Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

P hineas couldn't come to grips with his own behavior, but he was thankful for the timely interruption by his wily aunts. After the wild chase concerning one non-existent, rabid dog, he did what he should have done. He took a break. He sat down and gave his brain something else to focus on because he had clearly lost all focus the minute he woke to an empty bed Christmas morning.

He never dreamed it was his behavior that needed checking. Had it not been for the solicitor who made the guest list in the first place, Phineas would have never discovered the Widows' League, never had a conversation with Lady Fairchild, a kindly young widow, and perhaps, never located Sunshine's residence.

The house itself was not registered under her name, which should have come as no surprise, except the name on the deed was not Richard Price, her husband. It was the name of a wealthy landowner, a Mr. Arthur Wallace. As a result, the information led to his not-so-brilliant detective work that turned up Mr. Wallace as Mrs. Richard Price's benefactor for five years.

For a brief moment, he couldn't blame her for taking such an offer, not if she had been left with nothing, if she had had no means. But then, after realizing the man was old enough to be her father, Phineas could no longer hold back his jealousy.

Jealousy?

He shook his head, having thrown himself into a chair after brandishing a glass of hard spirits from a decanter in his grandfather's study. He was driven by the irrational inability to accept that she might have preferred Mr. Wallace over him.

In light of a much-needed sanity reclaiming hour, he could see how ridiculous he had become. He held no position of authority over Sunshine. In fact, he would guess that no man had ever held that.

They needed to talk. From her delightful mouth, he needed to hear how she felt. He wasn't surprised to find that she'd retired, but she wasn't in the guestroom where she had stayed during the party.

Outside the room they had shared, he leaned against the frame with his palms on either side of the door, his forehead pressed to the cold paneled oak. No one need tell him she was in there. He at least knew her that well. Did she think it was his room? Or did she come back to feel something visceral that would prove their night had been something more than either of them expected?

Pausing his knuckles an inch from the door, ready for a quick staccato, he took a steadying breath and slowly turned the doorknob, happy that it wasn't locked. He closed his eyes against the scene of her lying in a coiled position on the bedspread, her back to the door, her luscious red hair fanned out on the pillow she'd vacated Christmas morning. She'd left her traveling jacket over the back of a chair.

She didn't say anything. She didn't move, and he found himself just as frozen.

After shutting the door with a soft click, he bit his lip and wondered if he should go.

But the bed was too close, and he was too overwhelmed to abandon her. He placed a knee on the counterpane, sinking into his inability to stand by and do nothing, then quietly rolled up beside her. Guarding her body with his, he chanced an arm around her. He didn't pull her in close, he didn't do anything but rub a hand down her white muslin-covered arm and felt the first pang of hope in his throat when her hand covered his. The scent of her was so familiar. The lemon, mingled with the smell of the coming storm, intoxicated him as he nuzzled her hair.

He wanted to ask if she had been looking for him, but the question was a selfish one.

"I am so sorry, Sunshine," he said simply, his head bowed against the back of hers.

"Your aunts have a knack for disarming a loaded situation just at the right moment."

"My aunts listen at doors."

She half turned, her gaze stretching over her shoulder in disbelief. "They do not."

He tried to smile. "I promise that they do."

She turned her face away and snuggled back against him, coaxing a low wistful sigh from him. Did she forgive him? He certainly hoped so, but he wasn't about to tempt fate. Not yet.

"Do you think it was for your benefit or mine?" she asked.

"A week ago, I would have said it was for mine. Today, however, I think they recognized the words of an idiot sooner than I did."

"You should have asked me."

He gave her a squeeze. "I should have never believed the lies in the first place."

Now, she turned in his arms, lying on her back, holding his arm over her stomach. "Not that. You should have asked me if you were being an idiot. I would have been happy to tell you the truth."

"I don't deserve your kindness, but I'll take it." He kissed her nose, then leaned on his propped elbow with his head against his fist.

"If you must know, I'm a little flattered, though I think it's sad of me to be flattered by the jealousy of my lover for my benefactor, who happens to be my father's age."

"Am I your lover?" He smiled softly. "Not your former lover?"

"Depends."

"What are the grounds? Besides silence, of course." He chanced a little banter, hoping her cheeky responses would continue—a sure sign that everything would be all right.

"I'm all about the money." She shifted her head on the pillow, her hair a seductive glow surrounding her.

"Do I at least get a hint of his offer so I can properly counter?"

She shook her head. "I'll never tell except to say he did provide the house. That gift he gave to me even if the bank does not recognize it outright."

He watched her, his gaze falling to her mouth. He'd give her anything, but he didn't want to scare her with his ardent plea that she never leave him. Tracing the back of her hand and wishing to touch her, he said, "I am a man of honor, and I do not step on another man's property." He meant that more for the memory of her husband than the jest she made about Mr. Wallace and his offer.

"Well, have no fear there. I've never been another man's property." Her eyes shined like her name, and her smile was forgiveness itself.

"Can we be candid?" The question was serious, but his reasoning was not as it had been before, and he hoped she saw that.

She swallowed and gave a little nod.

"If you didn't want me to find you, then why did you give me your name? The party registrar was under Mrs. Richard Price."

She looked away, unwittingly exposing the most delicious part of her neck. "I gave my name because your proximity made all wisdom flee, and I couldn't think fast enough." She turned her gaze back to him. "You must understand I had not been to a party in years. And I promise you that when I did attend parties, I never dressed as I did that night. The mask made it work. It wasn't me. You went in search of someone who does not exist."

He grazed a finger across her brow, over a loose strand of hair, sliding it over her ear, then traced her jawline until his hand lay on her chest. He gently rubbed a finger along her breastbone. "You're in there, Sunshine Price. Don't lose a wonderful memory over should have . Besides, you came back here. Why do you think that is?"

"I came to retrieve my feather," she said with such conviction, but her eyes were the tell. They were round, big enough for the truth, but she couldn't look him in the eye when she said it.

"You came for the feather, or you came for me?"

"For the feather," she said with mocking defiance, her eyes wandering to his mouth. "And maybe for a kiss."

He almost smiled but decided to steal the moment before he broke it again. He curled his fingers around her nape, holding her head while he bent and kissed her. It was a tentative kiss, a question, but she tasted like freedom and redemption. He was as drawn to her mouth as he had been to the sea. If he had to fight for one or the other, he would pick her, and he knew in that moment that he would never see his ship again. Not as its captain, anyhow, because he'd never let her go. Bully to her benefactor. He'd pay for her with his life.

She kissed him back but soon pressed her hands to his chest. "Tell me something."

"Anything."

"You thought I was a courtesan when you met me, didn't you?"

He rubbed his eyes shut, falling back on his pillow. He felt a feminine half-hearted thump of a fist on his chest. He lifted his head enough to see her leaning over him. "For the love of God, Sunshine, can you blame me?"

She flared her laughing green eyes at him.

"No, no, no. That's not what I mean. Not because of the way you were dressed or your actions."

"Then I'm not as good as a courtesan?" She shot back that question with the training of every female who ever purposed to snare a man.

"Am I digging a hole?"

"I'm helping you. But yes, you're digging a hole."

"You're enjoying this," he accused playfully. "Can you lend me a rope, at least?"

"Not yet." Her smile was the only lifeline he needed.

"What I meant was how could you blame me when all I wanted to do was skip the niceties and tumble you right there? A courtesan might have expected that."

"So, you fancied all this." She looked down, rolling her wrist to emphasize her body.

"And this." He swiped up a rebellious spiral of red hair, giving the silk strand a little tug.

"Hm." She shrugged her eyebrows and fell back on her pillow beside him. "I should be insulted, but I believe I am more flattered than I'd care to admit."

He leaned on his elbow again, staring down at her. "And this." He pointed to her lips.

"I get the idea."

"Ah, but I don't think you do. Not completely." He closed the gap, his mouth an inch from hers, and he got the reaction he wanted. Her pupils spread out like passion warms the body. "You came for a kiss."

She nodded, then swallowed hard. "And to find out if there was something between us."

"Other than our clothes?"

She sighed, and the luster in her eyes sparked. "And the feather," she dared to comment.

He started to laugh. "I may have wanted to kiss you that night, but it was you and our conversation, the ease of being in your presence that drew me to stand behind a plant at my own party, ignoring all the boring butterflies. It was not your mask that ignited the banter between us. It was you. I wanted to talk to you. And that, my love, is what I meant when I pointed to your mouth."

"But you also wanted a courtesan."

"I wanted to make love to you, and gentlemen do not seduce young ladies. Not even widows."

She pulled her mouth to the side, shifting closer to him. "I wanted for once in my life to be free. I imagined I was your mistress."

"I imagined you were my wife."

A quick knock interrupted his confession. His Aunt Vada barged through the door, taking one step into the room before she halted. "I thought we lost you both."

"One could only hope," he said, pulling himself into a sitting position. Sunshine did the same, curling her legs underneath her dress, but neither one of them left the bed.

"I've little doubt I could ever shock you, Phineas. But your lovely lady has a fine blush about her."

He didn't bother looking at Sunshine, just ignored his aunt's comment. Vada was generally the more proper one of the two, so he could only imagine what his aunts had been up to. He didn't have long to wait.

Nora stuck her head out from behind Vada. "Does she need a fainting couch? Women of leisure get the vapors often in this house."

"She doesn't have the vapors." He stole a glance over his shoulder. "Do you?" To his amazement Sunshine was biting back a chuckle.

"No." She shook her head. "I do not get the vapors."

Nora sighed, almost sounding disappointed. "Well, if you do, I suppose the bed is as good a place as any."

Vada chimed in unnecessarily, "His mother got the vapors often."

"She passed out for two days once," Nora said.

Phineas turned to Sunshine again. "Two hours, not two days."

"Yes," Vada said. "Until Phin's father rescued her as if she were Sleeping Beauty."

"She was so beautiful, the dear." Nora moved to stand beside Vada, clucking her tongue and shaking her head soulfully.

Sunshine made to move. "I should find my room."

"Isn't this the one you stayed in during the party?" Vada was astute.

Sunshine stuttered, unsure what to do. "No. Not exactly."

"You see, Vada, she did have the vapors. I knew it." Nora turned her innocent eyes on Phineas. "Sweet as your mother. Take care of that one. If she needs the physician, let us know."

Phineas was speechless as the older ladies left the room. Vada stopped to poke her head in again. "Should I lock it for you this time?"

"Yes," Sunshine quickly replied, and Phineas knew then that he had fallen into the greatest luck and perhaps the greatest love he'd ever share. The door clicked into its frame, then opened again. A thin hand appeared with a key on a string, looped it around the inside doorknob, and this time left them alone for good.