most of them mucking around the damned stables with his bloody stupid horses. Those parents of hers were still racketing around the globe just as they had been doing most of her life, from what he knew of them. Sean hated the thought of Laura left in the care of a hired servant or some such.
“Tell me truly,” she said, as they made their way out of the building and into the approaching twilight, “doesn’t it feel wonderful to be wealthy, Mr. Wilder? Aren’t you glad I had this idea? Think of the freedom this will offer you!”
Freedom? Sean glanced down at her, hoping the horror in his eyes was concealed, for he knew it was there right enough. He had totally forgotten the original transaction, the money. Had not really thought of it once she had told him she would soon die. Bought.
He changed the subject abruptly, unwilling to dwell on that one, lest he resort to cruelty. No point to it now. He might not relish the idea of being purchased again, but Laura certainly had no evil intent. The other had happened so long ago he seldom thought of it anymore. He wouldn’t now.
“Shouldn’t we dispense with formality?” he asked, striving for civility. “Shall I call you Laura?”
She beamed. “Of course you may! And I shall call you Sean. Unless you prefer Cavendish, of course. How should you like that?”
“I should hate that,” he remarked as he turned her in the direction of his rooming house.
“Are you hungry?” He didn’t think he could force down a bite if his life depended on it. His stomach felt like a melt pot full of lead. Perhaps some kind of illness had struck him, as well. Would that explain a total change in character?
She shook her head, setting the jaunty ostrich feather waving. “Not hungry really, but coffee would be nice. Yes, we shall have that and a sweet in lieu of a wedding feast. Perhaps then we should go home.” She clutched his arm with both hands. “You are taking me home with you, aren’t you? We can discuss our trip to Paris. Have you wine? We could buy some champagne along the way if we pass a wineshop. Oh, I do love walking this time of day, don’t you? The sunset would probably be glorious if we could just see past the fog.”
Before he could tell her it wasn’t fog at all, just the usual dirty air of London, she had skipped to the topic of their crossing the channel.
When she pulled him into a tea shop, where she ordered coffee and lemon cakes to celebrate, Sean allowed her to chatter on, changing subjects by the sentence. He supposed that might be how she coped, never dwelling on any one thing long enough to form a profound thought. Thinking, living, only for the instant.
If only he could make her forget completely, make her smiles real and heartfelt. Did he even remember how to do that for a woman? Had he ever done it at all?
Chapter Three
Laura swept into his apartment and did a quick pirouette around his drawing room. She sailed her wide-brimmed hat at the window and began tugging off her gloves. “Oh, Sean, this is wonderful! All browns, greens and brass. So masculine, just perfect for you.
“Oh look!” She scooped up the open sketch pad he had left on the divan. “You draw, too! I love to draw. I knew we had things in common. You’re very good,” she said, examining the picture he had done of an old man who ran a paper stall down the street.
He took the book from her and snapped it shut. “Sometimes I use it for work. Sketches help to locate people on occasion. Things such as that. Just picked it up, no formal training or anything. It’s nothing much.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “False modesty doesn’t become you at all. Tell the truth, you enjoy it. It shows in the work, Sean.”
He nodded and smiled shyly at her praise. “I suppose I do. Do you always say exactly what you feel, Laura?”
She considered that for a moment. “Yes, why shouldn’t I? Honesty’s very important to me.”
“The most important thing,” he agreed. “Though I encouraged those ridiculous rumors about my parentage, doing so was more of a private joke than any deliberate falsehood. Tweaking London’s nose, so to speak.” He framed her face with his hands. “I vow never to lie to you, Laura. About anything. I value truth above everything. It is so very hard to come by.”
His seriousness was not lost on her. “Then you shall always have it from me, Sean. Always.”
He suddenly looked so sad she couldn’t bear it. Laura wondered whose dishonesty had affected him so profoundly. And how quickly could she erase the memory? With one hand, she brushed a windblown lock off his brow and smiled up at him.
“Have you a kitchen? I can cook!”
“No.” He took her by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes as though looking for something hidden. “No kitchen.”
Laura sighed, totally entranced by the power of his gaze. “You have eyes like spring leaves, Sean. I do love the spring.”
He laughed softly, his head moving back and forth. “Laura, Laura, I don’t quite know what to make of you.”
“Make me a wife, then. No point in delaying. Show me what to do.” The thought of lying in his arms sent heat streaking through her body. She felt slightly dizzy from it and prayed she wouldn’t swoon. That would frighten him off for certain.
With a soft curse, he firmly set her away from him and covered his face with one hand. “Damn! Give me a moment here, will you?”
She gave him a moment. The silence grew so loud she couldn’t bear it. “Does it put you off, then? My illness, I mean. You really don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. Just being married is quite—”
He whirled abruptly and kissed her. Laura felt her thoughts dissolve and sizzle like butter in a saucepan. She opened her mouth when he urged it, and took him in with a greediness that shocked her. He tasted faintly of sweet coffee and something uniquely male. Overwhelmingly male. God, how delicious! His tongue demanded a response and she gave it, meeting his determined forays with eager inexperience and delight. Her breasts swelled against their binding silks, begging more pressure from the stiff brocade of his waistcoat.
When he finally released her mouth, Laura realized her knees had given way completely. She hung in his embrace like a puppet cut loose of its strings.
His harsh breath rushed out against her ear. One large hand gripped the base of her neck and the other cupped her just below her ruched-up bustle.
She could feel a taut ridge of muscle pressed firmly to her front. Well, at least he wasn’t too put off, she thought with purely female satisfaction.
“What comes next?” she gasped.
With a groan of exasperation, he swept her up in his arms and sat down on the divan. “We have to talk,” he said, settling her on his lap.
Those wonderful hands of his stroked up and down her arms. She supposed that was meant to calm her. Ha! “No, we don’t need talking,” she argued, seeking his mouth again. She felt starved for him, and so very much alive it hurt.
He turned his head to avoid the kiss. “Yes, we do! Wait a moment!” His breathing slowed to nearly normal as she waited. “Now then,” he said, and cleared his throat.
