It was even the way he had seen who Lala was, when the rest of them—the whole ton—had ignored her. He’d realized that Lala was bright, and that she needed rescuing.
India couldn’t even put into words the way he was with Rose. It was as if he’d walked straight into being Rose’s father, and the little girl would never know how lucky she was to have had two fathers who loved her, protected her, and treasured her.
India almost groaned aloud. Adelaide was right. She had forgotten to guard her heart.
It seemed she’d given it away, without noticing.
Chapter Twenty-seven
That evening at dinner, Vander lavished attention on India, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She felt listless, as if the world was hurtling on without her. Probably she’d end up married to Vander. And Thorn would marry Lala.
Obviously, he hadn’t spent the afternoon at his factory, not given the way Lala looked. He must have spent the afternoon with her, and never mind the fact that she was supposedly confined to her room with a headache.
Right now Lala was sitting at the dining table, rosy and glowing . . . Did she really think that they wouldn’t notice the love bite on her neck? Lala had tucked a fichu into the bodice of her gown, but India wasn’t stupid. She could recognize a woman who had spent the afternoon kissing.
Or more.
The worst was that India felt like such a light-skirt, as Adelaide would call it. A slut, to use a baser term. Thorn had spent the afternoon seducing another woman, and she still wanted him.
Luckily, this evening he wasn’t seated beside her; he was at the head of the table, and she was quite a bit farther down. So far away that she dared to look at him under her lashes.
She kept meeting his eyes, which was embarrassing. But every time, a stab of lust would go through her and she would shift in her chair, her legs restless. Mortifyingly, he caught her doing it. He knew what she was feeling.
Once he actually laughed aloud after their eyes met, which made her mind reel.
Men were incredible. How could he look at her in that way, after spending the afternoon with Lala? You only had to look at her to know that she was in a happy daze, that she felt loved and appreciated.
India narrowed her eyes at him and then looked to her right, at Vander.
“Are you sparring with Thorn?” Vander asked.
“Absolutely not,” India said, taking a swallow of wine. “Though if I could, I would spar with him for having disappeared for hours. It’s hardly the conduct of a good host.”
Vander’s eyes rested thoughtfully on Lala, and India’s stomach pitched. Of course everyone guessed where their host had been, or at least, what he had been doing.
“I believe we may be thinking the same thing,” she said, summoning a smile.
“And that would be?”
“I expect Thorn has asked Lala to be his wife,” she breathed. “Just look at her.” Lala was absentmindedly lining up her silverware, a little smile playing around her mouth.
“I’m not convinced,” Vander said, his eyes going to Thorn.
“She has a mark on her neck.”
Vander looked back at India, one side of his mouth quirked up, and she felt herself blushing. She probably shouldn’t even know about love bites. “She does look happy,” he agreed.
Lord Brody was handsome. And he wasn’t baseborn either, though she didn’t give a damn about that. Still, other people did. If her parents were still alive, and if they had cared about such things, they would have preferred she marry Vander.
He even smelled good, like wind with a touch of rain, probably because he spent most of his time on a horse.
She made up her mind. She would not humiliate herself by making calf’s eyes at a man who was marrying another woman. Vander was handsome and strong and perfect. She smiled at him. The big smile, the one that Thorn hated.
Vander didn’t hate it. He smiled back, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in an entirely attractive way. India reached out blindly, picked up her wineglass again, and began to ask Vander about his stables.
She did not look again at the end of the table. She kept her shoulder turned, as a matter of fact. She held on to her dignity with all the strength she had, and she lavished smiles on Vander.
He was her future, and Lala was Thorn’s future, and that was that.
When Eleanor rose, all the ladies rose with her, and the room hummed with quiet chatter and the swish of gowns brushing the marble floor. “The ladies will join me for tea in the small drawing room,” Eleanor said.
India had designed it for precisely this purpose. It was a beautiful, feminine space, with clusters of settees and even a game table in the event that someone wanted to play piquet.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Eleanor said cheerfully, taking Adelaide’s arm and ignoring the way Lady Rainsford was hovering, indicating that she would like to stroll beside the duchess.
India stopped to have a chat with Fleming, who revealed that there hadn’t been quite enough soup spoons, and that the second downstairs maid had tripped on the back stairs and sprained her ankle.
“She’s a bit clumsy.”
“She’ll improve,” India said.
Thorn appeared at Fleming’s shoulder and said, “What in the hell are the two of you discussing?”
Just like that, India’s heart sped up and began beating loudly in her ears. He was cross again, but that wasn’t what made her pulse race; it was the pure maleness that blazed out of him, even standing as he was in the shadowy corridor, half hidden by his butler.
“Merely an insufficiency of soup spoons,” she said. “Thank you, Fleming.”
The butler bowed, giving Thorn a sharp-eyed glance. India wouldn’t be surprised if he knew everything. Butlers always did.
“You needn’t worry about my soup spoons,” Thorn said, taking a step closer. His jaw was set, and his eyes were saying something . . . she wasn’t quite sure what.
India was transfixed by his closeness, and it took a moment for his comment to sink in. Of course, she didn’t. He had a wife now. Or as good as one.
“I understand,” she said, head high. “I will give Lala the direction of the silversmith who created your design.”
He made a growling sound. “Leave it.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll be joining the ladies.” And she nodded toward the door to the small drawing room.
But instead of allowing her to pass, Thorn took another step toward her. India reflexively stepped backward, only to discover that he had herded her into a tiny room off the corridor designed to hold footmen’s livery.
Proper cabinetry had yet to be fitted, and as a temporary measure, India had concealed the alcove with a misty gray hanging. Now the curtain fell closed behind Thorn as he gently pushed her all the way into the tiny room.
There was scarcely room for both of them, and light filtered dimly through the loose linen weave. She looked up at his scowling eyes and something broke open inside her heart, just a little bit.
She’d fallen in love with a man with cool gray eyes, the very same color as the fabric at his shoulder. She had created the perfect setting for him without even knowing she was doing it.
“Thorn,” she said, “I must join the other ladies; they will be wondering what became of me.”
“You stopped looking at me,” he said, frowning at her.