Page 50 of A Season for Scandal

“I think you’ll find that a man can get a lot done in five minutes if he is focused on his goal,” Oliver said, and for some reason the way he spoke the words sent a shiver across my skin. I stepped closer to the fire, hoping to chase away the chill.

“If you’ve decided to sit here and get drunk, don’t let me stop you,” I said. “Though I hope you don’t make a habit of it.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder, and he scowled. “Of course I don’t make a habit of it. If I did, it would take a lot more than five minutes of knocking back brandy to have me in my cups, wouldn’t it?”

“Then why did you decide you needed a drink now?” I asked, cautiously pressing my luck.

There was a moment where I didn’t think he would answer. He looked into the fire, his brows tipped down as the light kissed his profile with its golden touch.

“I have been alone for a long time,” he said finally. “If Ellen came back … if I found my sister, and then something happened to her …again… I don’t know what I would do.” The words were soft, a confession, and I didn’t know how much of this honesty was owed to the brandy, but I was glad to hear him say them anyway, even as I felt the hurt there.

“That makes sense,” I said, dropping to the floor, and arranging my skirts around me as I sat with my back to the fire, my eyes on him. “I should think such an idea would be terrifying. If anything happened to Daisy, I don’t know what I would do either.”

He looked down into his glass. “I must be starting to believe them,” he said. “That she is Ellen, I mean. In the moment, I simply reacted as if she was. That must mean I believe.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed. “Or perhaps youwantto believe.”

He made a noise that could have been agreement. “The damned rocking horse. Even I had forgotten about that. Every detail … even down to the sound it made.” He sighed, a sound of frustration. “Do you think people really can grow out of a reaction to food like that?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, “but Winnie will. We’ll write to her tonight. We have the name of the school in France for Sylla, and you have the name of the doctor the Lavignes consulted in London. Maud will look into him.” I smiled. “You’re not in this alone. We will untangle it all. We’ll find the truth.”

His head fell back against the chair, and he looked at me through half-closed eyes. “I almost believe it when you say it.”

“As you should.”

I was distracted then by the cat who approached me, butting at my hand, and twining around me in a clear demand for attention. I was happy to oblige, stroking it as it lolled to the floor in front of the fire beside me, purring like a steam engine.

“I didn’t know you had a pet,” I said.

Oliver snorted. “He isn’t apet.” He eyed the cat sourly. “He’s here to catch mice. Bloody old ruin is full of them. If anything, he’s a member of the staff.”

As the member of staff in question was wearing a smart leather collar with a silver disc hanging from it, carefully engraved with the name Marmalade, I took this description with a pinch of salt, but I said nothing more on the subject, restricting myself to a small, knowing smile.

“If you’re going to sit here and drink brandy, do you think you might share?” I asked instead.

Oliver leaned forward, holding the glass out towards me. “I only have one glass,” he said. The words sounded like a dare.

I took the glass from him, our fingers brushing as I did so. The dark curls of his hair had fallen across his forehead and the open top buttons of his shirt revealed a triangle of golden skin. I thought how much I liked him like this – loose-limbed and dishevelled.

And then I remembered I had no business thinking about liking him at all, so I buried my face in the glass, taking a long gulp of the amber liquid. It burned down my throat and I spluttered.

To his credit, Oliver didn’t say anything, only smirked as I handed the glass back to him.

“One glass,” I said, when the burning subsided, and I could talk again. “One chair.”

Oliver’s eyebrow lifted. “I don’t have many visitors.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t care for the company of other people.”

“Oh,” I said.

“No need to look like a kicked puppy, Bloom.” Oliver sighed deeply. “You’renot other people.”

“I’m not?”

His eyes met mine, and in that moment I could hear my heart beating so loudly I was surprised he didn’t remark upon it, enquire whether I needed medical attention.