That had been utterly horrid, but Della felt proud of the solution she’d found. A loyal patron would keep her dignity, and Bishop’s would keep its accounts in good standing. It likely wasn’t the option Jane would have chosen, but Jane wasn’t always as diplomatic as she should be. The last thing they needed was for Mrs. Muller to spread talk of ill-treatment. Far better if they could reach a solution that harmed no one.
Eleven
Lyman had no further word from Michael in the days following his unexpected visit, although what he saw in the libel his brother-in-law had left behind made him dread their next encounter. They seemed to have drummed up anyone they could find who might say something damning about him, though the list was small and the accusations vague—an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in years and a disgruntled former housemaid who were willing to pretend they’d seen him engaged in scandalous behavior. Lyman was less insulted by the fact that these people were willing to spin lies about him than by the fact that they were being so ham-fisted about it. He would never have been so indiscreet as what they described.
But the false allegations were nothing compared to the truth: The sections that detailed his every failing as a husband, the circumstances of the end of his marriage, and the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Ellen in nine years. It was one thing to live with it on the back of his conscience; quite another to see it all laid out in black and white.
Lyman tucked the document into a desk drawer and tried not to dwell on it any longer.
Nor was there any news from Miss Danby. He’d half expected her to write him after he’d rebuffed her invitation, or worse, extract his address from Armstrong and show up at his door. She’d certainly proven herself daring enough for such a feat. Lyman couldn’t keep himself from asking Mrs. Hirsch whether there had been any further mail for him at least twice a day, driving the poor woman mad with his persistence. But the only note addressed to him was a hasty scrawl from Mr. Wood left on the dining table, instructing whoever had come in late the other night to please keep his voice down in consideration of his fellow lodgers.
He couldn’t put off their reunion indefinitely, however, for Friday was the date of the meeting they’d arranged with Mr. Armstrong to discuss the terms of her publishing contract. Lyman went early, to discuss his revisions to the second edition of his London guide first, but the time flew by so quickly that he’d barely started when the secretary announced that Miss Danby and Mr. Peter Danby had arrived.
Lyman had only a second to take in Miss Danby’s expression, precious little time to gauge how they were to act with each other, before her brother was pumping his hand in the most exuberant manner imaginable and asking him something about beer.
“I beg your pardon?” Lyman extracted himself from the handshake as politely as he could. He hadn’t heard a word the fellow had said.
He glanced to Miss Danby again, bracing himself for the anger or condemnation that would surely be written on her face. She always wore her emotions too openly, and Lyman doubted very much that ravishing her in an alley and then jilting her the next day had elevated him in her esteem.
But her brother positioned himself maddingly close to Lyman, blocking his view. “The Lamb and Flag. In Covent Garden. I wonderthat you didn’t include it, only Della tells me you’re working on the second edition. I say, it would be a fine addition to the chapter on public houses.”
There was a strong resemblance between the siblings. Both Miss Danby and her brother were quite plump, with round faces and rosy cheeks. They also shared the same brown hair shot with strands of bronze, dark eyes, and easy smile. Both had no reserve to their manners, launching into conversation as if every stranger was an old friend. But where Lyman had grown used to Miss Danby treating him like a confidante, on her brother he found the unearned intimacy jarring.
“I may have already added it, Mr. Danby; I’ll have to look over my manuscript. Thank you for the suggestion.”
He finally got a good look at the man’s sister, who had been obliged to walk around his back to make herself noticed. She caught Lyman’s eye and mouthed,I’m so sorry.
About their tryst or about something else? Inexplicably, this felt worse than her anger. It was the last thing Lyman had expected. He didn’t like to think that he’d made her regret anything.
“Peter.” She placed a hand lightly atop her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sure Lord Ashton has his book well in hand. We’re here to discussmybook, remember?”
Oh.She’d been apologizing for her brother. The relief Lyman felt was as swift as it was surprising.
“Come now.” Peter Danby rolled his eyes at his sister’s words, with a chuckle that made his reply sound more indulgent than quarrelsome. “TheGentleman’s Guideis the real authority. Everyone knows that.”
Lyman frowned, but said nothing. Did Mr. Danby realize he’d snubbed his own sister in front of the rest of them? He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again quickly. Della was morethan capable of standing up for herself. Better not to make a fuss in front of Armstrong if that wasn’t what she wanted.
“Shall we go over the contract together?” Mr. Armstrong suggested, motioning them to sit. There were only two chairs, so Lyman insisted the Danbys take them while Armstrong sent an underling in search of a third. Armstrong passed several pages from his desk to Mr. Danby, then handed a second copy to Lyman. There was no copy for Della. “Here you are. It’s all quite standard. I’ll give you a moment to read through, shall I?”
Della was craning her neck to peer over her brother’s shoulder—a difficult task, as she was at least five inches shorter than him. Lyman observed them for a moment, unnoticed. Now she tugged on Mr. Danby’s arm to signal her difficulty, but he only waved her away, turning to the second page before she’d even glimpsed the first.
Lyman cleared his throat softly. “Miss Danby, would you like to share my copy?”
“Thank you.” The flush that dusted her cheeks betrayed her annoyance. Lyman stepped nearer the large oak desk and set his copy of the contract where she could read it, bracing one hand on the back of her chair as he leaned forward to join her. Her lemon-drop scent filled his lungs as they bowed their head and read in unison. Before he could stop himself, Lyman had drawn a deep breath, savoring the sensation.
What in God’s name are you doing?
It was too late for that. Though he tried to force his mind to the task at hand, his body had already stepped into the snare. At this angle, her gown displayed her breasts to a thrilling degree. The cut of her necklace would no doubt have been modest enough on a lady with less to show, or if they’d both been standing, or if Lyman hadn’t spent the last three days wondering what pleasure would have been in store for him if he’d only gone to see her that night as planned. Inthe circumstances, it was enough to break his restraint. Now Miss Danby was biting her lip as she read, and all he could think of was how desperately he longed to kiss her again. Nothing too serious. Just a taste. Couldn’t he let himself have that little glimpse of pleasure before he bid her goodbye and returned to his barren existence? Lord, he needed…something. Not more nothing. He’d had years and years of nothing, and it was crushing the life out of him.
The realization hitched Lyman’s breath in his throat.
Armstrong’s assistant finally returned with the extra chair, and Lyman took it gratefully. It was dangerous to keep leaning over Miss Danby this way.
She looked up just then and caught him staring at her instead of the contract. Her rich brown eyes were large and vulnerable, framed by thick lashes. She leaned closer to him.
“What does this part mean?” she whispered, so softly the others might not have heard it, even in the still room.
Lyman drew an unsteady breath, willing himself back to self-control. She needed him, but not as a lover. As a friend.
