Chapter Twenty-Four

D inner was a decidedly awkward affair. The foursome seated around the table spoke of the mundane and the inane. No one touched upon the dangerous and tenuous situation that faced them. There was no talk of Arthur's murder, of Simon's plots, or Inspector Bates's apparent vendetta against all of womankind. In short, it was like so many society events. Nothing of consequence or substance was discussed, and everyone pretended to be completely unaware of the tension that existed between the parties present.

For Hettie, it was a relief when it finally came to an end. She and Honoria retreated to the drawing room while Vincent and Joss went to his study. Not a one of them cared that it was the proper or done thing. They all simply wanted to be away from one another for a moment.

"You must talk with him, Hettie," Honoria said as she perched on the edge of the settee. "The two of you have to reach some sort of understanding. The sooner the better. Or, if you should decide to marry, do you really want to face the scrutiny of everyone attempting to determine whether or not you are with child? And of course, this child will be born far less than nine months from the date of the marriage. Which means that everyone will be wondering whether the child is his or Arthur's."

"Do you honestly imagine that I've thought of anything else? But I cannot make decisions about marriage until we've done something to deter Inspector Bates. If he gets his way, he'll see me hang, and then it won't matter, will it? None of it will matter then."

"That will not happen," Honoria insisted. "If I have to put you on a ship to Italy to myself, you will not see the inside of a cell. Wretched places."

Hettie laughed. There she was, an adulteress carrying her lover's child, while her sister—who was always proper and circumspect and moral—was the only one of them who had spent any time under arrest. "I will happily take your word for the conditions. I have no wish to ever gain firsthand knowledge of what those facilities offer."

Honoria shuddered. "I pray that your wish to remain ignorant is granted. What will you do, Hettie? Mr. Ettinger—Joss—had his reasons for whatever transpired between you after."

He did. And he'd touched on them briefly. It rang true for her that he would do something out of some misguided sense of nobility. He might cast himself as the villain, but he was anything but. "I know that he had his reasons. I simply have to decide if they are enough. And it isn't—I am tired of being at the whim of a man. First with father, then with Arthur. I never had any power of my own. I existed solely at their mercy. I will not be with another man who feels he has the right to make all of my decisions for me. And as a widow, I've earned that right. Haven't I?"

"You have," she agreed. "But it can be a very lonely way to live. Men are high-handed by nature. All of them. Some will use that tendency to protect you, and others will use it to hurt and exploit you. Which of those two is the case with Mr. Josiah Ettinger?"

Hettie didn't answer. In truth, no answer was required. They both knew he fell into the former category rather than the latter. "I am very tired, Honoria. I think I shall retire for the night if you don't mind."

Honoria rose and briefly embraced her. "Rest, Hettie. Tomorrow is soon enough to tackle the many problems to be faced."

Hettie nodded and then left the drawing room. Taking the stairs slowly, a sign of her exhaustion, she made her way to the room that she had been given for an indefinite period of time. But as she reached it, she paused. Directly across the corridor, opening the door to his own chamber, was Joss.

Hettie allowed her gaze to roam over him, drinking in everything about him. She knew his kiss. She knew the calluses on his hands and how they felt against her skin. She knew the power and strength of his body moving against hers. But she knew very little else.

"We should talk," he said.

"Must we?"

He sighed, his head dropping. "Not tonight, no. But soon. You should get some rest." With that he reached for the doorknob to walk away from her.

"I didn't say that I had no wish for your company. I simply said that I've no wish to talk," Hettie offered those very bold words before opening her own door and stepping inside. But she didn't close it behind her.

*

Joss stared at that open door for a moment. Bemused. Bewitched. Possibly even bedeviled by her, that open door tempted him. And he was not the sort to resist temptation when it was something he truly desired.

With slow, languid steps, he crossed the hall and stepped into her room. Pausing there, he closed the door quietly behind him. "If you've no wish to talk, what is that you want instead?"

"Is it really so hard to guess?"

"No," he answered softly. "But I don't want to guess. I want to know, beyond even the faintest shadow of doubt, that I'm here because you want me in your bed."

"I want you, Joss. In my bed. Tonight."

"Only tonight?" Her response mattered to him far more than it was safe to admit. Certainly more than he wished it to.

She gave him an assessing stare. "I don't know the answer to that. Not yet. But I don't want to be alone. And I don't want to lie here sleepless, plagued by racing thoughts about how many things could go wrong in my life. It's a terrible thing to admit, but I intend to use you as a distraction."

It wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He wasn't even certain what it was he'd hoped she would say, only that his disappointment at her response was both surprising and worrisome. After all, theirs was not a romantic entanglement. Physical attraction did not make for love, not that he believed in such a thing. It was nothing more than a foolish, sentimental fancy. The world that had shaped him had been too ugly to leave such fine sensibilities behind.

Not that he didn't admire her honesty. Hettie, he was realizing, was a woman too practical in nature to further complicate their already fraught situation with lies. The only question left to answer was whether or not he was bothered enough by her reply to refuse her. But a glance at her, taking in the utter perfection of her face, gave him the direction he needed and perhaps a bit of clarity. He wanted her. She wanted him. Whatever madness it was that made him think there was more—could ever be more—to it than that was something he would simply have to control. Ruthlessly, if need be. He could protect her. He could take care of her. But he wouldn't make promises of feelings that simply weren't in him to give or receive.

"No. It's only terrible if you aren't honest about it. We have a lot of decisions to make. And they don't have to be made now. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't take our relief and our distractions when we can."

She turned her back to him, presenting the row of buttons at the back of her dinner dress. "I gave Foster the evening off. Help me with my gown?"

Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them, not stopping until he was close enough that her skirts brushed against his thighs. Rather than simply unbutton her gown, he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the tender spot at the nape of her neck. When she shivered in response, it emboldened him to continue.

Hettie had never had the benefit of being seduced. He couldn't even say that if he'd known of her innocence, things would have been any different that night in the Mint. Danger tended to erase any hint of refinement or tenderness, and they'd both been very aware that night of how close to death they had both come. But this was something altogether different. This was a chance to show her all the things that she had missed. All the things that had been denied her.

"You don't need to persuade me," she murmured. "I know what I want."

"No," he said. "You do not. Not entirely. But you will."