“I would be happy to tell you a bedtime story,” India said, holding out her hand. “I expect that Rose’s nursemaid is waiting, gentlemen, so why don’t you return to the house, and I will join you later? I worry that the other guests will find it odd that the three of us have disappeared.”
“You are not going about the grounds by yourself at night,” Thorn stated.
“I’ve been doing precisely that for weeks,” India pointed out.
Vander intervened. “I am happy to wait for you, Lady Xenobia. Thorn, your parents will be wondering where you are.”
“It would be quite improper for you to escort India,” Thorn said, folding his arms across his chest. “In fact, you shouldn’t have accompanied her here without a chaperone.”
“Yet it wouldn’t be improper for you?” Vander said, clearly irritated.
“No.”
Since Thorn didn’t elaborate, India said, “Mr. Dautry and I are such old friends that we don’t concern ourselves with propriety.”
“You are feeling protective?” Vander asked Thorn.
“No one is going to compromise India under my roof,” Thorn said.
This was barked more than stated, but Vander’s eyes cleared and he gave Thorn one of those slaps on the back that men give each other. “I was wrong, earlier,” he said. “I apologize.”
“We’ll bid you good-night, gentlemen,” India said. She took Rose away, but not before she heard Vander saying that Thorn had done him the greatest favor of his life.
She smiled all the way up the stairs and through story time, a new experience for her inasmuch as that her mother had never contemplated such a thing. Taking inspiration from Vander’s paper dolls, she came up with a world of civilized rabbits. Runnebunny was a rascal bunny, hopping all over the place and stealing everyone’s cabbage. But he also had the longest ears and the blackest eyes of any rabbit in the county.
“Your story is rather babyish, but I do like Mr. Runnebunny,” Rose said sleepily. “He’s just like Mr. Dautry.”
“Hmmm,” India said, pulling up Rose’s covers. “Well, tomorrow, I’ll tell you more about Lord Parsley, and I’m sure you’ll like him just as much. He’s far more civilized, and you know that’s important in a bunny.”
“I don’t care,” Rose said, snuggling down into her covers, her doll in the crook of her arm. “Antigone and I think that it’s better that a bunny be able to steal lots of cabbage to ensure that his baby bunnies don’t go hungry.”
India lingered for a moment, thinking that she had inadvertently managed to make her story appallingly revealing. Then she kissed the sleeping child on the cheek and headed down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-three
Thorn drank two glasses of brandy while he waited for India. He had never felt so damned undecided. In point of fact, he was never undecided. Ever. Generally, he decided which path was best, and took it.
He knew instinctively that Lala was the woman for him. She was warm and sweet and uncomplicated. It was unfortunate that she was also a little boring, especially now that she had learned about infant mortality; Thorn was completely uninterested, but he could live with it.
Her affection would bind his family together. Moreover, her concern with infant mortality suggested that she would make every effort to nourish and raise their children in the best possible fashion.
India, on the other hand, was like a dissected map, one of those new puzzles she had bought for Rose. No piece seemed to fit with another, and half of them hinted at some unknown country, rich, deep, and undiscovered.
Even though he had deliberately invited Vander to his house party, when his friend had thanked him for introducing him to India, his eyes betraying an intensity of feeling that Thorn had only seen when Vander was at the races . . . well, then Thorn had contemplated killing him.