hazel eyes made far too vivid by the kohl. He assessed his options and sighed.
‘Do me a favour and scrub your face clean and put on something that doesn’t look like you stole it off a demi-monde’s back. Then we will talk. Calmly. Is there anything to drink here?’
‘Drink? There is brandy in the parlour. Gypsy Sue suggested having some on hand to make Marcia more generous. Or would you care for tea?’
‘I will find the brandy. Go and change.’
The brandy was surprisingly good and he took it into the study and poured himself a measure and on second thought poured her a glass, too. Perhaps it would make her more generous as well.
He paused with the glass halfway to his mouth at the thought of Olivia Silverdale being generous, the potency of the image surprising him with a rush of heat that flowed upwards from his stomach and then settled back into his groin with an insistent thudding. It was utterly unwelcome, but before he could push it aside it was followed by the realisation that she was somewhere upstairs, undressing. That the vulgar purple-satin dress was even now hissing downwards over her skin, puddling on the floor at her feet with a whisper like an exhaled breath.
He tightened his hold on his glass and grimaced at the unwelcome thoughts. She might be an appealing little thing, but despite her eccentricity she was clearly gently born and as far outside his areas of interest as was possible without being married with ten children. Besides, from what he witnessed in the church she had no positive outlook on physical intimacy.
The image returned of her standing in the church, chin up, eyes closed as that young cub bent to kiss her. It was a submissive stance except for the fact that her hands had been fisted and her mouth anything but inviting. She looked more like a soldier before a firing squad, defiant but resolved to embrace his fate, than a young woman about to be kissed. It struck him as strange then, but doubly so now. Someone so very passionate about life should not look like that when a young man she clearly cares for steals a very chaste kiss.
I must do this...
He swirled his brandy, watching it lick against the edges of the glass.
It was not his concern. She might not be able to tame her curiosity, but he had years of experience doing just that. The fact that his discipline was lagging in his dealings with her was no excuse to slacken control further. She was not his concern. The ragged remnants of the Sinclair name were. Sam should not have to weather any more storms and so his only concern was to push this genie back into her bottle and move on.
‘Oh, good. You found it. Is that for me?’
He turned, his body clenching in readiness to either administer or receive a blow. She was transformed again—she was wearing a cream-muslin dress with rows of tiny pale-yellow flowers marking the bodice and sleeves. The makeup was gone, but her lips and cheeks were reddened from rubbing and a faint shadow lingered around her eyes. She had not even tried to dress her hair, but merely twisted her curls a little more rigorously into an off-centre knot and secured them with what looked like short knitting needles. She looked like what he imagined a young woman from the country would look like in the privacy of the breakfast room, still warm from bed and with nothing more on her mind than embroidery and morning calls. Not that he had much experience with that breed or wanted to. What he wanted was to pull one of those needles and see if that knot of burnished curls survived. Then take out the other and watch it all unfurl. Then lead her upstairs and watch her remove that proper dress as well.
Hell and damnation. This was the very definition of unwelcome.
She sat, sipped her brandy, frowned and sipped it again.
‘This is rather foul. Do men truly enjoy it or do they merely drink it for the pleasure of becoming intoxicated? By the way, I should warn you I have no intention of leaving London tomorrow.’
‘Not voluntarily. I’m aware of that.’
‘Not even under duress. I must at least discover who this Mr Eldritch is. If he is indeed merely a concerned relation and there is another woman involved, then...well, perhaps you are right. But I must try. Well? You said you wished to talk. What shall we talk about?’
How I am going to bed you.
He smiled at his unaccustomed descent into folly and shook his head.
‘Who was that young man you were kissing at St George’s?’
Her eyes widened and a flush rushed over her cheekbones, as vivid as Madame Bulgari’s rouge.
‘You saw us?’
‘I saw him accost you by your carriage and, as you pointed out, I am a curious fellow, so, yes, I followed you back into the church.’
‘I didn’t see you.’
‘You weren’t meant to. So, who is he?’
‘Colin Payton. Henry Payton’s son.’
‘Ah, I see. What is there between you?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘Are you engaged to that young pup?’
Her mouth flattened and her eyes narrowed.
‘He is not a young pup; he is but a good man. But, no, we are not engaged.’
‘If you go about kissing him in churches you are as near to engaged as possible without the priest reading the banns. Why didn’t you tell me this is one of your reasons for wanting Payton cleared? If I am to help you, you must be honest with me, Miss Silverdale.’
‘I didn’t tell you because it isn’t true.’
‘So you kiss men in churches for the sheer pleasure of it?’
‘He kissed me—I didn’t instigate it.’ Her ferocity confirmed his observation, though he couldn’t tell if it was merely a virgin’s inexperience or some deeper objection. Probably the former; her obsession with conspiracies was making him see shadows when there were none. His experience with virgins was thankfully minimal; for all he knew they all reacted like that at the prospect of physical intimacy.
Before he could respond she pressed her hands together, calming. ‘But I might marry him, if I cannot solve this any other way.’
‘How precisely would matrimony solve it?’
‘Well, it would at least solve the financial concerns that Henry’s death caused. I am very wealthy, you see. If my brother Jack had married his sister Phoebe they would have had his protection, both financial and otherwise, but he died and now it falls to me to help as much as I can.’
‘I see. Very noble of you.’
‘It has nothing to do with being noble. I am merely trying to do what is right for people for whom I care deeply. To answer your as-yet-unspoken question, no, I will not cease merely because you tell me to, so I think it is in your best interest to help me rather than try to chase me away.’
‘And so we circle back to your agenda. Are you always this stubborn or do I bring out the worst in you?’
‘Both.’
He
