She moved toward him, feeling like a thief as she brushed a hand over his cheek, tracing the feel of his stubbly jawline. “Years ago, I might have jumped at the chance to be your sun,” she murmured. “But…but now I know better. I know these things can only create pain for everyone involved.”
She leaned in to kiss him and then slipped from his room. She came through the hall and down the stairs, only to find Poole standing there, arms folded and pointed, hard expression on his face.
“What a pleasure you are,” Arabella said with a humorless laugh. “You’ll be happy to know I’m leaving, so no need to stand guard all night. But I do think that it would be a kindness to have the kitchen staff be ready with a curative in the morning for Mr. Windham. I think he’ll need it. If you don’t know a recipe, I can write one down.”
“I don’t take orders from someone such as yourself,” the butler said. “And I don’t need your opinions or recipes.”
She stared at him a moment. There it was. The judgment of a man who had no idea of her life. Not that it mattered. Servant or no, he was elevated above her. And oh, how men like this liked to lord it.
“I suppose you don’t,” she said softly. “Though I assume it bothers you mightily that you must take orders fromhim.”
“Just for another month and then the period of his lease will be up,” Poole hissed. “And he can go back to wherever men like him belong.”
Arabella flinched. He’d talked about longer, but he must have been hedging his bets. Ready to run if things didn’t go well. But a month? That felt like so little time. He’d be back on a ship then, back to being unreachable. Probably better for her, at that, because when she was with him she felt longings she had erased years ago. Dangerous desires that went beyond sex.
The same dangerous desires that made her want to defend him against this utterly nasty man. And that, at least, she could do. With great pleasure.
“Do you think the people you dismiss don’t know things?” she asked. “The reason your master, the Earl of Montague, is so close to losing this place, that he has to let it, andyou, out to someone you have so little respect for…isn’t for any of the reasons that go around in public.”
Poole’s nostrils flared a little, but he said nothing and so she continued, “He wants people to believe it’s gambling, poor investments. The usual things the Upper Ten Thousand can dismiss with a little bit of pity. He’ll still get invited even if they cluck their tongues. But what would they say if they knew about his payouts? His victims?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Interesting that you’ve gone so pale then,” she said. “I wonder if that’s because you helped him. That seems like something such a loyal servant might do. And when he loses this house, you’ll also be out of a job, I think. At least you might be if someone were to find out what was really going on around here and your role in it.”
There was a long pause as they stared at each other. Then Poole let out a shaky breath. “What do you want?”
“A little respect for the man who is currently living in these halls,” she said with a small smile. “The man who is fifty times the one who owns them. Now, do you know the recipe for a curative?”
“The cook used to make them for the earl when he drank too much,” Poole said, softer now, not meeting her eyes with such cheek anymore. “I’ll make sure one is included on Mr. Windham’s breakfast tray.”
“Good man. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. Good night.”
Arabella turned on her heel and exited the estate back to her still waiting carriage. She took her place and folded her arms. There was triumph in using what she knew to put someone horrid in their place, but she felt little pleasure in it.
Her life had been spent protecting others. She did it easily for those she loved. She never did it for her lovers, though. They were powerful and had money and they didn’t need her to swoop to their rescue. She tried not to even know their troubles, not at any deep level, and her comfort was always surface.
But tonight she had threatened a man in order to give Silas just a little more wellbeing. She wanted to give him that relief, and she knew what a foolish notion that was. No, not foolish, precarious. It meant she cared, no matter how many times she kept telling herself she wasn’t going to get close to this one.
It seemed it was impossible to stay away. And she had no idea what to do about it.
CHAPTER11
Despite all his desire to avoid it, Silas found himself sitting in his brother’s parlor two afternoons after he’d woken up alone, no Arabella. He’d heard from her since, of course. She’d checked in on his state the morning after. He’d written her about racing again in the park. There was something romantic about sending letters back and forth that he didn’t want to explore.
Certainly he wasn’t going to do that now. Not in this moment as he sat on the settee, his sister Phoebe at his side and his two brothers across from him in chairs. Charlie looked better this time. Unlike the first night Silas had encountered him, he was dressed. His cheeks were less pale and pasty. In truth he looked so much like a marquess…so much like their father…that Silas had to keep blinking to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
Reggie’s expression was pinched, but thus far he hadn’t said or done anything to antagonize or accuse. And Phoebe was, as always, kind. Silas smiled at her and she returned the expression as they continued awkward small talk with their tea.
How Silas wished it were whisky.
He shifted, his discomfort blooming in his chest and making him watch the door restlessly. At last he set his cup down. “I appreciate this moment of familial bonding, but I think we all know you didn’t call me here, call me back to London, so we could discuss the state of the weather or the roads.”
“Always so direct, Silas,” Phoebe said softly at his side.
He smiled toward her, masking his nervousness. “My position forced it, I think. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I suppose in this case, it is a good thing,” Charlie said, and glanced at Reggie briefly. “You’ve been home for almost two weeks and we’ve avoided this subject long enough. I’ve tried to tell myself that I’ve done so due to my illness or the fact that you were still getting accustomed to being in London, but the truth of it is that I didn’t quite know how to say it.”
