Tony gripped Luc’s arm, holding him still.
“Gentlemen,” Cam said, “shall we depart? I’ve had enough of the show for this evening and I happen to know a bottle of brandy with our names on it.”
“Two bottles, I hope,” Tony said. “The soprano gave me the most dreadful megrim in the first half. If I’m obliged to suffer through the second half I may go deaf. Then you would have to go mute, Charles, and the three of us could set up a booth at the fair and sell tickets.”
“I will go mute when you do away with that ridiculous sword, Tony.”
“Sword’s been in the family for—”
“Decades. Yes, we know. That doesn’t make it any less vulgar than the day it was forged.”
“Eye of the beholder and all that.”
“Speaking of, aren’t whiskers like yours disallowed in the navy?”
“Got a special privilege, don’t you know.”
“Special privilege?”
“Already told you, Charles: king, Garter, whatnot. You ought to have been there. Ceremony was excellent. Now
that
was a rollicking good show.”
They were speaking nonsense to cover his silence. Luc was grateful.
H
E DID NOT
accept Cam’s invitation to drink himself into temporary oblivion, but made his way home. Already in her confinement, Adina was ensconced in a suite of chambers in Lycombe House, surrounded by servants and attended by a companion, and Luc had seen little of her except in initial greeting. The ducal physician reported that the infant was growing as it should, and the duchess was well albeit weak. It was entirely possible, he told Luc in private, that this child might survive. The duchess required rest, however, and not to be bothered by anything other than the most inconsequential matters.
But Luc could not delay speaking to her any longer. As he had hoped, his charade of hedonism had sufficed to draw out Fletcher’s threat: his intention to cut him out of the business of the estate and raising Adina’s son—if it were a son—was clear. Legally the bishop could not remove him as a trustee of Combe; Theodore’s will was inviolate. But Fletcher was the principal trustee and he must hope to gain through it, and he saw Luc as an impediment. Perhaps he imagined that if Luc were out of the way, Christos could be controlled—whether as heir to the child or as the duke himself if the child were a girl. Then Fletcher would control the dukedom.
According to Theodore’s will, Adina now had no legal control over Combe or her child’s future. Given his uncle’s devotion to the beautiful young wife with which his old friend Fletcher had provided him nineteen years earlier, Luc wondered why.
It was time to have an interview with the expectant mother.
When Luc returned to the house, Miles fussed over him like a mother hen. He drew the coat from Luc’s shoulders and held it pinched between forefinger and thumb.
“Burn it. The waistcoat too, and all the other carnival clothing I’ve worn this past fortnight.”
“Thank heaven!” Miles deposited the coat in the corridor. “Then am I to understand, your grace, that you encountered the bishop tonight finally?”
“Yes, but how you know that—” He shook his head. “Bedwyr.”
“His lordship saw fit to inform me of the reason for your atrocious decisions concerning fashion and amusements of late, your grace.”
“I’m sure he did.” He drew on his dressing gown and went to the door.
“The library tonight, your grace? Or will it be the parlor? I have given each a careful survey and I find that the chairs in the library are considerably more comforta—”
“Don’t henpeck, Miles.”
“Forgive me, your grace.”
“I always do.”
“Your grace, I must inform you of—”
“No more tonight, Miles.” He pulled open the door, more exhausted than he’d been since he was lying on a cot recovering from a stab wound to his gut. “I am finished for tonight.”
H
E AWOKE IN
a cold sweat from a dream of his six-year-old brother riding along the crest of Combe Hill and falling off a cliff that was not there in reality. A woman appeared on the hill, walking steadily upward, her fiery hair catching the sun. Luc called to her but she did not answer. She marched toward the crest.
Arabella’s name was on his lips as his eyes flew open. Daylight peeked through the library curtains.
He reached for the half-finished glass of brandy on the table beside him and swallowed it. Warmth trickled into his chest, but not enough to offset the ache in his side and neck. Miles had clearly never slept in one of the library chairs.
He went to his chambers and dressed in a black coat, black breeches, and black cravat. His uncle, who had never believed the stories Luc told him about Fletcher, did not deserve it, but the Lycombe name and his
comtesse
did.
Miles minced around him, clearly bursting to speak. But years ago Luc had warned his valet that if he ever uttered a word before breakfast he would discharge him from the
Victory
’s thirty-two-pound gun into the depths of the ocean.
In the breakfast parlor the servants seemed peculiarly alert. He didn’t know them; they were all Adina’s people and he’d had only a fortnight in the house. But every time he looked up from the paper or his beefsteak he caught them peering at him with bright eyes.
Their attention soured his appetite. He pushed away his plate and went up to Adina’s suite.
Her sitting chamber was rich with gold and yellow to compliment her guinea curls, brimming with satin pillows and lacy fripperies and dainty porcelain gewgaws, and awash in flowery perfume. In the middle of this gluttonous mass of feminine excess—like a lissome ebony candle lit with the purest flame—was his wife.
A
rabella arose, smoothed out her black skirts, and fought with the competing desires to throw herself into Luc’s arms like a strumpet or remain coolly aloof like a
comtesse.
He looked tired, the scar pulling at his right cheek tighter than usual and his tan skin pale. Dissipated, if what she had been hearing from Adina’s companion was true.
When she was not with the duchess, Mrs. Baxter spent her time flitting about from drawing room to drawing room gathering the juiciest
on dits
. According to that gossip, the new duke had spent a fortnight in town carousing and gaming and getting up to larks, and generally dishonoring the Lycombe name. It was so thoroughly unlike the man Arabella knew, she hadn’t believed it.
He did not, however, appear happy to see her.
He bowed and said graciously, “What a bevy of angelic beauty I have stumbled upon. But perhaps this is not Earth. Perhaps last night I perished in my sleep and I am now in heaven.” His gaze shifted to her and his brow creased.
“Lucien, how lovely of you to come see me,” Adina bubbled, and laid out her hand to be kissed. Luc bowed over it then nodded to Mrs. Baxter. Her lashes fluttered at least twenty times as she drew out the word
commmte
as though she could not bear to give it too little emphasis.
Arabella was obliged to offer her hand as well. His was warm and strong, and she had missed him so powerfully that now she could feel the life waking up in her again. He brushed his lips to her knuckles and her toes curled.
“Comtesse,”
he said.
She curtsied. “My lord.” Her voice did not quaver.
A tiny triumph.
She could manage this. There were more important things at stake than her foolish, girlish heart that wanted to beg him to love her, or her body that remembered quite tangibly what he had done to it when they had last touched.
He released her and she regained a trace of the composure she had practiced so diligently until meeting Luc Westfall caused her to throw it all to the wind. She knew she should still be angry and hurt and stalwart in defending the walls around her heart. But those walls had long since crumbled. She could only stand atop their ruins and hope the invader was merciful.
“How perfectly delightful,” Adina cooed. “To witness the reunion of a love match.” She sighed, then her sparkling eyes went wide. “Dear me, Arabella, I have not yet asked you how you and Lucien came to fall in love. Your beauty speaks for itself, of course, and we know how gentlemen value that above all other feminine traits, do we not?” She nodded in wisdom. Mrs. Baxter mimicked her.
“You are quite right,” Luc said. “Men are profoundly stupid when it comes to beautiful women.”
Arabella’s heart thumped. He could not mean to be cruel. But his jaw was tight.
“Adina,” he said. “I should like to speak with you at your leisure. After, that is, I enjoy a private moment of reunion with my wife.”
Adina’s smile glowed. “Of course, Lucien,” she said, and waved him toward the door. “Do take this lovely girl away and kiss her soundly. It shan’t be said by anyone that I would stand in the way of lovemaking.” She laughed softly and gaily. Mrs. Baxter giggled.
Arabella felt embarrassed for them both, nearly forty yet behaving as foolishly as fifteen-year-olds. But she was likewise guilty, wishing for kisses from the man who had tied her in knots of infatuation for months, this despite her plan to wed a prince and his careless and dishonest treatment of her.
Luc gestured her before him. In the corridor, Joseph’s straight back jerked even straighter as they passed.
“Cap’n!”
“At ease, Mr. Porter.”
Luc opened another door and again ushered her in. It was a parlor, furnished with an eye for high style and little comfort. She went into the middle of the chamber and did not sit.
He closed the door and came to her until he stood quite close. “I told you I would return to Combe and bring you to London myself.”
She clasped her hands together. “Ah. It seems you have learned the art of my disagreeable greetings.”
He did not smile. “Why did you come?”
“To make plans for the wedding, for which you gave me carte blanche if you recall. And to share with you information that I have learned which could not safely be conveyed in writing.”
His brow dipped. “Information?”
“Adina’s child is not your uncle’s.”
His eye widened. “She told you that?”
“No. I learned it from Mrs. Pickett and had it confirmed by nearly everybody else on the estate.”
“You
asked
them?”
“Of course I did. I first went to the house servants and inquired as to the true identity of the child in the duchess’s womb. Then I made the rounds of the gardeners and stable hands. And finally I put the question to the tenant—”
His hand jerked forward as though he would take her arm, then it dropped to his side. “How did you learn it?”
“By some very complicated addition and subtraction. I was a governess once, you see, and my arithmetic is especially good. I realize it may seem remarkable to you, a man with some university education, but I can count above the number nine. It is so convenient to possess these little skills sometimes.”
He lifted his hand again, this time to rub at the scar beneath the lock of dark hair that fell over his brow. But Arabella espied a crease in his cheek.
“After you left Combe abruptly without notice or explanation—”
“I wrote you a message.”
“—I busied myself by going about to visit the tenant families—”
“Like the duchess you are well suited to be.”
Butterflies alighted in her stomach. “Everybody was eager to make it clear to me that Adina had not visited the estate since before the famine, and that the old duke was too ill to leave Combe during that time. Luc, they wanted me to know the baby is not Theodore’s.”
“It isn’t proof.”
“What do you mean, it isn’t proof? Hundreds of people are certain of it, the housekeeper inclu—”
“It is Adina’s word against all those people, and Adina’s word will carry the day.” He shook his head. “I am afraid that is simply the way of it in the world of the licentious peerage, little governess.”
She bit the inside of her lip. His gaze dipped to it.
She gathered her courage. “Speaking of licentious, Mrs. Baxter has heard the most astounding gossip concerning you, Lord Bedwyr and Captain Masinter lately.”
“Has she? I wonder what sort.”
“Gaming. Drinking. Carousing.” She paused, her breaths short. “Loose women. You know, the usual.”
“The usual, hm?”
“For some men.” She was suddenly fidgety beneath his intense regard. “I feel like we are standing on the deck of your ship again,” she whispered.
“Because you are experiencing the urgent need to clutch a railing?”
“Because you are looking at me now as you used to do then.” She made an attempt to square her shoulders. “Why?”
“Perhaps because I feel like I did then,” he said in a strange, low voice. “Like a beautiful little mystery wrapped in self-righteous modesty and recklessly brave determination has just landed before me and I don’t know quite what to do with her.”
Her heart blocked her throat. “You could—”
The door opened.
Kiss her
.
“My lord? Oh. Pardon me, my lady.” The butler bowed. “Joseph said I would find you here, my lord. Captain Masinter’s carriage has arrived. He awaits you on the street.”
“Thank you, Simpson. I will be down directly.”
The butler withdrew.
“Well, there you have it,” he said easily, the intensity gone from his gaze. “There is apparently more carousing to be had, and at only eleven o’clock in the morning. Ah, the life of a hedonist on the town.” He moved away from her.
“You cannot be serious,” she uttered to his back.
“I am not,” he said, his hand on the door handle, his head bent. “Of course. But I’ve nothing else to say, Arabella. So that shall have to suffice for you.”
Her stomach hollowed out. “It does not. But I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter. Luc, why did you set guards on me at Combe? Do you not trust me, after all?”
“I trust you,” he said.
“Eleanor thought that you assigned Joseph and Claude to protect me.”
For a moment he was silent. “Did you believe her?”
“I don’t know. From what do I need to be protected?”
Her foolish heart and his indifference to it
.
“Tonight we will have dinner guests,” he only said. “Nothing inappropriate during mourning. Only a few close friends to announce your arrival in town.”
“I—”
“The housekeeper will see to all the arrangements. You needn’t do anything to prepare for it except dress suitably.” He looked over his shoulder. “Wear your hair down, please.”
“I am in mourning. And a married woman. It would not be seemly—”
“Wear it down, Arabella.” He left.
S
HE SPENT SEVERAL
hours that afternoon closeted with Adina and Mrs. Baxter, who took to wedding planning with gleeful enthusiasm. Adina’s wan cheeks colored prettily with her excitement. When conversation turned to a debate about which florist would provide the freshest roses in November, and a disputation on how the river would not be especially odiferous in this season so they needn’t arrange for nosegays, Arabella went to dress.
She had dismissed her maid and was sitting at the dressing table considering the expanse of bosom and arm that her ebony gown revealed when Luc entered.
“Ah. The lady at her toilette. A man’s greatest fantasy and nightmare at once.”
She tried to breathe evenly as he approached behind her and she looked at him in the mirror. He wore black well, the kerchief about his brow now a mere extension of his forbidding beauty.
“Nightmare?” she said.
“Feminine decisions, of course. For instance, which jewels to wear.”
“I haven’t any—”
He drew forth a box from his coat and opened it. In the mirror two strings of crimson gems glittered in tiny gold florets. “I thought perhaps since you were accustomed to wearing rubies and gold, this gift would not be rejected.”
“They are beautiful, Luc.”
“I imagined them glimmering from within your hair.” He caressed a neatly confined lock from her brow back to the combs that pulled it away from her face. Then he captured it all in his hand and drew it away from her shoulders. “You do not wear the ring tonight,” he said as though he had not before accused her of infidelity with that ring.
“I . . . No.” Perhaps if she told him, he would not scorn her. But she was afraid. “Thank you. You are generous.”
He set the box on the table, withdrew an earring, and dressed her with it. “A beautiful woman needs no embellishments. But a prideful man may give them to her nevertheless.”
She allowed him to place the other earring on her and she turned her head to watch the gems sparkle in the candlelight. He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek softly, then her neck, then her shoulder. She drew in a steadying breath, her breasts pressing at the edge of her bodice full and round and tender with the echo of his touch. She wanted him to touch her and trust her, and to give her cause to trust him in return.
One of them must begin it.
“Many years ago my sisters and I were told that the rightful master of this ring knows our real parents. We were told that the man is a prince.”
His caress halted.
“Reiner?”
She met his gaze in the mirror. “We do not know who he is, only that he would not recognize the ring unless one of us first wed him.”
His hand fell away from her and moved to his neck cloth. He peered at himself in the mirror and made a minuscule adjustment to the linen. “That sounds like a Gypsy tale if ever I heard one.”
“You think me foolish. And you are correct, for I was foolish to believe in the story. But I keenly wished to know my father. And I wished to know if my mother was the woman that Reverend Caulfield always said she must have been to have abandoned us. If she was a whore.” She swiveled around to look directly up at him. “Do you believe me? About the ring?”
“What reason have I not to?” It was not a statement. It was a question for her.
At this moment she could beg him to believe in her fidelity. She could insist that she would never take another man to her bed like Adina had taken a lover, perhaps like her own mother had long ago, producing three so very different daughters that to believe they shared the same father was naïve. She could tell him that he needn’t hide her in the country with guards to watch her every move because she would never be unfaithful to him.
But she had already told him this and he was still holding secrets from her.
She took up a lacy black shawl and went to the door. “Our guests will arrive shortly. I shouldn’t like to be late.” She turned and for an instant thought she saw a shadow of bleakness on his scarred face. Then it was gone. Possibly she had only imagined it.
She waited for him to come to the door and open it for her, and went down the stairs on his arm, the Comte and Comtesse of Rallis appearing to all the world like they were in perfect accord with each other.
A
FTER DINNER, A
sumptuous affair with a dozen removes, sparkling conversation, and much laughter, a game of cards was gotten up among the gentlemen. Alone with the ladies, Arabella negotiated the torturous trek between governess and
comtesse
with every sentence she uttered. Her guests were people of sophistication, though, and all of them affectionate toward Luc, and Captain Masinter and Lord Bedwyr’s easy acceptance of her made it natural.
After midnight she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber thoroughly exhausted. Luc did not come to her bed. Lying awake, she heard him leave his bedchamber and descend the stairs, but he did not return.
After breakfast, leaning back into her cushions, the round lump of her baby protruding from her excessively slender body, Adina waved Arabella away when she offered to assist with the wedding arrangements. Mrs. Baxter busily opened invitation replies and wrote names carefully on the ever-growing list of guests. Arabella left the women to their enjoyment.