Edith Layton (21 page)

And she did trust him.

“He did marry me,” she told Gilly, her head held high, though her hands were clenched together. “There can be no love without trust, and I tell you, I am not a fool. I’d
never
have given my love to a man I couldn’t trust.”

A
nd so maybe it just might be
. she thought in desperation,
that what he wants to tell me is that he’s done the wrong thing and he regrets it bitterly, but he means to make it right now
.

I
t had been another terrible day. so bad even the fine whiskey Ewen was drinking couldn’t take the bitter taste from his mouth. He was stuck here, and he couldn’t like it, or change the situation by himself. He sat in a deep chair and tried to relax. He thought he had, until he realized his foot was tapping on the floor. When he stopped that, he discovered his hand was clenched so tightly around his glass his knuckles were white. It was no use. He felt like a coiled spring. He could almost feel the insides of his bones itching. He longed to leap out of his chair, get on a horse, and go pounding out of London as fast as he could. But he couldn’t.

They told him leaving now would jeopardize everything. He took another swallow of the liquid fire. He wondered if staying was jeopardizing everything, too—
everything that was important to him, at least. How long would she be content to be alone? How long before her doubts about him—doubts he’d seen in her eyes and could now read in her letters—seeped through her thoughts like slow poison?

She was growing impatient, asking him to let her go in every letter, and he got a letter from her every day. As if he’d let her go. When would she stop asking and actually leave?

“Another,” he told the footman, indicating the empty decanter on the table by his side. He was in his favorite club, and a long summer twilight was softening the view of London, but he wasn’t looking anywhere but within himself. That, he decided, was part of the problem.

He was alone too much these days. He had a small family; most of them lived in the countryside. He’d hardly any real friends in town and had no patience with any other sort now. Years abroad had limited his friendships to those few men who had traveled the Continent as he’d done. His recent profession hadn’t encouraged more than acquaintances, but even with his wide circle of acquaintances, he didn’t know many people in London. When he’d returned, his weeks here hadn’t gained him many new friends. He hadn’t been looking for any. The truth was he’d been looking for sport when he came home, not companionship. He’d found both. But she wasn’t here now.

He was blue-deviled and needed someone to divert him. Rafe, damn his rascally red head, had been sent to France. That was the reason Ewen was still in London: because Rafe was a good man, an old friend, and a fine soldier, but no spy. The fool who was working with him
might cost him that fiery red head if Ewen didn’t guide his every move.

Ewen looked around the room. It was late afternoon, and the club’s salon was almost full. The members hadn’t gone to dinner yet. Some old men were arguing politics by the fireside. Some young blades were standing by the big bow window, looking out and making what they hoped were quotable sarcastic comments, and in the corner…D
rum
?

Ewen smiled. His cousin, the Earl of Drummond, was sitting with a few other men not fifteen feet away. And he hadn’t seen him? Ewen got up and walked over.

“Having trouble with your eyes. Drum?” he asked when he came up to his cousin. “You must have passed right by my nose, old man. How are you? I haven’t seen you in months!”

The elegant gentleman slowly turned his head away from the men he’d been speaking with. His azure eyes were as cold as the north wind’s soul when he looked up. “So you have not,” he said coolly, and turned his back.

Ewen froze. The cut direct? From D
rum
? Apart from being cousins, they’d been close as boys, friends at school, and friends whenever they met since. And now this?

His thoughts raced. A gentleman dealt with a cut direct one of two ways. He could skulk away, his tail between his legs. Or he could make an argument of it so he could challenge the other man to a duel. Drum was a worthy opponent. At school he’d been the pride of fencing class. He was a demon with pistols, too. It was said he could put out a candle at twenty feet, even after four bottles. They’d been well matched in those days. But then they’d competed for the fun of it. Since those days Ewen had been trained to kill too well, in too many
ways. He was now so lethal he refused to duel with a civilian…especially not Drum! But he couldn’t ignore the insult. It wasn’t just a matter of pride.

“Drum,” he said in a dead cold voice that made the other men fall suddenly still, “I
will
know why. I choose not to accept your insult until I know why you’ve given it. You can tell me now or on the dueling ground. Entirely your choice. I doubt the family will be thrilled if you choose to make a killing point of it, though. There are few enough of us, and they won’t happy with one less. Nonetheless, I’ll oblige you if you wish. Or talk first, if you prefer.”

Drum’s gaze raked contemptuously over his cousin. “Talk? Very well,” he said. “Here and now?”

“Here and now,” Ewen said, “but not with an audience.” He gestured to a far corner.

The Earl of Drummond rose and followed his cousin to where two high-backed sedan-style leather chairs sat facing each other across a small table. Excited whispers hissed in their wake. The two gentlemen were of a height, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, with a certain grace and elegance. They were witty and immaculate, both famous for being men of the world.

The Viscount Sinclair was a few years older, his strong face had the irregular features that women found wildly attractive, and his crop of thick dark hair curled as wildly as a poet’s, too. The Earl of Drummond was leaner, even his best friends could only claim his face was expressive, his dark hair was straight, and his eyes were azure instead of glinting citrine. Their family resemblance was more in their wit and style than in their faces. Both men were always worthy of notice and conjecture.

Ewen sat, crossed one long leg over the other, and stared at his cousin. Drum settled himself, paying close attention to his boots and nothing else.

“I don’t want to shed blood, apart from the fact that your mother would shed mine if I harmed you,” Ewen said in conversational tones. His cousin didn’t smile at his words. Ewen’s expression grew tight. “All right, no jokes. Out with it. Why? We’ve got too much history behind us for such nonsense.”

“Indeed,” Drum said coldly, “too much history. But no future. I thought I knew you. Now I think those years apart made you a different man.”

“I suppose they have. I hope they have. But not one who deserves your contempt.”

“I wonder,” Drum said, fixing his cousin with a chill gaze. “After Elise died you had my sympathy. She was lovely. I always envied you, did you know that? But of course she fancied you. So when I heard stories of your wild life abroad after she’d gone, I sympathized. When I visited you there and saw the dissipated life you led, I thought you’d get over it. Now I know you didn’t.”

“Hold!” Ewen said, frowning, putting up one lean hand. “I don’t understand. We haven’t seen each other much since then. You were with the Iron Duke in Spain until you were invalided out by that cannonball. I was out of the country all that time, too. I’m back now, to stay. But you know that. We met when I returned, just months past. We took up where we’d left off. Or so I thought. What could I have done to offend you in the short time since? I’m honestly surprised.”

“Are you? Perhaps that’s the only thing honest about this. I’m recently returned to town, too, if only from the countryside. Oh,” Drum said, too sweetly, “you didn’t
know? I’m surprised. Didn’t your
wife
send word to you? I visited her just the other day.”

Ewen blinked. Only that. His face remained reserved, though his hazel eyes grew bright with some emotion his cousin couldn’t name.

Drum leaned forward, his words harsh whispers. “I knew you once, Ewen. The man I knew wouldn’t stoop to such games. You’re only two years older, but I always looked up to you, tried to pattern myself after you. Remember? We played together in the old days, as both boys and men. I learned from you, I admired you. You had standards, even then. And when I met you on the Continent, after you lost Elise, you had them still. We were men then, no longer hunting for bird’s nests together, but on the prowl for more tender ladybirds. It was you who showed me to seek only those who knew our aims. We went to houses of pleasure, or assemblies where everyone was up to snuff. You never took advantage of innocents, even then. There’s a line between rake and cad, Ewen. You taught me that.”

“And you believe I’ve crossed it?” Ewen asked calmly, though his hand knotted to a fist on his knee.

“I went to Brook House,” Drum said. “I thought you were there; it’s where gossip had placed you, at least. You never minded my joining you for sport in the old days, and I’d brought my own diversion. When I got out of the carriage, she came running to meet me, thinking I was you. When she saw I was a stranger, she was deeply embarrassed. As was I—after I spoke with her. I had Storm, Turner, and Bryant and their ladybirds with me.”

“And you
dare
criticize me?” Ewen said angrily, his voice rising.

“The females with us were paid for their time. They
were experienced tarts, hardened cases, women in the business of pleasure. She is not. It didn’t take five minutes in her company to see that. She’s lovely, even with that scar. She speaks like an educated woman, and there’s a sweetness about her….” Drum shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. If she were a common trollop, I’d still be upset. The woman thinks she’s your
wife
, Ewen!” he said in a fierce whisper. “There was a little girl with her, from the slums, obviously, with an accent from the Rookeries you could cut with a knife. She said she’d been the flower girl at your wedding. Your lovely friend agreed, and again claimed to be your bride with all the pride and decorum a wife of yours should have. Your
wife
? Your
wedding
? She told me about it, too. Gads! There are wretches who get decent women into their beds that way when they can have them no other way. I’ve always been contemptuous of them. I’d thought you would be, too.

“And last night, at the ball. That was the final straw. I saw you with that Kensington woman, the foolish baron’s famously unfaithful wife. Who did not? She’s not the sort of female a newlywed ought to be seen with. Or should want to be with.”

“Do you happen to know who the lady went home with?” Ewen asked acidly. “But no. That didn’t matter, I suppose. A man may not be seen with another female if he’s married? You’ve gotten some strange notions since we’ve last met, Holy Father.”

“I
f
he’s married. I
f
is the relevant word here, Ewen. Ah, what’s the point of trading insults?” Drum asked, the pain clear to see in his eyes. “You could always best me in that. But I’m not playing now. No games, Ewen. I met her. She deserves better than such a cheap charade.
When Barrymore or Dearborne or one of that sort of man tricked a girl into thinking she was wed in order to bed them, we sneered, even then. But this, now, from you! Y
ou
, Ewen!” he said, raising his voice in pained fury. “It’s even more disgusting because of who you were—or who I thought you were!”

Ewen’s face was deathly still except for a muscle that bunched tight at the hinge of his jaw. “I see,” he said through clenched teeth. “You think I’d never marry her because she’s scarred?”

“The scar be damned! I told you! It makes her even more lovely, though I don’t know why. But she’s poor and unconnected; she’s nobody, Ewen, from nowhere.”

“And you think I’d care about that?”

“What do you think I am, a fool?” Drum shouted.

“Of course I do,” Ewen snapped.

“Then damn you!” Drum bellowed, shooting up from his chair.

“It is you who’ll be damned, my boy,” Ewen shouted, slowly rising to his feet, his eyes narrowing on his cousin.

The other men in the room had been still for a long time, though the two hadn’t noticed. Now they no longer pretended not to be eavesdropping. They frankly stared. Shouting? Threats? Standing glaring at each other as though they were about to come to blows, here? Such behavior was unheard of in this club, impossible to even imagine coming from these two polished gentlemen. But there they were, almost nose to nose, snarling at each other.

The sudden utter stillness in the room occurred to both men at the same time. They looked away from each other and around the room. They stared at those watching.

A heartbeat later halting conversation broke out. The other men turned their faces away. Gossip was delicious, and many of the men in the room lived for it, but none was willing to die for it. No one in his right mind wanted to challenge either man. At any other time Ewen and his cousin would have laughed. Not now.

As the sudden babble rose, Drum sat again, and so did Ewen. But both men were on the edge of their seats. Drum spoke first, and low. “So, you claim you did marry her?”

“I
claim
nothing,” Ewen said dangerously.

“How strange. You didn’t ask me to the wedding.”

“Did I not? You were out of town.”

“There was no written invitation. There was no notice in the
Times
, no letters to the family, no word to anyone.”

Ewen closed his eyes. He muttered a curse. He ducked his head and ran a hand over the back of his neck, but when he looked at his cousin again, his expression was pained, frustrated. “We have to talk. There are strange circumstances involved. Drum—” he said, and paused, collecting his thoughts. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now alive with emotion. “Sometimes a man, even the most sensible of men—which I am not, as you know too well—is driven so hard by his desires he forgets the most elementary things. If you haven’t experienced that kind of desire, I envy you—and pity you, too, I suppose. But believe me, sometimes you can become so obsessed, not just for a woman’s body, but for the very essence of her.

“Well, no sense trying to explain it here and now,” Ewen said with a grimace. “Too much to tell, too little privacy. Suffice it to say you’re right about some things. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve botched things badly. You can’t
know how badly! I’ll tell you, if you’ll let me. Give me ten minutes to write some notes and send them out. Then we’ll talk. There’s so much I haven’t told you, couldn’t tell you before…but I’ll explain all at dinner. Please. For old times’ sake?”