Three Weeks With Lady X(52)

"A fish wouldn't scare me!"

"We were city boys, and we knew very little about fish. For all we knew, they would nibble our toes."

"Did you jump in after Papa?"

Thorn nodded. "I did. It was so cold that I felt as if the ice were  eating my bones. I kept going because Will was down there somewhere.  Finally I saw just a flash of his yellow hair, the same hair that you  have."

"What was he doing?"

"He was stuck," Thorn said. "His foot was caught in a net dropped by a  fisherman. I almost didn't get him out in time, but we managed. And we  made it back to the dock."

The truth was that the Thames had damn well nearly taken both of them  that day. He still had no idea how he got Will back to the dock.

"Did you have to sleep in the graveyard that night?" Rose asked. She had  forgotten to keep her back stiff, and her cheek nestled against his  chest as if she had always been his child.

"We did not. After your father warmed up, he unclenched his fist. And he was holding the top of a silver teapot."

"You mean that little round piece?"

"Exactly."

"Was that enough so that all of you could have supper?"

"It was. Grindel let us all sleep inside for the next week, because it kept snowing."

"It must have been a very costly teapot," Rose said.

"It had a crest on it, which meant its owners would be grateful to have  it back. But the more important point is that Will and I shook hands the  next morning, and Will said that he owed me. And that someday he would  pay me back by giving me the most valuable thing he owned."

"What did he give you?" Rose tilted her head back and looked up at him.

"You." Thorn smiled down at her. "He gave me you. You were the most  valuable thing that Will Summers ever owned in his entire life. He  couldn't stay with you, Rose. But he remembered his promise, and he  mentioned it in the letter he sent to me."

"Oh." Her voice sounded terribly sad.

He put his cheek down on her soft hair, remembering Will and his  stubborn, brave nature, seeing how beautifully it had come out in his  daughter. "Now you are mine," he told her, "by gift from your father.  You mustn't ever think that I would give you away, Rose. I am proud that  you are mine."

"But you put me in the dower house." Her voice quavered. "And that lady  said that I was hidden away, and she made it sound awful."

Thorn had to unclench his back teeth before he shocked Rose with his  opinion of Lady Rainsford. "I should never have agreed to it," he said.  "I will never do anything like that again."

"But if you keep me as your ward, you can't marry Miss Rainsford," Rose  said anxiously. "Her mother thinks that I am Lady Xenobia's daughter."

"I shall not marry Laetitia. I had already made up my mind about that."

Rose nodded and began pleating his cravat with her small, nimble  fingers. "Miss Rainsford wouldn't have been able to read me bedtime  stories."

"Laetitia is quite intelligent," Thorn said, stroking Rose's hair. "I  think she can't see letters well enough. She probably needs spectacles."

"Does that mean that Lady Xenobia isn't really married to Lord Brody either?"

"Absolutely not."

"Lady Xenobia can read." The words hung in the air for a moment.

"That is true." Thorn thought about India's flamelike intelligence, the  brilliant way she assessed problems before moving decisively to solve  them.                       
       
           



       

Although he wished she hadn't stepped forward and claimed to be Rose's  mother. She had made matters infinitely more difficult, though her claim  was nothing compared to Vander's. After all, once India and Thorn  married, Rose truly would be her daughter. But she would never be  Vander's wife.

Rose dropped his cravat, hopped from his lap, and ran over to where her  doll lay. "Will you tell Antigone and me stories about my papa over  supper? Please?"

Thorn wanted to go to India immediately. He had to inform her that they  were getting married, and to hell with what Lady Rainsford would  think-though he was fairly certain the woman would never breathe a word  about the afternoon. His father would ruin the Rainsford family without a  second's thought, and obviously she had understood that.

But Rose was at his side, Antigone clutched in her arms, her tears  hardly dry. India would still be there after Rose went to sleep.

"Please?"

"Yes," he said, standing up and taking her hand. "Shall we find Clara now?"

"You won't leave while she is getting me ready for bed?"

That was just what Thorn had thought to do. He was desperate to find  India and make love to her, this time as his affianced wife.

But Rose, who had been brave in so many circumstances, still looked  haunted, and (for once) younger than her age. Her huge gray eyes were  anxious. "I will be in the nursery waiting for you," he promised. She  smiled, and her dimple appeared.

Once Rose had been bathed and tucked in bed, Thorn set about plucking  stories from thin air, stories about brave, intrepid mudlarks. Will  starred as the bravest and best diver, the champion retriever of silver  spoons and gold coins. Thorn said nothing of teeth, tin buttons, or rat  skeletons.

Rose loved every detail. The pinched look in her face went away, and he  could see that she was shaping a mythology around her father. That  struck him as a good idea. When he had learned, at age twelve, that his  mother was dead, he had been angry at her; it had felt like a second  abandonment. Perhaps Rose would also feel anger at some point, but less  so if she thought of Will as a hero.

Of course, Will's death was entirely unlike that of Thorn's mother. It  was more like the death of India's parents: tragically bad luck. He  didn't know why India's parents were in London the day they died, but  he'd bet anything that their trip had nothing to do with flight to the  Bermudas. They might not have been attentive parents, but he couldn't  imagine them deserting her.

Hell, he couldn't imagine anyone leaving her.

Including himself.

Now he had to make her understand that fact-and Vander as well. Thinking  of Vander made his blood race. His jaw clenched, and a fresh wave of  raw, uncontrolled possessiveness surged through him.

Losing control was unacceptable. But for the first time in years, he wasn't sure he could keep his emotions in check.

It was twilight by the time Thorn strode into the house. He was tired  and angry, worried about Rose and frustrated by the mess Vander had made  of things. He nodded at Fleming and headed upstairs to find India, so  focused that at first he didn't even register a bedchamber door opening.

But the moment Vander stepped into the corridor, the tension that had  coiled in Thorn's gut for the last hours detonated. He literally saw  red, lunging forward and slamming Vander against the wall. "What in the  bloody hell did you think you were doing out there?"

"Do you mean when I saved the damsel in distress?" Vander retorted in a  low, furious voice, jerking from his grasp. "I mean to marry India. It  was simply a preemptive gesture."

"I'll be damned if you will!" Thorn exploded into motion and they came  to blows with the force of a cannon firing, reeling back into Vander's  bedchamber.

They crashed to the floor, knocking over a small table, then rolled  across the floor with undisciplined fury, the only sounds harsh  breathing, occasional thuds as a blow landed, the slamming of the door  when Vander's foot caught it, a crash as another delicate table was  upended. This one held a crystal decanter. It didn't shatter, but its  stopper came off, and pungent brandy poured out and soaked into the  carpet.

"Why did you say you were married to India?" Thorn snarled, pinning  Vander momentarily. Vander twisted from his grip, his shirt ripping away  from its sleeve. Thorn slammed back into him, crushing him to the  floorboards with his arm across his throat. "Damn you, answer me."

"Because I am marrying her," Vander shouted. With a violent lunge to the  side, he freed himself again. "The whole household is buzzing with the  fact that you have obtained a blank license in order to marry Lala; I'll  take that off your hands. I'm marrying India in the morning."                       
       
           



       

Thorn's answer was more a howl than a reply. Two minutes later, he had  Vander pinned again. He hadn't bested Vander at fisticuffs in years, but  by God, he was winning this time. "India is mine," he roared, knowing  he was on the verge of losing his final shred of control, every lethal  instinct honed in childhood loosed by fury.