Chapter 19 #2
“Good evening, Miss Easton,” he said in a calm voice belied by the response of his heart. He wanted to take her hand and kiss it. He wanted to kiss more than her hand, frankly, but he restrained himself. “How have you fared since I saw you last?”
Her eyes held his, and he knew she was thinking of their kiss just as surely as he knew he was more handsome without a mustache.
“Better now,” she said, her eyes full of such patent affection and soft admiration that he did not notice he had been spoken to by someone until Frederick nudged him with an elbow.
“You remember?” Frederick asked.
“Remember what?” Silas asked.
“When that fellow fainted at that assembly?” Frederick asked with a hint of impatience.
The opportunity for further conversation had passed, and Mrs. Fairchild soon led them through to the dining room.
Silas couldn’t help but appreciate how deftly Miss Fairchild managed things so that he and Arabella were seated beside each other.
Aside from offering them desired proximity, however, with such a small number at the table, there was simply no way for them to converse between themselves on any meaningful topic.
Perhaps that was for the best. Silas’s thoughts and feelings were a jumbled mess.
He was reluctant to do anything to take advantage of her trust in him, but had he not already done that?
He had masqueraded under a false name for the entirety of their acquaintance.
He had kissed her under that false name, for heaven’s sake.
What a cad he was. A selfish, lovesick cad.
“Miss Easton,” Mr. Drake said, “this has been your first time in Town, has it not?”
“It has,” she replied.
“And what do you make of it? Has it been everything you had hoped for?”
Her gaze darted to Silas and away again almost so quickly he might have imagined it. “It has. I miss my sisters, of course, but I can hardly imagine leaving London now.”
“Are you leaving?” Silas couldn’t help himself. She had said her father wished for her to become engaged soon. What if she was on the cusp of that and the plan was to spirit her away to the man’s parish to be married post-haste?
“No,” she said, “but Papa has been known to change his plans without warning.”
“He certainly has made a habit of coming and going,” Aunt Louisa said as the first course was laid before them.
Arabella pulled at the fingertips of her glove, and Silas caught a flash of the butterfly pendant.
His gaze flicked to hers, but she was too busy removing her other glove to notice. She fiddled with the bracelet, however, once both gloves were sitting upon her lap. She must have sensed Silas’s eyes on her, for she looked up.
“Are you admiring my bracelet?” she asked in a low voice while everyone served themselves from the available dishes.
“I am,” he said with a little smile. “Where did you come by it?”
“I was obliged to take it by force.”
Silas’s brows shot up. “Were you now?”
“Yes. Are you surprised?”
She was captivating. He could still remember how she had looked the night he had met her at Vauxhall, her eyes framed by that enchanting mask. Looking back, he was nearly certain he had already begun to fall in love with her then.
“What surprises me is that someone would find it possible to deny you anything you wanted.”
Her clear eyes held his, a glimmer of intensity behind the amusement. “Anything?”
His fingers tightened around his fork, for her meaning was clear: she wanted him.
And gads, how he wanted her! But it was not in his power to give her what she wanted—or what she thought she wanted.
He broke his gaze away and reached for a platter of peas. “Would you care for some peas?” He waited for her answer, mixing them together for an excuse to avoid her eye, for the choices he made when she was in his sight were not the ones he should be making.
She did not respond, however, and he was obliged to look at her.
“Did I speak amiss?” she asked in a soft, subdued voice.
“No.” He glanced around to ensure no one was paying them any heed. “You have not said or done anything amiss.”
This did not have the effect of reassuring her as he had hoped. Indeed, her brow knit more closely. “You mean to say that you have.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Fairchild, however, and had no further opportunity to speak before the women rose to go to the drawing room.
Miss Easton did so in a more subdued manner than usual.
Silas suppressed a sigh once the door closed behind the women.
The covers were removed and the port brought in, and Frederick pinned Silas with a speaking glance.
Now was the time. The moment he had been waiting for. And yet, there was a heaviness over him as he cleared his throat. “Will you excuse me a moment, gentlemen? I must attend to a private matter.”
“Does the matter’s name begin with a Miss and end with an Easton?” Drake asked with a wink.
“No,” Silas said with less good humor than usual.
He forced himself to offer a grimacing smile and put a hand to his stomach as he rose to his feet.
“I feel a bit unwell.” It was true enough.
His stomach was swimming with nerves, his hands becoming clammy, and his heart beating at a clipping pace as he left the room.
The corridor was lit by a half-dozen sconces, but it was otherwise quiet. The servants must have descended belowstairs, no doubt eager to partake of their own meal.
Silas made his way with soft feet toward the study and put his hand on the knob, turning it slowly. He pushed open the door, and the light from the nearest candle illuminated the otherwise dark room.
He looked down the corridor, then went to a table against the wall, took the candle, and lit it using the nearest sconce.
Protecting the flame with his hand, he hurried into the study and closed the door softly behind him.
The room was lined with shelves of books, their gold lettering glinting in the candlelight.
He strode straight for the desk and set the candle upon it.
There was a large drawer on either side of the tall wingback chair, and he gently pulled open the first one.
A sheaf of papers sat on top, and after glancing at the first two sheets and finding them to be letters, he set them on the desk and continued searching.
Beneath was a leather folio, and his heart skipped.
He pulled it out and eagerly flipped it open, his eyes searching the neat text.
His chest deflated. It was a ledger, but it seemed to be the one for the townhouse.
He flipped through it to see whether there were any abnormal expenses—or any mention of Seamark Trading, the competitor he had secretly helped, then joined. After a dozen pages and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he set the ledger down atop the papers on the desk to continue his search.
He was too late to catch the sealing wax stick as it toppled over, rolled, then fell off the desk.
He cringed at the sound, freezing in place and clenching his eyes shut until the ear-shattering sound had dissipated. Not moving a muscle, he listened for any other noise.
When none came, his shoulders slowly relaxed.
A sheaf of letters was beneath the ledger, and he gave them a cursory glance just as the door opened, and a silhouette appeared in the doorway.