Chapter 10 An Invitation
AN INVITATION
The Marquess of Fordham rode along Rotten Row as if he owned it. He tipped his hat to acquaintances and smiled at every pretty lady who batted her lashes.
Temple wanted to tear his throat out. The man had tried to kill Diana, and after last night’s interlude in Diana’s room, she was Temple’s. His to hold and his to protect. His to bring to climax, too.
And no monster of a transcendent would harm her.
God, Diana had woken something strong in him, something with teeth, and he couldn’t cage it again.
“He looks almost sickly,” Sybil said, her arm linked loosely through his. “But he does not seem to care. If one ignores the shadows beneath his eyes, he’s horribly charming. If he’d take care of himself, he’d be horribly good looking. It’s a shame, really; a waste of natural beauty.”
“He’s a snake,” Temple growled.
“My, my. You are discomposed more than usual this morning. Do you know his name?”
Temple swallowed another growl, tamed his voice. “Yes.”
“And it is…?” That tone was the soft, sweet one she used to get her way.
Not in this she wouldn’t. “He is no one you need to know.”
“I think I should like to know him very well.”
Temple stopped her in the middle of the path. “Look at me, Sybil, and drop the grin. He’s not a man to be trifled with. A rogue of the worst sort. Forget him.”
She twisted her mouth to the side. “Why do you get to be charmed by him, but I must put him out of mind?”
“Do not test me on this, Sybil. Trust me. Sometimes the most dangerous birds have the loveliest plumage.”
She sighed and dragged him back down the path. “You’re a zoologist now, I suppose, as well as a baron. Why are we here again? Solely to not look at charming scoundrels?”
To keep a close eye on charming scoundrels. And also because Diana had told him to come here. “Hyde Park is important to this crowd. Like the ball, attending is how you show you’re wanted, part of their world.”
“Part of their world? You’ve not said a single word to a single person, Temple. As ever, the only world you belong to is your own.”
“Miss Chester said it was not necessary to speak. It is enough to be seen.”
“Miss Chester, hm? You’ve mentioned her twelve times since we set out. Is she a potential Baroness Knightly?”
Time to confess. “Yes.”
“Temple!” A gasp in her voice, a high note of giddiness. “Have you told Mother yet? Have you forged the rings?”
“No. And no. But…” He steered her toward the street, toward the carriage they’d abandoned earlier. “If you can convince Miss Chester to come with us, I was hoping she might meet Mother tonight.”
Sybil slapped his arms. “You sly man! How long have you been courting her?”
“A fortnight. I’ve known her a bit longer.”
“And of course she is already falling for you. You work fast, brother.”
“She’s not falling.” Not entirely at least. She’d certainly liked kissing him, enjoyed his attentions beneath her skirts, her body wet and eager.
“She’s being rather stubborn. I am hopeful, though, that meeting our family might work in my favor.
” He helped Sybil up into the carriage and took his own seat across from her.
“A miscalculation, that. You’re more likely to scare her away. We’re a… boisterous lot.”
But boisterous might be what Diana needed.
“We’re going to collect her now,” he said as the carriage rolled forward.
The wheels glided, their steel cores rebuffing any debris that could possibly cause a bumpy ride.
He’d gotten them just right, the heat and the shape of them doing exactly as he’d hoped.
If only his courtship of Diana could be shaped so easily.
“But I must tell you a little about her before you meet her.”
“Yes, please.” Sybil rubbed her hands together.
“She’s a marquess’s granddaughter.”
“Excellent catch!”
“The current marquess is her cousin.”
“A good connection to have.”
Temple grunted. No need to tell her the sickly but beautiful and charming man they’d been watching was the marquess in question. “I do not think he will welcome me into the family with open arms.”
“And why not?” Sybil was bristling now. “You are the king’s alchemist. The Guild may have kicked you out, but—”
“No. It is not that. It is that until recently Miss Chester was engaged to marry him.”
Sybil froze. Then she came back to life with a rapid series of blinks. Then she inhaled all in a rush. “Oh, Temple, no!”
“Yes.”
“You are stealing another man’s woman!” She leaned over and slapped his knee.
“She does not wish to marry him. He is a danger to her. That is why she is in her current situation.”
“Current… situation… Which is?”
“She is working as a shopgirl. At a potion shop.”
“I think you’ve broken me, Temple. This is too much shocking information at once. You must be teasing me. Ladies with marquesses in their extended families do not work in potion shops.”
“This one does. She’s hiding from her vile cousin. I should not even be using her real name, but as I intend to marry her, you’ll know it soon enough. But do not use it yourself. I’ve offered marriage already.” Twice, but surely the first proposal didn’t count. “And she’s refused me.”
“Sounds like you should find another woman.”
“No.” This one fit his purposes precisely. She held no love for the ton that had hurt her, yet she could help him navigate it. And she did not seem to look down on him. She never treated him like a lapdog or a social climber. “Only she will do.”
“Aw, Temple.” Sybil fluttered her lashes and clutched her hands at her heart. “Have you found your match? The carbon to your iron?”
Carbon made iron into steel, made it stronger. “Yes, I think she can be.”
“I would swoon, but the tone of your voice is decidedly unromantic. It’s as if you have said, ‘I think I will inject a bit of nickel into the next prototype.’”
Temple scratched his jaw. “I’ve not worked much with nickel, but depending on the—”
“That is not the point! The point is that you are impossible, and I do not at all blame her for not falling in love with you. You have as much romance in you as does a chamber pot.”
He scowled. “Not true. I gave her books.”
Sybil groaned.
“She likes books,” he grumbled.
The carriage stopped, and Sybil hopped down before he could help her. He lumbered out after her, almost bumping into her as she looked up at the sign swinging above the shop door.
“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she breathed. “You didn’t say your ladylove worked here.” She dashed into the store.
Temple waited a moment. Diana would be surprised to see him so soon. And she’d be irate to see he’d brought someone else here. She would view Sybil as another mouth to spill her secret.
He pushed inside and found her immediately.
She stood behind another potion mistress, head tilted at a curious angle.
Beneath the obscuring brim of an overly large lace cap, her head tilting this way and that to best see what the other woman was doing on the worktable.
She was handed a bowl of leaves and a pestle, and she set to work, muddling the plant, adding a handful of berries of some sort when prompted, inspecting her work with her lovely lips twisted to the side.
However long it would take her to feel his regard on her, he did not mind. He could watch her like this for hours. An entire play marched across her face as she worked. A fascinating story.
“You are besotted. I see it now.” Sybil clucked just like their mother. “Poor Tempy. Clearly you’ve fallen for a woman who does not love you back.”
“I’ve not fallen.” He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “Let us retrieve her.” He strode toward Miss Chester, and finally she looked up, her clear-eyed concentration giving way to confusion.
“‘Let us retrieve her,’” Sybil repeated in a deep, grumbly approximation of Temple’s voice. She rolled her eyes. “So romantic.”
“What are you doing here?” Diana asked, wiping her hands on her apron. “It is still an hour or so until closing.”
“I have Lady Guinevere’s approval to steal you away for the rest of the day.”
Diana’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t say anything.”
“I asked her to keep it secret. I thought you might try to dash off otherwise.”
“Temple.” Sybil smacked him on the arm. He always ended up with a collection of bruises after a day out with her. “You cannot browbeat a lady like this!”
“I’m not browbeating.”
Sybil glided around the long weathered worktable and linked her arm through Diana’s. “She is a lady, not an alchemist’s daughter. She’s like… air and light where we are all steel and coal. You cannot treat her the same.”
Diana pulled up taller, though she would never reach Sybil’s height. “I am made of stouter stuff than air. And light is powerful, I’ll have you know.”
Temple laughed. He couldn’t help it. This was one of the reasons Diana was the right choice. When called delicate, she disagreed. This was not a woman who wanted to be coddled.
But she should be cherished nonetheless.
His laugh died beneath the slash of a scowl. Cherished? Where had that nonsense come from? Probably the same unknowable place his other foolishness flowed from. I am a temple to Diana? Enough to make a fellow groan.
“You are made of sterner stuff, Miss Chester. And my sister will know that after a while.”
“Sister?” Diana looked from the one of them to the other. “You look nothing alike.”
“Thank you,” Sybil said. She made a curtsy. “I am Miss Sybil Grant, that brute’s younger and better-looking sister. Though I am second oldest in the family. The family whom, I’m pleased to announce, you are to visit tonight! What do you say to that, Miss Chester?”
“No. I apologize and thank you for the invitation.” Diana began to back away from them. She eyed him like he was a particularly odiferous spot of mud of her shoes. “But I am afraid I must work.”
He followed her. “Sybil, stay here. I must have a word with Miss Chester.”
“No,” Diana said. “There’s no need for a conversation.”
“I seem to have found another favorite word of yours.”
“No.”