Everything I Ever Wanted (33 page)

The first thing that struck him upon entering the cottage was the tantalizing aroma of stew simmering in the hearth pot. Here was a talent India had not honed under the watchful eye of Lady Margrave. It was her mother, the midwife and follower of the drum, who had taught her how to cook and bake over an open hearth. He stomped his feet inside the doorway, removing the last bit of snow clinging to his boots, then returned his caped greatcoat to the peg. India's pelisse hung beside it. His eyes were drawn to the damp hem and the shallow pool of water that lay on the floor at his feet.

So she had been out as well, and not so long ago from what he observed. South realized he should not have been surprised. If she had felt even a modicum of his fierce restlessness, then she deserved to give it its due. He wondered if she had left with a destination in mind or simply wandered as he had.

"India?" He stepped toward the table and looked into the adjoining room. She was not there. The crimson fabric she had held out for his approval and admiration only yesterday was draped across one arm and the seat of the settee. Pins, thread, and a pair of scissors lay on the stool. Oddly shaped pieces of bleached cotton material were arranged on the braided rug, and South recognized them as part of the practice pattern India was putting together. He called for her again, and this time heard her above stairs, stepping from her room into the hall.

"I am here, m'lord."

It was then that South knew some measure of relief. India's pelisse, the scattered pattern and fabric, the simmering stew, and even her light tread on the floor above him had not been enough to convince him of her presence. He had needed to hear her voice. It shocked him how much he had needed to hear her voice.

South went to the foot of the stairs as India began to descend. She cradled her sketchbook in one arm and had a pencil tucked behind an ear. "I came to get this from my room,"she said.

He nodded because it was all he could reasonably do. His vision was filled with her: her pale corn-silk hair, the impossibly dark eyes, the oval face with its beautifully defined cheekbones and chin. She hovered on the lip of one step, almost as if she floated there, wraithlike in her plain ecru day dress and kid slippers. A faintly bemused smile touched her lips.

"My lord?" she asked.

He raised his hand, palm out, and stopped her; then he closed the distance between them, taking the steps two at a time until he stood just below her and their eyes were on the same plane. He searched her face, uncertain of what he wanted or needed to say. He, Matthew Forrester, the Right Honorable the-Viscount Southerton, who was rarely without a speech or a quip at the ready, had nothing prepared.

He heard the words at the same time she did. "I fear you will never be moved again to say that I have held your heart carefully. Can you forgive me, India?"

"Oh, Matthew." She touched his cheek with her free hand. His skin was cool beneath her palm, ruddy with color from the outdoors. "Did you think I was angry with you? I am not. There is nothing to forgive."

"But I"

She shook her head. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. "You were impatient with me. It is understandable. I have given you reason enough. Indeed, I should be glad if impatience were the worst of all that you might feel toward me." India's fingers drifted from South's face and along his arm. She found his hand and took it. "It occurred to me you would not return. I thought perhaps you would go to the village and send Darrow back to sit with me."

"I would not do that. Not without telling you."

"That is what I hoped, but then it was so long that your were gone, I became worried."

"Is that why you left?" he asked. "To search for me?"

"How did you"

"Your pelisse," he said. "It is wet all along the hem."

"Aaah."

"Your gown and slippers are not, though."

She flushed. "I was changing when I saw you coming from the stalls."

"You didn't want me to know you had gone out?"

"I had given my word I would not leave. I thought you might believe I had attempted to break my promise."

South's gray eyes took on a shrewd glint. "Is that the only reason, India?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was it only worry that sent you out the door and into the cold?" he asked. "Or was it fear?" Her hesitation was enough answer for him. "You did not want me to know how frightened you were. Why is that, India?"

At first she shrugged. Then she saw he meant to stand his ground patiently, blocking her path, until she gave up the truth. "Our supper will be ruined," she told him. Her eyes darted toward the hearth. "There is nothing quite as vile as burnt stew."

"You said the same about the porridge."

"You will not want to make comparisons."

He squeezed her hand lightly. "Tell me, India."

Her sigh was a mix of impatience and defeat, and she did sot meet his eyes directly. "I would not have you think me a coward," she said. "I want you to know I can be as brave as you." Her voice was almost inaudible now. "I want to be worthy."

If South had any doubts that India had mastered the talent of rendering him speechless, they were now put to rest. He knew himself to be fortunate to maintain his balance on the stairs. It was as if she had the power to shift the very ground beneath his feet.

India glanced at him, her expression vaguely defiant in the aftermath of her confession. "What is it?" she asked. "What are you thinking?"

South continued to regard her, his head tilted slightly to cue side. "I am thinking, my dearest India, that if there is worth to be measured, then I am the one who will come up short."

"That is nonsense."

He chuckled. "You asked what I was thinking, and I told you. You might refrain from pronouncing it nonsense."

She was not deterred. "Well, it is. There is nothing you fear, and it is quite the opposite with me. There is nothing I don't."

South's features lost their edge of humor and took on a solemn cast. "It is only a fool who fears nothing."

"I didn't mean that you were"

"I know," he said gently. "It is not that I fear nothing, but rather that I have some sense of what is worth fearing. One learns to assess a threat over the course of a lifetime, but not without knowing security and well-being." South paused to let his words sink in, then asked, "When was it that you last remember feeling safe, India?"

His question raised her slight smile. "Not so long ago as you might expect." It was all she needed to say. India saw South's gray glance shift from her to the room at the top of the stairs. The centers of his eyes darkened a fraction, and the irises seemed to turn to smoke. It was difficult to remain looking at him when his attention returned to her. There was such a wealth of understanding there, and the faintly wicked promise of something more, that India's instinct was to shy away from it. She shrugged instead."Yes, well, there you have it."

"Indeed."

"You are amused."

South's features remained gravely set. "Not at all."

"Yes, you are. You are thinking that if that is where I feel safe, then it presents no inconvenience to you to keep me abed all day."

"Now I am amused." He slipped his arms around her waist when she made to dart past him."Look at me, India." Her eyes came back to his. "Whether it is in my bed or when we are together just as we are now, I am glad to know that you feel safebecause you are. It is a beginning. The restwhen you can know that you are safe outside of my presencethat will come in time." South saw that India wanted to believe him but her fears were too firmly established to be erased by a few words from him. "You will not always need me, India."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she did not need him now, but she backed off from the thought because she was no longer certain it was true, or that it had ever been. In a very short time, she had come to realize that he was in some manner necessary to her existence. It was what she had sensed on the occasion of their first meeting at the theatre and again in her home. It was in part why she had not fought him when she woke at the inn, and why she had not tried to escape since. And now he was telling her she would not always need him.

India's teeth caught her lower lip and worried it gently. It was difficult to hold what seemed to be opposing thoughts in her mind long enough to examine them. A small vertical crease appeared between her brows and remained there until she had worked it out."You mean I will be free to choose," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Yes. That is exactly what I mean."

The crease appeared again. "But then I may not choose you."

"I know." His smile was edged with irony. "I do fear that end, India. Even so, it remains a risk worth taking."

She leaned into him and laid her cheek against his shoulder. Her face was turned into the curve of his neck. "That is what makes you a brave man and names me a coward."

South smiled. His lips brushed her silky hair, and for a moment his hands tightened at the small of her back. "I am not so brave that I would eat your burnt stew."

India sniffed, though it was not entirely because she needed to catch the aroma of the simmering hearth pot. "You better take this," she said, thrusting her sketchbook against his chest. He had to release her from his embrace to grasp the pad, and then she was free to dart past him.

Their supper was saved. They ate in companionable silence at the scarred kitchen table. South found a bottle of red wine to open, and they shared it glass for glass until it was empty. Afterward they retired to the sitting room, where India reclaimed her place on the braided rug so she might continue cutting her pattern and South stretched out on the padded window seat with a book.

India glanced at him, her lips pressed tightly around half a dozen pins. "Wh-are-you-rrearring?"

South looked up, one brow lifted in a perfect arch. "It is perhaps fortunate that your particular dialect was also spoken by my mother and sister. No, I beg you. Do not swallow those pins. Nothing good can come of that." His grin was unabashed, but he did hold up the book to shield himself from her severe look."It is Castle Rackrent. A Gothic novel, of all things. North recommended it to me this summer past when we were a fortnight at Battenburn."

India finished setting the last of her pins in a cushion before she spoke. "You are a friend of the baron and baroness?"

"I would prefer the term acquaintance. I was one of many invited there to celebrate the anniversary of Wellington's victory at Waterloo. Do you know them?"

"Mr. Kent would count the baron among his most reliable contributors."

South's dark brow was lowered only a fraction. "And not the baroness?"

"No."

"I see. Then you have had occasion to fend off Battenburn's advances."

India bent over her work again. "More than one occasion."

South's response was something between a grunt and a growl. He set Castle Rackrent sharply on his bent knees and opened it.

India tamped down her smile. South had little familiarity with feeling helpless, and even less liking for it. He had the look of a man who wanted to land someone a facer. "Your friend North is married to Lady Elizabeth Penrose, is he not?"

"Yes. He met her at Battenburn."

She nodded and continued basting the sleeve and bodice of the muslin pattern piece. Her fingers worked nimbly over the material. Occasionally she looked at her open sketchbook, keeping the vision of the end product in her. "You escorted her to Lady Calumet's ball. That was not long ago, I believe."

South laid his index finger on the page to mark his place and looked over at India. For all that her question seemed casual, he doubted it was so. "Yes, I did. Several weeks ago."

"That is unusual, is it not? To escort the wife of your friend?"

"I hope I can count Elizabeth among my friends," he said. "But I take your point. It is perhaps unusual, but certainly it is done. I can only say that my escort was desired by the lady and that it had the approval of her husband. I was unaware until now that it caused comment."

"How can that be?" she chided. "The presence of the Gentleman Thief assured there would be talk. Until that night, Lord North's name had been linked to his. It seems to me that you desired some comment among the ton to clear his name."

South"s smile was wry. "You are either sharply intuitive or well informed."

"Why can I not be both?"

He chuckled. "Of course. But tell me, who is your source?"

"Margrave." India looked over at South and saw no trace of his earlier amusement."You did not know he was there?"

"Only after the fact. We were not introduced."

"He knows you."

"What?"

India nodded. "He knows you. That is what he told me."

"That may be, but I have never met him."

"He said differently."

South frowned. "I think he is mistaken."

"Margrave said you would not remember him. It was a long time ago. Your Hambrick Hall days, in fact."

South closed Castle Rackrent slowly as he attempted to think back. "It was a long time ago," he said. "And Margrave is younger by five years. He had not inherited his title yet, I take it."