pausing frequently when the need to touch and kiss overwhelms us.
As we finally start up the driveway, the double doors ahead of us are thrown
open. Light spills out.

“About time,” Edward grumbles. He
scans our faces quickly and must like what he sees. His smile is ear-splitting.
Reaching out, he grasps Ian’s hand. “Looks like you got the job done. Good man.”