Chapter Two
Rule Three:
Never Search for the Boy in the Man
Persephone paced a shallow trench in Laurie’s carpet while waiting for him to appear. The mantel clock ticked off the minutes, then the half hour, as sunlight drifted through the open curtains to spread lazily across the floor.
Glancing over her shoulder to the doorway of the immaculate parlor she’d been relegated to, and finding herself alone, she dropped to her knees to inspect it.
Aubusson, she confirmed, the carpet French and costly.
She’d suspected as much from the delicate floral pattern she’d noted the moment she’d entered the chamber.
Actually, everything about his townhome screamed wealth.
From the Regent’s Park address to the marble steps leading to it. Rosewood, brass inlay, gilt mirrors, ormolu—every gleaming inch arranged to prove a point. Given his dreadful upbringing, she understood what Laurie wanted to prove, but she’d never imagined he needed to prove anything to her.
Persephone pressed her palm to the magnificent rug and willed her heart to slow, a difficult request since she’d stumbled from the bookshop to find her childhood love standing on the sidewalk looking almost the same as he had as a boy—and leagues different.
Time had hardened him, as it had her, she supposed.
“Bloody cad,” she whispered. For calling her Lady Persephone.
How dare he, after all they’d shared?
If he thought to keep up the charade of holding her at a distance, his gaze frightfully circumspect—cold—he didn’t know who she’d become.
A woman who fought for what she wanted. One who dared risk everything for happiness.
The gods had dropped Laurence John Thorne into her lap again, a prayer answered, a gift she wasn’t about to waste in this mad world.
Perhaps she’d begun writing about society believing she’d someday be forced to leave it all behind anyway when she married Laurie. What had he called those pages? An attempt to drag herself down to his level?
Maybe he was right. Long ago, she’d believed he was her future.
Then he’d left and never returned.
Persephone frowned, tamping down the rush of anger. Getting cross with him wouldn’t benefit her. Men were senseless about love and often needed a shove in the right direction. She didn’t mind bullying when the cause was a good one.
Of course, he walked in while she was crouched on his carpet like a housemaid, debating how to corner him. Sunlight struck him cleanly, making no mercy of his transformation. If a person hadn’t known where he started, they would never know it now.
The superfine coat fit his shoulders with expensive severity.
His linen shirt was immaculate, his cravat tied with the kind of careless precision that cost a man either a valet or a lifetime of study.
She suspected he’d suffered both. He looked like a gentleman, and sounded like one, which was dreadful.
That refined voice of his made a liar of every muddy field, every stolen apple, every whispered promise belowstairs.
As if she’d merely imagined the boy at the pianoforte, all bruises and stubborn pride.
And, oh, those spectacles. They ought to have made him look scholarly. Safe. Instead, they sharpened him, catching the lamplight while his molten brown eyes glimmered behind the lenses in a thoroughly predatory fashion. The touch of gray in his hair was equally devastating.
“The carpet was rescued from a chateau,” he murmured, observing her from the doorway without expression. “One of our investors located it, along with nearly everything else in this place. His wife, a countess, is a collector. Of pieces and people.”
Persephone let the comment roll over her like a breath.
There’d been rumors about a countess in the gossip rags.
Was this an oblique nod to that story? Was he now cruel as well as urbane?
She rose with a smile despite wanting to thump her fist against his broad chest to wake him up.
If Laurie understood that his aloofness dared her to do all sorts of impulsive things, he might change his tune.
“I brought the information you requested in your note,” she said, voice as calm as his, gesturing to the table and the documents stacked there. “Accounts for the cottage I’m leasing, monthly invoices from local vendors, and the first payment from my publisher, which I’m to receive quarterly.”
Laurie strode across the room, skirting the pianoforte in the corner like it was an explosive. She presumed he played for himself and no one else, certainly not her.
“It came with the residence,” he said as he sat on the settee and began to shuffle through the papers, as if, as always, he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“You still play, then?” Unsure what to do, she perched on a monstrous leather armchair across from him that fairly engulfed her.
Jaw flexing, as it had when he’d been a stubborn boy refusing to answer her questions, he inquired instead, “Why didn’t you deposit this draft from your publisher?” He glanced at her, giving his spectacles a nudge. “It’s quite a large sum to be carrying around, Lady Persephone.”
Her temper sparked at his dubious tone and the name he continued to call her. “I told you the book was popular.”
He blinked, his lenses glinting in the light. “Not this popular.”
“Who would think to rob me when you sent a thug to escort me here? Mrs. Grimes, the maid I managed to employ despite my outrageous reputation, nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw him. And here I thought Tupper was rough around the edges.”
Laurie paused, finally, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Bunt’s a footman, sweetheart. Exactly the kind I prefer. As coarse as a quarryman’s palm and sure to instill fear in the ton’s hard hearts.”
She snorted, then wished she could call it back when his smile turned into a grin. “I don’t have an account to deposit anything into. My father put out the word about his contrary daughter and no private banker or agent in London will receive me.”
“That bastard,” he whispered beneath his breath.
He flipped through the sheets while she watched his mind spin.
Laurie was brilliant, if anyone besides her had taken the time back then to notice.
Now, it appeared everyone in London knew it.
“I’ll have that amended today, within the hour.
An account set up in your name with which to draw funds and deposit payments.
Attached to this will be a solicitor to handle future transactions and any claims on the assets from your family, should those come.
He’ll also take my investment advice and set you up in some profitable concerns so you’re protected once the publishing money dries up. ”
Heart pounding, Persephone let a few seconds pass before asking, because she couldn’t help herself, “Legitimate concerns?”
He stilled, his long fingers closing gently around her paperwork. His gaze moved to her, narrowing in regard. “How legitimate does a society scandal such as yourself need them to be?”
Persephone settled back, considering it. “Middling.”
“Middling,” he repeated, his brow arching, just the one, an old trick of his that she admittedly adored.
“I volunteer at a girls’ school, one covertly preparing young women of modest means for work in aristocratic homes. If not for my attachment to that endeavor, another disgrace according to my family, I’d place my money with the Rookery Rebels, in the stews, with the devil for all I care.”
Speechless, Laurie turned her words over in his mind before laughter, genuine and so lovely, rolled from his lips.
“I—” He brushed his hand across his mouth, shook his head, his teeth white in the lamplight as amusement overtook him.
“I’ve actually gotten Dorsey on a path about as lawful as a judge’s, though it took years.
I’m jesting, Perce. I would never involve you in anything risky, though I certainly could. I have.”
Perce.
He realized too late what he’d called her.
“Laurie,” she said, reaching out, though for what, she had no clue.
“Don’t,” he warned, rising to his feet to escape her, the conversation, the past.
“I haven’t been waiting for you to keep your promise, if that’s what you’re worried about.
” And he clearly hadn’t been waiting for her, judging by the stories about his amorous pursuits.
Persephone curled her fingers into her palm, refusing to reach for him twice.
“Frankly, your overconfidence is insulting.”
Laurie growled a curse and stalked to the tray set near the window.
Against all cultural dictates, it was littered with a Spode tea service and two bottles of liquor.
He splashed brandy into a teacup, drained it, then poured another.
“I suppose we’re going to have this out, no matter how much I’d hoped we wouldn’t.
We were children, Perce. Silly, na?ve children.
I didn’t know what forever meant, and neither did you.
Our worlds were too far apart, and I’m not sure what you think has changed.
There’s a veritable ocean between us now. ”
Forever.
He remembered, Persephone realized, sinking low in his monstrous armchair. Her knees shook, blood rushed through her veins, leaving her dizzy. He hadn’t forgotten Yorkshire. Their adventures. Their friendship.
He hadn’t forgotten her. He’d loved her once, as she’d loved him.
Now, they’d been thrown together by fate. She would make him show her what remained.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said when she could manage a level tone. Anything softer would have him bolting out of the parlor.
He pushed aside the curtain and gazed into the street, the teacup cradled in his broad palm. “We rarely talked, but I paid his bills. Bought him a house not far from your family’s estate when he had to leave work due to the drinking.”
“Did you ever go back?” she whispered, because she’d wondered, glancing over her shoulder every day after he’d gone.
“I couldn’t. Not with you—” He shook his head, unable to finish. Unwilling.
“Now you have this life.” She scanned the tasteful parlor, finding little of the boy she’d known within its four walls. She imagined the paintings were not ones he’d even chosen to hang there. When her gaze landed on him, his was locked on her. “You’re right, I don’t know you anymore.”
Pushing his spectacles to his brow, he scrubbed his hand over his eyes. Seconds ticked by as he stood there, brooding.
“Fine, you win,” he whispered and set his teacup on the tray with a click. “Let’s go.”
Persephone didn’t know what she’d won. Only that she was willing to go wherever this version of Laurie Thorne led.