I am officially noting, for the record, that my second season was more disappointing than my first. I am increasingly convinced that balls are not the best place to find my soulmate and I should also like it noted again that I hate my stupid name. I swear it does nothing but give libidinous men ideas …
—from the diary of Miss Venus Merriwell, aged 20
“Line up in an orderly fashion or you will be left behind!” For some reason, the Reverend Smythe was bellowing on the street below, so loudly that even the thick pillow over Gal’s head did little to drown out the sound.
With Mr. Evans and his boys constantly hammering away downstairs, and sleep being a necessity he couldn’t live without, he had trained himself to sleep through all sorts of morning noise in the last few weeks. But there was noise and then there was noise, and there was no blocking out what was going on outside his window this morning. Especially as he had spent most of last night’s designated hours of sleep pondering Venus and what he was going to do about her after Muldoon had put an unwelcome flea in his ear.
An annoying, nipping, persistent little critter that had forced him to stop and think exactly where the path he had stuck to so diligently was actually going. And more important, whether he wanted to continue on it alone.
“Tommy Claypole! I am warning you…” As the reverend’s anger rose in volume, Gal gave up trying to either sleep through it or make any sense of his conflicting feelings regarding Venus, shrugged on his discarded shirt, and padded barefoot to the window to see what the hell all the hullabaloo was about.
In the midst of a crowd of children in varying stages of maturity were the reverend and his wife. Lined up behind them were at least six hackneys, one already holding a fraught Mrs. Witherspoon and a coach full of the littlest orphans. Standing in the road waving another carriage down with her latest silly little reticule was Venus.
As if she sensed him watching she went from waving at the coachman to waving at him before she scurried his way, flapping her hands to encourage him to slide up his window.
“Can you skate?”
As that was the absolute last thing he expected to hear after the odd way things had ended between them last night, he frowned. “Skate? As in ice-skate?” She beamed nodding and suddenly he did not mind in the slightest being so rudely awoken. “I haven’t done it in years.”
“But you can skate?”
“In the loosest possible sense, yes…”
“Good. We could do with another adult. Get dressed and I’ll wait for you.” Before he could argue, she spun around to help the vicar and his wife wrangle the children.
Ten minutes later, and still not entirely sure which way was up, he reported for duty. “I thought the British stopped press-ganging unwitting recruits after Napoleon.”
She scoffed at that while still loading the second-from-last hackney with excited orphans. “You have to take the shilling to be officially press-ganged, Galahad, and you’re doing this gratis, out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I am?”
“Of course you are.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the carriage and all the expectant faces inside, one of whose was Billy’s. “Because it is Christmas Eve, a time for goodwill to all, and because for the first time in what feels like months the sun is finally shining and the Serpentine is frozen. Because that makes it the perfect day to go skating.” With one subtle flick of her finger, all six of the tightly packed occupants inside shuffled over and Venus pushed all six feet of him into that six-inch space then slammed the door shut. “And because you clearly had nothing else pressing going on this morning.” She slapped the side of the conveyance, and off he went.
For all of thirty seconds, every child except Billy eyed him in silent appraisal, then—after assessing him correctly as someone who was out of his depth and doubtless smelling his fear—they all began to misbehave.
It started with just one boy, who licked his index finger thoroughly before shoving it into the ear of the girl next to him.
Obviously, and he really couldn’t blame her, that violated little girl took umbrage and thumped the boy. While Gal attempted to calm her down and chastise the owner of the offending spittle-covered digit, two of the other boys squashed beside him began to wrestle.
He tried to tell them off, wagging his finger with calm authority exactly as Venus had done so effectively. But where her pointed finger held the magical power to make children comply, his didn’t.
One of the girls, the one without the wet ear, decided to ignore his finger to join in the wrestling, and from the outset she fought dirty, using her teeth as well as her nails to give the boys what for.
“Stop that now!” Gal tried to prise the knot of wrestlers apart. “If you don’t stop this instant, I’m going to have this carriage turn around and take you all back to the orphanage!”
As if they all knew that this was the empty threat of a man who’d never had to deal with a child in his life, the wrestling continued unhindered. Worse, the biter stepped up her game, sinking her teeth into one of the boys’ arms until she drew blood. The kid screamed and kicked her to free it, then managed to kick Gal in the shin, too.
He was on the cusp of hollering at them all red-faced, like the good reverend, or throwing himself out onto the road to escape them like a coward when the hitherto silent Billy produced a pack of cards and held it out.
“Can you teach me that fancy shuffle that you do, Mr. Sinclair?”
Gal gave him his best death glare as he tried to separate the wrestlers again. “Now’s really not the time, Billy.”
The boy grabbed his hand and slapped the cards into them. “Trust me, Mr. Sinclair, now is the perfect time.” He gave him the look. The look that told him in no uncertain terms that with nothing else in his arsenal to control these little monsters, that fancy shuffle was likely all he had to prevent anarchy. His gaze flicked toward the original miscreant, who was again slathering his index finger in spit with his tongue ready to poke uninvited into another orifice. “Only Miss Merriwell always says that the devil always finds work for idle hands…”
Panicked, Gal cut the cards one-handed, his eyes focused on Billy—who was, bizarrely, the only child in here that he could trust—and prayed that the scamp was right. “Shall we start with the basics to begin with, Billy Boy?” Although as he knew already nothing basic would work with this tough crowd, he began to perform every complicated trick he knew with all the exaggerated flair of a street entertainer.
Within moments—and to his complete but grateful surprise—one by one the children stopped attacking one another and focused on the flying cards, mesmerized. So entranced, he never heard another squeak out of them beyond shocked oohs and ahs until they pulled up in Hyde Park.
“Collect your skates over…” Because this was clearly his lucky day, it was Venus who opened the hackney’s door. Instantly her eyes widened in outrage as he flicked the pack together in a final flourish.
“You are teaching them to gamble?”
“Of course I’m not teaching them to gamble.” He did his best to convey with his eyes that he had just avoided all-out war, hoping that she, of all people, would understand how unpredictable and uncivilized these orphans were. “I was occupying them with a few tricks to keep them quiet for the duration of the journey, that’s all.”
“With cards, Galahad! Cards, for goodness’ sake?” She managed to make the word cards sound as dangerous to their welfare as knife juggling. “These are impressionable young minds!”
The offending cards were snatched from his hand and swiftly deposited inside her ridiculous little reticule, filling it completely. Staring at him in exasperation, she used nothing but her magical index finger to shepherd all her suddenly obedient flock in the direction of Mrs. Witherspoon, who was handing out a huge mountain of hired skates as if her life depended on it. “Once you have your skates, put them on and sit quietly until I tell you otherwise.”
Feeling inadequate and still bewildered as to why he had been dragged along, Gal followed suit, strapping on some skates and sitting dutifully with all the rest of the orphans while he awaited the all-powerful finger’s next instructions.
“I suppose it’s all showmanship.” At Galahad’s unconvinced expression, Vee laughed as they slowly skated side by side along the top edge of the perimeter she had set for the older children they were supervising. “My finger does not possess magical powers. I simply act as if I am the one in charge and they believe it.” She swept her arm to encompass the twenty grinning orphans skating close by. “Children need clear rules and are always much happier when they know exactly what those rules are. In hindsight, it was remiss of me not to set them for you in the carriage.”
“I’ll say it was. You fed me to the lions. On purpose, too.”
She smiled, guilty as charged, but would never admit that she had done that to test his mettle, or that he had passed that test with flying colors. “In my defense, I assumed a man of your many talents would manage well enough on his own.”
“What made you think my specific talents would stretch to controlling a carriage full of over-excited children?” Despite the crease of concentration on his forehead, Galahad still wobbled on the ice, proving that he was able to skate in the loosest possible sense, exactly as he had claimed. But what he lacked in ability he made up for in tenacity and good humor. “I know innkeeping, cards, and business— in that order. None of those things involve humans below the age of twenty.”
“You manage to control a bar full of rowdy drinkers and gamblers night after night with no problem, and surely that is harder than a few children?”
“If a drinker or a gambler gets too rowdy, I can punch him and throw him out. I can imagine how well me punching one of your unruly orphans and then tossing them out of a moving carriage would have gone down with you and the reverend and your liberal policies against violence.”
“You are not a violent man, Galahad.” Vee felt that in her bones. “I’d bet good money that you’ve never used your fists once to ensure compliance at The Den.”
“I haven’t—but I could if I had to. That’s the difference.” His confidence building, he lengthened his stride. “It’s the threat that matters. It’s implied. My customers know that I could pummel them, or I could unleash Muldoon’s meaty fists upon them with a click of my fingers…” He clicked his. “… and so they behave. Besides, my customers are all adults, and in the main, adults don’t lick then stick fingers in each other’s ears.” He pulled an outraged face. “In my defense, that’s not a situation I’ve ever had to deal with before. Any more than supervising a bunch of children on ice when I can barely keep myself upright is something I’ve had to deal with before.” He stared at her in feigned annoyance. “Something you should have thought about before you kidnapped me and made me your minion. We both know I’m as good as useless out here.”
Vee did not believe that for a second but wasn’t ready to give him a compliment when she still wasn’t sure what to feel about him. “You have two working eyes.”
“And you have a schoolteacher’s extra pair hidden in the back of your head, which make mine redundant, so why did you really drag me out here, Venus?” He twisted to face her as he stopped on the ice.
“Because I have questions.” So many, that were so important, they made her brain hurt.
“About The Den? About letting the boys work there?”
“About you actually.” Seeing as he had brought it up, there was no point beating around the bush. “Who are you, Galahad?”
His bemusement was instant. “Who am I? What sort of question is that when you’ve known me for years?” That he started skating again was telling.
“But do I? Does anyone?” As she was better on the ice than him it was no trouble catching up to him, and in case he did all he could to maneuver out of her way both physically and conversationally, she threaded her arm through his to anchor him by her side. “You seem to be so many conflicting things, Galahad Sinclair—you play so many different characters—I have no clue which version of you is real.”
“I am exactly what you see.” His expression tried to shrug her observation off as nonsense, but the muscles in his arm bunched beneath her fingers. “A fish out of water trying to make a go of things in a strange land.”
“What I see—what I’ve seen—is a man who can adapt to whichever environment he happens to be in, with such ease and swiftness it is confusing. Occasionally, when he wants to disarm, he pretends to be the lackadaisical foreigner filled with lazy charm. That character is at odds with the ruthless, ambitious businessman who is always scouting the horizon for opportunities to seize and circumstances to adapt to. Sometimes, like last night, he is the eyes-everywhere king of The Den. Adored by all his loyal but lowly subjects in the docks. Yet that same man can rub shoulders with the aristocrats of Mayfair and not seem out of place. In crowds, he can be the life and soul, but among his family he is the shy, reluctant dinner companion who quietly reads Shakespeare in his spare time. Other times he is a dreamer who sees nothing but the infinite potential of an idea. Someone who is harmlessly flirtatious and, occasionally, dangerously seductive.” There was no point lying about her overwhelming attraction to him, as that was the crux of the matter.
The flirt arrived with a vengeance to disguise the brief flash of something that looked a lot like hope that skittered across his handsome face. “You find me seductive?”
Vee rolled her eyes rather than answer that, not ready to bare her hand entirely just yet. “I see a man who is often carried away by enthusiasm and allows his future to be guided by dreams. However, that same man often seems haunted by his past and uses it like a barricade to hide behind. A shield to keep out the world and guard his heart.” He blinked at that. Only once but enough to tell her that he wasn’t comfortable that she had seen that. Or particularly comfortable with her canny assessment of him at all.
“A man who is universally liked by everyone, yet who keeps everyone at arm’s length. A man who forgives unconditionally yet refuses to bend an inch elsewhere. A determined, patient, stubborn, generous, single-minded, vexing, kindhearted, unyielding, unreadable, untrusting, resourceful, selfish, passionate, and compassionate man.” He was all those things and more, but it was the more that she wanted now.
“In short, I see a man of wild contradictions, Galahad.” Because he had stopped looking at her to stare across the ice instead, Vee slowed and tugged him to face her. “A man that I do not know at all. Does anyone?”
He was silent, turning his head and shielding his brows from the glare of the midday sun to study all the people littering the frozen Serpentine rather than allowing her to see the truth in his eyes.
But she could feel the tension in his body. Sense the turmoil in his soul. After an age he blew out a misty breath and watched it evaporate before he answered. “Probably not.”
“Why?”
“Habit.” He shrugged, still staring at nothing. “Self-preservation. Self-defense.”
“What people do not know, they cannot use against you?”
“Something like that.” His eyes slanted begrudgingly to hers then focused outward again. That was when she noticed he was watching a ragged boy slipping over the melted puddles on the ice a few yards away. He was swaddled in so many filthy old coats that his body resembled a barrel balanced on two skinny little legs. Without skates, the unyielding wooden soles of his too-big boots slid here and there with every determined step as he hawked a tray of hot chestnuts to warm the revelers. For several moments Galahad watched the lad struggle but doggedly refuse to give up selling his wares and earning those next few pennies, which were probably the difference between eating and not. “He’s probably more of the real me than all those others you just described. At least inside…” His gloved hand splayed across his chest as if he could still feel that lost boy within. “And that’s not someone I want the world to see anymore.”
She had suspected it, but her heart still bled. “How long were you on your own for?”
“Eight long years.”
“Oh, Galahad…” She hugged his arm, wishing she could make it all better and devastated that she couldn’t. “I’m so sorry…”
“It’s the past, Venus.” Typically, he withdrew, stiffening as he tried to shrug it off. “And undoubtedly best left there. It was what it was—I survived—so I choose not to dwell on it.”
“Don’t you?” As he clearly wanted to skate again—preferably as far away from this conversation as was possible—she took the lead and refused to allow him to lose her. “Mine wasn’t anywhere near as bad as yours and yet I still do.” Perhaps some of her own truths might loosen some of his? “I don’t dwell exactly, I just know that it influences my decisions and impacts my judgments. Like last night. I fully expected The Den to be the sort of depraved place where my father lost all our rent money while he drank himself into oblivion. I do not mind admitting that it unsettled me when it wasn’t.”
The Claypoles whizzed past laughing and waving and dragging several others in their wake, so Vee paused long enough to do the same, before she trusted Galahad with something as important as he had Billy with his takings. Hoping that her honesty might coax out a confidence in return to help clear a path between them, because she was all done with the barricades—both his and hers. All done with fighting against that invisible pull between them. So done with trying to hate him and denying what both her heart and her head clearly wanted. “Similarly, and entirely because I was deprived of the secure, traditional sort of family that I read about in fairy tales and I craved growing up, I’ve set my cap to all manner of unworthy men in the vain hope that one of them would be the one to make my own fairy tale with. It’s a pathetic trait that has caused nothing but humiliation and heartache, but one I have been working hard to correct. Especially since Lord Argyll.”
He didn’t seem at all surprised by the substance of that confession, more that she had made it so openly. “How do you explain Lord Dorchester?”
“Habit.” As his previous words fit perfectly, she used them. “Self-preservation. Self-defense. Thanks to my stupid name, my lack of blue blood, and some inconvenient and exuberant meddling from Mother Nature—” She briefly touched her own chest. “—I have always been the sort of woman men desire but do not want. At least not in the forever sort of way, so I decided to listen to my seemingly sensible, bookish head for a change and not my foolish, needy, gullible heart. Lord Dorchester was—is—a very different kettle of fish from every other gentleman of my acquaintance as he is the only one who has never shown the slightest bit of desire for me as a woman.”
He regarded her without outright bewilderment. “That appealed?”
“After Lord Argyll, yes. Very much so.”
“Yet I still caught you re-reading Much Ado—a story about unrequited love and longing coming good.”
“Clearly, I’d convinced my head, but not my foolish, romantic heart.” She laughed bitterly at the ridiculousness of it. Of the ludicrousness of her own warped logic and contradictions. Contradictions that she hadn’t even realized until he had pointed them out. The overwhelming urge to read about her favorite fictional couple to fill the void left by her lack of feelings for Dorchester should have told her that he was wrong long before she had been forced to acknowledge it. “What can I say, Galahad? I have always been a dreamer and the worst judge of a man’s character, and as a result I’ve always ended up with my stupid heart disappointed or broken in some way.” Nerves at laying herself so bare made her tummy flutter and constricted her throat, and yet, bizarrely, she wanted to entrust him with her whole self. Needed him—just him—to be the one to know the real her completely. “That in turn has made me cynical, and that also taints my judgment. I no longer trust myself to see things clearly. I hear alarm bells everywhere nowadays and always think the worst. Second-guess myself at every juncture and yet still take it all to heart. Further proof that we all dwell on the past in some shape or form and allow it to hold us back—even from what our hearts most want.” She let go of his arm to stare at him levelly, daring him to be as honest with her as she had been with him. Daring him to trust her with his truth, too. Willing him to take that leap. That gamble. “Or do you disagree?”
He skated around her as he pondered it. Or pondered what to say.
Or more likely pondered how to avoid answering at all.
The silence stretched and she felt foolish. So self-conscious, her eyes dropped to her toes and would have stayed there had his finger not tipped up her chin. He withdrew it immediately the second her wary gaze met his equally wary one, yet the potency of that brief touch lingered on her flesh even when he put several feet of distance between them.
“You do know that it is possible to desire a woman and want her at the same time, don’t you?” His smile was cautious as his eyes raked her up and down, so thoroughly she felt it everywhere. First from the front, then behind her back as he continued to glide around her, assessing her, like a fighter in the boxing ring sizing up a feared opponent.
“What has that to do with the past influencing our futures?” She was going to get a straight answer out of him if it killed her. Or completely humiliated her. Or she died of utter mortification. Or her heart made a total fool out of her yet again because she’d got it all wrong. Please, God, I hope I haven’t. “For once in your wretched life, be honest with me.”
“Well, if I’m being honest…” He shrugged but held her gaze. “I’m sorry for every idiot who ever broke your heart. I’m sorry about your name and all the problems it has caused you over the years, but I have to confess that I like it. It suits you. And I, for one, shall be forever grateful to Mother Nature for her exuberant meddling, as she did a fine job on you, Venus. A mighty fine job.” The emotive green eyes darkened as he dropped his voice to a silky, private murmur and skated much too close. “So fine that if I’m being brutally honest, I find myself desiring you more than I’ve ever desired any woman in my life—and you know already that I want you. I’ve never been any good at hiding that.”
Her irritation was instinctive, because he was using her confession and his own lust as an excuse to deflect again. To avoid having a meaningful conversation about himself. About them. To hide, yet again, behind his beloved deceptive showmanship.
Or so the jaded cynic in her thought, until the molten heat in his unusual green eyes morphed into something else.
Something more honest and vulnerable than she had ever seen there, but more enticing somehow as a result.
“But what you might not know…” His feet slowed and his body drifted toward hers braced, as if heading into battle. “What I’ve never let you see before now … never even dared admit properly to myself before now because it scares the hell out of me…” His index finger found hers and reverently grazed it as he swallowed. “… is that I’ve honestly always wanted you in the forever sort of way, Venus.” His reluctant smile was one of resignation. Of fear and uncertainty. Of surrender. “And it turns out I’m just not strong enough to fight that anymore.”
Was that a declaration?
It felt like one, but she needed clarity. Needed all the answers. All the secrets. Needed to know him properly before she listened to her foolish, needy heart again. Knew somehow that this man, this complex and frustrating man, didn’t so much have the power to break her heart as to possess it completely.
“Galahad, I…”
“Get off the ice!” The bloodcurdling shout from beyond caused immediate panic to erupt all around them. “It’s breaking up!”