Unveiled (Turner, #1)

And it just went to prove: one might think one knew a great deal about a woman. One might tell her one’s darkest secrets. And she was still going to make one’s head spin about, by caring about things that made absolutely no sense. He heaved a sigh. He wasn’t quite sure when or where the conversation had gone wrong, or what precisely he’d said to make it veer off course with such vehemence.

“Well.” The syllable echoed in the now too-empty room. “Do you suppose she’ll have forgotten this episode by morning?”

Mark shook his head. “She may be as stubborn as you.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Ash said. “I’m right. There’s a difference.”

Mark snorted. “No. I remember when Mother used to assign us Bible verses to learn. For Smite, it proved no problem—no matter how many she gave us.”

She’d given too many—dozens and dozens, it seemed. She’d locked them in the parlor to learn them.

“But you’d refuse. One of my earliest memories is her beating you, and your refusing to cry. You were smiling as she switched you. As if even then, all you wanted was to prove that you bent to nobody’s will but your own.”

Not quite how Ash remembered that particular event. First, there’d been the fact that he hadn’t refused to learn anything. He’d simply been unable to read.

“I always remembered that, when things got bad. I remembered thinking, ‘Well, if Ash could do it, I can.’”

Ash felt a lump in his throat. “You know, Mark…”

But then, his younger brother so seldom expressed admiration for him. He wasn’t about to muck that up by disclosing a tiny fact that was now a mere side note, an irrelevancy.

“Yes?”

Ash smiled. Papering over that hollow in his chest seemed impossible. But he’d smiled through beatings as a boy. And he didn’t want to lose the light of respect in Mark’s eyes. If nothing else, he wanted his brothers to feel safe with him—protected. Taken care of. Cosseted, even.

How safe would they feel if they knew his secret?

“I was wondering,” he said, “speaking of stubborn—what think you of Miss Lowell?”

Mark settled slowly back into his seat. “You were, were you? Do you wonder about her?”

“All the time,” Ash said, sitting down with a heavy sigh. He wondered a great deal about her—about the sound she would make when he kissed the nape of her neck. Whether the skin of her thighs was as soft as he remembered. What she’d look like, waking in his bed, rumpled from sleep and pleased to see him. He glanced over at his brother. “But don’t you be wondering about her that way. I thought you had no interest in anything but chastity.”

Mark smiled. “I didn’t intend it that way. Only someone as corrupt as you would take what I said in that jaded manner. I meant, have you ever wondered where she comes from? She didn’t spring up, fully formed like Athena, the instant we landed on this estate. There’s something not quite right about the situation.”

That was the problem with thinking. “There is a great deal about her that doesn’t add up,” he admitted reluctantly. From the way Mrs. Benedict protected her, to the way the other servants jumped at her command. For a young woman—and a nurse no less—she wielded an extraordinary influence. He’d always assumed that the duchess had favored her. But, maybe…

“Ash,” Mark said almost urgently, “think. I can’t imagine why I haven’t, until I saw her face just now. She’s a bastard who owes the Dalrymples some form of allegiance, who—”

“Stop,” Ash said. He wasn’t even sure why he spoke, until he did. “I want her to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. “I want her to tell me why she’s so sad.” He wanted all of her secrets, but like her kiss, he didn’t want to wrest them from her, to poke and pry and pull, until he’d stolen them entirely. He wanted the truth of her, given as a gift. “Besides, I trust her. What do you suppose I went to London to do? You don’t suppose I left you to take care of any piddling business matter?”

Nothing in response, nothing but shocked silence, as Mark sorted that out. Nothing until: “Oh…” Mark’s voice came out in a whisper. “Ash. You’re utterly insane, do you know that? You’ve just met her. You can’t just—just—”

Ash grinned. “Yes, I can. Sometimes, I just know things. I can’t philosophize, as you do. I won’t ever be a scholar or a thinker. I know things. I act.” He shrugged. “That’s what I do well. You may need everything spelled out for you. I don’t.”

“And have you…informed her of this yet?”

“Not a word. My men will send everything on, once the paper’s issued. Apparently, the parish is taking its sweet time sending along confirmation of the particulars.”

“Oh, Ash.” Mark looked up at him, the most curious expression on his face. His brother set his jaw, and that made no sense. Because what he saw was neither pity nor happiness, but instead a grim look of determination.





CHAPTER TWELVE




THE TERSE MISSIVE—the only one she’d received in weeks from Richard—arrived the next morning. The paper listed only the lords her brother had spoken with in the past few weeks, with instructions to pass the list on to their father.