“No, leave your hair down.”
And she did as he demanded because he was an earl and one wouldn’t dare ignore an earl. Slowly she lowered her arms. She’d never understood why a man like Rodrick would befriend her brother. Sympathy? Amusement? Not that John was a complete toad. She supposed some woman found his gangly body and narrow face attractive and he did have that silly little title of a baron. But her stepbrother wasn’t known for his kindness and intelligence. While Rodrick…Rodrick was everything John wasn’t. Tall, his body healthy, his suit never a wrinkle and those amber eyes…delicious and knowledgeable. Perhaps his beauty wouldn’t make the angels cry, but she’d never fancied overly attractive men.
He stepped closer, the scent of sandalwood following him. An overwhelming scent that tickled her senses and made her want to sneeze. She wiggled her nose and focused on something more pleasant…his lips.
What would it be like if he kissed her? Would it feel as heated and consuming as Alex’s kiss? The man’s face flashed to mind… those sparkling blue eyes, those dimples. She pushed the image aside just as quickly as it had come and refocused on the earl.
“I’m sorry, that was forward of me.” He turned and started toward the fireplace, leaving her trembling in his wake. “It’s just that I often forget myself in front of you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. They were perfect, meant to be together. Was he finally going to admit it?
“You, being like a sister and all.”
Her heart broke in two, crumbling into the pit of her hollow belly. Sister? She wanted to gag. To get sick all over the carpet like Miss Kitty coughing up a hairball.
“Grace. Rodrick.”
The very sound of the familiar voice had her spinning around, anger flaring to life once more. John stood in the doorway, his weary gaze flickering back and forth between her and his friend. He was wondering if she’d told the earl. The bastard was worried. He should be. Slowly, her fingers curled as she imagined walking up to her brother and hitting him…hard.
“You’re back already.” He gave them a strained smile. His cravat was gone, his dark brown jacket and tanned breeches wrinkled and his hair mussed, as if he’d been involved in fisticuffs.
“Yes,” the word came out like a hiss and even though she tried to keep her face blank of emotion, she knew her anger vibrated the very air around them.
His normally pale face flushed pink. “Well then, shall we go?” He glanced eagerly at Lord Rodrick, urging with frantic eyes for the man to move.
Catching the hint, he started forward. “Yes, yes, by all means.”
Unbelievable. How dare John try to sneak away just because they had company. “John, dear brother, I must speak with you in private.”
Holding his hands up as if to ward her off, her stepbrother backtracked toward the door. “Really don’t have time, you know. Very important events to attend.”
“I must insist,” she growled, resisting the urge to grab him by the collar and jerk him forward.
Rodrick had stilled in the middle of the room, his astute gaze moving between the two of them. He was obviously curious, but for once the man wasn’t going to get the answers he wanted. His lips quivered, his amusement apparent. “I’ll wait in the foyer.”
The moment the door shut, John burst across the room coattails flying. Instinctively, Grace swung her fist, but the bloody bastard ducked behind the wing back chair.
“Come on!” he whined, from his hiding place. “What did I do?”
“Oh give over, you know exactly what you did!” Grace jumped onto the chair and swung her arm over the back, but her stepbrother managed to roll to the side, once more evading her swinging fists.
“Please!” John surged upright and retreated toward the door. “Just give me a moment to explain.”
Forcing her feet to remain firmly planted, Grace took in a deep trembling breath. She’d gone mad! Completely and utterly mad! She spun around, and moved to the windows, needing distance to calm her nerves. Outside the streets were dark, her own reflection the only thing staring back. Empty, just like John’s soul. “How could you? Was it some sort of horrible jest?”
She could see his reflection as he moved to the sideboard and poured a drink. Leave it to her stepbrother; anytime things got complicated, he drank his problems into oblivion. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
She turned. “Just because you like to visit whores doesn’t mean I do!”
He gave her a sour glance. “Shhh!” Finally she’d gotten his attention. “I had to do it for your own good.”
She laughed, finding amusement for the first time since she’d arrived home. John wasn’t even going to try and deny it, and was, no doubt, going to spin some ridiculous tale. “For my sake?” She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her fisted hands close to her body. “Well, what a wonderful birthday present.”
Her birthday had been two days ago. Twenty-four and most assuredly climbing that shelf. Not that John would know it was her birthday. Mother was too sick to remember. But at least dear Patience had attempted to make a cake, and had almost burnt the kitchen down in the process. But had John noticed anything amiss? Of course not.
When her mother had married John’s father, Grace had been thrilled. She’d always wanted a brother. Father had been too old to protect her from the harsh comments of village boys. And oh how they’d loved to taunt her for having an Irish father. But an older brother would protect her…or so she’d thought. She’d come to the quick conclusion that the only person one could trust, was oneself.
“You don’t understand. You see…” John raked his hands through his hair. “Lord Rodrick…” He paused, heaving a long, melodramatic sigh.
Really, he should have been on the stage. “Yes?” she prompted.
He spun around and stomped toward her, his face holding a frantic edge that frightened her more than she wanted to admit. Grace held her ground, refusing to flinch.
“You’re losing him!” he exclaimed.
She frowned, confused. “I’ve never had him.”
John grasped her shoulders. Besides occasionally knocking her to the ground, it was the only time he’d ever touched her. It felt odd…wrong. “But you want him, don’t you?”
She stiffened, more than weary over his sudden concern. “Perhaps.” Any woman would. It was no secret. He was handsome, intelligent, rich and most importantly, always kind.
A gleam of success lit his dark eyes. “Exactly! And Lord Rodrick likes his women experienced. It’s why he avoids virgins like they have the plague. If you could learn a few tricks, he’d be clay in your hands.”
Her mouth dropped open, her stomach falling to her toes. Was she imagining this conversation, because there was no possible way her stepbrother was telling her to seduce his best friend.
As if sensing her shock, he rushed on. “His mother was a cold prude, and he swore he’d never marry someone like her.”
“So he wants a whore instead?”
He stepped back, frowning. “What’s wrong with wanting a woman who is a little more experienced?” His lips lifted into a sneer. “You debutantes with your virginal sensibilities become rather annoying, you know.”
She couldn’t even find the words to respond to his ridiculous statement. “You want me to become a whore?”
He rolled his eyes heavenward, as if she was the one being ridiculous. “Not a whore, but at least someone who knows how to bloody kiss. Who doesn’t flush with embarrassment when she’s touched, or worse, flinch. The men at Lady Lavender’s can teach you things, things you’d never be able to learn elsewhere, without ruining your reputation.”
She must be dreaming, for this couldn’t be real. “A whorehouse, John, you want me to go to a brothel to learn to kiss?”
He flushed and tugged at his collar as he’d done as a young man when he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Not a whorehouse. A house of… pleasure, a place where women can learn to kiss…amongst…other things.”
>
She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or slap him. Instead, she merely stood there staring at him.
He stiffened, as if offended by her silence. “It’s highly regarded you know. I made sure they took you through the back entrance. Not a person saw you. The place is known for its discretion.”
Grace finally found her voice. “You can’t be serious. You’re honestly going to say you’re doing this for me? This is a jest, isn’t it?”
He didn’t respond, merely paced toward the windows, a man lost in some sort of odd delusion. John was twenty-seven; it was time for him to grow up. To stop teasing her, stop playing cruel pranks. And this most assuredly had to be a jest.
She’d had enough. “John, damn it, for once just leave me alone!” Grace started toward the door, forcing her legs to keep moving even though her muscles quivered and she wanted to do nothing but sink onto the settee.
“We need the money.”
She froze. How she wished she’d misheard him, but she knew she hadn’t. Slowly, she turned. He wasn’t looking at her, but feigning interest in the carpet. Most likely attempting to deduce how much it would sell for.
Of course that was the problem. Money. She should have known. He was never home, she certainly knew that he wasn’t at church praying. He was gambling, drinking, using what little money their father’s had left them. She’d been too busy to see the truth, even though it had been directly in front of her eyes.
Knees finally too weak, Grace sank into the chair. “How bad is it?”
“We’re just hanging on by a thread. Three months from now…” He swallowed hard. “My creditors are insisting…” He let those dire words hang in the air, still refusing to meet her gaze. He looked tired. Exhausted. And for one brief moment she actually felt sorry for the man.
It was worse than she’d realized. She’d known this day would come, but not now. Not so soon. Not at the worse possible time. Dear God, how much was he spending each day? It had to be a minor fortune. Her fingers curled around the curved arms of the chair. She shuddered to think about what else he didn’t seem fit to mention. “I told you to let me handle the money.”
His head jerked upright, his face puckered into a mask of fury. “You’re a woman.” John rarely got angry, but when he did, he was as annoying as a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I will not be put on an allowance like some child! It’s my inheritance, least you forget!”
How could she forget when he reminded them weekly that they were there out of his generosity? They were not blood related. He could have shoved them into a cottage in the wilds of England, or sent them to their poor, Irish relatives. But not all of the money was his. Mama had her small bit of savings, savings she had planned to use as dowry for Grace and Patience. But it was gone, apparently with everything else.
“Or did you think to invest the money in your ridiculous treasure hunts?” His lips pulled back into a sneer. “Perhaps if you spent less time with your nose in a book and more in society, Rodrick wouldn’t treat you like a bloody sister.”
His words stung because they were true, but she’d sell her soul to the devil before she’d admit he’d hurt her. Grace looked away, afraid he’d read the truth in her eyes. “And my mother, does she know the details of our financial situation?”
“Of course not.”
Thank the heavens for small miracles. Mama didn’t need something else to worry about while she lay abed in pain. How stupid they’d been to let John handle their accounts, but what choice did they have? His house, his inheritance, as he’d said. The rotter. “And this…Lady Lavender.” Gawd, she could barely get the words out. “How did you pay her?”
He flushed, feigning interest in the carpet once more. “I borrowed the money.”
Grace surged to her feet. “You didn’t!”
“From Rodrick.”
She sank into her chair. She was going to be sick. “Surely you didn’t tell him what the money would be for?”
He frowned. “Of course not. I’m not a bloody idiot.”
That was debatable.
He shifted, hesitating, then started forward. “I have things to do. I will not stand here and be questioned by a woman.” He stormed across the room and jerked open the door.
Things to do. More money to spend. He left the room without another word; leaving her to pick up the pieces of his aftermath, as always.
She listened to the thump of her stepbrother’s footfalls. The thud of the front door that followed his departure. Only when she heard the soft clomp of horse hooves over cobbled stone did she feel strong enough to stand.
She’d known all along he was squandering money, but what could she have done to prevent it? As a woman, and not even a blood relation, not much. She’d hidden the few pieces of Mama’s jewelry, but the money she would make wouldn’t last long.
Marks was no longer at his post, not surprisingly. He was most likely sleeping off his drink near the kitchen hearth. Grace made her way up the steps and paused outside her mother’s door. Patience’s soft murmur was a comforting melody. Smoothing her hair back from her face and pinching her cheeks, she prepared for Mama’s astute gaze.
She pushed the door wide and slipped into the room. It would have been warm and cozy, if it hadn’t held the bitter and nauseating scent of medicines. A scent she knew well. First Father. Then her stepfather. Now Mama. One had to wonder if the family was cursed.
Patience looked up from her needlework, those green eyes flashing with barely concealed relief. “Good, you’re finally back! Mama said I couldn’t stop until you’d returned.”
She tossed aside her needlework and rushed toward Grace. She was wearing trousers again. Grace bit her lip, refusing to reprimand her sister. Papa had so wanted a boy, it was his bloody fault. But Charlie had died at age two and the only other child Mama had delivered was a golden girl. At sixteen, Patience should have been going to balls, wearing her blonde hair up, learning to flirt. Instead, she was stuck here with her spinster sister and dying mother.
“Did you find your book then? Can we start searching for the treasure?”
Grace laughed, sliding her arm around Patience’s narrow shoulders. As a young girl, Grace had delved into the world of treasure hunting, and unfortunately pulled Patience in with. Ridiculous, she knew, yet it was something to occupy her mind on lazy summer days. “No, my dear. I’m afraid the only treasures you’ll find tonight are Martha’s biscuits.”
Patience grinned. “That will do. Sleep well, Mama.” She threw their mother a kiss and disappeared into the hall.
Grace closed the door and moved softly to her Mother’s side. In the dim light of the lantern she looked even more fragile than normal. An angel too beautiful for this world. Patience had their mother’s green eyes and golden hair, but Grace had received her father’s Irish looks. She settled on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle.
Although Mama had been stuck in her bed for a good month, she still managed to smile. “Is John home?”
Grace looked away, feigning interest in Patience’s needlework. A blob of red and yellow strings mixed together to form a…flower? Horse? Gads, her sister was hopeless and it was her fault. She should have spent more time with Patience, teaching her to behave as a lady. “No. He only just left.”
Her mother’s thin hand settled atop hers; the skin pale, so translucent one could see the blue veins. “Hmm. And you’re upset about this?”
Grace gave her mother a forced smile. “He spends too much time away, is all.”
“I thought you’d be happy. You’ve never hidden your disdain for your stepbrother.”
Grace bristled at the comment. “He’s a bloody idiot, Mama, and he’s been cruel to Patience and me since you married his father.”
“Grace,” her sharp voice belied her fragile condition. “He lost his mother at a young age. And only a few years ago, his father. He could have thrown us out, you know, when his father died.”
Perhaps life would have been better if he had. But no, he’d k
ept them here, close by, where he could control her mother’s small amount of money, control it and lose it. Her fingers curled into her skirt as she resisted the urge to blurt out the truth. She’d never thought much of John, but she was now growing to despise him. What would they do with no money? How would they care for Mama?
Grace wasn’t stupid. She knew her mother was dying. How badly she wanted to make her last months comfortable. And what of Patience? What would become of her sister if they hadn’t the money to find her a decent match? She would not allow Patience to follow her on the path toward loneliness.
Mama started coughing, sucking in sharp, wheezing breaths that tore at Grace’s heart. She slid her arm under her mother’s neck and lifted her, at the same time, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table.
Her mother pushed the cup away. “No. Just a moment.” She closed her eyes, taking in deep, rattling breaths until finally her body settled into an uneasy stillness.
Those green eyes opened, watching Grace with an unsettling clarity. “Tis amusing, you know, when you’re dying and you need human touch more than any other time, is when people are afraid to visit.”
Grace’s heart squeezed so painfully, she could barely find breath. “Mama, I don’t—”
“Shhh, my pet.” She chuckled softly, closing her eyes. “All is well. But there are times when I actually wouldn’t even mind a cat to cuddle.”
A tear slipped from Grace’s eye, trailing unheeded down her cheek. The guilt was almost unbearable. They tried to be with Mama as much as possible, but there were times when they couldn’t. With the minimal amount of servants in residence, it was up to Grace to keep house. “I’ll bring you Miss Kitty, Mama. So when Patience and I aren’t here you can cuddle her.”
She weakly patted Grace’s hand. “Tis’ all right, you’re here now.”
Grace rested her chin atop her mother’s silky head and breathed in deep her scent, a scent she’d always adored as a child…roses…just barely noticeable over the bitter scent of illness.