Marsden ignored the tone. “St Alban, he’s building a parliamentary career. Works too much for my taste.”
“Seraphina likes him?”
“Loves him is the term used for affianced people I understand.”
Ilya shook his head. “No, she doesn’t love him.”
“What? You have seen her for less than a few minutes. They are thick as thieves.”
“I know what that woman looks like in love and it isn’t that drawn worn out look she is wearing.”
“I believe that look is what’s left after the ‘look of love’ leaves.” Marsden growled.
“I will put it back.”
“You will leave her alone.”
Never!
Their glasses raised, they threw back the contents as if the December deception hadn’t happened and they were right back to when he was here last, kicking up a storm with women, gaming halls, house parties and getting mentioned in the gossip columns every day to help his brother break his betrothal. A totally pointless exercise as the man married her anyway and thanked his luck every day since.
But it had cost Ilya. Cost him his heart’s desire.
Chapter 21
“What were you doing sitting with him at Madam Debuverey’s salon?” Seph scowled at Marsden as she paced his parlor. “You of all people know how much he hurt me.”
“You know Ilya and I have sorted out our differences over your liaison and how he treated you. The whole business about the betrothal worked out for Georgie. You said so yourself. She has never looked happier than when they came back to London in the Spring and you caught up.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“You better get used to Ilya because he bought that house, the one they rented last year in Mayfair. The man intends to live in London and has brought his sister.” Marsden hooked her arm through his, stopping her pacing and swung her to face him. “And. We’ve talked about this before. The whole appeal of trysts and liaisons is that they are exactly that. Exciting adventures or misadventures and then it’s over.”
She shrugged away from his hold. “You could have warned me he was in London. That he was at the salon.”
“I see, by carrier pigeon after I ordered my drink.”
Seph scowled at him.
“He came in and sat down not twenty minutes before you arrived with St Alban.”
Seph rolled her eyes. She was being a tad unreasonable, but she had a heart to protect and it hadn’t even remotely healed after its last exposure to Ilya.
“Listen sweetheart. I didn’t know he was in town. Last time Ilya and I spoke, as you know, was in Paris at the Exposition Universelle. I told him to steer clear of London for a while longer.”
“Forever would be too soon,” she muttered. “Did you mention my engagement?” Her body tuned itself to Marsden’s every tone and shift in body language.
“You weren’t engaged when I went to Paris. Last Month!” Marsden sounded frustrated.
Was the man stupid? Didn’t Marsden understand she wanted to know every minute detail of every conversation he’d had with Ilya? Wanted to know Ilya pined for her. Foolish girl, Ilya would have had a hundred paramours under his belt since he’d last had her…but still. Marsden was supposed to know what women wanted. What they needed and yet he made her go fishing.
“Did you tell him now?”
“Yes.” He sounded more than frustrated. Marsden had no right to be. She was the one twisting in knots, not knowing what to do next. She thought she’d had everything sorted. Forget about Ilya. Choose a decent man like St Alban and settle down, have a brood of children and write about her broken heart for the rest of her placid life.
“Did he ask about St Alban?” Getting information out of him was like drawing teeth.
“Yes. For god’s sake what do you expect? The man stood up and made it clear to all and sundry how he feels about you.”
“Standing up means nothing.” Yet a flurry of something rather pleasant went through her.
“Oh, come on, you’re the poet Seph. It was a declaration of intent! He’s come back to London for you.”
A flock of birds seemed to have been released in her chest.
Her mouth tugged into a smile despite herself. A declaration of intent.
She swallowed. Got a grip of herself. She wouldn’t survive another round if it went pear shaped. The pleasure evaporated.
“You know, I think you still love him as much as you ever did,” said an exasperated Marsden.
“Never!” Always. She would always love him, the wretched beast. “Beside I have St Alban now.”
Marsden shook his head not buying one word. And neither should he.
One look at Ilya in the Salon and the man stole her heart all over again. One look at his chiseled face, the hungry eyes and she remembered every touch, every caress rising from the grave she’d thrown them in and coming alive like phantom touches over her skin. She was going to write a whole book of poetry lamenting how loved ruined you. Read Bronte’s Wuthering Heights as if it were the story of her and Ilya, for the rest of her life.
“Well there’s another topic we don’t agree on! You should have talked to me before bounding back into the marriage mart.” Marsden stalked over to the bell and called for another service.
“I’m too restless for tea.” Seph huffed reaching for her hat and gloves.
“Where are you going?” Marsden looked tired as he sank into his chair.
“I am going …out.” She waved her hand around. Anywhere except home where she could be found.
He grunted “You’re making a hash of things Seph. Your first tryst and you fall in love. Then you rebound into an off-the-cuff engagement.” He held up his finger. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re in love with St Alban, because I have seen you in love and the two of you are not even lukewarm. You are both broken. Both wanting to be done with it all, say you are married and not feel anything again.”
Seph picked up a nasty little vase she had never been fond of and threw it at him. His reflexes were too good, and he caught it before it hit him.
Drat.
She didn’t like what he said because it was probably true. There was the warmth of friendship between her and St Alban. His heart was still with a young wife who ran off to the continent and filed for divorce. Hers was with an undeserving Russian.
“I’ve never written better in my life.” But it wasn’t St Alban she wrote about. Oh no, not a single word. It was all Ilya.
“Good for you but that doesn’t mean you are making the best decisions now.”
“Who are you to judge? You have never loved a thing in your life!” She flung the hurtful accusation at him knowing how false it was and regretted it straight away. Marsden loved her, loved many people, he had just never been in love.
He shook his head at her again. “That was below you Seph,” he said quietly, and she felt awful.
“I take it back. But have you been in love? So in love you were no longer a single person but somehow fused to another?” she said as the hurt surged forward and ripped her insides apart all over again. Her eyes welled up.
Marsden rose and was beside her in seconds, arms came around her and drew her into a hug. “No sweetheart. I haven’t. But don’t take that slice of life which you lived with so much courage and turn it into cowardice.”