Page 50 of Courting Trouble
She’d allowed herself to luxuriate in all the sensations of him. The tickle of the hair on his thighs against her backside. The corrugations of his ribs as he’d rolled and contracted.
And his clever, lovely fingers as they—
A knock sounded at the door, distracting her from her salacious reverie. Likely Felicity come to keep her company. She stood, abandoning her brush to the table, and swept down the hall, adjusting her sling as she went.
Her excitement bubbled over even before she was able to reach the door. “Felicity, darling, you’ll never guess what—”
The Baron Cresthaven, her father, stood where she’d expected to find her sister, his hands locked behind his back in his requisite regimental posture.
Though it had been only weeks since she’d seen him, he seemed older, somehow. Even though he still towered over her, he might have lost a bit of height. His beard seemed threaded with more grey and silver, and the lines at his eyes and mouth grooved deeper into his skin.
“Papa,” she croaked through her surprise. She’d lived with the man for the first twenty years of her life, had seen him often thereafter, and she could still never tell if his features were indignant, or just arranged thusly.
“Honoria,” he greeted with a bland sort of insouciance. As if he were disappointed to find her there, even though she could be the only person he’d come to see.
She pulled the door open wider, stepping aside. “Won’t you come in?”
He walked through the entryway to Titus’s private apartments, and she became immediately distraught and defensive. He was an interloper here. A tremulous anxiety caused her to feel slightly ill, his presence covering her previous good cheer like a cold, damp blanket made of scratchy wool.
Still, a little seed of hope bloomed within her. Perhaps it was finally deemed safe enough for him to visit. Or he’d news from home.
Was it too much to hope he pitied her? That he worried for her wellbeing after all that’d transpired…
She’d almost lost her life, his firstborn. Did that mean something to him?
Trailing him as he strode down the hall and into the great room arranged to make the most of the splendid views of the city, she asked, “Does Doctor Conleith know you’ve come? Would you like me to ring for some tea?”
“No, I won’t be staying long.” He blinked over at the tasteful furnishings, the damask drapes, the expensive sconces and bric-a-brac. She hated that she held her breath to hear what verdict he might pass.
He said nothing as he paused at the high-backed chair Titus favored, and put his hand on the crest, posing like a royal in a painting. He made a quick assessment of her unbound hair and the frothy gown that reminded her of the purple pansies in their gardens. “You’re not wearing widow’s black, Honoria.”
Any hope for paternal concern evaporated like the morning fog from the Thames when sliced by shafts of sunlight through the buildings. “You don’t actually expect me to mourn William, Papa; he was a murderer and a monster.”
“I know very well what he was. He used my shipping company to smuggle for a gangster, if you’ll remember.” He exclaimed this as if it were William’s worst sin of the lot, before his eyes narrowed upon her. “Still, tradition dictates you wear black. It is imperative that you’re seen doing everything properly.”
Deflating, she gestured to the arm bound to her body. “I’m notseendoing anything at all, Father. That’s rather the point of being in hiding. I see no one but my sisters, Nurse Higgins, and Doctor Conleith.”
“Yes… Conleith.” He gave their lush surroundings another thorough inspection, as if looking for something to condemn them. To Nora’s smug relief, their surroundings were every bit as fine as the furniture at Cresthaven. The rooms even larger and the amenities more tasteful and modern.
Her mother often pointed out to her father that they could relocate to some of the grander and newer houses being built in Belgravia and beyond, but Clarence Goode stubbornly held on to their Mayfair square, the one where the names were ancient and the titles as archaic as the homes.
Such things mattered more to him than anything, after money, of course. Tradition, position, reputation, followed by zealotry disguised as faith.
What an empty and terrible way to live. It was such a shame she could only come to that conclusion after the worst had happened. After she’d lost everything thatheheld dear. Her position in society, her reputation.
But what she’d found with Titus was so much more precious than that.
Passion, acceptance, a sense of wholeness, hope, and wonder. And—someday—forgiveness?
Dare she hope…love.
“That boy is taking a great risk keeping you here,” her father remarked.
“Morley doesn’t think so. Since Mr. Sauvageau doesn’t seem to know I’m here—”
He pinned her with his most imperious glare. “I’m not referring to the gangsters, Honoria, but everyone else. Everyone who matters. Though your circumstances aregreatlydiminished and Conleith’s have exponentially elevated, so much about the impossibility of your situation remains unchanged.”
“DoctorConleith,” she dared to correct him, wanting her father to give Titus his due. “And I don’t understand—”
