The butler bowed. “Good day, my lady, miss.”
Constance did not speak. Her cheeks were pale, her full lips a bare breath of pinkish white. But at least she had ceased weeping. Tavy took her arm.
“Is your master at home?”
“Yes, miss. The footman has just—”
“Where is he? In his study?”
“Why, yes, but—”
Tavy pulled Constance along the corridor. Samuel passed them a moment before Ben appeared in the doorway of his study. His brows were drawn, his mouth hard. A sob broke from Constance and she pushed past him into the chamber.
Tavy stood paralyzed. Ben’s gaze consumed her, but rather less like a lover than a prosecutor before an accused.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hm. Not precisely what I hoped or frankly expected to hear from you given that twelve hours ago you told me very definitely to stay.”
“Yet you did not. Did you arrive in Constance’s carriage?”
“Yes.”
He released an audible breath. “Then you must depart in it now.” He stepped into the corridor and grasped her arm to turn her around. Her throat tightened. She pulled free of his hold.
“But she wishes to speak with you. Or, she does not particularly wish it, but I think she must.”
“She may remain. But you must go.”
Tavy stared, jaw slack, and her heart began to splinter.
“I had not planned on remaining.”
“Your usual approach, it seems.”
“You are criticizing me for leaving at the same moment you are telling me to go?”
“Something like that.” His eyes looked odd, silvery. He moved close again and lifted his hand as though to touch her, but seemed to think better of it and his arm fell to his side.
“I have something I must say to you,” she managed with credible evenness.
“Say it.” His voice was low. She wanted to imagine in his rich tones an echo of the intimacy they had shared. But with Constance only yards away weeping over having betrayed her and the prospect of telling him news of consequences he would not like, Tavy could not allow herself to live in dreams. No more lying in his arms while he whispered beautiful things to her. Oh, Lord, but she wanted that beyond reason. She wanted him so much and yet it seemed after all that she was not to have him.
In point of fact, she had nothing to say now, nothing that could change circumstances or turn back time. But if she did not speak, she would have to leave, and her body wanted to remain with him as though drawn by magnets. Her lips moved, and finally words emerged.
“Will you help them too?”
“Them?”
“Lord Crispin and the girl.”
Creases formed between his brows. “Octavia, he is a criminal.”
“And all of your activities are thoroughly licit, I’m certain.”
“He committed acts that hurt people.”
“Will you at least show them a little mercy?” she insisted.
“Mercy is not mine to show in this case. It is the law’s.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Ben, he was blackmailed. He saved her from danger.”
“He served his desires.”
“They are in love.”
His jaw hardened. “That is not sufficient justification for deserting one’s conscience.”
Her hands went cold, her chest contrarily hot. He was perfectly correct, of course. But it hurt quite a great deal in the pit of her stomach, and higher, beneath her ribs, to hear him say it. She knew not whether to rejoice that she had come to understand his character so well or to despair.
She forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching. “Marcus should pay for the wrongs he did. But if you save those other girls, you must save this one too. Choosing between them would make you no better than him.”
“Perhaps.” His black gaze scanned her face. “But allow me to select my particular variety of villainy if you will. Now, go.”
“But you are not a villain, or at least I didn’t think so until a few minutes ago when you began speaking to me like a cad.”
“Do you wish to be bodily removed from this house? Because I am on the verge of—”
“Don’t you dare threaten me.” She turned away. “I feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.” She swung around to him again. “I cannot believe you are dismissing me again.”
“Not dismissing, and it disturbs me no less.” His voice was warm, but a hint of panic threaded through it, strange. She stared, nonplused. “Octavia, trust me. Go home and remain there, I beg you.”
Beg?
“Trust you? How on earth do you imagine I can do that?”
“I am more than happy to explain how, but this is not the time or place for that conversation.”
“Why, because of what Constance has come to tell you?”
“I haven’t any idea what she has to say, but I have important business I must see to now.” His hand came up again and this time he cupped it around her cheek. “By God you are too beautiful.”
“Too beautiful for what? To address with a modicum of civility?”
“To resist. You must leave this instant.” He released her and raised his voice. “Samuel, see Miss Pierce to Lady Constance’s carriage and home.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“All right. I will leave.” Too many parting statements barraged her head. This is thoroughly unacceptable and I will not stand for it. Throw me out now but do not expect to see me ever again. Be gentle with her, you faithless rogue. Or perhaps simply, I will love you forever even though I will try very hard not to. She could not choose. Heart aching and mind tangled, she left.
But she had no faith to break any longer. Not after such treatment. And not after Constance’s revelation. Tavy went home as instructed, but she did not remain there long.
Chapter 23
CAST AWAY. The state of a ship, which is lost or wrecked on a lee-shore, bank, rock, &c.—Falconer’s Dictionary of the Marine
Ben gripped the doorjamb to prevent himself from going after her. He had never been so inarticulate, so at a loss for reason, and so thoroughly split between what he wished to do and must do. Except seven years earlier, with her.
But Styles must not see her at his house. Ben had not spent the dawn hours deploying his employees throughout London to have his plans all come to nothing now.
He rubbed a hand across his face to clear his vision. Dear God, simply seeing her warm eyes and animated lips made caution fly. He’d wanted to drag her into a closet and make her listen to every word of truth until there were no more to tell, then to kiss her until she said she loved him again. He could hear it hundreds of times and still not have heard it enough.
In his study, Constance stood in the shadows beneath the painting of the tiger, staring up at it.
“It seems you have finally decided to tell me what has been distressing you these past weeks.” He crossed the chamber to her.
“I did not want to. I went to Octavia to tell her instead, thinking that would be easier. But it proved impossible. I am such a coward.”
He touched his fingers to her chin and tipped her face up.
“Not so cowardly. You are here now.”
“I am only here because she brought me. She seemed to know I must tell you. She is v-very good.”
“She is.”
The tears spilled anew, drenching her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Ben pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She turned her face aside.
“Constance, have over with it.”