Wycliff put his hands to his back. “I’m glad you came. When you are ready to talk of Adam, the good and the bad, I’m here for it.”
“Find the registry for me. That’s what I need. Nothing else.” I folded my arms about my middle, but this was my truth. “I deserve to be made whole. The proof does that.”
“You are a truth teller, Mrs. Wilky. Never doubt that.”
I had doubted me. Then the trunk had arrived. I would work harder at being me. That hot-coals-walker, the dragon-slayer-in-training. “All this sweetness from an hour of association, half of which I spent unconscious on your steps. I must have mystical powers.”
“I didn’t leave you. I couldn’t. I feel I know you. Call me one of those sentimental fools who becomes entranced by a woman at first sight.”
His dark-gray, almost black, eyes fell upon me like a shadow, a good shadow like the house. “I want your friendship, exactly what you asked of me in the house.”
Why didn’t Barrister Marks look at me like this? We’d corresponded for six months. We’d met on a couple of occasions, but never once had there been anything more than a respectful glance.
Nothing this warm, nothing like this.
I blinked and pushed against the baron’s hard stomach—one that wasn’t scrawny like Adam’s. “If you mention anything about destiny, I’ll leave you and find my way back to the house.”
“The truth gets me sentenced to solitude?”
I stilled my hands on his waistcoat and stopped smoothing the lines of the silken weave. I realized that I kept touching him. I’d crossed that boundary. I jerked my hands away. “Truth is what I need more than anything.”
“Yes. Truth. I see.”
I backed up to put distance between us, to move from the warmth that swirled between him and me. It was too much, too soon, and I was too wary. Turning to run to the house, I rammed into Mrs. Carter.
“Ruth,” the awful thing said, “still clumsy, girl. Never you mind. You look lovely today. So pretty in innocent peach.”
She grinned, but not at me. Her face had lifted toward the baron. “Introduce me to more of your mama’s people. You come fresh off the boat for a visit?”
What?
Why did she mention Mama? What was the dragon talking about? “Mrs. Carter, this is my Mr. Wilky’s cousin, Lord Wycliff.”
“Cousin? Ruth, it’s one t’ing to have a fake husband. It’s an entirely another t’ing to invent fake relatives.”
Lord Wycliff chuckled. “I assure you, madam, I’m not fake. True flesh and blood.”
He took the woman’s hand and kissed it.
Hopefully, the poor man wouldn’t turn into a frog.
“He’s a cousin to my late husband, ma’am. He’s just arrived in London.”
“Odd, we’re hearing of him now. Ruth, your sister’s husband, the actor turned politician, he could’ve picked someone more convincing. All mulattoes are not related.”
Used to jeers, I shook my head and started to the house, but Lord Wycliff didn’t move. “I assure you, I’m Mr. Wilky’s relation, and I’ve been in the Navy a good while. From your accent, I take it you are from Demerara. Ah, Demerara women are so feisty.”
“I’m from Jamaica, my lord, not Demerara.”
He folded his arms and clicked his tongue. “But your pitch. It’s not right for Jamaica. Are you embarrassed about being from Demerara? Such a lovely island. And so friendly. My frigate mates tell some lovely stories about arriving at the hotels for the mulatto balls.”
He winked at her. “You probably were very friendly, Mrs. Carter, a beauty like you.”
I’d never seen such.
The woman turned ruby red. “I am not Demeraran. I didn’t go to the balls.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. I hinted at you peddling flesh at the main hotel—oh, there I said it. Sorry.”
