Page 118 of The Siren of Sussex

“Many people believed it an accident, but my aunt knew the truth. My mother went into the water on purpose. Fortunately for me, she waited until after I was born to do it. My aunt claimed that my mother didn’t wish to compound her sin. Who knows if that’s true?”

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said. “I had no idea.”

“It was a long time ago. Long before I can remember.”

“She was still your mother.”

“My aunt was the only mother I knew.” His thumb moved absently over the curve of her palm. “She fell under the spell of a British soldier, too. It was difficult not to, the way we lived.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “How did you live?”

“On the outskirts,” he said. “On the fringes of colonial society. My aunt was stuck there, raising me in the same village where many people lived who were of mixed Indian and English blood. It was a dubious privilege. We mimicked the British—their speech and customs. Their religion. But that’s all it was. Mimicry. A bastardization of British life.” He failed to keep the rough edge from his words. “No doubt my aunt thought she was delivering Mira and me our birthright. But we were never English, no more than we were Indian. We were nothing.”

Evelyn’s hand gripped his even tighter. So small and slender, yet strong enough to hold a stallion at bay. It was an unmistakable reproof. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“I say them for your benefit. So you’ll know what it’s like to live that way. What it does to a person after a time. It’s not for the faint of heart, Evie. Never fully belonging anywhere. Never having an identity that’s your own. For a lady, it’s an equation that rarely leads to happiness. Can you not understand that?”

“I do understand. But there’s an error in your equation.” Her chin lifted a notch. “You’ve mistaken me for a lady who’s faint of heart.”

His chest clenched on a rush of affection for her that was almost painful. Good God, she was right. He had the sudden, bitter urge to laugh. She was right, and it didn’t make one whit of difference.

“No, you’re not, are you.” His voice deepened. “You’d gallop headlong through any obstacle, no matter the cost. But I’m telling you, this time the cost is too great.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “None of this is a headlong gallop. I’m not reckless like my sister. You should know that by now. I wouldn’t give everything up, not even for someone I—” She stopped herself. “Someone I care about.”

He heard her unspoken declaration as clearly as if she’d shouted it from the rooftops. Not just someone she cared about. Someone she loved.

It was love, wasn’t it?

This soul-stirring attraction, underscored by unwavering admiration and respect. He felt it whenever they were together. And when they weren’t together, too. A desire to move mountains for her. To make her path smooth, no matter the cost. It was becoming as much a part of him as breathing.

The two of them were falling in love.

Or perhaps they’d already fallen.

“I wouldn’t let you give anything up,” he said. “Not for me.”

“There won’t be any need. I’m certain I can come up with a plan. A way to honor my responsibilities and to—”

“On no account. You’re not to risk anything for me. I mean it.”

“Then what is it you’re proposing we do?” she asked.

A leaden weight settled in his stomach. “The only thing we can. We must put this interlude behind us, difficult as that is. We must return to what we were before. Partners. Friends, I hope.”

“And nothing more?” She gave him a look of consternation. “Despite the fact that you claim to want me as much as I want you?”

“I do,” he said grimly, as the brougham rolled steadily back to Russell Square. “But I’m accustomed to not getting what I want.”

Twenty-Four

Evelyn had been waiting to talk to her uncle about Fenny for the better part of the day. After breakfast, she’d even attempted to beard him in his den. But Uncle Harris had already left the house. For where, Evelyn had no notion.

She didn’t see him again until later that afternoon, and then very much by chance. He was returning home, crossing the hall at the selfsame moment she was descending the stairs in her dark green riding costume.

“Taking that horse of yours for an airing?” he asked.

“I am.” Evelyn could muster little enough enthusiasm for it. After last night’s events, the prospect of displaying herself in Rotten Row was about as palatable as the thought of attending another society ball or dinner. There seemed no point anymore. She’d found the gentleman she wanted.