His face . . . it would be called beautiful on a woman. But on a boy not yet a man? She wasn’t sure. Angelic, perhaps, with his blond hair shot through with streaks of platinum and his pale amber eyes. Except he wasn’t at all like the chubby babies strewn across the ceiling above. He looked like the heir to the sun.
He caught sight of them, and his feet slowed. His eyes met hers for the briefest flicker of a second before continuing over to Lucy. “Lulu,” he called out in the most aristocratic voice Mina had ever heard, “what have I told you about treating the downstairs help like they are one of—”
“Us?” Mina finished for him. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, and her skin went hot, then clammy. She’d never said anything so bold in her life.
His eyes cut toward her, this time for a longer second. They held a measure of assessment, curiosity.
“Hugh!” Lucy cried out, “Miss Radclyffe may not be dressed in the first stare of fashion, but she is the daughter of the Viscount St. Alban. You must apologize this instant.”
Ever impulsive, Lucy wrapped her arms around Mina. Instead of feeling stifled as she usually did with embraces, she felt buoyed by the gesture. She lifted her hands in reciprocity and gave Lucy’s back a few reassuring pats.
“Mina,” Lucy said, no move to relinquish her grasp, “I’m so sorry for my dunderheaded cousin.”
“My apologies, Miss Radclyffe,” Hugh said, not bothering to meet Mina’s eyes again. He slid on a pair of kid gloves and offered a slight bow before slipping out the front door.
Lucy released Mina and took a step back. “Hugh, orLord Avendon, as he insists on being called lately, is second in line to the dukedom, behind his father, and I’m afraid it’s gone to his head.” Lucy’s eyes turned sympathetic. “People like him must be terrible for you.”
Mina averted her gaze. She had no interest in pursuing this line of conversation with Lucy, a girl she hardly knew and who couldn’t possibly understand how terrible people could be.
Once again, footsteps echoed down a hallway. This time it was her father. He joined them and asked, “Are you ready,meisje?”
“Yes,” Mina replied, the Dutch endearment warming her. She would ever be his little girl. As she was about to rest her hand on his forearm, she noticed that he looked a little . . . askew. “Father, your cravat has gone crooked.”
He reached up and tugged the garment straight. “Is that better?”
She nodded and directed her attention back to Lucy. “Thank you for showing me a wonderful evening.”
“Perhaps I can introduce you to my modiste, soon?” Lucy asked, uncertainty in her eyes.
“I should like that,” Mina said, seeking to reassure her new friend, even as she understood that more fashionable clothes wouldn’t alter how London Society viewed her.
She and Father stepped through the doorway and into chilly night air. She disliked leaving Lucy on this sour note, but it couldn’t be helped. There were certain aspects of her mixed heritage that she must face alone. And fixating on theterriblewasn’t the way she chose to go about it.
Chapter 13
Next day
Olivia squinted and contemplated the cup of coffee before her.
On a usual morning, she took it sweet and creamy. Today, black and bitter tempted the part of her that needed a cleansing, the pleasures of life stripped away. As a lesson in denial.
She risked one tiny sip, then another, and attempted to, if notlike, then, at least,acceptthe strident brew as her penance. Her face scrunched up, and her resolve slipped away. She reached for the cream and sugar. Just a little. To soften the edge.
What was the use in denial anyway? Look where it had gotten her last night: inside her studio, evidence of her denial strewn about the walls forhimto see. That was one form her denial had taken.
Of course, it could be said that denial had saved her from herself last night, if not from another restless night. The dark circles beneath her eyes attested to the fact.
And then there was a separate, but related, fact that had plagued her into the night: apart from what they’d done, andnotdone in her studio, what had the dratted man been doing there in the first place?
Lucy bounded into the room on a wave of bright energy. “Good morning, Mum.” She landed a fat kiss on Olivia’s cheek and plopped into her usual seat. “Last night was a raging success. Definitely the best soirée you’ve held in ages.”
“Oh?” Olivia replied. She couldn’t agree with her daughter. She remembered it as an exercise in humiliation.
A bit more than humiliation, a tiny voice reminded her. As if she needed reminding.
“Mum?”
A particular, tentative note in Lucy’s voice sounded Olivia’s motherly alarm. “What is the matter?”
