Page 24

“No,” he said, his gaze thoughtful.

The baldness of the word sent a jolt through Selina.

“A stick is too plain,” he said. “I would rather describe her as”— his eyes searched her face so that her heart beat quickened—“a rose.”

Their gazes locked, and for the hundredth time, Selina sought the crack in his facade, the evidence of his artifice. It was only a game, of course, but sometimes it felt far too real.

“A right good rose?” Teddy offered.

Mr. Drake’s mouth spread into a grin, and he chuckled. “Precisely.”

“Well, if you mean to marry Aunt Selina, you had better ask my father permission today, for we are leaving, you know.”

“Teddy,” Jane said sternly. “You may safely leave Mr. Drake’s affairs to him , my dear. If he wishes to pay his addresses to Selina, he need ask no one but her. She is her own mistress.”

Selina’s eyes widened. Apparently, it was not only the children she needed to worry about saying embarrassing things.

Jane seemed to realize she had only made matters worse, for she colored up and shot an apologetic look at Selina.

When it was time for Mr. Drake to leave some ten minutes later, he said his farewells to the children and Jane before coming to face Selina. “Might I have a private word with you before I leave?” His voice was pitched lower, speaking to the private nature of the request.

Selina’s heart skipped, and her eyes flitted to Jane, who had clearly heard and jumped to the same conclusion as Selina—a ridiculous one. Mr. Drake did not truly intend to pay his addresses to her right now, of all times.

Did he?

“Of course,” Selina said with as much composure as she could muster.

“In the study, perhaps?” he suggested.

Surprised as she was that he had a particular room in mind for this tête-à-tête, Selina’s heart was beating too fast and her mind too caught up trying to determine if she should be preparing for an offer of marriage to do anything but agree to it.

What if this was the moment? What if Mr. Drake did mean to propose marriage to her?

What would she say to him?

She would refuse, of course, but then, why in heaven’s name was she so nervous?

She should be exultant, but she was simply not prepared for the sort of lecture she had intended on reading him.

She wanted him to leave Number 14 Berkeley Square with his tail between his legs and his character torn to shreds.

When she was done with him, she wanted to be absolutely certain he never would dare seek out another heiress.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me privately,” he said, closing the door behind them.

Selina felt suddenly breathless now that they were alone together. It was not the first time, but it was the first time he had asked for a private audience, and she was unsure what to expect.

What if he tried to kiss her?

She had hated when George would kiss her, but at times, she had wondered if it was because she found kissing repulsive or rather because George had done it poorly.

She was not yet aware of anything Mr. Drake did poorly. Except perhaps having a heart. Or a conscience.

So taken up was her mind with such questions that it was a moment before she noticed the box sitting upon the desk. It was large—too large to hold a ring without seeming ridiculous.

Mr. Drake picked it up and offered it to her. “I hope it pleases you.”

Selina stared at the box, then at him. There was a strange light in his eyes as he watched her. The box was moderately heavy, and she was obliged to set it upon the desk again so that she could open it.

With fingers that trembled slightly, she undid the latch, then slowly lifted the lid. She sucked in a breath of shock and stepped backward.

Inside the box was a pigeon, entirely and utterly still.

Its wings were splayed crookedly, as though one had broken and it was mid- fall.

The feathers on its breast were not smooth and orderly but disheveled.

It was the eyes that terrified her most, however.

The glassy orbs bulged from its head as though they had been taken from a bird three times the pigeon’s size. They leered at her threateningly.

The effect of it all was ghastly.

“It is not a portrait,” Mr. Drake said, “but you mentioned preserving him, and I could think of no better way than this. I think he did a fine job, do you not? There is so much life and vivacity in him, even in death. He looks as though he has an extremely important message to deliver.”

Selina glanced up at him.

Was this his idea of a joke?

He was watching her carefully, his expression intent but inscrutable.

He knows.

The words came into her mind unbidden. Without a doubt, they were true. He knew what game she had been playing, and this was his way of telling her.

His bright, fixed gaze challenged her, silently asking what will you do now ?

“Oh, Mr. Drake,” she said breathlessly, putting a hand to her chest, “it exceeds all expectation.” She stepped forward to examine the bird more closely, though everything within her screamed at her to give the grotesque pigeon distance.

She reached a hand toward its eyes, as though she might touch the macabre globes.

Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down.

“The artistry is magnificent. Why, one can almost imagine Montfort might fly away at any moment.” She smiled up at Mr. Drake.

“Montague, you mean,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

“That is what I said,” she replied evenly.

Their eyes locked, and a silent battle ensued, as though they were both determining whether to end the charade or continue it.

Selina would certainly not be the one to end it. Now, more than ever, she was determined to win this war. Mr. Drake would leave it bloodied and bruised, humiliated. He would admit his crimes aloud.

“How can I ever thank you for this masterpiece?” she asked.

His smile had a sardonic tilt to it as he responded. “I have no doubt you will hit upon a way, my little rose.”

She gritted her teeth, only managing to keep her pleasant expression intact by some small miracle.

“You are too kind,” she replied.

He put out his hand for hers, and after a brief hesitation, she granted it to him. “Unthinkable.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a long, soft kiss to the back of her glove.

Her heart fluttered even in its anger.

It was then she realized that his likening her to a rose earlier might not have been the compliment it had appeared to be. It was very likely he had been referencing not her beauty but her thorns.

He would soon learn just how sharp they could be.