Page 43 of His Wicked Charm

“I am along there.” Vesta waved vaguely down the long hall. “I have moved into your mother’s old room, dear. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lilah did mind. She minded a good deal. “Of course not.”

“It faces the yew, you see, which of course is vital.”

“Naturally.” Lilah didn’t look at her or Con, just hurried into her room and closed the door behind her.

She leaned back against the door, letting the tension drain from her. It was blessedly quiet, and though she had not been here since her father’s death two years ago, it was cozy and familiar. The bookcase still held her childhood books. If she opened the small door on one wall, she would find a cunning little playroom tucked in behind a gable, doubtless still filled with her dolls and toys.

She thought of just staying here and not going down to supper. But that would leave her aunt alone with Con, and God only knew what bizarre thing Aunt Vesta might tell him. Con, of course, would encourage her to talk. No, Lilah had to be there to steer the conversation away from all the topics it would be better to avoid.

Turning away, she went to the water basin to wash away the dust and grime of the road, doing her best to brush it off her skirts, as well. Still she lingered, drifting about the room, touching her old jewelry box, the crudely stitched sampler that had been her first attempt at needlepoint, the glass dish shaped like a lady’s hand that had held stray buttons and pins, the small chest of her mother’s that had sat for years in her father’s room and had been moved to hers after his death.

Lilah moved aside the chair that now sat in front of the small door to her playroom, and, ducking her head, she stepped inside. It was dim, lit only from the bedroom behind her, but that was enough to make out the row of dolls sitting on the shelves and the hoop leaning against it. A large trunk beneath the window held her toys; she had often sat there, looking out. On the wall opposite was an elaborate dollhouse atop a child-size table, a matching chair beside it. She had loved that dollhouse; it had been so wonderfully normal, so completely unlike her own jumbled home.

The air was stale, smelling of the dust that layered everything. Light glinted on the glass eye of a doll. Lilah’s heart clenched inside her chest. This was a house of sorrow. Her father gone. A mother she had never known. This little room, holding the lifeless remnants of the child she had been.

She left, closing the door behind her and returning the chair to its position in front of the door. This house, this land, might pull her in some visceral way, but Lilah was certain she no longer belonged here.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LILAH DIDN’T NEED to steer the conversation around treacherous waters, for her aunt didn’t even mention Barrow House or the Holcutt family. Instead, Vesta and Con kept up a steady stream of chatter about London. What was the gossip? What plays were at the theaters? Who was fashionable and who was not? Judging by their laughter, the chatter kept them thoroughly entertained. It made Lilah twitchy.

It was a relief when her aunt’s idea of a simple meal—only six courses—came to an end. Con turned down Aunt Vesta’s invitation to an evening of cards and conversation and climbed the stairs with Lilah. At the top of the stairs, when Lilah started to bid him good-night and turn toward her room, Con wrapped his hand around her wrist, saying, “Wait. I wanted to talk to you.”

Nerves coiled in Lilah’s stomach, but she joined him on the seat at the oriel window. What was he going to ask her? She had been a fool to hope she could keep Con from learning everything about her family. Obviously he and her aunt were quickly becoming great chums.

“Lilah...” Con sat down beside her, hesitated, then stood up. “I acted abominably this morning on the train. I must apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior.” His words sounded stilted and rehearsed. “For the way I...” Uncharacteristically, he groped for words.

“Kissed me?” Lilah was swept with relief. This was what he wanted to talk about?

He relaxed, too, and sat down beside her again. “No, I’d never regret that. It was far too enjoyable.”

“I have to say, then, it scarcely seems a sincere apology.”

“I regret that I offended you. I’m sorry that I alarmed or distressed you. That I was boorish or rough. I am not usually so clumsy. I lost my temper.”

“I don’t understand why getting angry would cause you to kiss a person. I would think that disliking someone would make you want to not kiss her.”

“One would think.” With a long sigh, he leaned back against the glass. “The truth is, you tangle me up inside. I don’t understand it. I don’t like it any more than you do. But I can’t seem to help myself.” He paused, then added quietly, “If I avoided you before, it wasn’t because I dislike you.”

“No?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“No. I like you more than I should for my own peace of mind.”

“If you like me, then why do you tease me all the time?”

He looked startled. “It’s clear that you grew up without a brother. Didn’t any boy ever tug your pigtails because he liked you?”

Lilah stared. “Well, I...I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Not really. Anyway, that makes no sense. Why would you want to irritate someone if you like her?”

“I tease you because...I enjoy the way your eyes sparkle and your cheeks flush.”

“But it’s because I’m angry!”

“Perverse, isn’t it?” He leaned in. “I like your snapping at me. Your humor. That frown you make, with the little lines right here.” He brushed his fingertip between her eyes. “It’s fun to see your real self pop out from behind that social mask.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I love causing you to lose your vaunted control. Making you as stirred up and uneasy and confused as you make me.”

He dropped his hand and pulled back. Silence stretched between them. Lilah thought perhaps Con was as surprised by his words as she was. Finally, pulling her thoughts together, she said tartly, “Then you have certainly succeeded.”