Lions and Lace (43 page)

"I
want to marry Mara. I plan on taking her with me to England when I leave next week. I—" the duke hesitated, then spoke his mind, "I would hope to have your approval."

Trevor stared at Granville, who sat opposite him in the library. It was early the next morning, Alana still asleep in his bed. They had never gone to the Van Dam mansion. He rubbed the growth of beard on his jaw. The duke had arrived before he'd had time to shave, and there were a million things he needed to discuss, none of them with this impudent young Brit.

"How does Mara feel about you?" he asked cursorily, his voice gruff and unwelcoming.

Nigel paused, choosing his words with care. "I believe and pray that she returns my sentiments."

"She's only sixteen, you know.
Far too young, in my opinion, to marry."

"In Ireland they marry younger."

"This is not Ireland." For the first time Trevor smiled. The duke became visibly tense. "You know,
Your
Grace,"
said Trevor, "I'm quite aware that as damning as it is, there is no doubt the Irish love a lord. My father named me after the earl who owned the land he plowed.
Such a high compliment.
However, that was the same earl who let my mother starve when my father died. So I have no love for the Ascendency. Pardon me if I don't slap you on the back and say 'Welcome to the family, me boy-o.' "

"The
Granvilles
have never been a part of the system in Ireland. We agree with you that it's wrong and unjust." The duke lifted his chin imperiously. For his twenty-two years, he suddenly seemed much older.

"Fine.
Then when it's corrected, you shall marry my sister." Trevor rose as if dismissing him.

But Nigel was not to be bested that quickly. "Shall you have her elope, then? Because I swear that's what we'll do if we must. Even though I know she wants your blessing."

"But you're the one who's come for it. I find that amusing."

The duke spoke slowly. "If the truth be known, I don't give a fig about your blessing, Sheridan. I can stand on my own. I don't need you. I just want Mara to be happy."

Sheridan laughed. He clutched his walking stick. "You want Mara to be happy," he mimicked. "What you want is all that American money that goes with her. Come along, boy-o, we're not stupid. Tell the truth."

"I love your sister, Sheridan, not her money. And I'll make a good husband for her, I promise you that."

Trevor turned dangerously pensive. "Granville," he said slowly, "I want Mara to marry well, and I've done near-Herculean things so that she may have that opportunity. You must know
,
I didn't do any of it to see her marry some impoverished duke who only wants her because her umbilical cord is attached to the Bank of New-York."

Nigel lost patience. "If you and I cannot come to an understanding, then I at least know I tried. I don't want Mara because of her money. In fact, I don't need her money, but since I cannot convince you of that, I'll take my leave. But I must tell you, I plan to announce our engagement at Caroline Astor's
bal
masque.
And after that, as they say, it's between you and your maker, Sheridan."

Sheridan laughed again. "Let's up the ante, shall we? You announce your engagement to Mara, and I'll cut her off without a thin dime. If you want to marry an
Irisher
, Granville, then you'll marry one. When you take her to wife, she'll be as poor as her mother when she came through Castle Garden."

"Poor or rich."

"Then you'll have no trouble announcing the engagement, will you."

"None whatsoever."
Angry, Nigel took his top hat, nodded tersely, and left.

Trevor's smile became more cynical. "You'll never show," he flung to the closed door.

Alana rolled over and slowly opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed in from four enormous windows, four unfamiliar windows with drapes pulled aside and sashes thrown open. Though two stories up, she heard the noises of Fifth
Ave
nue.
The
omnibuses rattled along, queuing for passengers; a man cursed at another for smashing into his brougham.

She closed her eyes, remembering she was still in Trevor's bedroom. She thought of last night and savored each stormy detail. Every muscle seemed to ache from their lovemaking, but there was a particularly wicked ache between her legs, one that made her wish her husband were still in bed with her.

Had she ever thought him cold and detached? A secret smile played on her lips. He'd been anything but last night. Now it was morning, even later perhaps. Would he continue the intimacy between them, or would he move away, back into that fortress he'd built around himself? Her smile faded.

She rolled over and looked at the other side of the room. Surprised, she found Trevor staring at her from a leather seat by the fireplace, his blackthorn across his lap.

"I didn't know you were still here," she whispered, held captive by his penetrating stare. His gaze lowered, and she looked down, finding the sheet so low on her bosom, it was ready to expose one dusky nipple. Self-consciously, she pulled die sheet up nearly to her neck. "Have you been up long?"

He nodded, and for some reason the lines and care worn into his face appeared heightened in the daylight. Perhaps it was because of the sweet fury of the night before, but as he stared at her, he looked every day of his thirty-two years. "You make a pretty picture asleep in my bed,
á
mbúirnín
,"
he said quietly. "So serene, so childlike—so different from the woman you were last night."

Alana felt a blush on her cheeks. She couldn't refute him. Her passion had surprised even her.

He removed a letter from his vest pocket. He stood and walked to the bed, looming over her as he handed it to her. "Here is the letter from the superintendent. Your sister is to be released into your care. All you have to do is show it to them at the asylum."

She took the letter and looked at it, holding it with trembling hands. Her dreams had come true. Christal would be freed into her care. Alana was ready to run to her bedroom to dress so that she could be in Brooklyn by noon. At last, everything was going to be all right.

She looked up at Trevor, her face a mask of unspeakable joy. "Thank you," she whispered. "You'll never know how much this means to me. I'll be in your debt forever."

"You erased that debt last night."

Her thoughts were so caught up with
Christal,
it took her a moment to realize what he'd said. He walked away, his blackthorn silent upon the carpeting.

"If you think last night was payment for my sister's freedom, you're mistaken," she said to his back.

He stopped. He did not turn around. "It was payment. Why else would you be waiting for me as you were in the
rainbath
?"

"I—"
wasn't waiting for you,
she'd been about to say, but she couldn't tell him that their encounter last night was an accident. Even she didn't believe that. Some force had pulled them together and whether or not she wanted to go along with it, she did because it was too strong for her to deny. That was why she'd been so impelled to try the
rainbath
for the first time last night. She hadn't known she'd been waiting for him, but somehow she'd known he'd come to her.

"As I thought," he said quietly when he had no answer from her.

"No, it's not as you think. Last night had nothing to do with Christal." She rose on the bed, clutching the sheet over her chest. "I did it because I—" Her breath caught when she realized what she was about to say.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, a scowl on his face when he finally turned around. When she didn't answer, he said, "I'll tell you why. Because you've discovered the arts of seduction and
loveplay
, and you now know how to get anything you want."

"That's not why!" she cried out in disbelief that his thinking could be so skewed.

"Then why?" he demanded.

She looked at him, her face ravaged with emotion. "Why do you
think
a woman like me would become as wanton as I was last night?" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "A woman like me, Trevor, would only do that for the man she loves." The words were out, and she found relief in finally speaking the truth. There was no hiding it any longer.

He stared at her as she kneeled on his bed, the sheet artfully draped around her nude body. His expression was blank. Even his eyes shuttered what he felt. Finally he said, "You say you love me, Alana. But why would a woman like you ever love a man like me? Give me one earthly reason why."

Tears threatened as she saw him withdrawing. "There are no 'earthly' reasons for love, Trevor. I don't even want to love you.
You
've nearly ruined my life, and you've hurt me. All I know is that I do love you, and though you push me away with both hands, I believe a small part of you loves me as well."

He said nothing, his emotions cloaked in steel. His lack of a response hurt her, but she was willing to be brave. She would fight for their marriage. She would be patient and give him time. He liked to be the master of the situation. For once in his life he was embroiled in something beyond his control.

"Stevens would make a better husband than I, Alana. As much as I despise the fellow, I admit it. You're from his world, not mine." His voice seemed to catch for a moment, and his dark eyes turned stormy.

His words panicked her. She could see him slipping away. Her tears fell in earnest now. She wanted to shake him and force him to say what she needed to hear. "My God, Trevor, can't we ever be equals? Is there something so lacking in your character that you cannot put aside
who
I
am
for
what
I am? I've been able to do it with you. I see you not as an
Irisher
up from the gutter but the man I desperately want to love!"

He
stood,
the emotion on his face no longer hidden behind a mask. "No, you don't see me, Alana." His words were laced with bitterness and anger. He made no effort to hide his accent. "
T'e
man you want to love is still inches from the gutter. I see that every time we go to those cotillions, every time Caroline Astor looks at me with distaste. The man you beg for is not much of one. He cannot even be
askin
' his own wife for a dance. And why is that?" He looked into her eyes, and she swallowed a sob. "I'll be
tellin
'
ye
why. Because the man you want for a husband was shot
thievin
' in Five Points and
canna
be
waltzin
', ever!"

He turned and walked to the window, not bothering with his cane, his movements stiff, awkward, oddly violent. She watched him, tears streaming down her cheeks, a dark hopelessness seeping into her soul. He didn't think their marriage would work because he didn't think himself good enough for her. He would never accept her because of his insecurity, so their marriage was doomed before it had begun. The pain of that revelation was beyond her tears.

A knock sounded, shattering the silence. Trevor barked "Not now!" at the closed door, but Whittaker's muffled voice said, "A telegram has just arrived, sir. It's for Mrs. Sheridan. I thought it urgent."

Trevor looked at Alana. She wiped her cheeks and pulled the sheet around her more closely. He went to the door. When Whittaker departed, Trevor handed her the telegram.

She wasted no time opening it. The color drained from her face as she read:

Christabel
Van
Alen
disappeared Park View 5am.
Believed to have run away.
Searching.
Prognosis not good.
Will contact you when found.

Mrs.
Mathilde
Steine

Numb, Alana lowered the telegram. The sheet had slipped, but she didn't notice.

He
took the telegram from her limp hand and read it. When he was through, he said, "I'll find her. I've men who can look.
Pinkertons
."