“Because I thought you’d want to know. Because if I were you, I’d have wanted, needed to know. I wouldn’t want him always in the back of my mind, wondering if he might someday find me. Or if I might see him on the street. And be tempted to wrap my hands around his neck and kill him on the spot. I didn’t want him to have that power over you. He’s dead, Goddard. He can’t hurt you or any other child ever again.”
Confusion flickered across his face. “How did you know-?”
“Because it’s exactly how I would have felt.”
Goddard’s hands clenched at his sides, and his throat worked. A sheen of moisture glittered in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. “I wanted to know,” he whispered. “But I was terrified to try to find out. Terrified that it might somehow get back to him that someone were askin‘ about him, and he’d put it together. Might do somethin’ to hurt Miss Merrie. Or Charlotte or Hope. He were an evil, heartless bastard, and I couldn’t risk that he might touch our lives in any way. But it ate at me, always there in the back of my mind. Was he waitin‘ ’round the next corner? Would he recognize me? I wondered… God help me, I wondered.”
“You don’t have to wonder any longer. You’re free, Goddard.”
The young man opened his eyes. He made no move to wipe the tears dampening his face, and Philip pretended not to see them. “I’m not certain wot to say to ye… except that ye have my thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” With a nod, Philip turned to leave, but Goddard’s voice stopped him.
“Why would ye do this? Risk yer safety goin‘ to such dangerous places for me-someone ye barely know?”
Philip studied him for several seconds, debating how truthful to be, then sighed. Nothing less than the full truth would do. “Because the story you told me about how Taggert treated you affected me deeply. Not only due to the horrors you suffered, but it made the slights and humiliations I endured as a lad, which until that moment had seemed important, pale into insignificance.”
Goddard raised his brows. “Who’d slight a rich bloke like you?”
“Other rich blokes. But there’s one other reason, Goddard.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re important to her. And she’s important to me.”
By the time Meredith handed over her bonnet and cashmere shawl to Bakari that evening, she had her emotions well in control. She would make certain to maintain her distance from her host, keep the conversation rolling, and concentrate on the other female guests. Then escape as soon as possible.
She followed Bakari down the corridor, surprised when they walked past the doors leading to both the dining and drawing rooms. He halted at the very last door. “What room is this?” she asked, mystified.
“Private study.” His black-eyed gaze searched hers for several seconds with an inscrutable expression. “Hope you like.”
Before she could question him further, Bakari knocked on the oak-paneled door. A muffled voice answered from within, and Bakari opened the door.
“Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” he said solemnly, indicating she should enter.
With her best impersonal smile firmly in place, Meredith crossed the threshold. And froze.
Private study? This room in no way resembled a study. Indeed, she felt as if she stood inside an opulent tent. Yards of jewel-toned silks and satins covered the walls, draping from a central point in the ceiling, pooling in luxurious puddles upon the floor. She reached out and touched a hand to the fall of burgundy silk covering the wall nearest the door. Except for Madame Renee’s Emporium, Meredith had never seen such an abundance of beautiful material.
Her gaze slowly panned the room. A gorgeous rug, woven with an intricate design she did not recognize, covered the floor. A cozy fire burned in the grate, casting the room with intriguing shadows. A half dozen low-slung tables were scattered about the room, the flickering glow of dozens of candles of varying heights reflecting off their dark, polished surfaces. A low, rectangular table nestled before the fire. Covered silver platters rested upon the table, as did an array of both stoneware and sparkling crystal goblets. Massive tasseled pillows in deep sapphire, emerald, topaz, and ruby flanked the table, and were strewn invitingly all about the room, urging one to recline upon their soft, plump, decadent depths.
Only two other pieces of furniture decorated the room: an ornate changing screen in the far corner, and a beautiful chaise lounge in the opposite corner. Her heart tripped over itself when she spied Philip standing in the shadows next to the chaise lounge.
“Good evening, Meredith.” His deep voice sent a tingle down her spine, and although she meant to return his greeting, she could not seem to dredge up her voice. And just when she might have done so, he thwarted her attempt by moving toward her with his graceful, sleek gait that instantly reminded her of a predatory jungle cat.
Her eyes widened at his attire. Instead of a proper linen shirt and cravat, a loose-fitting shirt that appeared made from silk covered his broad upper body, leaving his tanned throat bare. His shirt was tucked into… She swallowed.
Instead of proper breeches, he wore loose-fitting, midnight-blue trousers that appeared to be held onto his body with nothing more than a drawstring at the waist. Soft brown leather boots encased his feet. With his perennially mussed hair, he looked dark and dangerous in a way that raced blood through her veins. Only his spectacles reminded her that this wildly attractive man was a scholarly antiquarian-or they would have, if the lenses hadn’t magnified the compelling heat emanating from his gaze.
He stopped when less than three feet separated them. His gaze never wavering from hers, he offered her a formal bow, then took her hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her fingers. The touch of his mouth against her skin sizzled heat and awareness through her like a lightning bolt, which, although unsettling, at least served to rouse her from the stupor into which she’d fallen.
Cheeks burning, she snatched her hand away, then backed up. Unfortunately, she’d retreated only two steps when her shoulders hit the closed door. Even worse, he erased her two backward steps with a single long-legged stride that brought him close enough to touch. Close enough to breathe in his clean, masculine scent. A feeling akin to panic-peppered with a dose of indignation- skittered through her.
“What on earth are you doing?” she said in a hissing whisper, wiping her hand on her gown in a vain attempt to erase the lingering tingle of his kiss. “And why is your study decorated in such a… a decadent fashion? And what on earth are you wearing? Good heavens, what will your guests think?” She cast a quick glance around the room. “And where exactly
“So many questions. As for what am I doing-do you mean when I kissed your hand or right now?” Before she could answer, he continued, “I kissed your hand in greeting, and right now, I am simply admiring how lovely you look. The room has been transformed to resemble a tent, similar to one belonging to a wealthy Egyptian trader I met during my travels. As for my attire, it is what I grew accustomed to wearing while abroad, and I can attest it is infinitely more comfortable than English clothing. As for what my guests will think, I anxiously await your opinion.”
“It is scandalous. All of it. An absolute disaster looms upon the horizon.” She swept her hand in an arc, her fingers inadvertently brushing his arm as she encompassed the entire room. She pulled her hand away as if she’d touched fire. “Have any guests other than me seen this?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness. Now you must go and immediately don some proper clothing before the other guests arrive.”
“All the guests have arrived.”
Her relief vanished like a snuffed-out candle. “Dear God. If any of those proper young women get wind of these seductive dinner arrangements…” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bring that scenario to fruition. “Where are they? I’ll keep them entertained while you dress and-”
He cut off her rush of words by resting a single fingertip against her lips. “Meredith. All the guests, the
Twelve
