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He squeezed the burlap, the coarse hairs scratching his sticky skin, already soothing him. The scent. Two feet away he could still smell, still want, still need. No. If he took any more he’d have his decision made.
Match. He needed a match. He rushed to his desk, pulling out drawers until he succeeded. With shaking hands, he created a fire, his doom and his salvation. He held the flame and s
trode to the fireplace.
The lone log flashed into light. He’d pay for this later, require a ton of ice. Before he could change his mind, in flew the entire bag. He turned away, so he didn’t need to see as he placed the pipe and the lamp on the ground.
He raised his boot and stamped. He stamped over and over, releasing all the memories, all the years, all the comments and judgments and whispers and sneers and pats on the back turning into mocking when he left rooms.
Again, and again he raised his boot. Splinters littered the floor. His chest heaved and he closed his eyes.
Cherries filled his senses and all he could see was Urs. Urs, on his arm, across the table, in his bed, every place and everywhere and with him. They didn’t make sense, but they belonged to each other, for better or worse.
He opened his eyes. The fire blazed. He called for a valet to take care of it and the mess. He had a purpose and errands and precious little time to accomplish all he needed before his parents’ party.
* * *
Ursula tugged on her cameo as Hugo handed her wrap to the Truitts’ butler. Gold gossamer. She should be enjoying it more. Same with the matching golden gown. Like a queen. Rachel made the declaration when they’d chosen the fabric and at the fitting when they examined the expansive flounces and embellishments.
She’d lined her lashes too, risqué, but if one had a certain reputation one could at least take some sort of enjoyment from it, and if there’d be no physical enjoyment, cosmetics would have to do. Besides, the dress demanded attention and so the rest of her had to be up to snuff.
“Are you going to be all right?” Hugo rubbed Ursula’s arm.
“Yes.” She grasped his bare hand in her gloved one. “Yes, I believe I am. I believe we both shall be all right.”
Her heart thumped in her chest. Was she really going ahead with this plan? Her own plan?
She peeked at Hugo. She had no other plan left. If only Jay was still her partner. Once again, she had to fight with the army she had not with the army she wanted. Isn’t that what George Washington did and look where it got him?
Still, why couldn’t he be at her side? With Jay, she could do anything and better, she could have someone who’d be honest with her as to whether she’d fall on her face or not. She might not take his advice, but at least she’d know it.
Stabbing pain pounded in her stomach. No, she couldn’t think like that, think about him. He was gone. What they shared, was what it was. He’d promised she’d feel good and she had. The potential she’d seen and that he had—no, she couldn’t think of that.
She glanced outside the open door towards the circular drive still lined with carriages. Perhaps she could run, hop in, and return to her room. No, she was an adult now and the leader of the Nunes family. Funny what a difference a little bit of knowledge could make. Theoretic control became actual. The purse strings were hers. She might be the daughter of a criminal—she swallowed—but she could still be a queen. After all, this was America and she could insist upon her share of it, for both her and her mother’s sakes. Her mother’d never get her due, but she was owed at least that.
She brushed her skirt and sucked in a deep breath. Hugo ducked into the next room and returned with a glass of champagne. She downed the liquid and thrust the glass back at him.
“Are you ready for this?”
“Ursula, this isn’t fair to you. Come on, we’ll go somewhere, have some sweets and I’ll find a way to survive. You don’t have to do this.”
She whirled around and stared at Hugo. He gulped.
“Yes, Hugo, yes, I do, we do. Trust me. We can, and we will do this. You shouldn’t just have to survive. No one should. After tonight, you’ll be free.”
And I’ll be ready to become what I was supposed to be, alone or not.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jay pushed through the crowds milling around the first floor of the Centerville house. Why were there so many people at this party, but not the right person?
He waved off calls of his name as he scanned the dance floor and the refreshment area—no sign of Ursula, her father, his parents, or Hugo. Purple, lilac, mauve, not a shade was in view. Who could help, who could help, who could help?
He tapped the butler on the shoulder. “Has Miss Ursula come in or perhaps her father, Mr. Nunes? They’re from Wilmington proper. She was probably wearing some shade of violet?”
“Yes, sir.” The man nodded, pushing out his lips. “She came in an hour ago in the carriage with Mr. Hugo Middleton. Mr. Nunes came with a Bernard Levy about a half an hour later.”
They were all here, good or perhaps terrible.
