Lessons of Desire (30 page)

He did not want to hear that he was right. He did not need to face that truth today too. He released her and strode to the door.

"I do love you, Elliot More than I can bear. I love you so much it pains me."

He stopped. He looked back. Emotion twisted her face and tears flooded her eyes.

"If you do, then you know that there is no such thing as free love, Phaedra. If there is truly love, one cannot remain truly free."

"One
can.
We
can."

He shook his head. "The urge lo possess is too strong and the tendency toward jealousy too human. To love with no requirements on the other, with no desire or hope of permanence, is not natural. I lost my freedom when I fell in love with you, darling. I am now bound by chains no matter what happens between us. I fear that I am enslaved for life, but I*II be damned before I submit to die constant torture of wondering if you are mine."

She looked like he had hit her. The impulse to walk back and take her in his arms, to accept whatever she offered, swept him like a tidal wave. He could probably find some simulacrum of happiness living the way she wanted.

He waited a long count for her to say something. Anything. Feeling so empty that he thought he would never breathe right again, he left the library.

Elliot was long gone before Phaedra fought through her confusion. Her shock left her trembling. She sat on the divan, dazed and disbelieving. The cold stream of reality began sliding through her, chilling her to her core.

She tried to accommodate what had just happened. In the space of a few minutes Elliot had declared his love, demanded marriage, and thrown her over.

Thrown her over.

His way or no way. That was the sum of it. Just like a man.

Her heart tried to offer her some armor. It found the breastplate of her beliefs and even dredged up the shield of anger.

It didn't work. Nothing did. The truth sliced her heart to shreds. He was gone. Totally gone. Even if she lost the petition and they found themselves actually married, he was leaving her life.

Her eyes stung so badly that she could not see. Her throat burned and tightened and she gasped for breath. A sob shook out of her, wracking her body. Then another and another, until she buried her face in her skirt.

Arms circled her shoulders and lifted them. A soft voice soothed endearments. She accepted the motherly warmth and the sisterly support, and cried out her misery into Alexia's shoulder.

_I
will never forgive Hayden. Whoever expected him to be so strict and capricious?" Aunt Henrietta's vexation finally penetrated Elliot's concentration. He had managed not to hear most of her complaints. He turned the last page of his manuscript and reluctantly gave her his attention.

She had refused to return to Aylesbury last month. She had kept her daughter here with her as well. Christian had cleaned those dueling pistols every evening until Suttonly left town. Now mother and daughter wore long faces that said there would be no forgiveness.

"You do not need to stay here. Aunt Hen. Return to your own home in Surrey. If he is a true suitor, he will find you and Caroline there. Give your consent and all is done."

"Leave this house? Easterbrook cannot manage without me. He is indifferent to domestic matters and his housekeeper and steward were robbing him every day. It is my duty to be here."

With the end of the drama regarding Suttonly, Christian had reverted to his old ways. He rarely came to meals and spent his time in his own chambers. Normally Elliot would have disappeared too, leaving the house to Hen, but he dared not venture to the museum's reading room again.

If he saw Phaedra there he would abandon all sense. He would beg her to forgive him and agree to anything she wanted, no matter how miserable it made him. Then he would strip her and lay her down and lift her hips and put his mouth—

Hell.

Easterbrook’s library had all the necessities. The book was as good as it was ever likely to be. It would have been done a week ago except for Aunt Hen's frequent intrusions.

"I expected Alexia to support me more," Hen fretted. "If any woman understands the importance of a good marriage, it is Alexia."

"Well, Hen, we could have Caroline try it Alexia's way. We can turn her out without a penny, make her become a governess, and hope that a man like my brother falls in love with her."

Hen could be a bit vacant and dreamy, but she was not stupid. She raised her eyebrows at the sarcasm. "What has affected your humor so badly? Of late you are beginning to sound like Easterbrook."

Many things were affecting his humor. Sleepless nights and distracting days. Hungers of the body and angers in the heart. Another meeting two days prior with Phaedra's lawyer had done nothing to improve matters.

Christian’s fury that his own brother refused to seize Phaedra's publishing house while that marriage remained ambiguous had created a rift that might never be breached.

Mostly his humor turned dark because he had not seen Phaedra since that day in Alexia's library one month, two days, and twenty hours ago.

By now he should be conquering whatever hold she had on him. He was not a fool. He was not a poet either, damn it. II annoyed him that he had fallen so stupidly in love with the only woman in England who did
not
understand the benefits of a good marriage and who loathed the notion of any marriage at all.

He hoped his aunt would leave him to his stormy mood. She was the sort of woman who thought it was her duty to help one be happier. If she embarked on such efforts now he would want to strangle her.

Fortunately, a footman entered the library just as she began cajoling him to adopt a sunny outlook. The man carried a package that he placed right on top of Elliot's manuscript.

"Lord Easterbrook told me lo bring this to you, sir." A note from Christian accompanied the package.
Well
done.

As soon as Elliot touched the paper he knew what it was. His brother's two words were not those of praise but instead an expression of sardonic fury.

He peeled off the wrapping. Unbound pages faced him, awaiting a trip to a bindery. The first printed sheet held a lengthy title.
Memoirs
of
an
M.P.
during
the Reigns
of
Kings
George
III
and
IV:
Being
the
recollections
of
Richard
Drury
regarding
events
political
and cultural
in
London
and
its
environs,
with
considerable comments
on
persons
both
famous
and
infamous.

He had been expecting it to be published any day now. Christian must have told the footmen to haunt the bookstores and grab the first copy off the press.

"What have you got there, Elliot? A book?"

"Yes. A rather dry political one." He picked up the stack of paper, his own manuscript along with Dairy's book. "Please excuse me now. I must attend to a few things."

He left Henrietta in the library. He carried his pile to the morning room to find some privacy.

The pages were all cut. Christian had read it before sending it down.
Well
done,
you
worthless,
disloyal
excuse
for
a
son.

Elliot turned the first page. Seeing this book angered him more than he expected. He had no right to the anger, none at all. He did not regret that he had not stopped her. He just resented profoundly that he had been forced to choose between bad actions for a good cause and good actions in a hopeless one.

He set aside the emotions evoked by this book and Phaedra's duty and his love. Those were for another time. Eventually they would be about a different life.

He began reading.

Phaedra penned some figures into the account book at the offices of Merris Langton, Publisher. She added up the results. The final sum heartened her. If things kept up like this the press might survive. The debts could be paid down enough lo keep the bailiffs from the door at least.

Jenny came in, carrying another sheaf of papers. "Hatchard's is taking forty more, and Lindsell another twenty."

Phaedra took the orders. Some of these booksellers had been surprised lo find themselves dealing with a woman, but the success of Richard Drury s memoirs made such sentiments insignificant. If they were also surprised to deal with Jenny, a female clerk, that had mattered even less.

"It is going very well, isn't it, Miss Blair?" Jenny said.

"Most well, Jenny. As people talk, there will be better sales in the days ahead. I think we will need to print more copies."

Jenny left and Phaedra returned to her accounts. She remembered her father lying in his bed, putting that manuscript into her hands, demanding the promise that had since caused so much trouble.

Had he known how it would be? Had he included the "considerable comments on persons famous and infamous" to ensure it would sell well, and she would be given more security? He had little else to bequeath her and that hundred a year from her uncle only went so far.

She could probably take some money for herself soon. If she chose the next book well, there could be a regular income from this business. She dipped her pen, wondering what she would buy with the first few pounds. Maybe a new divan—

A twinge below her heart caught the daydream up short. No, not a divan. There might be other needs for the money soon.

The twinge twisted again. So did another sensation. Hint of a hand squeezing her heart.

She set down the pen. Now that the book was published, it was time to speak with Elliot. Today was as good a day as the next. Her heart beat heavily with both dread and excitement at the thought of doing so. It was not that she did not welcome seeing him. If anything she welcomed it too much, even if she did not expect the meeting to go very well.

She stood and steadied her courage with a deep breath. She swung her black cape around her body. She lifted a wrapped copy of her father's book, told Jenny she was leaving for the day, and set off on a long walk.

Elliot gazed out the windows of the morning room. The garden's trees were beginning to change colors and the last blooms hung their heads in response to the day's chill. A memory came to him, of velvet jewels surrounding an evening terrace near Paestum.

He glanced back at the table. Richard Dairy's memoirs sat there in a neat stack of pages. It had taken him three hours to read the book.

It would cause a sensation, that was certain. Drury had an eye for the foibles of his fellow men. The observations in that book were incisive, clever, and too revealing.

He should write to Phaedra and congratulate her on the success of her publication. He should write about other things too. No, he would visit her.

A footman entered the room. "Sir, a woman has called."

Elliot gave him a tenth of his mind. "Take her lo my aunt. I am not at home to visitors today."

"She was very explicit that she does not desire to visit with your aunt, but with you."

Elliot's frill attention settled on the footman. "Her card?"

"No card, sir. I tried to put her off, but she was most insistent." He made a face. "She is dressed very oddly. She looks a bit like one of those reformers. Or, actually, more like a
...
a
..."

"A witch?"

"Yes, sir. How did you know?"

He felt himself smiling. "Bring her here."

Elliot turned back to the windows, but he saw nothing in the garden now. He pictured Phaedra walking toward this room, her black habit flowing around her, her hair streaming freely.

She had come to him before he could go to her. He did not know her reasons for coming, nor did they matter. He closed his eyes and felt her presence in the house. He listened for the lap of her steps, astonished by the joy branching through him.
 

The footman left her inside the door of the morning room. Another person was already there.

A man stood by the window with his back lo her. A man handsome enough to leave a woman speechless. A man confident enough to imply a right to an arrogance that he chose not to indulge.
Bell
. Elegante.

He turned. She saw the warmth in his smile and eyes and exhaled her relief.

"Phaedra. I am glad you are here. I was going to come to you. We might have passed on the street and not realized it."

She had not known what to expect. His welcome heartened her. His effect had not dulled one whit in the month apart. She found herself breathless.

Elliot invited her to sit at the breakfast table. He took the chair at an angle to hers.

She found her voice. She placed her package on the table. "I brought you a copy of my father's book."

"Thank you, but I have already read it." He pointed to the pages at the other end of the table.

She inhaled deeply to control her composure. And to absorb his presence and scent and reality. Seeing him here seemed too much like the dreams that had filled her head on so many nights. Only in those dreams he swept her into his arms and they tumbled into bed and

There was a distance to him even if he was close enough to touch. His composure indicated that he had made good progress on ending whatever spell they had experienced together.

That disappointed her horribly. Her heart physically burned. But what did she expect?

He tapped the top of her package. "You have a success on your hands, Phaedra."

She wanted to press her lips to his hand. It had been a month. Forever. Her heart cried and laughed all at once. "I noticed there was no mention of Chalgrove," he said.

"He convinced me that my father had exaggerated that part. He was the only person who so argued to my conviction."

He nodded. "You did some annotating when it came to your mother, however."

"Do you hate me for if? I know what he means to you."

"It is best if no one else is hoodwinked. I suspect those statues and cameos are still making their way to England. He probably found that ring of forgers when he visited after the war. The items he brought back sold easily, so he decided to move there and make it his life." He smiled ruefully. "I offered to become a part to his fraud myself, with that new statue he had."

"He did not accept the offer, Elliot. He did not allow you to be tainted with it." Matthias had allowed others to be tainted, however. He had misused Artemis badly, the one time she had allowed herself to fall romantically and irredeemably in love.

"Actually, I received a letter from him last week," Elliot said. "He must have written it soon after we left Positano. Among other things, he expressed an interest in having me find a home for the little goddess after all."

"I am sorry to hear that, Elliot. I had hoped he had scruples at least where you were concerned."

"Apparently not."

She pictured young Nigel Thornton longing in silence while the woman he loved was conquered by Matthias Greenwood. Thornton may have seen the cameo in Artemis's possession, but she had not received it from him.