Lord Ruin (25 page)

The experience, a lightness of spirit, still resonated with him the next day when he managed to leave Whitehall early enough to attend one of Anne’s at-homes. Ruan slipped quietly into the drawing room. Enough people crowded the room that the feat was quite possible. Leaning against the wall, he crossed one foot over his ankle and his arms over his chest, content to surreptitiously watch Anne for the few moments he managed to stand unobserved. Several gentlemen, among them Julian Durling and Thrale, engaged in lively conversation with her, the men holding hats and riding whips to satisfy the social fiction of a brief visit. Even Emily, the divine Sinclair, rarely laid claim to a greater number of fascinated gentlemen.

Though Anne smiled frequently, he soon noticed a certain tension in her shoulders that suggested discomfort. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and slowly waved an ivory fan under her chin. Her gown of peach sarcenet and satin lent such feeble color to her complexion, odds were good she wasn’t feeling well. Lord Sather joined the circle, completing a veritable wall around her. Ruan caught only a glimpse of her fan quickly moving, a flash of peach and ivory.

Intending to rescue her, Ruan left his place against the wall and was promptly waylaid by Lady Prescott. As he watched over her shoulder, the throng of men around Anne parted and she appeared, walking urgently toward the door. Seconds later, a man whose face Ruan could not see peeled away from the circle and strolled out. The man, whoever he was, stood in the doorway, peering down the hall before walking out. He didn’t turn toward the stairs, but moved further down the hall.

“Excuse me, Julia,” he said to Lady Prescott. “I need a word with my wife, and I see she’s just left.”

“Not the first time I’ve seen her suddenly absent herself.” One side of her mouth lifted. “Is she perhaps ... ?”

“Shy?” he supplied, straight-faced. “Why, yes, she is.”

As he bowed, she murmured, “Such a virile man you are. Are you certain you wouldn’t... ?” She finished the sentence with a tiny lift of her eyebrows. “For old time’s sake?”

“No. Forgive me, no.”

Ruan pushed his way though the crowded room to the hallway. He saw no one. Not Anne. Not the man who’d followed her. If Anne were ill as he suspected, she’d not have gone far. He scanned the hall. No open doors. The nearest room was the Red Salon, seldom used since his mother had decamped to Hampstead Heath some years before. He opened the door. The scene registered instantly and yet seemed to last forever: Anne with her back not quite opposite him, bent over a basin and heaving up the contents of her stomach. A man walking toward her. Anne moaning and pressing a hand to her stomach. Near the basin stood a washbowl and near that a stack of towels. “Oh, God,” she said, and lost her stomach again. The man reaching for one of the towels, stretching it to its full length.

He didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life. In one movement he crossed the room, grabbing the intruder and whirling him around. Ruan slammed a fist into his face and let momentum send the man crashing to the floor. Anne shrieked once, very briefly, then had herself under control.

Still sprawled on the floor and holding a hand to his cheek, Julian Durling said, “Look here, Cynssyr. It’s not what you’re thinking. Not at all.”

“What are you doing here?” Anne said to Durling.

“Yes,” Ruan said. “I am sure you won’t mind explaining yourself.”

Durling rose gingerly to his feet and with a look at Ruan, handed her the towel he clutched. “I should much rather go home. If you don’t mind.” He stumbled when Ruan pushed him to a chair far opposite from Anne. “This is an outrage.”

“My sentiments as well.”

“There’s a perfectly innocent explanation, I assure you.”

“You are at leisure to provide it.”

Durling scowled and made a show of straightening his clothes. “Perfectly good coat ruined,” he muttered. “Are you feeling better, Duchess?”

She squeezed the towel and nodded at Ruan. “I didn’t know he was here. Nor you, Cynssyr.”

“I saw him follow you.”

“Why?” She asked the question of Durling.

“I’m waiting,” Ruan said, leaning against the fireplace mantel like a cat ready to pounce. “For your innocent explanation.”

Durling gave Anne a pleading look. “Under the circumstances, I didn’t dare speak with you directly, Cynssyr. Not after you had that hulking great footman throw me out on my ar—”

Fire leapt to those peridot eyes. “I’ll thank you to mind your language.”

“Well, yes.” Durling coughed. “Of course. You know what I mean.”

“He threw you out of—What are you talking about?”

“Told me he didn’t like the way I looked at you.”

As usual, Cynssyr’s impassive face gave away nothing. He stood by the fireplace, one arm on the mantel. Durling, on the other hand, was amused.

“You’re a handsome woman, Duchess,” Durling said, shaking his blond curls, “and if your husband goes about threatening every man who admires you, he’ll have to step down from Parliament to have the time. I’ve every reason to fear him. The man shot Wilberfoss, who was supposed to be his brother-in-law. He’d bloody well kill me for wanting to speak with you when twice now he’s told me not to. He was bound to get the wrong idea. And he has.”

“Twice?”

“Just start explaining,” Ruan said gruffly.

“The duchess is in danger.”

Ruan pushed off the mantel. “What do you mean?” Watching him, Anne thought she wouldn’t care to be on the receiving end of that stare. The pale eyes glittered with an unsettling light.

“Played cards night before last. Least I think it was then. Dice too, though my luck with dice has always been wretched.”

“Where?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Yes.”

“In a place a gentleman should not frequent.”

Ruan leaned an arm on the fireplace mantel again. “A name, Durling, if you would be so kind.” Had she not come to know him, Anne might have thought her husband utterly at ease. But she knew he was not.

Durling swallowed hard. “The Three Swans.”

“I know of it.”

“As I said, not a place a gentleman should frequent.” He fingered his cheek, found the rising bruise and shuddered.

“It is not,” Ruan said.

“On my honor, your grace, I shall never go there again. I do beg your forgiveness, Duchess, for being indelicate in your presence.” He regained a bit of his indolence. Her father would have called him
one of those damned fops
. “Your husband is such a bear. However do you manage him?”

Ruan took a step forward, hands clenched.

“Cynssyr,” Anne said. “Please.”

“You’re a lovely woman,” Durling said. “And loyal, too. But I adore you anyway.” He threw up his hands with mock horror when Ruan scowled. “I refer, of course, to that most noble emotion such as a brother feels toward his sister.”

She had to smile. “And when you are not too much the dandy, I do like you. As a sister would a brother.”

“Thank the Lord for that,” he drawled. “I’d be in a pickle for sure if Cyn’s wife fell in love with me.” He winked at her. “Not even a twinge?”

She shook her head.

“Pity.”

Ruan made an impatient gesture. “I’ll have your heart on a platter, Durling, if you don’t start explaining yourself.”

“A thousand pardons, your grace.” For a moment, the dandyish drawl vanished. “One of the men I played with last night fell rather deep in his cups and said a few things about the duchess.”

“Such as?”

“Such as she’s a beautiful woman.” His eyes fell to Anne’s bosom. “And Insincere Cynssyr is remarkably protective of her.”

Cynssyr tensed. Anne didn’t think Durling noticed, but she did. “She’s my wife,” Cynssyr replied shortly. As if that explained everything.

“Attentive, too. Everyone’s noticed.” He threw up his hands. “T’was not me, your grace. I merely repeat what I heard.”

“Go on.”

“One of them said, er, some rather specific things. Involving him and the duchess.”

“Such as?” Cynssyr prompted.

“Such as I refuse to repeat.”

Cynssyr examined his nails, to all appearances at ease with the response and the ensuing silence. Eventually, he fixed Durling with a look sharp as the edge of a sword. “I grow impatient.”

Durling wilted. “Didn’t think ‘til I got home the fellow might have been serious.” He waggled his fingers in an airy manner. “Bluster and too much ale. You know how these things are. But, listen here, Cyn.” Durling sat forward. He touched a hand to his cheek and winced. “The remarks I overheard might be interpreted to mean the man plans revenge on you through the duchess, and after what I saw at that house—” He shuddered. “I wanted to warn her.”

“Revenge for what?”

“With you, who knows?” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Any number of husbands or fathers after a piece of your hide.”

“Against whom are you warning me?”

Durling frowned, glancing at Anne and then looking back at Cynssyr. “I don’t know his name. But he was slender, brown hair, brown eyes. Drank like a dashed fish.” He returned his attention to Anne. “I should think a man like your husband would take care to know his enemies.”

“I should think,” Ruan said, “you’d want to know the name of the fellow who might owe you money. Or the other way round.”

“We were drunk, I am sorry to say, and I was close to winning enough to—Well, never mind about that, too. I do not know the man’s name. But he made it quite clear he feels he has a score to settle with you and that he has friends in high places who will help him. Very high. Oh, not so exalted as yourself, Cynssyr, but nearly as high. Men like that, like you, are so often vindictive when crossed. As my Lord Wilberfoss learned, much to his detriment. Did you know he’s been told he may never regain full use of the arm?”

“Then, I suppose, you understand the danger you are in.”

“You’d imagine Cynssyr grateful,” Durling remarked to Anne, to all appearances unmoved by that low, dangerous voice. “I might have kept my mouth shut, you know.” Again, he touched his damaged cheek. “He’s ruined my pretty features for a fortnight, at least.” With a sigh and a shrug, he said, “Now, that’s all I know, your grace. Or all I remember, anyway. May I go, or am I to be held further against my will?”

“Leave,” Cynssyr curtly said. “By all means, leave. But be warned, if ever you lay a hand on my wife, in jest or otherwise, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” He waited for a nod, it came quickly, then he rang for Merchant.

“He
is
protective, isn’t he?”

“A cold compress on that cheek will help, Mr. Durling,” Anne said.

He rose, grimmacing. “Thank you.”

“We’re grateful for the warning.”

“Yes. Well.” He sent a cautious look at Cynssyr. “Grateful is as grateful does.”

“Take care, Mr. Durling,” Anne said.

“Now I’ve your husband on my tail.” Another look went Ruan’s way. “Bracebridge and Aldreth, too, I should think.” Hand to his chin, he pretended to consider his predicament. “Well! Never let it be said I cannot make out the silver lining. I’ll be safe from my creditors. Yes, I shall. Safer than a rat on a sinking ship. Why, my cup simply runneth over.” He grinned, then winced because of his damaged cheek. “Too bad it’s poison, eh?” He bent over her hand in an elaborate show of manners. “Your husband, Duchess, does not deserve you.”

“Get out.” Cynssyr took a step in his direction. “Merchant!” he bellowed.

“Stay away from the hells, Mr. Durling,” Anne said, “and you will stay away from trouble.”

“No worries there.” He sidled toward the door. “I’ve spent my quarterly allowance. Nothing for it now but to hit up the maiden aunt for more funds or else rusticate in the wilds of Lancashire until the old bird gives me money to go away.”

Merchant came in, just a hint of haste in his step, and Anne couldn’t help but wonder how many times past the butler found occasion to show out a guest who wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to him.

Cynssyr took a chair when Merchant and Durling were gone. Anne patiently waited. “I don’t trust him,” he said after a bit. “You’re not to see him. Not for any reason.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and peered into her face. “Not so pale, now. Are you better?”

“Yes. Much.”

“Good.” He pulled his watch from his waistcoat. “You’ve an appointment with Mrs. Withers later tonight, yes?” He rose with that arrogant elegance that seemed to define masculinity.

“Seven o’clock, sir.”

He kissed her, only briefly and on the cheek. The contact made her pulse speed. She hoped he didn’t notice. Probably he did. Very little went unremarked by her husband. No matter how she fought it, she would look at his mouth and think, those lips had kissed her, had been on her breast, his teeth gently tugging, his breath hot on her skin, his tongue doing things that turned her insides to fire so that all she could do was clutch his head and hope to survive the conflagration.