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  Why had he introduced Kira to her uncle and made it impossible for the man to cut her? Pity, he was sure. Yes, that and a soothing of his conscience. If Lord Westland accepted Kira, then she would have someone of consequence to fall back on after Gavin succeeded in seducing her out of her engagement to James. And if Kira could rely upon her uncle, then he would know that she would never be completely without support. Besides, her uncle’s influence might settle her, prevent the behavior that had earned Kira such a scandalous reputation. If he took her in, the Earl of Westland would never allow her to compromise herself so that a man other than her husband knew the landscape of her body, down to the last birthmark. At the time, the introduction had been an impulse, but Gavin really believed it had worked out for the best.

  A hesitant knock on the door brought his gaze to the other side of the room. “Yes?”

  The latch lifted and Kira entered a moment later, quietly sensual, utterly beautiful, and devastating to his peace. He rose to his feet.

  “May I speak with you?” she asked.

  He wanted to brood in peace. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted to divest Miss Melbourne of her clothing and touch every soft, vanilla-scented inch of her. Bloody hell, he had to start thinking about something else. And he would, hopefully soon.

  “Of course. Come in.”

  Golden sunlight filtered into the room through a trio of east windows, bathing her in their warmth as she crossed the room with grace, despite looking somewhat tentative. Did he make her nervous? Obviously, but did he frighten her? Or was she simply aware of him as a man? A gaze into her prettily flushed face and furtive gaze suggested the latter. His observation raised two questions: Why would a woman of her worldly experience carry on like an innocent unless it was meant to ensnare a man? And how was he to prevent his mind from straying to the intimate exchange they could be having, rather than the verbal one she had in mind?

  “I do not mean to interrupt, Gavin.”

  Normally, he did not appreciate interruptions when he read. Somehow, he did not mind Kira. “Not at all.”

  She smiled, and his heart picked up speed, just like a bloody schoolboy’s.

  “I wanted to thank you for last night. Because of you, I am very hopeful that my uncle will come to accept Darius and me, despite my mother.”

  Gavin frowned at the wealth of pain in her statement. Her reluctance to speak of her mother had never been more obvious.

  “It was nothing,” he said absently. His mind was far more occupied with what she did not say. “Kira, tell me. Where is your mother now?”

  Kira shrugged, but the question clearly disturbed her. “I’m not certain. In Persia, likely in the Zagros Mountains. She says that is her favorite place on earth.”

  The wistful, yearning note in Kira’s voice alarmed Gavin. “When did you last hear from her?”

  Kira hesitated. “It’s been some years now. I imagine that she’s busy with friends and family there. We’re… no longer close” She sighed, then sent him an artificially bright smile. “Perhaps I shall return to Persia and see her someday.”

  “You’ve traveled there?” Gavin leaned in, stunned. He knew from James that her mother had lived here in England but returned home some years ago. He’d never imagined that Kira’s mother had taken her daughter with her.

  “Indeed, as a child I lived there. Darius may not remember a great deal. He was but seven when my father brought us back to England.”

  “But you remember?”

  “I do. Persia is quite different from England. It looks much simpler from the outside. Inside, it’s very complex.”

  Her words fascinated him. Her words… and her. “It is mostly desert, is it not?”

  “Mostly, but it was like paradise at times, though cold in the winter. I remember the snow.”

  “Snow? I am surprised.” His face showed that as well. “And what of the people?”

  “They are the same as the English in many ways. They love family and think religion very important. Boys are educated while most girls learn little. But some things are vastly different. The religion, the manner in which women dress, even the architecture. My mother’s people are merchants so we lived as nomads. I was quite young when I resided there, but I recall it being very dissimilar.”

  Kira ceased abruptly. Gavin watched her as she pressed her plump berry lips together and looked down at her long-fingered hands, which lay carefully in her lap. She was self-conscious. Of her Persian heritage?

  “Do you miss being there?” He wondered if he might induce her to return. It would certainly solve his problem with James.

  Still, he hoped like hell that she would say no.

  “At times, I suppose. The stark beauty of the land is nothing like England and her gardens. It seems easier to hear yourself think when you’re surrounded only by the sun and sand and nature’s creatures eking out their existence from the land. Few in Persia worry about the next social event or possessing the perfect dress for such an occasion.”

  “But do you wish to return?”

  Something crossed her face, wistfulness, maybe. Pain, yes. Finally she swallowed and fixed him with an arranged smile. “No.”

  That was all, simply no. No explanation, no rationale. Gavin frowned, sensing a wealth of Kira’s feelings in that decision. Though he really had no reason to wonder what they were—after all, knowing her feelings about Persia would not aid in his seduction—curiosity ate at him incessantly.

  Yes, and look what curiosity had done to the cat…

  Still, he could not stop. Why would such a beautiful girl with such a pleasing manner be so easy with her favors? Even with her heritage and distant claim to peerage, her comeliness alone would have won her many offers. Did she, like Gavin himself, have a streak of lust running hot and thick through his veins?

  Disturbed by the notion, he changed the subject. “Perhaps you and your uncle will meet again soon.”

  She smiled, this time something far more genuine. “Perhaps. Though he and my father still have their differences, I like to believe there’s a brighter future with that branch of the family.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your reading. I merely wanted to thank you.”

  Kira glanced up at him through the thick fringe of her black lashes with eyes both indigo-bright and soft, and so seemingly pure. The sight transfixed him. She transfixed him, damn it. Every day in her presence he wanted her more, felt less in control. He even bloody liked her more. Clearly, that made him a mad idiot.

  Or, worse, that made him his father’s son.

  And if he didn’t know better, he’d swear upon his family honor that she was as virginal as the day she’d been born.

  But he did know better.

  “I did very little,” he muttered roughly, disturbed by the turn of his thoughts.

  Her indulgent smile enraptured his senses. She touched his arm gently. Even that brief contact sent his blood on a rampage.

  “You’re far too modest. In the future, you may find you did me a great service, for which I shall always be grateful.”

  Gavin watched Kira retreat. The sway of her willowy body, the line of her narrow back, the grace of her step, the slope of her jaw—and he could not forget her mouth—all reminded him that it wasn’t her bloody gratitude he wanted, much to his dismay.

  * * * *

  “I’m leaving to visit my friend, Mr. Burgess, in Yorkshire,” Darius announced suddenly the following afternoon as she sat in the withdrawing room. He clutched a well-worn piece of paper in his hand. It looked to be a letter of some sort.

  As she wondered who sent it, Kira peered at him, incredulous. Had he gone mad? “I’m to be married in six days. Can it not wait until after the wedding?”

  Contrition and anger tightened her brother’s face. “No. He’s issued me a most important invitation. His father has also invited Mr. Farrow to spend several weeks at their estate as well. He is a very important barrister with high connections. Perhaps with his help, I will be able to study la
w.”

  His reasoning made no sense. Anger and confusion assaulted her. “If Mr. Farrow is to be there for several weeks, certainly you can join him after my wedding.”

  “Kira, you are very nearly settled. You must allow that I have the same need for my life.”

  She did. Of course she did. But now?

  It was selfish and cowardly to be so opposed to his leaving. Still, she could not stop from wishing he would stay just a few days more. “Who will stand beside me on my wedding day?”

  Darius averted his gaze, seemingly fascinated by the old Chinese fashion mantle clock. “You have James now. He will stand beside you for the rest of your days. Your pesky brother will only annoy you occasionally after your marriage.”

  “You are never an annoyance. Darius, I—” Kira grappled for words, torn between releasing him to seek his happiness and keeping him near out of comfort— “Do not leave me, please. I will likely never see Mama again, and Papa is God knows where. But you,” she grasped his arm, “you have been my constant in life. I do not know if I can make it through my vows without your support.”

  He grabbed her hands, hazel eyes fierce. “You must and you will. Kira, Mama and Papa are largely of your past. Do not dwell upon them. Instead, walk down the aisle toward Mr. Howland with a smile on your face and peace in your heart. I will be thinking of you with much love.”

  “You’re truly leaving?”

  As he rose from the pale green chaise, incredulity bombarded Kira. Darius had never left her so abruptly or at such an important time. He had always been beside her, protective, a constant pillar of strength and a helpful ear.

  “I must. But I will visit you in a few weeks, once you’ve settled into Tunbridge Wells. And I hope to have very good news for you then. I wish you well, sister.”

  With that, Darius brushed a kiss across her cheek, then exited without hesitation.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days after Mrs. Howland’s small gathering, Kira received an invitation to attend a garden party at her uncle’s town house. Actually, the invitation was addressed to she and Darius, as well as the rest of James’s family. Kira had accepted, albeit reluctantly without her brother at her side. His sudden departure still bewildered her.

  The early May sky captured the essence of a perfect spring day in England. The lovely blue afternoon was unmarred by wind or rain, while flowers bloomed in a riotous profusion of which Lady Westland had every reason to be proud. Even better, James had occupied his disapproving mother’s attention while Gavin strolled at her side in the sunshine.

  “You seem pleased today,” he observed, smiling.

  He walked in stride with her, hands clasped behind him. The tall hat upon his head shaded the masculine angles of his face from the sun. He seemed at ease, his dark eyes so full of… care. Kira wished she could edge closer to him, but did not. Others at the party would likely receive the wrong impression and believe that she had designs on him. Darius’s warning floated through her mind, and a nervous twitter danced in her stomach. Was it possible Gavin thought of her as more than his cousin’s fiancée? His pleasant gaze gave her no indication.

  “I am pleased,” she said finally. “I did not expect an invitation to my uncle’s home, much less so soon. He even spoke in very civil tones to me when I arrived.”

  “Perhaps he is enchanted by your social grace and wishes to include you in his circle.”

  Certainly, he was teasing her. “Social grace? I’m certain I stammered and murmured my way through our introduction and did little better just now. No, if I possessed any social grace, I’d be making my acquaintance wider as we speak, rather than hiding in a corner of the garden with someone I already consider a friend.”

  Gavin’s gaze settled on her then and warmed. Kira felt something in her stomach flutter. Her palms turned damp. She did not understand it, but when he looked at her in such a manner, she could scarcely think.

  “Thank you.” His gaze touched her face, lingered there. “It’s good to see you smile. You do it most beautifully.”

  She sent him a stare of mock suspicion. “Are you practicing to be England’s most fluent flatterer? If so, may I say you’re doing a marvelous job?”

  “Me, flatter?” He looked genuinely astounded. “When I tell you that you sing like the heavens and smile like an angel, I speak only the truth.”

  “Nonsense,” she returned. But her stomach fluttered again, as did her heart. Gavin could be so terribly charming when he chose. “Perhaps I should seek out the company of others who won’t fill my head with such rot.”

  “And you would leave me here? In this corner of the garden, all alone?” Distress tugged his brows downward, though his mouth still held a mischievous smile. “You wound me.”

  “I doubt that very seriously.”

  Moments later, Lady Litchfield took the decision from Kira’s hands with her arrival. The perfect English rose sauntered her way across the cobble and brick paths, seemingly impervious to the fragrant air and swaying blooms bursting around her. Instead, she greeted a few acquaintances and avoided Lord Darehurst before heading to Gavin’s side.

  “Good afternoon, Gavin,” she greeted. Displeasure dripped from her voice. “I waited for you inside Lady Westland’s parlor for some minutes. I did not realize you were…occupied. Miss Melbourne.”

  The incline of her head should have been a greeting, but with the sharp gesture, Lady Litchfield made it clear that she disdained Kira completely.

  “Hello, Lady Litchfield. How good to see you.” Kira used her most cloying voice, unable to resist irritating the woman.

  As she suspected, Lady Litchfield provided no further acknowledgement.

  “I apologize, Cordelia,” Gavin said into the awkward silence. “Would you like to take a turn about the gardens?”

  Cordelia? So they were on a first name basis as well. Nuptials would certainly follow soon. Kira really hated the thought. Lady Litchfield was all wrong for him.

  “Of course,” said his soon-to-be duchess.

  Gavin turned to Kira, as did Lady Litchfield. He would either invite her to join them or ask her to excuse them, and Kira found either proposition unpalatable.

  “Enjoy yourselves. It’s a lovely garden. I think I shall visit with some of the other guests.”

  Before either of them could reply, Kira turned away and meandered along the edges of the gathering. She sought out James, but found he had become engrossed in conversation with another clergyman. She could always speak to him later, when she wasn’t interrupting.

  A glance over her shoulder proved Lady Litchfield anchored to Gavin’s arm. They both wore very serious expressions that made Kira grimace. She looked away to find Mrs. Howland on a wrought iron bench under the shade of an oak. She clutched a parasol.

  Her attempt to protect her skin from the sun made Kira very conscious of the fact her own blue crepe bonnet provided more opportunities to show off blonde lace than to shield her face. As well, she had doffed her gloves some minutes ago to feel one of her uncle’s perfect blooms. She might not care for Mrs. Howland’s company, but the woman had a good idea. More sun only darkened Kira’s already olive skin, exacerbating the differences between herself and English roses like Lady Litchfield.

  Donning her gloves as she walked, Kira rushed inside to retrieve her own parasol. Small as it was and trimmed in fringe, it would nevertheless help protect her from adding further color to her face.

  Armed again with all the accompaniments of a lady, Kira stepped outside and wandered for a bit, still wishing Darius was with her and wondering why he had left her so abruptly. She and James, along with his family, would return to Norfield Park in just three days so they might exchange vows there in the parish. And she still could not believe Darius had no intent to be with her. Certainly her father would not be there; it would take her letter months to reach him. And though she wanted her brother happy and settled, she also wanted him with her on the day she became James’s wife.

  Sighing, Ki
ra espied three ladies perched on the bench Mrs. Howland had previously occupied. Kira could not see the faces of the ladies, as their backs faced her, but their hats and dresses told Kira that Lady Litchfield, Lady Westland, and a woman whom Kira had not yet met sat there. And from their animated gestures, the conversation was a lively one.

  For lack of anything better to do, or perhaps to avoid further introductions to strangers, Kira wandered toward the bench, approaching from behind.

  “I am mortified that my husband demanded I invite Miss Melbourne to my gathering,” said Lady Westland. “I have no notion why he wants the ill-bred strumpet here.”

  Kira paused, not particularly surprised. Lady Westland’s greeting had been reserved to the point of icy when she’d arrived.

  The third woman lifted her handkerchief in a dramatic gesture. “She is quite shocking. Certainly he invited her only because they are relations. Perhaps your dear Lord Westland merely takes pity on her.”

  “I am sure that is the case, but how am I to bear the strain?” She sighed. “My husband has a caring heart, and I would not want him any other way. Would that he did not pity Miss Melbourne so much that he felt the need to invite her, though.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Lady Litchfield.

  Kira winced. Perhaps her uncle did pity her, but he also did not know her well. Pity could certainly become pride, if he gave himself the opportunity to learn more about her.

  “I am surprised he wished you to invite her. Did he not always disapprove of the half-breed children?” asked the other woman, whose high-pitched voice was altogether grating.

  “Of course,” affirmed her uncle’s wife in an indignant voice. “Though he claims now that he objected mostly to his brother’s constant travels and lack of responsibility.”

  Kira leaned against the tree that separated her from the women. She should simply leave, walk away and eschew their opinions. But their talk of her mother rooted her in place.