Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,64

stranger.” With that he rolled his shoulders and resumed writing.

“Do you remember him?” Over the years, she’d asked questions about his family. Who had raised him before he’d found his way to working with Diggory and then Avery? He’d always been vague, offering nothing of true meaning.

He stiffened. “Some,” he said tightly.

“Did he . . .” She wetted her lips. She’d always assumed just the downtrodden didn’t value their offspring. Now she let herself think that mayhap those powerful lords, too, were as merciless. “Did he beat you?” She managed to get that question out.

His gaze flew upright to hers. “No,” he assured her quickly. “He did not.”

“You do remember him.” She pounced on that detail.

Dare let out a sound of frustration. “My memories of him are . . . fine. He was concerned with my schooling and that I be the perfect heir to fill his shoes.”

“So . . . he’s not a stranger, or worse,” she said, not letting the matter go as he so clearly wished. Trying to make sense of this indifference for the man he’d been stolen from. “An ogre like my father was.”

“I’ve spent more years away from my late father than with him, Temperance. And as such, I don’t care about a watch that he might have used.”

Just as he’d been determined to keep her and everyone else out, he did the same with the memory of the people who’d given him life. “Did use, Dare,” she corrected, highlighting that important distinction. “One that your father did use.”

Midwriting, Dare slammed his pen down in the first break in his temper that she ever remembered of him. Ink splattered his always meticulous ledgers. “Would you have had me let Lionel and his family starve out of some sentimental connection? Because there is none, Temperance.” He managed a return to his usual calm. “There is none,” he repeated. “Do you know what does matter?” Lifting the ledger, he turned it around, revealing the lengthy column of names.

She worked her eyes over the page of men and women and children—some familiar, more not—of the Rookeries who were reliant upon him. And beside those columns were others, enumerating how much money was needed to provide shelter and food for the individuals listed there. “This is what you intend to do with your grandfather’s funds,” she murmured. Of course. It fit with who he was. And what he did.

And in doing that, he’d not have to steal. Not again.

“These people matter.” He jabbed a finger at the top of the page. “Lionel matters.”

“But it can be . . . both ways. You can help Lionel and others and still retain connections to the family and life you once knew, Dare.”

“I’m sure I could.” He lowered his book. “If I had a desire to. I don’t.” His tone contained a finality to it. Returning his volume of names to his desk, he picked up his pen and resumed writing once more. “I’m not meant to have connections.”

“Because you never let yourself have them, Dare,” she said softly. With that, she let herself out.

The night of his impromptu offer of marriage, she’d convinced herself that she could be more to him. That they could be more and have more.

Only to learn . . . and accept, too late, that Dare would never let her in.

Not in the ways she wished.

Chapter 12

Dare had never thought partnering with Temperance in a pretend marriage and joining Polite Society, all in the name of twenty thousand pounds, would be an easy venture.

But after she’d said her piece and quietly taken her leave, he was at last forced to acknowledge that he’d not given full consideration to just how difficult it would be in close quarters with her once more.

A woman of moral convictions, the likes of which he’d never known a person could have, she’d shun the acts that most desperate people performed in the name of survival. She’d always challenged him to be more. Wanted him to be more.

And time had not changed that.

But then Dare had always deluded himself where Temperance Swift was concerned. How many times had he thought he could sway her to his way of thinking? Or appease her?

Nay, she was a woman in full control of what she believed to be right and wrong, and they would never meet at a place of like understanding.

The words she’d spoken lingered in the room, staying with him still.

But it can be . . . both ways. You can help Lionel