“You might know,” he said with quiet emphasis, “better than I do.”
In a moment, the tone of the conversation had changed.
In other words, he wasn’t sure why he’d come, but there he was, unable to stay away. Her heart did an interesting flutter. “Can I venture a guess the same impulse brought you here as the one that sent me flying out the door in front of the Masterses’ last evening?”
“You can venture—” He stopped speaking as Hubert came through the door with a silver tray bearing glasses and a decanter.
Once the wine was poured and the servant departed, he finished as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “—anything you wish. I am open to all interpretations of our actions, Madge.”
The way he said
our
pleased her, as if they shared something more than a transitory passion. “I am unsure of a diagnosis of our particular malady, my lord, but can I say I am very glad you decided to call this evening?”
“I like it when the tone of your voice lowers that distinctive notch,” he murmured, but then his gaze shifted to rest on the journal on the desktop. “I see you decided to read it.”
She was luscious in plain ivory muslin with green ribbons, tendrils of her pale hair escaping from the pins in wayward wisps, a hint of fragile shadows under her eyes because he’d kept her up most of the night. Madeline followed the direction of his look to her husband’s journal and the smile faded from her soft lips. “I thought I should.”
“Because knowledge is power,” he agreed. “And while I am sure your husband was a good man or other wise you would not have loved him so deeply, it might be better to know at least as much as Fitch of his private writings.”
She must have sensed something in his tone for there was a glimmer of dismay in her dark eyes. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“In part.” Luke studied her, his wineglass dangling in his hand. The heavy, square desk dwarfed her slen der form, the simple gown she wore making her seem younger than she was, as did the vulnerability in her expression.
“He remembers.” There was resignation in her tone, but also a slight tremble. “I didn’t think you’d casu ally call this time of evening unless there was a good reason.”
“No, he doesn’t remember precisely, and Fitch aside, a perfectly sound reason would be to see you. After all, we are embroiled in a liaison, are we not, Lady Brewer?” He deliberately kept his tone light and teasing because he truly didn’t want to distress her.
“And something has evidently happened to make you believe we cannot keep it discreet and just between us.”
He had never honestly thought they could, especially after her precipitous exit from the party in his wake. Be fore his conversation with Fitch he’d been willing to try, though, for her sake. Widows had more freedom than unmarried ingenues, true, but the
haut ton
paid atten tion to every possible scandalous nuance. However vir tuous her past, an association with him would bring a certain notoriety.
So, if there were going to be whispers anyway, per haps it was best if it was understood that Madeline was protected by his honor. Luke regarded her for a moment before he decided to just be forthright. “Our mutual departure last night was noticed, even if you left alone in your carriage. I knew it would be. I’ve been think ing about this most of the day, and in light of Fitch’s barely veiled insinuations that he knows somehow we retrieved the journal and were involved in his mishap, I think it best if everyone understood you are under my protection. At the least, it will spare you the approach of other men who before now considered you immune to their advances.”
Until, of course, they went their separate ways. Then she would be fair game and no longer insulated by a reputation for virtuous distance.
“Define
protection
. I don’t need your financial support, Altea.” Madeline’s beautiful eyes held outrage and her slender fingers tightened on the rim of her wineglass. “I hardly—”
He interrupted with calm amusement, “I wasn’t offering that kind of protection, Madge, so don’t don that haughty look of dismissal. I meant if we appear in public openly together; if I squire you around to social events with a proprietary air, then Fitch will leave you alone, or at the least understand he is dealing with me.”
And so would all the other supposed gentlemen who admired her.
Damn them.
He had to admit to a certain restive jealousy. It meant Madeline was different, but he’d known that all along. It was why a year ago, he’d just walked away.
Unfortunately, it changed nothing as far as his stance on marriage.
But at least he could offer her some measure of safety, if not from gossip—he’d come to the conclusion that they were already past that point—then from a conscienceless villain like Fitch.
“I suppose I should bow to your expertise in matters of licentious behavior,” Madeline murmured, her smile resigned. “And as I believe
I
brazenly propositioned
you
, I should shoulder the responsibility for the gossip, but I am willing to accept your help over this change in my life.”
There were aspects of their relationship he didn’t clearly understand, and that was one of them. “You could marry again.”
“I married for love once,” Madeline said, her gaze drifting to her husband’s journal, the leather cover soft as butter from being opened so frequently. “I was lucky also, for he returned my feelings in full measure. I do not believe I’d enjoy a different sort of arrangement. Selfish of me, I suppose, for Trevor could use a father. But then again, how many men are anxious to raise another man’s son?”
Luke sat silent, not certain what to say. His refusal to consider marriage had nothing to do with her child. Were his position different, the idea of a child in his life held an appeal he hadn’t considered at length before, but maybe his responsibilities to Elizabeth and her future had given him a new perspective on parenthood. Madeline was raising a child alone, and he admired her for it.
“You are a personal indulgence, my lord.” A small smile—womanly and seductive—curved her mouth, and he remembered what it was like to taste those soft lips, to savor her sigh as he kissed her, to run his fingers across heated, satin skin.
“I can say the same about you.” His predatory stare raked her body, the evening ahead holding a promise of sensual reward once they’d made a perfunctory appearance or two. “Now, then, since we seem to have the same goal in mind, why don’t you go upstairs and change? I am sure we were both invited to the same events this evening. It might be the opportune time to informally satisfy the gossips and warn off Fitch before he does something foolish enough as to accuse one of us of the attack on his person.” He added with lethal casualness, “I don’t
wish
to have to kill him.”
That barbaric declaration made her eyes widen. “Would you really issue a challenge?”
“My dear Madge, I have already said I would. Does he deserve your concern?”
She rose in a flurry of crumpled muslin, her lashes slightly lowered. “Does it occur to you, Altea, my concern might be on your behalf?”
“No,” he said honestly, politely getting to his feet. He was a dead shot and nearly twenty years younger than Lord Fitch.
“Men,” she muttered, coming around the desk.
“Women,” he countered, lazily lifting his glass to his mouth but holding her gaze. “Don’t be too long with your toilette, please. We’ll just attend an event or two, so society notices our arrival together. I am much more looking forward to
afterward
.”
Chapter Twelve
N
ot since she reentered society, a good four years after Colin’s death, had Madeline experienced a twinge of nervousness while entering a ballroom. This was entirely different, of course, because then she had, for the first time, faced the treacherous waters of society alone as a single woman who no longer needed constant chaperones, and this time Luke’s muscular arm was under her fingertips as they were announced.
He bent his head close in an unmistakable gesture of intimacy. “It’s quite a crush. I think our point will be made very easily.”
His breath fanned her cheek, warm and tantalizing, his mouth very close to her ear, the fringe of his dark lashes shading a wicked gleam of amusement in his silver eyes.
“I’d say you are correct, my lord,” she murmured. They were already the object of dozens of interested stares, their arrival together sparking a subtle rise in the volume of voices around them as they reached the bottom of the staircase and gained the crowded floor. The consequences bothered her—Marta and her husband’s possible censure was a consideration, and her own mother might take issue with an association with someone like Viscount Altea, who was well-known enough for his fleeting romantic attachments—but not enough to deny herself completely.
“Lady Brewer.” Their hostess, the Duchess of Debonne, came forward, a smile on her face, her dark hair upswept in an intricate twist, diamonds at her wrist and neck, one pendant the size of a quail egg nestled in her generous décolletage. “And Lord Altea. How lovely you could attend also.”
“Your Grace.” Luke’s bow was perfection over the duchess’s hand, his lazy refinement matched by the charisma of his deliberate smile. “We are delighted to be here.”
So now he speaks
for
me
, Madeline thought with a twinge of humorous annoyance, though she found, to her surprise, she didn’t really mind. “The viscount was kind enough to escort me.”
“If it is kindness, which I doubt, it is of the most self-serving kind.” Luke lifted his brows just a fraction in charming denial. “You look particularly dazzling this evening, Bess. The Debonne diamonds suit you.”
The familiarity of address didn’t escape Madeline, and she controlled the impulse to shoot him an accusing look. The duchess was older, maybe in her early forties, but she had a regal beauty, and even after four children, a figure any woman would envy.
Apparently they knew each other quite well.
How
well was the question.
The compliment drew an indulgent smile from the recipient. “And you are extraordinarily handsome, as usual, my lord.”
“How’s George?”
The duke was dismissed with a small, graceful wave of the duchess’s hand. “Well, and at his club, I imagine. You know he detests social events like this.”
“Looks to be a smashing success, though, and appears a coveted invitation. Is everyone in London here?” Luke surveyed the crowd.
“It feels like it, doesn’t it?” Her smile was brilliant. “If one must put on this sort of event, I’m glad it is well attended. We must waltz later if Lady Brewer doesn’t mind my borrowing you for a few minutes.”
That easily.
Madeline wasn’t quite sure how to feel. All she had to do was walk into a ballroom on Luke’s arm, and everyone assumed they were having an affair. Which they
were
, but it was still disconcerting. She’d been without a single taint on her reputation before this evening.
“As if I could keep him from doing exactly as he wishes,” Madeline said with what she hoped was a serene smile. “Since you seem to be well acquainted, I am sure you agree he’s somewhat intractable.”
“How true.” The duchess laughed and playfully tapped Luke on the shoulder with her fan. “At least she understands you, darling. I had some of George’s best brandy set out in case you and Longhaven decided to make an appearance.”
“You are too gracious, as always, Bess.”
“And you have a surfeit of wicked charm, Altea.”
Yes, he
could
be charming. He could be intensely sensual and seductive. He could also be evasive and distant. Always he was urbane and handsome.
The duchess circled away to other guests, and Madeline gave her tall companion a pointed glance. “Do all women flirt with you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never really paid attention.”
“I’m just asking in case her grace isn’t the only woman in attendance who knows what kind of brandy you prefer.”
“And knows Michael’s preference as well, as you heard. George, her husband, is a friend.” His height enabled him to see over the milling crowd, and he nodded to one corner of the vast room. “Lord, it’s hot in here. Shall we see if we can make our way toward the drinks table? Maybe a glass of cool champagne would help.”
Sparkling wine for her, she guessed, allowing him to guide her through the throng, his hand at her waist, and the duke’s brandy for him. She’d never doubted her sophistication before, but suddenly she did on the arm of the notorious Altea. Jealousy was an unfamiliar emotion.
“I would never touch George’s wife,” he murmured, low enough only she could hear it. “So you needn’t think less of the duchess, because we truly are just friends.”
How the devil did he know what she was thinking so easily? Madeline schooled her expression. “You needn’t defend yourself to me.”
“I wasn’t. I was defending her.”
“That’s even more irritating.” And gauche of her to admit the irritation.