Page 38 of His Wicked Charm

Pain was a thing that came from the people one loved—the disappointment in his father’s eye when Con created trouble or the sorrow on his mother’s face when her brother died or the emptiness in the house when his siblings married and moved away. The cut of separation when Alex married. Pain was hard and it was deep, not something he wasted on people who didn’t matter.

Against all reason, in some perverse way he liked Lilah Holcutt, but she was not someone who mattered to him. Who could matter to him. She was on the periphery of his life. His sister-in-law’s friend.

Con straightened, pushing away from the pillar. She was here. Lilah walked toward him, followed by not only her aunt, but also a portly middle-aged gentleman and a tall spare woman in black.

The little lines between Lilah’s eyes were pinched, her mouth tight, her pace fast. She was simmering, he thought, and for some reason that made him smile. Assuming his blandest, most innocuous expression, Con went forward to greet them.

Lilah made impressively quick work of the introductions and goodbyes. The thin woman in black stood apart the entire time, her glacial eyes boring holes in Con. Her face was long, her lips narrow, and her eyebrows, stark black in her otherwise-pale face, seemed to perpetually pull together. Lilah didn’t introduce her, and that, along with her stance behind the group, made him assume she was a servant.

He felt a decidedly dark premonition of her purpose there, confirmed when Lilah’s aunt and uncle returned to their carriage, leaving the woman behind, along with Lilah’s baggage. Con looked from her to Lilah.

The corner of Lilah’s mouth twitched—he wasn’t sure if it was in amusement or irritation—and she said, “Cuddington is my aunt’s maid. She’ll be traveling with us.”

“Ah. How very proper.” Con tried a smile. Cuddington’s face remained stony.

“I’ll get our tickets and see to your things, miss,” Cuddington told Lilah and turned to summon a porter.

Con brought out the tickets he had already purchased, admitting that he had not gotten one for Cuddington, as well. “I’m sorry,” he told Lilah, watching the other woman bustle off with Lilah’s trunk and a porter in tow. “I didn’t realize you would bring your duenna.”

“Surely you knew I would bring my maid.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t know she would be a gorgon,” he replied. They started walking to the platform where their train awaited. “I was beginning to think you had decided not to go after all.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I told you I would.”

“I know. But...” He glanced at her. “I didn’t mean it, you know—what I said to you as I left. I won’t bother you with my attentions. I was only...”

“Making jest of me?”

“I wasn’t—”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t lampooning my prudish ways? My silly regard for society’s rules? You weren’t laughing at my desire to maintain my reputation?”

Con floundered for something to say. He supposed he’d been making light of those things. But he hadn’t meant it the way she made it sound.

“Don’t worry,” Lilah said crisply. “I never take what you say seriously.”

Con realized he didn’t like that idea any better. He strode along in silence, wondering what was making him feel so aggrieved. Lilah, naturally, seemed fine with the lack of conversation, glancing around the station, anywhere but at him. She was stiff, that coiled tension still inside her. Something had roused her anger; no doubt it was him.

They found their compartment on the train. The little room seemed somehow smaller than usual, and Con thought he probably should not have shut the door behind them. But he was damned if he was going to turn around and open it. They stood together awkwardly. Then, with a grimace, Con turned away to look out their window. There was no sign of the maid. Perhaps she would miss the train; the thought lightened his spirits a bit.

“I don’t suppose there’s any hope that your maid will sit somewhere else.”

“That would hardly serve the purpose,” Lilah responded.

“We won’t be able to talk in front of her.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Not about anything important. I can imagine how well your aunt would receive a report of hidden keys or kidnappers.”

“Cuddington isn’t reporting to Aunt Helena about me.” Her voice faltered at the end, but she added sharply, “You are in a foul mood today.”

“I wanted to leave yesterday.” Con realized that he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t seem to pull his mood into something more pleasant. “Don’t you ever get tired of someone trailing after you everywhere you go?”

“Of course I do!”

There was such heartfelt irritation in her voice that he turned to her, surprised. “Then why do you do it? I can scarcely imagine that you’re so meek your aunt dictates your every move.”