Everything I Ever Wanted, page 22
"What are you doing?"
Absorbed by his study, South had not glimpsed India's movement on the bed. He did not look up immediately. "I am appreciating another of your talents," he said casually, refusing to be made to feel guilty. He turned the page and examined another illustration. "These are quite good, you know. They suggest that with discipline and study, your gift might indeed be extraordinary."
India pushed herself slowly into a sitting position. It was not so easy to throw off the dregs of sleep. She had meant only to close her eyes briefly and catch up on what she had sorely missed the night before. Now she realized she had missed her mark, and rather than waking refreshed, she felt only a kind of drugged torpor. She let her legs fall over the side of the bed and pushed ineffectually at her shift to cover them.
"I should like to have it," she said. As an afterthought she added, "Please."
"Of course." South closed the book, then the distance between them, and gravely presented it to her.
India did not look at it. Without a word she slipped it under one of her pillows. Her fingers groped for the shawl that had fallen off her shoulders, and found it behind her. She draped it across her back and around her upper arms. "Why are you here?"
"I said last night we were not finished, India. I came to talk."
"To interrogate."
"If you like."
She did not like, but there was no point in telling him so. He knew it well enough. She remained perched on the edge of the bed, making herself very still in the face of his silent regard.
South backed away from the bed and sought his seat in the wing chair. "How do you do that?" he asked. "How do you disappear in front of my eyes and become as wanting of features as your own illustrations?"
"You are ridiculous," she said in mild reproof. "I am here." One of her hands was raised, and she touched her nose, the corner of her mouth, and her chins with her fingertips. "My face parts as well."
South shook his head and sought a better word."Detach," he said finally. "It is as though you detach yourself from the present, not drifting away on some flight of thought as I have often been accused of doing, but that you are so thoroughly withdrawn from what is before you that you cease to exist."
"I don't know what you mean."
Perhaps she didn't, South thought. Perhaps it came so naturally to her that it was accomplished without consciousness of it. A hedgehog rolled into a ball and presented its spines when threatened. All things considered, that response was not so different from India's.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked.
"Was I? I hadn't realized." South's mouth relaxed, his finely drawn features becoming solemn. "You haven't asked me about the theatre, India. Either last night or this morning. Are you not in the least curious?"
"You must allow there hasn't been time."
"Darrow says, in all the hours you cared for him, the subject of the theatre was never broached. Do you not miss it, India?"
She was long in answering."I miss the freedom it afforded me," she said at last.
South considered that but made no comment. "And what of the people? Darrow told me you never evinced any concern for them."
"What could Mr. Darrow have told me about how they fared?" she asked practically. "He was here with me at the outset. You are accusing me of some ill feeling toward them, or perhaps of having no feelings at all. And you say this simply because I did not chatter to Mr. Darrow. That is a poor ruler by which you measure my concern."
"I make no accusation, India. I am only curious."
"Hang your curiosity, then."
In other circumstances he might have smiled at her vehemence. But not now. He would not have India thinking he was laughing at her when he only meant to be appreciative. He waited a few moments to see if she would raise any questions now. She did not. "Is there no one you wish to know about? Mr. Kent? The lad Doobin? Mrs. Garrety?"
"You have seen them?"
"Kent and the boy," he said. "Your dresser has been dismissed in your absence."
India closed her eyes briefly. Her mouth was dry. "Mrs. Garrety could often be... difficult. Mr. Kent tolerated her because I insisted. Do you know where she has gone?"
"No. I did not inquire. But she is bound to show herself when you return to London."
"Why do you say that?"
South shrugged. "For no reason save she seems to be devoted to you." India gave him no indication whether he had made a correct assumption. South watched as she contemplated her folded hands for a moment and then smoothed her shift over her knees. The detachment she affected was absolutely maddening. "Doobin fares well," he said.
Now a glimmer of a smile touched her lips. "I should expect nothing less of him."
"Mr. Kent first let it about that you were ill. He has followed that tale with another that you have retired to the country to rest and recover."
"I care nothing at all for what Mr. Kent has made of my absence."
"I mention it only because it strikes me as odd that he has made no private effort to find you. He seems to be satisfied with his own story, though I cannot think that he truly believes it."
"No doubt he is glad to be rid of me. I, too, could be difficult."
"It strains the imagination," he said wryly.
India lifted her head. Her smile complimented the ironic twist South had injected into his tone. "You shall be glad to be rid of me, too, m'lord."
South did not disagree with her, but it was not because she was in the right of it. He continued in a casual, conversational manner. "The wags have it that you fled first to the country estate of your lover and are now quite possibly touring the Continent with him."
This, at least, got some hard reaction from India, South saw. Her complexion paled and her fingers rethreaded themselves into a fist in her lap. He went on as she finally met his eyes with a bleakness she was incapable of containing.
"I do not think I am wrong in supposing this is what Kent truly believes has happened to you. His reluctance to confirm this latest gossip only means that he has no wish to cut off his nose to spite his face. He remains hopeful that you will return and that he can continue to promise your favors in exchange for the financial favors of others. I suspect that even now he is denying the rumors in order to squeeze a few more shillings from the hopefuls who will not credit that you are lost to them."
India's heels slid off the bed frame and dropped to the floor. She rose and padded quietly to the window. The curtains were drawn back. She stared out the window, hugging herself. "Do the wags have the name of my lover?" she asked.
"Only that it is Lord M."
She nodded once.
"The one that was mentioned not long ago in the Times," South said. "The list of suspects grows short, I'm afraid. Most Lord M's have been accounted for, much to their regret. They had enjoyed a certain notoriety when their names were attached to yours."
"Then they were quite foolish."
"Mapple. Macquey-Howell. Matthews. Milsop. Embley."
She twisted and looked at him over her shoulder, frowning. "Embley? Oh, I see. I had not considered that possibility. That is clever of them to think so. Are there those among the ton answering to names like Emmerth, Emerson, and Emlenton?"
"Perhaps," South said. "I have not heard of such. There is also Montrose. Morris. Milbourne. A late entry has been the Earl of Margrave. He has recently returned from the Continent but almost immediately took himself off to his estate at Marlhaven. It must be that sojourn that kept his name well out of it in the beginning. Now, after paying a duty call on his mother, he is back in London and in fine form. He might have been the front runner for the tide of your consort if it were not for the fact that he is out and about and you are not."
India turned back to the window. This time she pressed her forehead against a cool pane of glass. "Has society really so little to occupy itself?"
"Apparently so."
"And you, my lord? Is this the personal business that kept you away? I confess I had not considered that your absence was in aid of gathering every loose thread of town gossip. It amused you, perhaps, to know where I was while you listened to all the tales to the contrary."
"None of it amuses me," he said.
She ignored him, straightening slowly. "It is not to be borne."
"And yet you do." South's voice gentled. "Who is he, India? The one who has been your protector but never your lover. The one who has provided for your clothes and shelter and the small things you desire but could never have managed on your own. The one you fear. Milbourne? Montrose?"
"I will not listen to this." She placed her hands flat over her ears.
"You will listen, India." South came up behind her and grasped her wrists. She offered no real resistance as he drew her hands away. He brought them to her sides and held them there. He bent his head. His mouth hovered near her ear. "I would have his name."
A chill tapped her spine, sending a frisson down the length of her that she could not hide from South. "I cannot," she whispered.
"Are you afraid of him?"
She remained silent.
"I will protect you."
She shook her head. The movement made her cheek brush his lips. They were both still. Then the shape of his mouth changed against her skin, and his breathing hitched. Tendrils of hair were moved aside by fingertips as gentle in their flutter as a butterfly's wing. He kissed the hollow below her ear. "No," she said, her mouth merely framing the word. Tears welled in her eyes. "No."
South lifted his head slowly, reluctantly. His chin rested against the soft crown of her hair. His own eyes were momentarily closed. "Does he exist, India?" he asked quietly. "I have begun to wonder."
She was glad he could not see her watery smile, or the regret that she was certain filled her eyes. He could not know, must never know, how close she came to telling him the truth just then.
"Will you tell me nothing at all?" he asked her.
"I cannot."
South released her wrists and raised his chin. "Even for your country?"
There was little space for India to turn, trapped as she was between the window and South, but she managed the thing—even managed to wedge her arms between them and place her palms flat on his chest. Then she pushed with all the strength anger afforded her. Surprised, South rocked on his heels, but he did not give ground. Instead, it was India whose feet slid backward until her spine was pressed firmly against the window.
India stared at her braced arms, extended as they were against South's hard chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart under her palms.
"It hardly seems fair, does it?" South asked in gentle accents.
India allowed her arms to fall to her sides. She shook her head.
South cupped her chin and lifted it. "Do you want so badly to hurt me? Shall I invite one of your stinging jabs?"
"Do not be patronizing."
He sighed. "India, I must have some cooperation on your part."
She tore her chin away and slipped past him, knowing that he could stop her if he wanted to. He did not attempt to do so, and for that she was grateful. She put some distance between them. "My cooperation? Was it not enough that I came with you? I offered no resistance at the inn. None at all to Darrow. None even yesterday when you... when I..." Her eyes darted toward the bed, and she did not finish that thought. "What is it that I stand accused of that you would have cause to question my loyalty?"
"The plot to kill Prinny," South said flatly. "Kendall's murder. Rutherford's. There have been questions raised concerning the affair of Lady Macquey-Howell and Senor Cruz. And now there is rumor of a conspiracy against the cabinet ministers, some of whom are known to be supporters of your theatre—and particular admirers of yours."
India's legs actually trembled, but she remained standing. "You cannot truly believe..." The words died in her throat. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You cannot believe I am responsible for even one of those things. I would not... I would never... how can you think it of me?"
South did not answer immediately. His weight shifted. He raked back his dark hair. Finally, he released a long-held breath. "I don't know that I do," he said quietly. "You confound me, India Parr. At every turn."
Her knees would have buckled then, but South caught her by the elbow and eased her down on the stiff ladder-back chair.
"Head down," he said. He placed one hand at the nape of India's neck and pressed lightly until her head was at the level of her knees. "You need a moment for the blood to flow properly."
She would need to stand on her head to accomplish that, she thought. South had done nothing but turn her world on end since she'd met him. She had no sense of up and down any longer. She was head over bucket now, and it seemed perfectly right that she should be so.
At South's instruction, India took slow and even breaths. The pressure on her nape eased, and she was gradually allowed to rise.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I want to help you, India. You asked why I brought you here, and that is the answer. The simplest, truest answer. Because I think you need help and don't know how to ask for it, or even that you believe you might be deserving of it."
"The colonel..."
"He knows you are with me."
"Then he approves of—"
South's brows drew together as he dropped to his haunches beside India's chair. "Not precisely. I did not tell him what I intended.... He learned of it after the fact."
"After the...?"
"When he heard that you missed a performance—you, who have not missed a performance in well over a year—and when he could not immediately find me..." South shrugged. "I have settled with him since I returned for Westphal's funeral. He is allowing me this time to learn the truth."
India understood what South did not say. "Because you have given him no choice."
South merely shrugged.
"You are defying him."
This observation raised his grin. "No. Nothing so alarming as that. It is merely that I am taking a different course than he would, but that is often the very reason he calls upon me."
"I don't understand."
"He cannot surround himself only with lackeys who never question what he says. Events... people... circumstances... they often look different from where he is sitting. He has information—facts—at his fingertips that are certainly useful, but he would be the first to admit he does not always have the sense of the fit of things."
"And you do?"
"Sometimes. Not always. But the colonel would never deny me the use of my own judgment in these matters. I must never substitute my judgment for his. If I am not at liberty to do what I think is right, then I am of no real use to him." South came to his feet. He poured India a glass of water from the pitcher on the washstand and carried it to her. "Here. You appear in want of something to remove your tongue from the roof of your mouth."
Smiling weakly, she accepted the glass and drank. "He thinks I'm guilty, doesn't he?"
"It would be truer to say that he is still willing to be convinced otherwise."
The laughter that bubbled to India's lips held not a whit of good humor. She glanced at South uneasily. "There is not very much difference there."
"There is enough, India. Help me prove where your innocence lies."
She did not know what to say to that. Had there ever been a time she could lay claim to innocence? Yes, of course there had, but it was so very long ago that it seemed more often another person's life. The glass in her hand was cool, and she held it against her temple for a moment, easing the growing ache just behind her eye.
"Is it a megrim?" asked South.
India shook her head and lowered the glass. "Nothing so wicked as that." She looked up at him and asked frankly, "Why would you want to help me? If you are honest, you know you are only a little less certain of my guilt than the colonel. How can that be enough for you to want to do anything on my behalf?"
He hesitated. It was not merely that he wondered what she was prepared to hear, but that there were those things he was not necessarily prepared to admit. "Quid pro quo," he said finally.
"What?"
"You may call it quid pro quo."
"I don't understand."
"You extended your trust to me once," he reminded her. "I would offer the same to you."
"I see." Was she disappointed? India didn't know.
"You sent Doobin to my home with a message that we should meet in the park," South went on. "You did this after we had already arrived at an agreement about how we would communicate."
"That hardly speaks well of me."
"My first thought, also," he admitted. "But the more I considered your actions, the more I was able to entertain the notion that perhaps you had not acted without provocation." South returned to the wing chair and sat. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. "Was that the way of it, India? Did someone demand you lay a trap for me?"
She said nothing.
"I asked Doobin who was with you when you gave the message to him. He told me it was only he and Mrs. Garrety who were present. Is that correct?"
India's mouth flattened briefly as she pressed her lips together. She nodded once.
"Then you received direction from someone else at an earlier time." It was not a question that he posed to her now but a fact as he saw it. "It puzzles me still when this might have happened, because so much time was spent observing your daily routine."
India stopped rolling the glass between her palms. Her fingers pressed hard on it instead. "You were watching me?"
"Yes." He did not tell her that he had not done so alone. She would not like to know how many people in his employ had assisted in the effort, Darrow among them.
"But you promised you—"
He held up his hand, stopping her. "I promised I would cease to make inquiries regarding you. That is all I agreed to. And I kept that promise until I had you safely here. As for what my observations revealed... the truth is, very little. If you find any peace in it, India, you have guarded your secrets well."
