Another woman would have launched into a litany of questions. Pippa simply watched him, eyes wide and stunning and unimpeded by spectacles. And it was her eyes on him, sure and without judgment, that spurred him on.
He leaned back, the cool windowpane comforting against his back. “Baine was perfect,” he said. “The perfect son, the perfect heir, the perfect brother. He was full of all the honor and dignity that came with being the future Earl Harlow, and none of the crass entitlement that seemed to accompany titles in other men. He was a good brother and an even better heir.”
The words came easier now. He spread his hands wide, looking down at them. “I, on the other hand, was the perfect second son. I loved vice and loathed responsibility, I was highly skilled at spending my father’s money and my own allowance, and I had a knack for counting cards. I could turn ten pounds into a thousand, and took any opportunity to do so. I had little time for friends, even less for family.” He paused. “It never occurred to me I might someday regret that lack of time.”
She was close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he chose, but he didn’t—he didn’t want her near this story, near the boy he’d once been. He shouldn’t want her near the man he was now.
She watched him carefully, riveted to his story and for one, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to look at her, taking in her unbound hair and her blue eyes—full of knowledge and more understanding than he deserved.
He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever imagined her ordinary or plain. She was stunning. And if her beauty weren’t enough, there was her mind. She was brilliant and quick-witted, and so perfectly different than anyone he’d ever known. Two and two made him. On anyone else’s lips it would have been gibberish, but on Pippa’s it was the most seductive concept he’d ever considered.
She was everything he’d never known he wanted.
And he did want her. Enough to make him wish he were someone else. Enough to make him wish he were more. Different. Better.
Enough to make him wish that he did not have this story to tell. “It was the start of Lavinia’s first season—she’d received her vouchers to Almack’s, and she was ecstatic—certain that she would be pronounced the jewel of the ton.”
“She is beautiful,” Pippa said.
“At eighteen, she was unparalleled.” His voice went raw as he remembered his flame-haired sister, all flirtation and winning smiles. “It was her first night at Almack’s—she’d been presented at court the week prior.”
He stopped, considering the next words, but Pippa cut in. “You chaperoned her.”
He laughed bitterly at the thought. “I was supposed to. But there was nothing I wanted to do less than spend the evening at Almack’s. I hated the idea of the place—wanted nothing to do with it.”
“You were a young man. Of course you hated the idea of it.”
He looked up at that, met her eyes. “I was her brother. It was my duty.” She did not reply. Knew better. Smart girl. “I refused. Told Baine I wouldn’t go.” He trailed off, remembering that afternoon, when he’d laughed and taunted his older brother. “She wasn’t my problem, after all. Would never be my concern. I was the middle child . . . the second son. The spare and thank God for that.
“Baine was furious—a rare event, but he’d had plans to see . . .” he trailed off. A woman. “There was a Greek opera singer looking for a new protector . . .”
Pippa nodded. “I see.”
She didn’t see. Not at all.
You’ll have to see her another night, Cross had said with a laugh. I promise, a few more hours won’t alter her assets . . . or yours as a future earl.
I don’t give much credence to your promises, Baine had snapped in reply. Did you not promise our sister your chaperone tonight?
No one ever expects me to keep my word.
Cross could still remember the fury and disappointment in Baine’s gaze. You are right at that.
“We argued, but I won—it mattered not a bit to me if Lavinia had her chaperone, and because it did matter to Baine, he had no choice but to take her. They went to her party. I went to Knight’s.”
Her jaw went slack at that. “To Knight’s?”
“To Knight’s, and then . . .” He hesitated over the confession . . . knowing it would change everything. Knowing he’d never be able to take it back. Knowing she had to know—that it would do more to save her than anything else he could say. “And then to Baine’s opera singer.”
She closed her eyes at the words, and he hated himself all over again, now, seven years later. The betrayal long assigned to his brother now had a second owner—Pippa. But this was the goal, was it not? To chase her away from Knight—away from him—into the arms of her earl?
Every ounce of him protested it, but he’d spent years controlling his body, and he would not stop now.
“I was in the arms of his future mistress when the carriage threw a wheel while turning a corner.” His words were firm and without emotion. “Baine, the driver, and one footman were killed instantly. A second footman died the following day.”