arrangement, truly.”
Silence eyed her sister skeptically. The picture Temperance drew was altogether too rosy. “And I suppose this Lord Caire is an ancient gentleman, white-haired and bony-kneed?”
Temperance winced. “His hair is white, actually.”
“And his knees?”
“I hope you don’t think I stare at a gentleman’s knees.”
“ Temp erance…”
“Oh, very well, he’s a young and rather handsome man,” Temperance said not very graciously. Her cheeks had pinkened.
“Dear Lord.” Silence stared with concern at her sister. Temperance was a widow of eight and twenty,but sometimes she behaved with all the circumspection of a silly girl. “Think. Why would Lord Caire pick you in particular to lead him about St. Giles?”
“I don’t know, but—”
“You must tell Winter. This thing sounds like a made-up story to entice you. Lord Caire might have dreadful plans for you. What if he lures you into debauchery?”
Temperance wrinkled her nose, drawing attention to a speck of soot at the tip. “I hardly think that’s likely. Have you looked at me recently?”
She spread her arms wide as if to emphasize the ridiculousness of an aristocrat wanting to seduce her. Silence had to admit that standing in her kitchen, her hair half down, and with soot on her nose, Temperance certainly didn’t look like someone particularly tempting to a seducer.
But she replied loyally. “You’re quite pretty and well you know it.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” Temperance let her arms drop. “You’ve always been the beauty of the family. If a dastardly lord were to corrupt anyone, it would be you.”
Silence looked sternly at her sister. “You’re trying to distract me.”
Temperance sighed and sank into a kitchen chair. “Don’t tell anyone, Silence, please don’t. I’ve already accepted Lord Caire’s money to pay the rent—that is how we paid off our debt.”
“But Winter is sure to find out eventually. How did you explain paying the rent to him?”
“I told him that I sold a ring that Benjamin had given me.”
“Oh, Temperance!” Silence covered her mouth in horror. “You lied to Winter?”
But Temperance shook her head. “It was only a small lie. This is the only hope we have for the home. Think what it would do to Winter should the home close.”
Silence glanced away. Of all their brothers, Winter had been the most devoted to their father and his charitable works. It would disappoint him terribly to have the home fail under his watch.
“Please, Silence,” Temperance whispered. “For Winter.”
“Very well.” Silence nodded once. “I won’t tell our brothers—”
“Oh, thank you!”
“Unless,” Silence continued, “I feel you are in danger.”
“I won’t be. That I can promise.”
L AZARUS WOKE ON a silent scream. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment he simply lay there and looked about the room, straining to remember where he was. Then he recognized his own bedroom. The walls were a dark brown, the furniture old and impressive, and his bed hung with dark green and brown curtains. His father had slept here before him, and Lazarus hadn’t bothered changing anything when he’d inherited the title. He felt each muscle in his body slowly relax as he glanced at the window. The light there was a pale gray; dawn couldn’t be too far away—and he never went back to sleep after a nightmare. He stretched and rose, nude, then padded to the tall dresser to splash cold water on his face. He donned a yellow brocaded banyan and sat at the elegant cherrywood desk in the corner—the only piece of furniture in the room that he’d brought with him. His father would’ve disapproved heartily of writing in dishabille.
Lazarus grinned at the thought. Then he uncapped his inkwell and began work on his current translation project. Catullus was particularly scathing of Lesbia in this poem. He wanted to find the right word—the perfect word—that, when correctly set, would shine
Silence eyed her sister skeptically. The picture Temperance drew was altogether too rosy. “And I suppose this Lord Caire is an ancient gentleman, white-haired and bony-kneed?”
Temperance winced. “His hair is white, actually.”
“And his knees?”
“I hope you don’t think I stare at a gentleman’s knees.”
“ Temp erance…”
“Oh, very well, he’s a young and rather handsome man,” Temperance said not very graciously. Her cheeks had pinkened.
“Dear Lord.” Silence stared with concern at her sister. Temperance was a widow of eight and twenty,but sometimes she behaved with all the circumspection of a silly girl. “Think. Why would Lord Caire pick you in particular to lead him about St. Giles?”
“I don’t know, but—”
“You must tell Winter. This thing sounds like a made-up story to entice you. Lord Caire might have dreadful plans for you. What if he lures you into debauchery?”
Temperance wrinkled her nose, drawing attention to a speck of soot at the tip. “I hardly think that’s likely. Have you looked at me recently?”
She spread her arms wide as if to emphasize the ridiculousness of an aristocrat wanting to seduce her. Silence had to admit that standing in her kitchen, her hair half down, and with soot on her nose, Temperance certainly didn’t look like someone particularly tempting to a seducer.
But she replied loyally. “You’re quite pretty and well you know it.”
“I know nothing of the sort.” Temperance let her arms drop. “You’ve always been the beauty of the family. If a dastardly lord were to corrupt anyone, it would be you.”
Silence looked sternly at her sister. “You’re trying to distract me.”
Temperance sighed and sank into a kitchen chair. “Don’t tell anyone, Silence, please don’t. I’ve already accepted Lord Caire’s money to pay the rent—that is how we paid off our debt.”
“But Winter is sure to find out eventually. How did you explain paying the rent to him?”
“I told him that I sold a ring that Benjamin had given me.”
“Oh, Temperance!” Silence covered her mouth in horror. “You lied to Winter?”
But Temperance shook her head. “It was only a small lie. This is the only hope we have for the home. Think what it would do to Winter should the home close.”
Silence glanced away. Of all their brothers, Winter had been the most devoted to their father and his charitable works. It would disappoint him terribly to have the home fail under his watch.
“Please, Silence,” Temperance whispered. “For Winter.”
“Very well.” Silence nodded once. “I won’t tell our brothers—”
“Oh, thank you!”
“Unless,” Silence continued, “I feel you are in danger.”
“I won’t be. That I can promise.”
L AZARUS WOKE ON a silent scream. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment he simply lay there and looked about the room, straining to remember where he was. Then he recognized his own bedroom. The walls were a dark brown, the furniture old and impressive, and his bed hung with dark green and brown curtains. His father had slept here before him, and Lazarus hadn’t bothered changing anything when he’d inherited the title. He felt each muscle in his body slowly relax as he glanced at the window. The light there was a pale gray; dawn couldn’t be too far away—and he never went back to sleep after a nightmare. He stretched and rose, nude, then padded to the tall dresser to splash cold water on his face. He donned a yellow brocaded banyan and sat at the elegant cherrywood desk in the corner—the only piece of furniture in the room that he’d brought with him. His father would’ve disapproved heartily of writing in dishabille.
Lazarus grinned at the thought. Then he uncapped his inkwell and began work on his current translation project. Catullus was particularly scathing of Lesbia in this poem. He wanted to find the right word—the perfect word—that, when correctly set, would shine
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