Lady Killer by Michele Jaffe Page A

shall set aside a small sum for you.” She paused, waiting for Clio’s professions of gratitude. When they did not come, she went on. “You may collect the purse here, that morning, before Mariana’s wedding.”
    “It shall be a birthday present!” Mariana said, clapping her dainty hands. “Just like when we were girls. Only this time you really will be getting something. Oh! I am so happy for you dear Clio. For once you will know what it is like to be cared about.” Her eyes got large and misty with the enormity of her heart. “I want you to know that I understand why you behave wickedly, like you did last night. I understand how hard it must be to know that you are unlovable, that no one wants you.”
    Clio took her leave quickly, and not only because it was evident that Mariana was about to embark on a series of “Poor dear Clio” statements that was going to make her head ache, or because the numbers in her ledger loomed larger than ever. For reasons she could not understand, Mariana’s words, her family’s dislike of her, still hurt, even after all these years. She did not know why, or how, she could care about them, why she craved their approval, their affection, but some part of her did, and some part of her was wrenched by their treatment. Was she really as awful—as unlovable—as they thought?
    Her cheeks were burning and her eyes filled with tears as she rushed through the corridors of Dearbourn Hall. She wished she could be angry with them, angry and resentful, but her rage was turned against herself, for her weakness, for caring what they said, caring that no one had ever wished her a happy birthday, that no one ever would. And not just caring, but crying.
    Silly, foolish, stupid girl. She heard Elwood’s kind words— you are not stupid, Clio —through her tears, but she was certain that if he really knew her, he would realize he was wrong. Crying! Letting her cousin make her cry! What was happening to her? She felt like she was peeling apart. First death’s head visions, now breaking down in unfamiliar corridors. Breaking down anywhere. She did not— would not —care that her birthday always went unmarked, would not care about Mariana and Lady Alecia. She stopped to wipe her eyes and as she did a golden puff of fur scurried around her ankles and set to work licking the tears off her boots.
    She bent down and picked him up, and he reached out his tongue to lick the tears off her face as well. It tickled so nicely that despite the fact she refused to have anything to do with dogs, she laughed to herself, which is why she did not hear his footsteps.
    Miles felt a pang of jealousy such as he had not known in years, watching Clio’s expression go from delight to disgust as her eyes moved from the puppy’s face to his. After Mariana’s reaction to the puppy—or rather, baby dog—that morning, which included shrieking, attempting to kick it, and declaring that she hated it and never wanted it to come into her presence again—Miles had half wished to change places with it, but not nearly as much as he did now.
    “Oh,” Clio said when she saw him. “Here.” She extended the puppy toward him. When he made no move to take it, she set the dog down and began walking quickly away.
    “I owe you an apology,” Miles said, following her closely.
    Clio waved his words away.
    “I treated you badly last night. I am sorry.”
    Clio kept walking.
    “Also, I should tell you that this corridor only goes to my bed chamber. Unless that is where you wish to go?”
    Clio stopped and glared at him. “I think that was a record. Three seconds before you insulted me. Bravo. You are making progress.” She turned and began marching back the way she had come.
    “That is not fair,” Miles said from behind her. “Last night I went at least five minutes before offending you.”
    “I was taking an average,” Clio replied. The sound of Miles’s laughter stopped her and she whirled around. Her face was stark, her