A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (2 page)

“But we’re your family,” Violet protested. “We’re supposed to hold you close in your time of need.”

Good God
. That was actually almost amusing. “My time of need was eight months ago,” he said aloud. “Since then I’ve come to prefer my own company.” Bartholomew straightened again, heading for the door.

“Where can we reach you?”

“You may leave messages for me at the Society Club.”

Stephen stood up behind him. “At least say you’ll join us for dinner this evening. It will be family only. Amelia’s cousins Theresa and Michael, and us.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to return to the Adventurers’ Club and the quiet of his own thoughts. Somewhere he didn’t have to be polite, or answer any questions, or have anyone crowd him.

In the foyer Graham inclined his head, pulled open the front door, and headed away down the hall. Descending the stairs was an even trickier ordeal than climbing up; he had nothing to hold on to. Leaning forward a little, he planted the cane on the second step and then stepped down, bad leg first.

“Tolly.”

Damnation
. “Not now, Stephen. I’m occupied.”

“Then let me help you, damn it all.”

Before he could protest, his older brother had grabbed his free arm. Pulling Bartholomew’s arm
across his shoulder, the viscount swiftly descended the remaining two steps. As soon as his feet were on the ground, Bartholomew shoved his brother away. “Hands off,” he snapped, stumbling backward until he could catch his balance.

“Apologies. But I don’t understand what’s—”

“Just don’t touch me.” Not only did it physically throw him off, but the memories of being grabbed, held down…It was still too fresh.

Whether he read the upset on his brother’s face or he recognized that Bartholomew had gripped the cane like a weapon, Stephen raised his arms and backed away a step. “Very well.”

“Good. I have to go now.”

“Tolly, I read the newspaper account of what happened in India, and I received your letter. I know what you’ve been through. And I understand. We only want to help you recover.”

A shiver ran down Bartholomew’s spine. “You may know what happened, but you don’t know what I’ve been through, Stephen. And I’m as recovered as I will ever be.” He motioned at Tom as the groom peered around the corner. “I truly only wish to be left alone.”

“After tonight. Come by at seven o’clock.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Not good enough. Be here, or I’ll come looking for you.”

And then Sommerset would likely boot him out of the Adventurers’ Club altogether. “Seven o’clock,” he grunted. “And then you’ll leave me be.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Bartholomew abruptly understood why his brother
had thought that an unsatisfactory answer. All he could do at the moment was appear for dinner, and then either convince his family that they wanted nothing to do with him, or disappear. Either one would do, he supposed.

“Theresa, do stop preening,” Michael Weller said with a grin as he descended the stairs of Weller House. “You’re already the embodiment of perfection. And we know everyone attending tonight.”

Theresa looked away from the foyer mirror to frown at her older brother. “The point is to look one’s best, no matter the company.”

“You’re quoting your booklet at me again, aren’t you?”

“I knew you read it. You said you hadn’t.” She flashed him a smile, trying to picture him reading
A Lady’s Guide to Proper Behavior
.

“Because it’s for chits.”

“Well, thank you, anyway.” She finished putting on her hat. “And we don’t know everyone attending tonight. The other brother will be there. Amelia sent over a note.”

“The colonel?” Michael spent his own moment in front of the mirror adjusting his cravat.

“Yes. He was wounded, wasn’t he? Do you have to purchase a new uniform if the old one is ruined in battle, or does the army provide it for you?”

“How the devil should I know? He’s retired on half pay, anyway. The uniform is only for large soirees and people he wishes to impress. And I doubt he’ll worry about impressing us.” Michael collected his hat from Ramsey. “See that Mooney has my riding
boots cleaned, will you?” he asked the butler. “I’m to go riding with Lord Gardner in the morning.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Offering her an arm, Michael walked outside with her to their waiting coach. “You did tell Grandmama we’re leaving, didn’t you?” he asked.

Theresa nodded. “Of course I did. She said you should mind your language, and then she went to find some strawberries.” She looked over at her brother as he took the seat beside her. At six-and-twenty he might have been three years her elder, but he seldom acted like the more mature sibling. That responsibility fell to her. “Whether the colonel wears a uniform or not, he was the lone survivor of an attack. We must show compassion.”

“I’m always compassionate. And I imagine I can find something other than uniforms to chat about,” he said dryly. “If I settle on an unsafe topic, you may kick me beneath the table.”

“Gladly,” she said, offering him another smile.

“You didn’t have to agree to that quite so swiftly.”

“Hmm.” She straightened her gloves. “By the way, have you spoken with Lord Montrose lately?” she asked as casually as she could.

“I saw him this afternoon at White’s. Why do you ask?”

Theresa made a face. “Why do you think I ask?”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “So you’ve settled on him?”

“I’m not certain yet,” she hedged. And that was the truth. Whether everyone else thought she was being coy or not, she simply wasn’t certain—about Mon
trose, or any of her other suitors. And mostly, about herself.

“You only wanted to know, then, if he’d gone off and found someone more interesting?” her brother asked skeptically.

She sniffed, shaking herself. “I was only curious as to his whereabouts. You’re his friend, Michael, so you should know. I can’t very well send a note over to his house to ask his health.”

“I do know all about him. Which is why I’m fairly certain his only illness is that he’s still pining after you.”

“I told him not to do that. I simply need more time to make up my mind.”

“The trouble, Tess, is that you have so many to choose from. His odds make him nervous.”

“That’s not actually my fault.”

Whatever her brother teased, in truth the Marquis of Montrose
wasn’t
her only prospect. In fact, the only difficulty should have been in narrowing down her choices. But she didn’t quite feel ready for that, yet. The more choices there were, the more time she could be expected to take to choose. And that suited her quite well.

A
s Theresa stepped down from the coach, Amelia gave her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I need to speak with you,” her cousin whispered, then released her to greet Michael.

Amelia had never been a great gossip, but her tone was certainly conspiratorial. Her own interest piqued, Theresa made her way through the greetings of her cousin’s husband, Stephen, Lord Gardner, and his delightful younger sister, Violet. No other guests seemed to be in attendance.

They went into the morning room just off the foyer rather than upstairs to the drawing room, but since they were all family now, she supposed there was no reason for formality. Before she could take a seat,
Amelia grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back toward the hallway. “Theresa and I will be back in a moment,” her cousin said.

“Whatever are you up to?” Theresa asked as they continued down the hallway toward the back of the house.

“Nothing. I just wanted to chat with you in private.”

With a grin, Theresa followed Amelia into her husband’s office. “Grandmama Agnes is after another cat,” she said conversationally. “A black one this time. That’s why she begged off dinner tonight; she thinks Lady Selgrave knows the location of a ‘prime litter,’ as she put it.”

“Good Lord. Black cats? She’s not tinkering with witchcraft now, is she?”

“That hadn’t occurred to me.” Laughing, Theresa sank into one of the guest chairs in the small room. “She says it’s because she has all the other colors, but you never know.”

“Well, keep an eye on things. She’s your responsibility now that I’m married.” Amelia settled into the opposite chair. “I met Stephen’s brother this morning.”

“Did you?” It seemed an odd topic for a secret conversation. “What was he like?”

“Not at all what I expected. I told you he was wounded, didn’t I?”

“Yes. And I already told Michael to behave himself tonight. So don’t worry; we will be calm and compassionate.”

“Very calm, I hope.”

Theresa looked again at Amelia. They’d been raised together since Amelia’s mother had died when Amelia was eight and Theresa’s own parents when
she’d been ten, more like sisters than cousins. And something—whether it was Colonel James or something else—was clearly troubling her cousin. “I’m very good at conversation,” she said aloud. “And at being charming. You know I won’t leave you to chat with a soldier unassisted.”

Finally Amelia smiled. “I know. And thank you. On our first meeting, he seemed rather fierce.” Amelia stood, offering a hand to Theresa. “Oh, and Stephen’s purchased me a horse,” she continued, returning to the hallway. “Can you believe it? Me, with a horse.”

“I’m certain he chose a gentle animal for y…”

As they looked toward the foyer, Theresa’s voice trailed off. At first glance she thought that Stephen had come looking for them, but almost immediately she realized that the man standing there was
not
Lord Gardner. For one thing he was taller by a good three or four inches. And the viscount’s brown hair was short and orderly, not the collar-brushing uneven mess of rich mahogany that belonged to this man.

And then there were the eyes. Stephen’s were kind and brown, crinkling at the edges with humor. Not whiskey-colored and gazing straight through her as though she’d already been catalogued and dismissed. She cleared her throat. “Hello.”

He didn’t move. A moment later Amelia stepped between them. “Oh, good. You’ve come,” she said warmly, though she didn’t approach him. “Tess, this is Colonel Bartholomew James. Tolly, my cousin, Theresa Weller.”

“You look like your cousin,” he informed her in a low voice.

Theresa blinked. “Do you think so? Leelee’s hair is so much prettier than mine.”

With a chuckle, Amelia gestured them both to the morning room. “Don’t expect me to disagree with that. We’re all in h—”

“I like your hair,” the colonel interrupted. “It reminds me of sunshine.” He glanced at Amelia, and then his gaze caught Theresa’s again. “Where is dinner being served?” he asked.

“Oh, we decided to eat in the breakfast room, so you wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.”

The gaze left Theresa again, and she blinked, feeling almost as though she’d been dragged forward against her will. Or not against her will, rather. His gaze, his bearing—they spoke of raw, barely contained power. Mesmerizing.

“I’ll wait there, then.” Not until he turned away did she realize that he held a cane in one hand and that he had a terrible limp. Moving further into the shadows, he disappeared through the neighboring doorway.

Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Theresa exhaled sharply. “
That
is your brother-in-law?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Amelia whispered back. “Much less like Stephen than I ever expected.”

“He’s very…intense.” But it was more than that. In the moments she’d gazed at him, it seemed as though everything not absolutely necessary for him to be alive had been done away with. She nearly felt that she’d seen straight through to his soul. It had been a very dark place.

“Don’t be afraid of him, Tess. Come along,” her
cousin said, taking her arm. “I’ll tell Stephen that he’s arrived.”

She shook herself. “I’m not afraid of him. He merely wasn’t what
I
expected, either.” Not at all.

His brother and sister were charming and chatty and amiable. Colonel James, however, seemed their exact opposite in every way. She shook herself. It wasn’t as though a wild beast had been let loose in London. It was merely that he was…outside of her usual experience. Far outside. Theresa glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the breakfast room doorway. Outside was rather more exciting than she’d expected.

“He’s here?” Lord Gardner said, standing as she and Amelia walked back into the room.

“Yes. He went to sit in the breakfast room.”

The viscount gave a brief frown. “I suppose I should apologize in advance for Tolly,” he said in a low voice. “He’s had a rough go of it.”

Michael patted him on the shoulder. “No need for that, Stephen,” he said warmly. “No one could expect your brother to dance a jig after his unit was massacred.”

He couldn’t dance a jig, regardless, from the look of that cane. Theresa kept silent, only nodding as they all decided to join the colonel in the breakfast room. It seemed a shame about his leg and his fearsome demeanor, because the more she considered it, he was actually quite handsome in a dangerous sort of way. But he needn’t worry about his welcome; he was a wounded hero, and there were oh-so-many rules about how one addressed a hero. Luckily, she knew them all.

Bartholomew took the seat nearest to the door. Family dinners had used to be one of his favorite activities; Violet alone always had enough gossip and anecdotes to keep them laughing for hours. But now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, and he didn’t give a damn what anyone else in his old circle might be up to.

He accepted the glass of wine one of the footmen provided for him, and downed it at one go. This was the room where he’d been taking all his meals since his return from India, but it irked that his family had decided they had to accommodate him by serving dinner on the ground floor. Especially when they’d invited guests, and especially when he meant this visit to be as brief as possible.

At least once this was done he could retreat to the Adventurers’ Club. And behaving according to his mood would only help his cause, since he needed to convince Violet and Stephen not to attempt to track him down. That had been the first thing Sommerset had said upon inviting him to join the club: No one else was allowed to know about it. The reason the club served as a haven was that no one else clamored for entry or came by to sample its services.

“You might have stuck your head into the morning room and said hello,” Stephen commented from the doorway. The rest of the family and guests shuffled in behind him.

“Hello,” Bartholomew returned, halfway through his third glass of wine. The servants were accustomed to his drinking, but he didn’t need any particularly acute skills of observation to see that neither Stephen
nor Violet was pleased to see the bottle in front of him and the glass in his hand.

“Tolly, this is Amelia’s cousin Michael, Lord Weller, and his sister, Theresa. Michael, Tess, Colonel Bartholomew James.”

He nodded, his gaze on the chit. Staring was rude, he recalled, but he stared anyway. Her hair was the color of rich churned butter, and though he could detect no flaw at all in the soft curls bound by pins, he would have preferred to see it loose. It looked long, perhaps down to her waist. And her eyes were pretty, too, a grayish green that reminded him of the ocean.

“Tolly.”

He shook himself, breaking his gaze to glance at his brother. “What?”

“You haven’t given us the name of the friend you’re staying with.”

“No, I haven’t.”

The chit, Theresa, took a seat across the table and down at the far end—well away from him. That fact didn’t escape his notice. He’d frightened her, then. And it had only taken a dozen words and making eye contact. And his general appearance, of course.

“I heard about your battle with those Indian bandits,” the other cousin, Lord Weller, commented, sitting beside Violet.

“Oh, really?” Tolly set his glass down with a clank and leaned forward. “What did you hear?”

“I…” The fellow cleared his throat. “That your unit engaged a group of highwaymen the locals had taken to calling the Thuggee, and you were the only survivor.”

“Well, that sounds fantastic.” He emptied the bottle
into his glass. “I must be a bloody hero.” He snorted. “Imagine that.”

“You’re a damned drunk, is what you are,” Stephen grumbled.

“Then stop talking to me. Christ. What do I have to do, begin throwing things?”

Everyone stared at him.

Well, not everyone. “I’m certain I would never have had the courage to go to India,” Theresa Weller said smoothly. “Much less fight anyone there.”

He glared at her. Sympathy? He wanted them to be angry and to ask him to leave, damn it all. “Then we should all be grateful they don’t let chits into the army,” he shot back.

“Tolly.” Stephen’s expression tightened.

Miss Weller, though, waved at the viscount. “I take no offense, Stephen. In fact, I strongly agree with Colonel James.”

“Oh, you do? You agree with the most basic tenet of warfare in the last thousand years? How startlingly mundane of you, Miss Weller.” Somewhat to his surprise, he was disappointed. It was likely too much to expect that the prettiest chit in the room would have any sense.

A scowl crossed her face, then smoothed away again, to be replaced by a determined smile. “No doubt I’m an easier target than an armed attacker, but I certainly bear you no ill will.”

“Well said, Tess,” her brother put in.

“This is damned disappointing,” Bartholomew said aloud. “Not a bloody one of you has any spleen. It’s bad enough that you have a chit wagging her tongue because you’re all afraid to do so.”

Her frown reappearing, Miss Weller stood. “Please mind your manners, Colonel. There’s no call for such language.”

Ah, finally
. “I bloody well disagree.”

She slapped her palm against the tabletop. “Ooh, yes, we’re all very frightened of you,” Theresa Wheeler stated, this time not attempting to hide the frown that drew her fine brows together. “Can’t you tell?”

“If you had any sense at all, Miss Weller, you would sit down,” he growled. She would do, although he preferred a fight with family. They were the ones he wanted to avoid, after all.

“You obviously don’t wish to be here,” she continued forcefully. “As you were invited, in the future I would suggest that you merely decline to attend. It will save on the arguing.”

“Tess,” Stephen’s wife whispered. “Don’t argue with him. He’s—”

“He’s what?” Bartholomew broke in, grabbing onto the table and awkwardly shoving himself to his feet. “He’s damaged? I think we all knew that.”

“I didn’t notice until your little tantrum,” Theresa retorted, lifting her chin. “Clearly, though, your manners
are
damaged.”

“I’ll just let those of you with undamaged manners enjoy your dinner, then,” he snapped, levering his cane around and stalking for the door.

“Tolly, where the devil are you going?”

“Back where I came from.”

“I want to see you tomorrow.”

Damnation
. At least the chit had enough sense to know that he wanted to be left alone. “You know how to reach me.”

“Yes, but—”

He hooked the door handle with his cane and slammed the door closed behind him. A sharp pain ran up his knee, but he wasn’t about to stop and see to it now.

Swearing, he staggered sideways into the hall table.
Do not fall down
, he ordered himself, reaching out to steady himself against the wall. Drinking on an empty stomach in enemy territory—Lucifer’s balls, he’d been an idiot.

The door opened behind him. To the hushed sound of “Theresa, don’t,” and “leave him be,” muffled footsteps tromped up behind him. And then she grasped his arm.

He jerked around to face her, and nearly lost his balance again. “Do not put your hands on me,” he hissed.

She looked up at him, gray-green eyes steady and completely unafraid. “Don’t be an idiot. They might all be terrified of hurting you or your feelings, but I’m not.”

“You’re the damned reason I’m leaving.”

“No, I’m not.
You’re
the reason you’re leaving. And when there’s no one about for you to offend, curse all you like. Damnation. You see? I can curse, too. It’s only that I choose not to do so because it’s terribly lowbrow.”

“What happened to you being so polite?”

“You made me angry.”

“It took bloody long enough.” He stumbled again.

“Yes, well now I’m attempting to apologize for my behavior.” She ducked beneath his arm, drawing up against him. “Do you have a coach, or are you riding?”

“Riding,” he grunted. Whatever the devil was afoot, he certainly didn’t like it. And he didn’t like the way she put her free arm around his waist, as though someone as slender and delicate as she was could keep him on his feet. “And I don’t want your apology.”