The Arrangement. Lyn Stone
you’re certainly not that, now are you?” he said, leaning his head back and raking her with those piercing blue eyes of his. “Not by a very long chalk.”
“Don’t you try distracting me with your nasty leers,” Kathryn warned, well aware that she stood dreadfully exposed in her flimsy knee-length chemise. “If you think I’m going to let you get away with what you’re doing to your own brother, you are wrong! Dead wrong!”
Chadwick seemed to drop his anger as if it were a wet cloak. He slumped down on the rumpled bed, shaking his head as he looked up at her. “Pip’s not really my brother.”
Kathryn scoffed, crossing her arms across her half-bared bosom. “Of course he is. He looks so much like you, it’s unreal, except of course for the hair and...” Then it dawned on her what he meant. “Oh, I see. He’s your father’s bastard, then?”
The dark head inclined, and he stared at her, nodding slightly. “He’s a bastard, all right.”
Kathryn narrowed her eyes and gave him her sternest look. “You must know what you’re doing is wrong, Chadwick.”
He sighed soulfully. “Yes, I know.” His wonderful hands uncurled, and their long agile fingers lay open in supplication, bearing traces of the powder from his face.
“What would you have me do, Miss Wainwright? Stick him in some crofter’s hut to tend the sheep? Bury his music?” She watched him unfold his large body and pace the confines of the room with a catlike grace. He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Or I could banish him to Bedlam, where he could while away his days in like company. You tell me what I should do.”
Kathryn felt confused, thrown by Chadwick’s admission of guilt and obvious distress over the dilemma. “At least he ought to receive some credit for his talent,” she suggested.
“Ha! Credit, of course. We surely ought to advertise his talents. I could parade him about London, maybe even Paris and Rome. Introduce him as the calf-witted composer, the nimble-fingered numbskull. How do you think he’ll do in polite society, Miss Wainwright? Will you applaud him as he drools on the ivories? Perhaps you could stand by with his bonbon rewards and wipe the spittle off his chin.”
“Oh, God,” Kathryn groaned, clenching her eyes shut as she turned away toward the window. The silence grew, broken only by Chadwick’s harsh breathing and the increasing patter of the rain.
“Has he always been...that way?” she asked gently.
“An unfortunate accident,” he explained, “and I’ve dealt with it the only way I know how. Look, I know you only want to help improve Pip’s circumstance, but Tim-beroak is his home. God knows I can’t afford to improve on the old place, but to sell it from under him would be unthinkable. Impossible.” His voice grew soft and imploring. “Believe me, Miss Wainwright, he’s usually quite content there. He needs his forest and the lake. They provide his inspiration, and what precious snatches of peace he can find.”
“Is that where he’s gone now, do you think? To his forest?” she asked, suddenly fearful that she might be the cause of Pip’s venturing too far from his haven and into danger.
“That’s where he usually goes when he’s troubled. When I returned this morning, he told me you planned to take him away today. He ran off to hide from you. He’ll probably come home before dark. I apologize for my temper, but you did upset him, and therefore me.”
Then Chadwick did the strangest thing. He rose and offered her his hands and a look of sad entreaty. “Will you please not expose us, Miss Wainwright? I ask this for Pip’s sake, as well as my own. We cannot let his music die, and a few words from you in print could slay it outright.”
Kathryn reached out to him in spite of herself, grasping the hands that brought such wonder to the world. Pip’s wonder. “What kind of monster do you take me for, Mr. Chadwick?”
“A benevolent one, I hope,” he answered, with a pale, dimpled smile. His eyes sparkled with light azure fire and wry humor. Her knees turned to pudding when he did that.
Kathryn forced a laugh and squeezed his fingers gently. “I’m no monster at all. And I no longer believe that you are, when you speak so eloquently on Pip’s behalf. I believe I’ve misjudged you, sir, at least this private side of yourself.”
“I do promise to take better care of Pip,” he offered sincerely. “Rest assured, I shall.”
His gaze grew even more heated as it wandered down the length of her, reminding Kathryn that she stood half-naked, unchaperoned, holding his hands, in the middle of a sleazy bedchamber. What must he think?
“Perhaps you’d better excuse me now, Mr. Chadwick.”
“Please call me Jon. I feel we’ve become friends in the space of our visit. May I call upon you when next I’m in town? Perhaps the interview was not such a bad idea after all.”
Kathryn pulled away from the handclasp and backed up a bit to put a decent distance between them. This beguiling charmer was almost as different from the Chadwick she knew as his brother Pip. “I’d be honored. No doubt I’ll see you again when I call on Pip. I’ll worry till I know he’s safe.”
Chadwick looked wary, as though he hadn’t considered that she would pursue the matter farther than this conversation. “Oh, that’s not necessary. Not even wise, under the circumstances. He was so frightened, he’ll take a bit of calming down, I expect. Tell you what, I’ll send word to your offices when I’ve found him, so you needn’t fret.” He reached for the door handle.
Kathryn laid a detaining hand on Jonathan’s arm. “I never meant to upset Pip. It’s just that when I found him there, so engrossed in his music, practically naked and shivering, all I wanted to do was help. Your resemblance is so remarkable, it was obvious to me you were brothers. I feared you had mistreated him.”
“And that I’d stolen his compositions. A natural assumption. I just regret you discovered him in such an embarrassing condition.” Chadwick touched his fingers to his temple and sadly shook his head. “The lad simply doesn’t know any better. Will you consider, then, not writing about it? Your article could destroy the only outlet for pleasure the poor wretch has. Music is all he knows. All he’s able to comprehend.” Silvery eyes, so like his unfortunate brother’s, pleaded for compassion. His beseeching smile melted her heart, a heart long dedicated to exposing all entertainers for the arrogant, self-centered scoundrels they were.
She offered no definite promise about the exposé, but gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Your concern is admirable, Jonathan. You are not at all the man I first thought you to be.”
He glanced down at her hand and Kathryn felt the hard muscle flex beneath his carefully tailored coat sleeve. The ice-crystal eyes had darkened a shade when he finally returned her gaze. “Indeed, Miss Wainwright,” he said, “I am not.”
Kathryn stood idle for a long time after Jonathan Chadwick left, her mind sifting the new information for stones of hard truth. He pretended to be a cocksure genius looking down his gifted nose at the rest of the plebeian world. Instead, he gave his protection to a baseborn, disadvantaged half brother and provided an outlet for the man’s creativity.
True, Chadwick performed Pip’s music as his own, but what other option had he, other than to ignore it? He benefited greatly by claiming authorship, of course. But where would Pip be without Jon’s support? Somewhere cleaner, perhaps, but likely no happier or better off.
Men thought little about their surroundings, as a rule—at least the men she knew did. Ought she to judge it Jonathan’s fault if the manor house was a wreck? How much time did he spend there? she wondered. Apparently not enough. He had promised to do better by Pip. She meant to see that he did. The least she could do was ensure that the place was cleaned and sufficient food laid by.
Something about Pip stirred maternal instincts Kathryn hadn’t realized she possessed. Children didn’t interest her much at this point in her life. But Pip, the overgrown