"I never thought to see any of these again, not even the emeralds, which had been my grandmother's, handed down to the first daughters of my mother's family. I was left with nothing from either of my parents but my pearls." She fingered the strand around her neck. "I suppose they were not valuable enough for Sir Frederick to bother about. Or else he thought he'd have to purchase me some piece of trumpery if he took these, to make me look fashionable and prosperous enough in front of my mother's friends." She sniffled again, louder.
"Great gads," Daniel swore. "You ain't going to cry, are you?"
"Of course not," Amanda said, tears running down her cheeks. "It is simply so… so heartening to discover how much my mother cared, how much effort she took to look after me, even years later, when I need it the most. She did not want me dependent on Sir Frederick or anyone else, and now I need not be. I can pay my own way, hire my own barristers. This is like a gift from heaven. I am happy, truly."
"Damn, you don't look happy." Daniel spoke with a brother's bluntness. "All splotchy and red-faced, in fact. I cannot stand to see a female cry. Makes me blubber myself, don't you know. And makes me hungry, too. I always eat when I am sad-disheartened, that is. Ask Rex."
"He's hungry when he's happy too, so ignore the gudgeon. And there was never a question of affording the finest barrister in the land. Lady Royce can afford it, for her godchild."
Amanda nodded, but kept dampening the heirlooms with her tears.
Daniel jumped up, scattering crumbs, and headed for the door. "I know just the thing. An ice from Gunter's always cheers me up, it does." He whistled for the dog. "Come on, Verity, let's go find some better fare than buttered toast. We'll come back with a pail full, if it doesn't melt."
"Coward," Rex whispered as his cousin rushed past him.
"Every time," Daniel admitted, handing over a spare handkerchief. "You're going to need this if she's anything like my sister."
Amanda was sobbing openly now, her shoulders shaking, without pretending otherwise.
"Shall I ring for Nanny? Would you take some laudanum?" Rex asked, helpless. "What can I fetch for you? What do you need?"
"I… I need a dog."
A dog? The woman had a death sentence hanging over her head, a fortune in jewels at her side, and she wanted a dog? He decided the events were finally too much for her fragile senses. At least they could plead guilty by insanity if all else failed. "I think you need the laudanum. Perhaps a brandy?"
"No, I need someone to love me, the way my mother did. The way your dog loves you."
"You might not have noticed, but the traitor scampered right after my cousin at the first mention of food."
"But Verity will be back. All I have are these cold stones from my mother."
They were worth a king's ransom, but Rex could comprehend her meaning, at least he thought he could. "She loved you very much."
"I have never missed her more, but you will not understand that."
She was wrong. He did understand, all too well. "My mother left when I was a boy."
Amanda did not know the whole story; no one did. All she could say was "I am sorry."
"Do not be. We managed. I had my father and Nanny; and my aunt, Daniel's mother, lived nearby."
She cried harder, for him, for her. Hell, he thought, she might be crying for every motherless urchin in the streets, there were so many tears.
Any gentleman would gather her into his arms so she could cry against his shoulder. But only a swine like Rex, he decided, would be glad of the excuse to hold her. "You are not alone, my dear. You have me. It's not much, I admit, but I am here, by your side." Actually she was now in his lap, on the sofa, which did not follow any gentlemanly code of conduct that Rex knew.
Nor was his embrace comforting, obviously, because she kept crying. Damn. Relegating his rising heart rate to the pigsty, Rex stroked her back, he rubbed her shoulders, he said "There, there." Still she kept crying. She had every right to weep and wail. Time was rushing by and he hadn't found the real killer. Now he'd warned her not to run off. He was failing her, and he felt like sobbing himself. "We'll win, I know we will. You'll be free to have a happy life, get a dog if you want."
She sniffled. "With my reputation?"
"Dogs don't care about that rot. Oh, you meant your happy future? With Lady Royce's sponsorship, you'll be a success." He promised the countess's cooperation without hesitation. "The gentlemen will see you shine as bright as those diamonds."
She blew her nose with the handkerchief he held out. Daniel's, as large as a tablecloth. "I suppose I can purchase myself a husband with a necklace or two."
"You will not need to buy a match. The dolts in London cannot be that stupid."
She gave him a watery smile. "Thank you. You are so kind to say that, no matter that it is far from true."
"I do not lie, I told you that. And kindness has nothing to do with it. You are beautiful."
"Now that is stretching the truth, especially today! I must look a fright. Your cousin ran away, didn't he?"
"You look beautiful," Rex insisted, wishing she could see the truth the way he could. Because she could not, and because he had no choice, no more than he could have left her in prison, or left her alone and ill, he tipped her head up. No, there was no choice. He might never have had a choice since his father sent him to London. He was not a firm believer in fate, but having Amanda in his lap, pressed against him, felt ordained, inevitable, and exactly right. He lowered his lips to hers.
She met his lips with a soft moan that reminded him that, written in the stars or written in sand, kissing Miss Carville was still wrong. She was still a vulnerable young female, under his care, under his mother's roof. Rex started to pull back but she had her arm around his neck and would not release him. So he kissed her again, longer, deeper, expressing without words more of his own wants and needs and loneliness. She was so sweet, so soft, so giving; he could feel himself lost in that kiss.
She moaned again.
So did his conscience. Good grief, the woman was his responsibility, his to keep safe. What the hell was he doing, kissing a female who was so beset with woes that she sought solace in the nearest arms? Since when did he let his passions rule his head? He was a gentleman, which meant he did not take advantage of those weaker than him.
He did not seduce maidens. Most of all, he did not believe in marriage for misfits such as he. He did, however, believe that a man who ruined a virgin was duty bound to wed her.
She was willing, though. She was distressed. She was dangerous. His better instincts were at war with his baser ones.
Nanny won the battle, coming to tell them that dinner was almost ready. "There you are, dears."
There they were, suddenly sitting side by side on the sofa like naughty children. Children did not feel their lips on fire.
Rex was furious with himself and the tightening in his groin. He was a rake and a cad. He had no scruples. What must poor Amanda think of him?
Amanda was furious with herself and the quivering of her fingertips. She was a fallen woman and a fool for dreaming. She had no morals. What must the poor viscount think of her?
He thought he owed Miss Carville an apology. "Please excuse us, Nanny. We need to speak a little more about the case."
"Of course you do, lovey. Do hurry though. You would not want the roast overdone or the cock-a-leekie soup to grow cold."
No, but he wished his blood would cool so his brain could work. Rex waited for Nanny to shuffle out of the room before saying he was sorry.