Shadowdance(62)

“No.” Mary’s own mouth twitched. “I am quite familiar, Inspector.”

Despite her gaffe, they shared a companionable trip to Lane’s home. When little Ellis Lane was born, the Lanes had moved from their small flat above their bookshop and into Mayfair, close to Poppy’s sisters. The house was not a mansion by any means, but cozy and lovely, with well-proportioned rooms and light-filled spaces. The kind of home Mary would pick for herself should she have a family.

Commotion ensued the moment she stepped inside the warm home, with Poppy coming up to buss her husband’s cheek before putting a fond hand upon Mary’s arm in welcome. Daisy was far more boisterous, kissing all and sundry, and Ian Ranulf much the same, pulling Mary into a quick hug of hello before she could protest. It struck Mary anew how these people did not behave like ton, or even new gentry, but more like simple countryfolk. Laughter and affection ruled, as did the free discourse.

Mary bounced along the periphery of it all. The loveliness both repelled and charmed her. How could they be so happy and carefree? How could she not? She knew it wasn’t all roses for them. Only it felt as though it were, and she were the weed infiltrating their garden.

Nonsense really, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of her element. Mary pasted a tight half-smile upon her face as Daisy hooked her arm through hers and led Mary into the family parlor. The tight, queer feeling intensified within her. The house smelled of roasting beef and crackling fires. Everything glowed with golden lamplight, and nothing felt familiar.

A pair of dark-green eyes clashed with hers, and the world about her whooshed to silence.

She would have liked to tell herself she’d forgotten that Jack Talent was part of Lane’s family too. But it would have been a lie.

He sat hunched on a large sofa, his arms resting upon his bent knees. He looked up at her, his expression as impassive as ever, save for that hooded gaze, shining brightly by the light of the fire. Nature had painted him in bold, simple strokes. And he was immense. Simply sitting there, he felt too big for the space he occupied. As though a wrong move might crush the furniture beneath him. And he was glorious. To her.

Mary’s breath left in a shivery hiss. Heat and agitation stroked the cage of her breast. As if he scented it, his gaze grew hazy, his mouth parting slightly as if to draw in more air, draw in more of her. Mary dug her nails deep into the flesh of her palms to remain still.

The strained silence between them grew, until Daisy let out a little huff. “Jack Talent, don’t just sit there like a clod. Get up and greet Miss Chase like a proper gentleman.”

His gaze flicked to Daisy and then back to Mary. And then he stood, a fluid motion that brought him up, up, up. So tall. And all that spectacular strength hidden beneath staid black suits. She could not take this. She needed to leave.

“You do realize, Daisy Ranulf, that I am only five years younger than you,” he said. “That you are not, in fact, my mother.” Talent turned his attention to Mary, and his smooth cream voice had a soft bite to it. “Roped you into it too, did they, Chase?”

Something within her eased. “I fear so, Talent.”

“Cheer up, angel.” The corners of his eyes creased and then came that grin, the one that made her knees wobble and her heart seize. “Sunday roast only comes once a week.”

As if she’d be there every Sunday. As if he’d accepted that fact. She found herself smiling back even as Daisy nattered on about cheeky ingrates.

It was all right then. It would be all right.

Hours later, filled and sated, the family drifted back into the large parlor to lounge about and talk of this and that. Mary found herself a comfortable chair and was content to simply watch. Better still, they left her to it.

“Ian, darling,” called Daisy, “Archer sends you his regards.” Curled up on the overstuffed sofa, her feet tucked beneath her skirts, Daisy smiled as she read through the latest letter from Lord and Lady Archer. The couple was in Ireland, visiting a young man they’d learned was the Ellis women’s brother. Miranda had grown particularly close to him, as she and the youth shared the deadly ability to manipulate fire.

Ian strolled over, smiling a bit as he bent down to kiss the top of his wife’s head. “And what does the old stiff say?”

Daisy’s lips curled. “Mmm. Well, he says that Ireland is great sheep country, and that he has rounded up a nice bunch of fatted lambs for you to frolic with should the London fare become too bland.”

Inspector Lane gave out a great laugh. “Perhaps Daisy ought to knit you a fuzzy woolen jumper so that you might hide amongst them.”