Chapter 7

The sun hated her, wanted to melt her. Clearly, Andromeda had insulted it at some point in her brief four and twenty years, and it wished now to burn her to a crisp right there in Hyde Park. And when their weekly, familial Hyde Park stroll was already too hot for comfort. It had always been difficult hiding their activities from Samuel, hiding the notes the women slipped them with book titles folded between wrinkled paper ends in their pockets. Part of their scheme. Collect the woman's requests during their walk and exchange the books the next day at their weekly tea. A clean system that felt more precarious than ever.

Because the last fortnight had proved that Mr. Kingston did not give up, and that, like an unwanted bug buzzing around your head, he'd pop up no matter how many times you swatted him away.

She snapped open her fan and tried to cool her face, then she hooked her other arm through Lottie's and pulled her close. "We must figure out how to rid ourselves of Mr. Kingston."

"He will not budge. He's like a tiny stone at the very tip of a boot, and no matter how you shake, it will not come out. Four times in the last week. He's appeared four times. Every place we go. I quite expect to see him everywhere. At least he's given up on me."

"I wish he hadn't focused on me. And always with that little half grin."

"A smug half grin."

Andromeda could not comment because she'd have to disagree. Kingston wore a grin that sailed well past smug all the way to knowing. And heaven help her, it charged straight on to charming after that. She shivered. Ridiculous reaction since her skin was melting off.

She glared at the sun and pulled her straw bonnet lower over her face. Her neck sweated beneath the ribbon tied under her chin. "You'd think Samuel would not make us parade about in this sort of heat."

"Samuel's goal in life is to torment us these days. So, I'm not at all surprised he's planned to swoon from the heat as this afternoon's activity." Lottie nodded to a carriage across the park. "Lady Templeton. The nerve."

"I know. We're good enough to borrow books from but not good enough for her son." Andromeda lowered her voice even more. "We cannot let anyone find out about Prudence and the twins. They'll be ruined as we are." She looked over her shoulder.

Samuel walked behind them with their three youngest sisters. June held his hand, and Felicity and Gertrude strolled on either side of him. Behind them, Prudence and the twins bent their heads near one another, whispering in the summer heat, bonnets brimming shadows on the path before them. Samuel smiled, laughed—something he did not do often. During these walks each week, he returned to the brother he'd been before their parents' deaths. There existed a before and after for all of them, Andromeda included.

Lottie shook her head, her grasp of Andromeda's arm tightening. "I begin to think we should… give it up."

"Lottie, no! We can't. Mama—"

"Was a married woman. A duchess. She had less to lose than we do. I do not care. I'll never wed unless…" Lottie's gaze fluttered to the path ahead where Lord Noble trotted a lovely widow on his arm. "You, however… this scheme has severely limited your options, Annie, and I cannot be happy with it. You cannot be happy with it."

"Hush." The heat made her angry, but Lottie's words fanned her ire further. "I am quite content with my circumstances." Most days. "It is important we carry on Mother's work."

"Why?" Lottie tugged Andromeda to a stop.

"Why?" Andromeda repeated before letting her mouth hang open.

"Yes, why continue? With our lady borrowers grumbling and Mr. Kingston chasing you about and our sisters' reputations at risk."

Because it was her life now, the only thing she had. Because it kept them all together and happy as they'd not been before they'd discovered the book, after their parents' deaths. "We'll keep their involvement secret. As we always have. Besides, we can't question everything now. We're deep in it."

Lottie sighed. "I'm tired, Annie. Samuel has the right of it. Mother would have wanted us happy, and I'm not sure I am."

Andromeda's heart felt like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of the serpentine. "I don't know."

"Annie." Lottie sighed as she turned to survey the path behind them. "I think—oh rubbish."

"What is it?" Andromeda followed the trajectory of her sister's gaze. "Hell and chaos. He's here."

Mr. Kingston strode toward them, gaining ground like an invading army and cutting a confident swath through the crowd. Beside him walked a gangly boy of no more than thirteen or fourteen. The boy looked much like his older brother with dark hair and a confident swagger. He perhaps presented a glimpse of what Mr. Kingston had looked like as a young lad—lean and determined, a hint of handsomeness, and all the energy of the world bound up in his frame, waiting for release. They stopped when they passed Samuel and their sisters who strolled with him.

As introductions were made, Andromeda ducked behind Lottie. "Hide me."

"No use. He's seen us. You know he's seen us."

He'd seen Andromeda, at least. When she peeked out from behind Lottie, he saw her. He said something to the young man walking beside him and left the boy with Samuel. Then his gaze trained on Andromeda, and he set his steps toward her.

"Be bigger!" Andromeda demanded.

"Unlikely to happen," Lottie hissed, trying to shake free of Andromeda's hold. She did, and used her freedom for betrayal, shooting up straight and waving her arm high as she twirled to face the opposite direction. "Lord Noble!" she yelled the name.

The viscount, many steps ahead of them on the path, glanced over his shoulder, frowned, and picked up his pace.

"Don't leave me," Andromeda pleaded.

"The devil," Lottie grumbled, still focused on the fleeing man. "Why can't he save me just this once?"

"I'm the one who needs saving."

Lottie pinched Andromeda's upper arm. "Get rid of Kingston. He's after you now." Then she shot off after the man who didn't want her.

Leaving Andromeda to face a man who did want her. Inexplicably.

"What are you thinking?" Why did his voice, deep and rich, relocate her heart into her throat? He stood so near, his words a whisper in her ear, and his heat an unwanted furnace on such a hot day.

She inhaled and faced him. "Mr. Kingston. How… fortuitous to meet you today."

"Your brother says all meetings with the woman you're courting must seem impulsive, not pre-arranged. I suppose he thinks it more romantic."

"Then this meeting was not ordained by chance or fate?"

"Not at all, I'm afraid. Not that I'm supposed to tell you that. But your brother's guide is not working, so I'm exploring a few of my own strategies."

Sounded dangerous. "As far as I'm aware, Samuel has not courted a single woman. I'm not surprised his advice has proved lacking."

He tipped his head to the side. "He said to cultivate jealousy, and I'm not sure that worked. Then he suggests cultivating a bit of distance, so the lady comes to you. But you have stayed right where you are. I've lost faith in his methods. If they are working, they are not working quickly enough. I brought you a lemonade at that garden party last week, and you ran away."

"What I did is neither here nor there. You were not invited to that party at all."

He shrugged. "I've never cared much about invitations. I go where I wish to go."

"I'm aware." Time to tell him in no uncertain terms she did not welcome him as a suitor. She'd say the most gallant thing a suitor can do is concede when he has lost.

What she said was, "Why do you wish to marry me, Mr. Kingston?"

He scratched his neck and looked down the path, away from her. A shadow of scruff already dusted across his jaw and cheek, and that lock that liked to tease her leant him a rakish air. Leant? Revealed more like. He had kissed her, after all.

He turned back to her. "Perhaps telling you will help my suit."

"I cannot guarantee that, but I'd like to know all the same."

"Very well then, Captain."

Oh, what a silly, absurd nickname for her. But it made her want to grin.

He pointed toward her brother and sisters. "Do you see that boy who is speaking with your brother?"

"Yes."

"He's my brother. Half brother. Rupert Edward Alexander Kingston, the Earl of Avelford."

"You have your father's surname, same as your brother?"

"My stepmother insisted. It's my legal name."

They walked in silence for a moment, then she whistled. "Your brother possesses quite a prestigious name. And long. To think, he was just a wrinkly baby once and had to carry the weight of Rupert Edward Alexander Kingston on his tiny shoulders. Poor boy."

"Yes, poor boy." He sounded quite grim. "The baby rogue."

"Pardon?"

"My brother has discovered the joys of vice."

"Which one?" she asked.

"All of them, it seems."

"How unfortunate."

"Agreed. The boy needs a steadying maternal influence."

Ah. There it was. The reason. "And you expect me to provide that?"

"Yes."

"What if I have other plans for my life?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Do you? And don't say marry Lord Bashton. As far as I'm concerned, he does not exist."

"You… you unbelievable… ah!" Her words sputtered out of existence, extinguished by a rising ire that shook her entire body. "Bashton is an incredibly important part of my life." Not a lie. She needed him. Needed his books.

"And if he never steps up and marries you? What then? He'll have wasted the best years of your life. He's a thief." His voice grew in passion as it lowered in tone, and she tilted her head to hide her face beneath her bonnet and to avoid the heat of his expression, which rivaled that of the sun. "If you were not waiting for him, what would you be doing?"

"I'd… I would…" Nothing. She should say pursuing marriage, already married. But the truth proved darker. She'd be doing nothing. She'd still be lost in the swamp of grief that had sucked her down into its mossy depths. For years now, she'd had no purpose, no dream, other than her mother's. And if Bashton were not helping her, she'd not have even that.

Her mother's dream had pulled her into the sunshine, saved her.

But sometimes she looked back into the swamp and saw glimpses of what she'd lost there, a longing very much alive but stuck in sticky darkness. A longing, small and voiceless, abandoned in the darkest, deepest bit of herself. Longing that had broken into pieces with the carriage that had killed her parents.

No. Not longing. Not that at all. A silly girl's fantasies, nothing more. Good riddance to them.

She lifted her face to peer into his. "Your brother and mine appear to get along well."

"You did not answer my question, but I'll let it pass." He considered the forms walking their way. Samuel and Lord Avelford chatted, surrounded by her younger sisters. "Alex has much he can learn from your brother. Another reason you're an ideal candidate for marriage."

"You wish to marry me for my brother?" Worse and worse. "Besides Lottie, I have three other marriageable sisters. Marrying one of them will be just the same as marrying me."

He leaned low, and his gaze dipped to her lips. "I wish to marry one of your brother's marriageable charges because of him, because of Alex. I wish to marry you because of our kiss."

She gave him no reply. She had no reply because, every time he mentioned the kiss, she found herself swept back to it, breathless and wanting.

"Nothing to say to that? Very well. Though if you remain silent on the matter much longer, I may be inspired to have another go at it."

She fled, striding away from him. The rogue, to be so bold with her. His brother clearly came by his proclivities naturally.

Kingston's long legs caught up to her with ease. Would she ever be rid of him?

"Lady Andromeda!" Her name nearly screamed across the park in high-pitched, familiar, female tones.

"No," Andromeda groaned.

"Who is that?" Kingston asked.

The screamer bustled toward them, waving.

"It's an… acquaintance," Andromeda whispered.

"Lady Andromeda!" Viscountess Macintosh yelled away, this time running forward with a bit of paper clutched in her hand, her bonnet falling behind her to reveal gray hair and wide gray eyes.

Andromeda rushed to meet her, leaving Kingston several paces behind her. She'd have to keep this quick. "Good day, my lady. How are you?"

Lady Macintosh held out her hand. "Very well indeed, now that I've found you. I've been dying to read—"

"Shh!" Andromeda reached for the outstretched hand. "We must remain circumspect, or—"

"And who is this, Lady Andromeda?" Kingston said from just behind her.

Hell and chaos. Andromeda's throat became bark, but she found a smile and wrapped her lips up in it. "Mr. Kingston, may I introduce Viscountess Macintosh? And Lady Macintosh, have you met Mr. Kingston? He is a dear friend of my brother's, and he owns The Daily Current."

"Among other papers," Mr. Kingston added with a bow.

The older woman inspected him from hat to boots and back up. "I've heard of you. I like that column in your paper, about your adventures at sea. Needs more romance, though."

"I agree." Kingston's grin appeared. Smug. Naturally. "I'm working on the romance as we speak."

"Lady Macintosh," Andromeda said, rushing forward to cover up Kingston's clear insinuation, "was just telling me the title of a book she adores. Isn't that right, my lady?"

Lady Macintosh frowned. "I've not read it yet. I've finished the poem about the tree with all the roots and the spring gardens, but—"

"I do apologize for mishearing you." Lady Andromeda's gaze flashed briefly to Tristan and back. To Lady Macintosh. Did he suspect? Of course he did. She wanted to groan. Perhaps stomp a bit. Maybe plant him a facer. Instead, she thought quickly. "I'm not sure which book you're talking about."

"The one with the tree," Kingston said helpfully, "and the garden."

"Read that one," Lady Macintosh snapped. "What I want now is…" Her request trailed off as Lady Macintosh's eyes widened. Now she understood. Just a few beats too late.

Andromeda could melt into a puddle, and the heat had nothing to do with it.

"My dear," Lady Macintosh said, holding out both hands, palms down, that bit of scandalous paper hidden, "I do hope your brother is not being too harsh about everything. His demand you girls marry is… well… it makes sense of course, but… a girl must be ready to be leg shackled." She wiggled her fingers as if she expected Andromeda to grasp them.

So Andromeda did, and in the commiserating squeeze of hands, paper was exchanged. Andromeda palmed it, pretended to have an itch in the slivered space of skin between glove and spencer, slipped it up her sleeve. "We are coming to terms with our brother's dictate. And we'll see you tomorrow, yes? For tea?"

"Always, my girl, always." Lady Macintosh smiled, then ambled off as if she hadn't just handed Andromeda a powder keg in front of a man who was an entire bonfire.

"Can you explain all that?" Kingston wasted no time in proving himself, once more, an annoyance.

"Explain what?"

"You do not lie well. The corner of your mouth twitches and one eyebrow flies up into your hairline."

Was her brow… her mouth… hell and chaos. She slammed the brow down and controlled the damnably twitchy corner of her lips. "How can you know whether I lie well if you have no idea whether I'm lying when I make that expression? Perhaps I'm merely annoyed. And with you around, is it any wonder?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then noticed another patron of their library approaching. Tall and slender and with unmistakable fiery red hair streaked with white. Mrs. Garrison.

"Hell and ten times the chaos," Andromeda muttered. The women were becoming rabid, making missteps. "Excuse me."

She stormed off to Mrs. Garrison, not daring to look to see if he followed and praying he did not. She whispered low when she reached the other woman's side. "I cannot receive your requests at the moment. As you see, I have a shadow, and he insists on sticking."

Mrs. Garrison pushed the brim of her bonnet up and studied Tristan from afar. "He's watching us. The admiral would say to stay the course with caution."

"Excellent advice." Mrs. Garrison's husband, whom she always referred to as the admiral, had advice for every situation, on or off the sea. "No paper exchanged today. Tell me what you want." The slip of paper up her sleeve itched. It stuck to her skin with a paste of sweat.

"You'll forget. The admiral says—"

"We'll figure it out tomorrow."

"But that's just it. There might not be many more tomorrows." Mrs. Garrison sniffed.

"What do you mean?"

"We all know the duke has demanded you and your sister wed. We all know that newspaperman has been sticking to you like glue. We all know an end when we see one, my dear. And I'll not be denied in what little time is left. Sometimes defeat must be suffered with grace. The admiral says that."

"Naturally." Her lips barely felt the word, her mind spinning with others. Defeat. An end. What Lottie had been speaking of, and it raced a chill down Andromeda's spine. She shook her head. "No. No, not an end. Lottie may be forced to stop, but not I. You are ensured your books for the future." The last word felt flat on her tongue.

"And what happens when you finally marry and move to Cornwall to be with your husband? Will your younger sisters—"

"No. They know nothing of it." Was she as horrid at lying as Kingston said? No use for it even if she was. Nothing to do but press on. "And Lord Bashton plans on moving here." She contained the wince that shriveled her insides. Bashton hadn't even responded to her last letter. Terribly unusual for him. Did he, like Lottie, wish for an end?

Why did the world spin around her? The air was hot and thick. Difficult to breathe. Becoming more so with each second. She folded her hands into a prayer and pressed the knot into her belly, but it did not undo the unseen knot hardening there, growing climbing vines of despair all through her.

A large, strong hand at her elbow, and a dark whisper at her ear. "You are pale, Lady Andromeda. Unusual for this weather. May I escort you to a bench?"

She blinked up at Kingston. When had he moved to her side? Had he heard anything? "I'm well." But she did not pull her elbow from his grasp because she did need support.

An end.

It all seemed to be rolling toward that dark cliff, but what waited down below for her?

Nothing. No one.

Mrs. Garrison's face soured as she surveyed Kingston. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lady Andromeda. I hope you'll be able to fulfill my request at that time."

"Of course," Andromeda said, but she did not feel her tongue making the shapes, did not feel the movement of her lips.

"You are ill," Kingston growled. "Come. There's a copse of trees just there. Away from everyone. You need shade. It will be cooler without the press of bodies."

She let him drag her toward it, though the voice in her head that said proper ladies did not traipse into the trees with clearly virile men screamed at her to run the opposite direction. The first footstep beneath the boughs felt like a dip into the coolest waters, soothing her soul as well as her skin. He released her hand, and she leaned against a tree. Its width and dipping branches concealed her from the strolling Londoners. She closed her eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths.

It was not the end. Of course not. Why would it be? Tomorrow, she would set everyone straight on that account. Lottie, their patrons—they would all hear in no uncertain terms that the library was not ending.

"What has upset you?" Kingston's voice, rough and low, grumbled through the space between them.

She opened her eyes to find him leaning against a tree opposite hers.

"The future," she answered truthfully, no energy for evasion.

His gaze was greener than the leaves above them. "I know that feeling well. Feels like a ship rocking beneath you. No steady ground."

"Yes. No. It feels more like standing in a room filled with sunlight and looking into a room drenched in darkness."

"Hm. You're right. Both perhaps."

"How do you know… when have you…?" She ducked her head. She should not ask probing questions, but he had asked questions that dug deep last time they'd met. She'd consider this payback.

"It's one of my earliest memories. Not knowing what would happen to me after my mother died, where I'd end up. And then, as I grew older. Most eldest sons of earls know what their futures will be. I did not. I traveled briefly with my uncle, a captain in the navy, but that was like your dark room. I couldn't see what would happen next, where I fit. I had no taste for the regimented life of a sailor."

"You found where you fit though. You found out how to… how to light the candles in the next room."

He nodded. "The trick is to never stop moving forward. Set a goal, conquer it, then do it all again. Never stop."

Never stop? She'd never quite started. "I've been reading your papers," she admitted because speaking of it, of him, distracted her from the word still repeating in her mind, her chest, her roiling gut—stuck.

"Oh?" He popped off the tree and took a few steps toward her. "Other than their clear superiority to the other London papers, why?"

She chuckled, a lazy sort of sound. "Somehow, your ego always amazes me."

"I should amaze you."

She waved a limp hand in the air, chuckled once more. "Yet again… amazed."

"Tell me."

Why not? More lovely and necessary distraction while she stayed hidden in this copse from the women with slips of paper in their hands. "I thought to find some insight into you through your publication." See what sort of man she was up against. "Reading The Daily Current was quite revelatory."

"In what ways?"

"First, you are an excellent writer. The stories you publish every Sunday from your times at sea are riveting. Second, you are quite cunning. Because those stories are also incredibly positive toward the Crown."

He grinned. "It does not hurt to have our most popular articles also prove the most loyal to the Crown. Keeps the papers in their favor."

"But the stories of your exploits serve another purpose, do they not?"

His smile faltered.

"There's that bit hidden in the back about the climbing boys. Quite sympathetic to their plight. My brother and another duke, Collingford, I believe, are heading an attempt to ban the practice. Samuel is less than hopeful the bill he's supporting will pass. Your article seems devised to drum up support for a ban."

"Oh? I don't read every bit of text my papers publish. And I only write the one travel piece each month."

"You're hiding radical sentiment behind gossip and adventure tales."

He whistled. "I should be tucking my tail and running, but I'm impressed. Shh." He ambled even closer, braced his forearm on the tree trunk above her head. "It will be our secret." The man appeared to have two modes of operation—terrifyingly stoic and… flirtatious.

When he switched from one to the other, her stomach flipped, and she lost her words.

"I-I'll not tell a soul." And hopefully, if he discovered her secrets, he'd keep similarly quiet.

Their bodies were so close, so dangerously near to touching, and his green gaze bore into her, reminding her of their one kiss. As if she ever roamed far from thinking about it. She needed to be rid of him. She needed to collect those slips of paper, keep her secrets, and keep doing as she had been for four years. No the end. No stepping into dark rooms when the one she inhabited was so full of sunlight that she melted in it.

His other hand lifted, pulled at her bonnet string, and soon her bonnet came loose, and he was lifting it, dropping it so it lay discarded at their feet. With his thumb, he swiped a bit of sweat from her brow and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. His hand continued downward, his fingers trailing sparking sensations down her neck until they brushed her collarbone. His hand so large his thumb fit right against the pulse beneath her jaw. He wiped a bead of sweat from there, too. His touch scorched more surely than the sun did. "There's color in your cheeks now. Good. I'm not convinced bonnets are good for hot days."

But bonnets were not the clothing item of interest at the moment.

"Of course you are not wearing gloves," she breathed. "You never have your gloves."

"Damn things get in the way." He dipped closer, and though his gaze did not leave her eyes, she knew he had a different destination in mind—her lips.

She licked her lips, an involuntary action, a preparatory action, and closed her eyes.

"Have you read Pride and Prejudice yet?" he asked.

Her eyes popped back open, and something like frustration wiggled through her. "No, I've not."

"You should. Think of all the books in that dark room you're missing because you won't light a single candle to peek inside." He leaned so close their noses almost touched. "You want me to kiss you."

"No." The single word was an expectant breath.

"Horrid liar." Each of his words a caress, a kiss without lips. "I think of it every damn minute of the day. I'd very much like to do it again."

"It cannot have been that good. It… it was my first." A difficult admission.

His hand settled on the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, tightened. "I suppose I should bemoan your lack of experience, say you've been deprived. But I'm glad." That final word, hot and possessive against her skin.

She wanted his kiss. Felt like it might be the candle he'd spoken of. But the dark was so vast, so pitch, a single candle wouldn't do. Fear roared in, and she turned her head to the side so that his lips brushed her cheek.

Briefly, he rested his forehead against her temple. "Very well. Not yet."

"We should return to the others," she said, her voice husky as she'd never heard it before. "Your brother."

He lifted his head from the point of contact on her temple and faced the path that twined through the park, so crowded with bodies. "Where the hell did he go?" No longer languid and melting, Kingston pushed away from the tree, from her, and marched toward the crowd like a conquering general. Anger rumbled in his voice. But so did fear.

She ran to catch up and trotted beside him. "I'm sure he's fine."

He looked down at her, and those green eyes, usually so full of confidence, had drained entirely. Nothing but hesitance now, as if he did not know quite what to do or how to do it.

She'd thought to evade him this afternoon, to be done with him for good so she could return to the women, their requests, and her mother's legacy. But she'd worn that very expression so often it was burned onto her bones. She knew and hated the feel of it. So she patted his arm, smiled, and reassured him.

"We'll find your brother, Mr. Kingston."

They marched back into the stream of people, the summer sun less hot than her need to put the man walking beside her at ease. He'd walk into a fire to save his brother, and she understood that. Perhaps better than anyone else.