‘Good evening. Miss Silverdale.’
‘Good evening, Lord Sinclair. It is good of you to call,’ Olivia replied as Pottle closed the door, leaving them alone in the drawing room. He moved so that the table was between them. He had come to Brook Street determined to treat what had occurred in his study just hours earlier with the lightest of touches and to keep as much physical distance between them as possible so his already fragile self-control would not have to take another beating. He was not at all certain he would succeed—the memory of her pleasure was seared into his mind and he felt greedy with the need to take her there again, even at the cost of deepening his suffering.
‘Are you well?’ His voice was stiff, which was fitting.
‘Yes.’ Her own voice was husky and he finally noticed she looked as uncomfortable as he felt.
‘Are you nervous?’ A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘I did not hurt you, did I?’
‘What? No, of course not! If I appear nervous it is because I am, but not because...well, because of what happened. Are you not curious to learn what Mrs Eldritch told me?’
‘I am postponing the inevitable. In any case, before you begin, please sit down for my sake if not yours. I would rather take this sitting down myself and I cannot if you insist on remaining standing. My mother did instil a few codes of polite behaviour in us after all, though I know they have been glaringly absent today.’
She sat and Lucas smiled a little wryly.
‘That was the first time you did as I asked without argument. Should I be suspicious?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, I am. Out with it. I may as well hear the worst.’
‘But it isn’t... Never mind. Remember that Mrs Eldritch mentioned Henry was helping her sort through her husband’s papers prior to removing from her house? Well, after we left she remembered that Henry had become quite excited about a packet of letters between her husband and a mutual friend who worked at Buxted Mallory Shipping the same time your father did. She looked through those letters and finally she found this. That was why she sent for me.’
She unfolded the letter from Jasper Archer and held it out. Lucas remained seated.
‘What does it say?’
‘It is rather long. Perhaps you...’
‘Just tell me what it says, Olivia.’
‘Very well. I shall read only the pertinent parts.’
Time and time again I wonder what would have happened had old Lord Buxted not taken a hand in our affairs that day. If we had spoken the truth—that it was empty jealousy on George Buxted’s part and childish foolishness on Ada Mallory’s part that the duel ever took place, and that poor Howard Sinclair had no more amorous interest in her than in any of the women who sighed about him.
The poor fellow didn’t even notice them, let alone encourage them, and so all the vicious slander Lord Buxted set about after the duel was as empty as my soul has felt since...
She looked up, trying to gauge his reaction but he said nothing and she continued.
Sometimes I marvelled at Sinclair’s naiveté...a strange quality for any member of that family. Some matters flowed past him and others inflamed him without reason. I will never understand why George Buxted’s accusation of cowardice blinded him to all our exhortations to reason.
Still, that makes it all the more heinous that Lord Buxted set it about it was Howard that discharged before the drop of the handkerchief when it was George Buxted who did so, though to be fair it was an act of clumsiness and fear, not malice.
I should have brought a constable, not Lord Buxted. But my sins truly began when I said nothing to counter him spreading those lies, painting that ludicrous picture of Howard Sinclair as a lecherous Lothario who set out to seduce Miss Mallory.
Only now that I have heard of the death of Lady Sinclair have I thought of the impact of those tales on his family...
‘He goes on to ask Mr Eldritch to advise him about sending you and your siblings a letter. I presume he died before he acted on his conscience.’
Lucas watched as she placed the letter on the table with all the care of a mother laying a sleeping child in a crib.
‘What will you do, Lucas?’ she asked and her question forced him to the surface.
‘What can I do? It is too late to do anything. Lord Buxted himself died two years ago and the current Lord Buxted is a boy of sixteen. Do you expect me to ruin his life as well?’
‘No, but you will at least tell your brother and sister, won’t you? They have a right to know.’
He stood and moved to the window. The snow was gathering, thick enough to render even the grey and brown of London beautiful. He tried to understand what he was feeling about her discovery and failed. All he knew was that he wanted her to come to him, do something unconnected with her quest and his past, unconnected even with the passion they shared that afternoon. But she remained seated, hands folded in her lap, and he thought again of Chase’s assessment of her inscrutability. She was tied to him irrevocably, but he still had no clear idea whether she needed him. He tried to push the fear away. She was right about one thing—Chase and Sam had a right to know.
‘Yes. I will tell them. I need to speak with Sam myself which means I must go to Oxfordshire.’
‘Of course.’
‘I will be as quick as possible and when I return we will begin the formalities. You can have your man of business draw up whatever legal documents you feel are necessary to protect your interests. I won’t interfere with your business concerns in any case. We shall also have to discuss my own...activities at some point.’
‘With your uncle?’
‘Yes. I don’t intend to continue as before, but I can still assist. You might even prove to be useful.’ His smile was a little forced, but she smiled back, her eyes sparkling with interest. He would introduce her to Oswald and see what his uncle said. Probably nothing repeatable in polite company, at least initially. He changed the subject.
‘Can you keep out of trouble while I am absent?’
She finally came to him and pinched the fabric of his sleeve between her fingers, giving it a little tug. ‘Can you? Will you be careful? This weather is not suitable for travelling.’
He took her hand and pressed it between his, waiting for his lungs to make room for breathing again. The thought that this was how it could be, this concern, the right to touch her, small moments that he had no idea could mean anything let alone make life worthwhile...
‘I am used to travelling in worse,’ he answered, feeling foolish. ‘I am more concerned about leaving you for a few days here in London. Perhaps I should stay until the gossip settles...’
Her hand turned to clasp his and her other curved about his nape as she rose to press her lips against his. It was a fleeting, almost shy kiss, in sharp contrast to the passion she had exhibited that afternoon, but it melted him. He pressed his hand into the warmth of her hair, holding her there, keeping the kiss hovering on the edge of the chasm he felt yawning below him. He wanted to say the words so badly. He wanted to go down on his knees and beg her to say them back.
When he finally left he was aching with holding everything inside, but he was glad he had. While he was at Sinclair Hall he would begin to make it ready for her. She would need her own study, with plenty of room for her lists and her Walls of Conjecture. And when he returned he would take his time wooing her. He had rushed her into this engagement and she had rushed him into physical intimacy, but from this point forward he resolved he would not allow these new emotions to set the pace. He did not want to ruin this. It was too precious.