Page 103

“I have to marry,” he said. Now he scratched at his forehead, and the blood freshened, began to slide toward his brow.

“I have to marry a well-bred, unimpeachable woman approved by my father’s friends.” He took a quick breath. “They’ve gone ahead and selected one. I have to marry Lavinia.”

She could not look at him, so she looked at the miniature. She wasn’t Augustus Burgess, but she understood Anthony’s face, the planes, the colors. The portrait was compelling, lively, unsmiling but full of humor. Only she could see the dimple waiting to flex in his cheek, because she was the one who darkened the color ever so slightly, hinting at a quirk in the muscle.

“But that’s not so bad, is it?” she heard herself say. “She’s lovely. Who else were you going to marry? Properly, not madly.”

She risked a look at him. A mistake. Color was leaching from his face, the smear of blood, by contrast, taking on a freakish brightness.

Walk away. Walk out into the garden. You’re late for class. This is not your life.

Was it her mother’s voice she heard?

This man had the power to hurt her beyond her wildest imaginings. Waking up in his bed, padding around his room, she’d allowed herself to imagine a proper togetherness. One that meant they didn’t hide from the world, or from each other. She’d allowed herself to luxuriate, believing him, believing in him. She’d thought, last night, when he’d dropped the bottle, that he was inviting her to see through a different glass, to see a different future.

She could not move. Her heart had stopped.

“No one,” he said. “I’m not meant for proper marriage. Let’s go. Now.”

“To Scotland?” Her laughter was shrill. Did he even hear himself, hear how little he offered her? “I don’t know that I’d want even a reformed rake.” She spit it out. “Let alone one who won’t so much as pretend to offer constancy.”

“Constancy?” His teeth flashed. “You mean my money? I’d be giving it up, all of it, for you. But perhaps it’s my money that attracts you.”

Bastard. She almost choked on her rage.

“Don’t deceive yourself. You don’t give up anything for me. You want to hide in Scotland with a bottle. Sit pitying yourself in some hovel. Spoiled drunkard.”

She whirled but he caught her wrist. She tugged, head lowered stubbornly.

“You could stay here,” she said to his shining boots. Expensive. Kept in high polish by someone else’s labor. “You don’t need to run away from London to give it all up. You could work as a horse trainer and rent a cabbage-smelling flat and live a bloody decent life.”

He made a noise in his throat, something like a laugh, that only incensed her further.

“Scotland sounds more exciting, more romantic, because it’s a fantasy,” she said. “Hand in hand, tramping through the heather. Moonlight. Sea mist. It’s a silly, selfish dream.”

She’d be throwing away years of artistic training, all her ambition. And he’d be abandoning his sister, his responsibilities, every last shred of self-respect.

“Marry Lavinia,” she bid his boots. “Do the thing properly.”

He dropped her wrist. At last, she looked up at him, unprepared for the intensity of his gaze.

“Last night,” she said, and his eyes burned hotter. “Last night, I talked with Augustus Burgess. He knew of a theater where your sister might . . .”

The light in his eyes extinguished. He slumped, jaw oddly slack.

“Another theater,” he said, with only a hint of mockery. His voice sounded . . . exhausted. “If I marry Lavinia, I won’t have to skulk around theaters. I will control my fortune. I’ll pay Scotland Yard to turn over every paving stone.” He straightened, demeanor shifting slightly, a subtle physical response to the power at his fingertips.

“Effie will be found.” He folded his arms, looked down his nose at her. “Without your help, such as it is.”

Her mouth was dry. He wanted to make her pay, now, for her deception at the Albion. Alcohol brought out his edges, made him more willing to cut.

“If you marry Lavinia . . .” She stiffened her back. Clearly, there wasn’t an if. “Well. It’s what you have to do, isn’t it? Settled. Simple even.”

Nausea swept over her. She felt dizzied. Counted the steps to the door in her head, wondered if she could cover the distance.

Walk away. Walk away.

“I won’t hold you to all your promises.” She tried to smile. “You don’t have to invite me to dinner.”