There was a stiffness about her features when she said, “My godfather cared for us, of that there is no doubt. But work was his greatest passion. He worked best when indulging his cravings.”
“His cravings?”
“Wine and women.”
“I see.”
“The house was his pleasure dome, Mr Ashwood. I lost count of the many lovers he entertained.”
A mental picture formed. A young woman woken at night by the rampant activities of her guardian. Now he knew why her bedchamber was her sanctuary, why she had no desire to play the coquette in a room of men.
“So,” she began in the confident tone she used as a crutch, “now we understand one another a little better, I shall explain the true depth of my brother’s depravity.”
“Let’s start with the fact he’s a delinquent. A debt-ridden scoundrel who’s stolen from the one person who cares for him.”
“Cared. I have cut all emotional ties.”
“Cared,” he corrected just as icily. “He’s a liar and has chased away every friend you’ve had.”
“Yes. Minds get muddled when a handsome gentleman pays a lady attention.” She gave a derisive snort. “I have yet to meet an attractive man who isn’t a scoundrel.” She sucked in a breath upon noting her misstep. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course.”
“My closest friend, Miss Swales, fell for my brother’s charms and—” Miss Dunn stopped abruptly. She closed her eyes tight for a moment.
Noah feared she might cry. “I do not wish to cause you distress, Miss Dunn. But I must know of this terrible deed. It may prove important to the case.” In a move that was wholly inappropriate for a gentleman of the Order, he reached across the carriage and gripped her gloved hand. “The shame is not yours to bear.” They were familiar words, words spoken by his grandfather many times.
The lady’s eyes shot open. She looked to her lap but did not pull her hand from his grasp. “Thank you, Mr Ashwood. Miss Swales was a dear, dear friend. A dear friend whose loss I have mourned deeply.”
“I understand,” he said, releasing her dainty fingers and relaxing back in the seat. “When you have blood ties with a scoundrel, people treat you like a leper.”
Ladies did. Men often held a secret admiration for those able to shake themselves free from the shackles of responsibility.
Miss Dunn gathered herself. “You wish to know my shameful secret. I shall speak quickly and plainly. Telling a long, emotional tale is like rubbing salt into a weeping wound.”
“You may speak freely to me, Miss Dunn.”
She forced a smile before inhaling deeply. “Howard gave Miss Swales the impression he would offer for her. It was a ridiculous notion. Her brother, Lord Benham, sought a more lucrative match for his only sister. Clara’s naivety was part of her charm. She foolishly believed Howard was her missing half. Foolishly believed in love.”
Did Miss Dunn know that the way a person told a tale revealed much about the storyteller?
“You do not believe in love, Miss Dunn?”
The question took her by surprise. “Me?” She shrugged but pursed her pretty lips as she considered her response. “I’m afraid I am rather cynical when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
“And why is that?” He knew the answer but wanted to hear her explanation. Besides, it served as a distraction from the pain of her brother’s antics.
The lady arched a brow. “You know very well. I have seen how Howard, my father and Mr Becker treat women. They all have one thing in common when it comes to romantic relationships.”
“They’re disloyal?”
“Despicably so. Perhaps I am the naive one. Perhaps I might easily fall under the wrong man’s spell.”
“Then, you must strive to fall in love with the right man.” He should have been questioning her about Miss Swales yet couldn’t help but say, “May I give you some advice?”
Miss Dunn blinked rapidly. It was evident she didn’t welcome a man’s opinion, yet she said, “You may speak freely to me, Mr Ashwood.”
He inclined his head respectfully while wondering how this woman managed to be so readable and so mysteriously seductive at the same time.
“If you can trust a man with your life. If he puts your needs before his own.” Noah cleared his throat, determined to continue. “If his eyes make love to you with a passion that transcends the physical realm, then he is worthy of your esteem.”
She remained silent, yet her penetrating gaze never left him.
Noah took the opportunity to rap on the roof and alert McGuffey of their wish to proceed to Mr Hemming’s establishment on Tavistock Street.
Miss Dunn clutched the seat as the carriage lurched forward. “Your last comment brings to mind your poem, The Journey. The parched nomad drops to his knees before a glistening oasis. He describes the coolness of the water as he imagines it slipping down his throat, the moistness on his lips, yet he is reluctant to thrust his dirty hands into the pool and so doesn’t drink.”
Good God!
Every muscle in his abdomen tightened. Never had anyone spoken intimately about his work. “You mean, why would a man make love to you with his eyes and not his body? Assuming both parties were willing, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Like the nomad, perhaps he fears the reality will fall short of the dream. Ruin the illusion.”
“Yes,” she mused. “The nomad draws on past disappointment. It’s the reason he would rather die in blissful ignorance.” It was evident she wished to delve into the depths of his soul. “You’ve been hurt. Not just by the selfish actions of your father and uncle, but by a woman.”
Hellfire! How had the conversation turned from him offering advice to tearing open his chest and baring his bruised heart?
“It was a long time ago. A young man’s disappointment.”
It was not the bitter pain of a lover’s rejection, as she might suppose. But a woman had hurt him, had cut deep with her sharp
