Jane Feather - [V Series] (16 page)

Marcus drained the claret in his glass and refilled it. Since Waterloo, they’d skimmed the surface of their relationship. There had been no further mention of the encounter in the taproom. And no reference in their lovemaking to his continued precautions against conception. Socially, they obeyed convention and went their separate ways. Except during the quiet, private hours of the night. Then the needs of their bodies transcended the bleak recognition of the true nature of their partnership, so that he would wake in the morning, filled with a warmth and contentment, only to have it destroyed immediately with the full return of memory.

She never talked of her past and he never asked. In all essentials they remained strangers, except in passion. Was that enough? Could it ever be enough? But it was all he was going to have, so he’d better learn to be satisfied.

He put his glass down and left the book room, still holding the sheaf of bills. The yellow drawing room was a small salon upstairs, at the back of the house. Judith had laid claim to it immediately, eschewing the heavy formality of the public rooms: the library, main drawing room, and dining room. He opened the door, to be greeted by a light trill of feminine laughter; it was
abruptly cut off as the three women in the room saw who had entered, and for an instant he felt like an intruder in his own house.

“Why, Carrington, have you come to take a glass of ratafia with us?” Judith said, quirking her eyebrows with her habitual challenge.

“The day I find you drinking ratafia, ma’am, is the day I’ll know I’m on my way to Bedlam,” he observed, bowing. “I give you good afternoon, ladies. I don’t wish to intrude, Judith, but I’d like to see you in my book room when you’re at liberty.”

Judith bristled visibly. She hadn’t yet succeeded in moderating her husband’s autocratic manner. “I have an appointment later this afternoon,” she fibbed. “Maybe we could discuss whatever it is at some other time.”

“Unfortunately not,” he replied. “It’s a matter of some urgency. I’ll expect you in—” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “—within the hour, shall we say?”

Without waiting for her response, he bowed again to his wife’s guests and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Judith seemed to have a natural talent for making friends, he reflected, and the door knocker was constantly banging, female trills and whispers filling the corners and crevices of his previously masculine-oriented house. Not only women either. There were men aplenty, anxious to play cicisbeo to the Marchioness of Carrington. Not that Judith had so far stepped out of line with her courtiers. Her flirtations were conducted, as far as he could see, with the light hand of an expert. But then that’s only what he would expect from an expert.

As he reached the hallway, the door knocker sounded. He paused, waiting as the butler greeted the new arrival. “Good afternoon, Lady Devlin.”

“Good afternoon, Gregson. Is her ladyship at home?” The visitor nervously adjusted the ostrich feather in her hat.

“In the yellow drawing room, my lady.”

“Then I’ll go straight up. There’s no need to announce me.… Oh, Marcus … you startled me.”

Marcus regarded his sister-in-law in some puzzlement. Sally’s complexion was changing rapidly from pink to deathly white and back again. He knew she tended to be uncomfortable in his company, but this degree of discomposure was out of the ordinary.

“I beg your pardon, Sally.” He bowed and stood aside to let her pass him on the stairs. “I trust all’s well in Grosvenor Square.” He waited with bored resignation to be told that one of his nephews had the toothache or come down with a chill.

To his surprise, Sally looked startled and, instead of launching into one of her minute descriptions of childish ailments, said, “Yes … yes, thank you, Marcus. So good of you to be concerned.” Her gloved hand ran back and forth over the banister, for all the world as if she were polishing it. “I was hoping to see Judith.”

“You’ll find her in her drawing room.”

Sally almost ran up the stairs, without a word of farewell. Marcus shook his head dismissively. He didn’t object to Jack’s wife, but she was a pretty widgeon with no conversation. Judith seemed to like her, though. Which was interesting, since he’d noticed that his wife didn’t suffer fools gladly.

“Sally … why, whatever’s the matter?” Judith jumped up at her sister-in-law’s precipitate entrance.

“Oh, I have to talk to you.” Sally grasped Judith’s hands. “I don’t know where to turn.” Her eyes took in the other two women in the room. “Isobel, Cornelia … I’m at my wit’s end.”

“Good heavens, Sally.” Isobel Henley examined a plate of sweet biscuits and took a macaroon. “Is it one of the children?”

“I wish it were as simple as that.” Sally sat down on a sofa, gazing tragically around the room. Her usually merry blue eyes glittered with tears. She opened her reticule and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy scrap of handkerchief.

“Have some tea.” Practically, Judith filled a teacup and passed it to her sister-in-law. Sally drank and struggled to pull herself together. She put the cup back on the table and took a deep breath.

“I’ve been racking my brains for three days until I think my head is about to explode. But I can’t think what to do.” The scrap of lace tore under her restless fingers.

“So tell us.” Cornelia Forsythe leaned forward, patting Sally’s hand reassuringly. Her lorgnette swung into her teacup, splashing her already slightly spotted gown. “Oh, dear.” She dabbed ineffectually at the spots. “I was perfectly clean when I left the house.”

Judith swallowed a smile. Cornelia was a large, untidy woman who never seemed in control of her dress, her possessions, her hair, the time, or her relationships. She was, however, possessed of a quick wit and an agile brain.

“I don’t see how, unless you can put me in the way of acquiring four thousand pounds by tomorrow morning.”

“Four thousand?” Judith whistled in the manner she’d picked up from Sebastian. “Whatever for?”

“Jeremy,” Sally said. Her younger brother was an impoverished scapegrace. “I had to lend him four thousand pounds or he’d have been imprisoned for debt in
the Fleet and now I have to get my money back. But what else could I have done?”

“Your husband?” Cornelia suggested.

Sally looked at Judith. “Jack might have helped him, but you know what Marcus thinks of Jeremy.”

Judith nodded. Marcus had no tolerance for the dissipated excesses of young men with breeding and no fortune. He was inclined to declare that a career in the army was the answer for all such young fools. Either that, or politics. Judith didn’t disagree with him. The reckless and undisciplined pursuit of pleasure was as alien to her as the man in the moon. However, saying so wouldn’t help Sally at the moment.

“I suppose Marcus’s advice to Jack is to let Jeremy suffer the consequences,” Judith said.

Sally nodded. “And in truth, I can’t really blame him. Jeremy’s always going to be wanting more.”

“So, how did you furnish him with four thousand pounds?” Isobel brought the conversation back to the point as she took another macaroon. She had an inveterate sweet tooth, but, much to Judith’s amusement, even Isobel’s lamentable fondness for ratafia couldn’t sugar her tongue.

“I pawned the Devlin rubies,” Sally said flatly.

Isobel dropped her macaroon to the carpet. “You did what?”

Judith closed her eyes for a minute, absorbing the full enormity of this.

Sally continued in a voice devoid of expression. “I didn’t know what else to do. Jeremy was desperate. But Marcus has asked for them. Jack thinks they’re being cleaned.”

“Why has Marcus asked for them?” Judith asked.

Sally looked at her sister-in-law as if the answer were self-evident. “Because they’re yours, Judith.”

“Mine?”

“You’re the Marchioness of Carrington. The Devlin jewels are rightfully yours. Marcus only loaned them to me … although no one expected him to marry, so I thought …” Her voice died.

A silence fell as her three companions contemplated the situation. “What a pickle,” Cornelia said finally. “You should have had them copied.”

“I did,” Sally said. “But the copy won’t fool Carrington.”

“No,” Judith agreed, thinking about her husband’s sharpness of eye and intellect. “I suppose I could say I don’t like rubies and I’m quite happy for you to keep them.… But no, that won’t work. Marcus is still going to want to see them.”

She stood up and walked around the room, thinking. There was one way to help Sally. It was risky. If Marcus found out, what little accord they had would be destroyed. But she could do it, and surely, if you had the means to help a friend, then you were honor bound to do so. At least, by her code of honor.

“When must you redeem them, Sally?”

“Jack said he wanted to return them to Marcus tomorrow.” Sally wrung her hands. “Judith, I feel so terrible … as if I stole something that belonged to you.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Judith dismissed this with a brisk gesture. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn for rubies. Your brother needed help and you gave it to him.” This she understood as an absolute imperative. “I only wish you’d said something earlier. It’ll be noticeable if I win such a sum in one evening. I would much prefer to have won it over several occasions. It looks rather singular to be spending the entire evening in the card room playing only for high stakes.”

“What are you saying? I know you’re fond of gaming, but—”

“Oh, it’s a little more than that,” Judith said. “I’m actually very skilled at cards.”

“I had noticed.” Cornelia surveyed Judith through her lorgnette. “You and your brother.”

“Our father taught us,” Judith said. Even in this company, she wasn’t prepared to expand on her background. “We were both apt pupils and I enjoy it.”

“But I don’t fully understand …” Sally said hesitantly.

“If I went to Mrs. Dolby’s card party this evening, I could probably win such a sum,” Judith explained succinctly. “And it would draw no attention in such a place.”

“But you can’t play on Pickering Street, Judith.” Isobel was shocked. The widow Dolby’s card parties were notorious for their enormously high stakes and loose company.

“Why not? Many women do.”

“Yes, but they’re generally considered fast.”

“Sebastian will escort me. If I go in my brother’s company, there should be no gossip.”

“What about Carrington?”

“There’s no reason why he should discover it,” Judith said. “It will serve very well. There’s bound to be a table for macao.” She smiled at Sally. “Cheer up. You will redeem the rubies in the morning.”

“But how can you be so confident?”

“Practice,” Judith said a touch wryly. “I have had a great deal of practice.”

They left soon after, Sally looking a little more cheerful. Judith’s confidence was infectious, although it was difficult to trust in such a promise of salvation.

Judith stood frowning in the empty salon. Since her
marriage, she’d played only socially, for moderate stakes. Serious gaming was something quite different. Was she out of practice? She closed her eyes, envisioning a macao table, seeing a hand of cards. The old, familiar prickle of excitement ran down her spine and she smiled to herself. No, she’d never lose the touch.

She’d have to have Sebastian’s escort. He would probably have plans of his own for the evening and would need time to alter them. It didn’t occur to her that her brother would fail her. She’d go to his lodgings right away … but, no. Marcus was waiting for her. Just what lay behind this brusque summons to his book room? For a minute, she toyed with the idea of ignoring the summons, then dismissed the urge. Matters were delicate enough between them as it was, without deliberately stirring things up.

Marcus opened the door himself at her brisk knock. “I was wondering how long your friends would keep you.”

“They had the prior claim on my attention, sir,” she said. “It would have been unpardonably rude to have asked them to leave prematurely … although you don’t seem to share that opinion. You made it very clear they shouldn’t prolong their visit.”

Marcus glanced at the clock, observing wryly “I can’t have been very persuasive. I’ve been waiting for you for well over an hour.”

Judith put her head on one side, surveying him through narrowed eyes. “And what else did you expect, Carrington?”

That surprised a reluctant laugh from him. “Nothing else, lynx.” A wispy strand of copper hair was escaping from a loosened pin in the knot on top of her head. It was irresistible, and without conscious decision, he pulled the pin out. Then it seemed silly to stop there and
his fingers moved through the silken mass, finding and removing pins, demolishing the careful coiffure.

Judith made no protest. Whenever he put his hands on her, it was always the same. She became powerless to do anything but respond. As the hair tumbled around her face, he ran his hands through it, tugging at tangled ringlets with a rapt expression. Then he stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

“What did you do that for?” Judith asked.

“I don’t know,” he said with a puzzled headshake. “I couldn’t seem to help myself.” Cupping her face, he kissed her, a long, slow joining of their mouths that as always absorbed them totally.

Slightly breathless, Judith drew back from him when he let his hands fall from her face. “You do kiss remarkably well, husband,” she observed with a tiny laugh.

“And you have, of course, vast experience from which to draw your comparisons.”

“Now, that, sir, is for me to know and you to find out.”

“I’m not sure this is the time or the place for such a discovery. I shall postpone the exercise until later.”

“So what lies behind this urgent summons?” Judith asked, changing the subject in the hope that it would allow her heated blood to cool and put the stiffness back in her knees.

“Ah.” Leaning against the desk, crossing his long legs in their fawn pantaloons at the ankles, he reached behind him for the pile of bills. “I’ve been examining your quarterly bills and I think … I really think you need to explain some of them.”

“Explain them?” She looked at him in genuine confusion, arousal quenched as thoroughly as if she’d been dipped in an icy stream.