The Duke and the Lady in Red (20 page)

Rose lifted her glass. “To London's finest physician.”

They clinked their glasses, each took a sip. Avendale indicated where Rose should sit, and once she did, he and Harry settled into their chairs.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here this afternoon as promised,” Rose said. “The duke and I went to Cremorne Gardens last night, and I drank a bit more than I should have. I slept in I'm afraid.” She eased to the edge of the chair. “It doesn't look at all like our garden. It's a place for enjoying all sorts of pleasures. Shall I describe it for you?”

He gave an exaggerated nod, and Avendale realized his head was far too large for subtle movements. He listened as Rose described Cremorne in such minute detail that he could see it in his mind almost as clearly as he had last night. No, more clearly. He saw all the things he'd overlooked, taken for granted. The colors, the sounds, the smells, the tastes—­even the things she'd touched. Banisters, benches, the pavilion.

He thought about how absorbed she'd been at the theater. He understood the reason behind it now. She was striving to bring the world to her brother, a world he couldn't visit without consequences.

Harry would ask questions that were almost inarticulate, yet she would provide answers that seemed to satisfy. Avendale concentrated on the sounds, focusing until he was able to decipher the words, to know by her response to Harry that Avendale had indeed managed to master the guttural murmuring. But mostly he watched her: the light that shone in her eyes as she shared the places she'd visited, the excitement in her voice. The joy on her face as though she truly adored her time with her brother, adored him.

Avendale felt small and petty because he'd resented her time away from him in the afternoon, had wanted to deny her this. If only she'd told him . . .

But of course she hadn't and why would she? From the moment they'd met, by word and deed, he'd led her to believe that he wanted nothing more from her than a romp in his bed. Because bastard that he was, that had been all he wanted.

He'd wanted to be lost in her heat, her fire, her passion. He'd acquired it, only to discover it wasn't enough. Never in his life, had he been so unsure as to exactly what it was he did want. He'd been focused on absolute pleasure at any cost. Now he wondered if the price had been too high. For who would care if he were suddenly unattractive, without means, without power?

They'd been visiting for less than an hour when Harry seemed to wither and shrink. Setting aside her glass, Rose got up, crossed over to him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We'll leave you to sleep now.”

After she stepped away, Avendale moved in and extended his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Longmore.”

“Harry,” he replied, the word still slurred, but Avendale's ears must have become attuned to the tortured sounds because he clearly understood what was being said.

“Harry, then.”

The man's hand, warm and strong, closed around Avendale's, and Avendale thought it more unfair that the remainder of Harry's body had betrayed him as it had. Nature could be both wondrous and cruel, creating immense beauty and then offsetting it with ugliness. Perhaps it did it so ­people would never take beauty for granted.

Avendale followed Rose from the room, closing the door in their wake. In the hallway, she turned into him and he folded his arms around her.

“Will you come over tomorrow?” she asked.

“I'm not leaving, Rose.”

She craned her head back to meet his gaze as though she didn't quite trust his words, as though she didn't quite understand their meaning. He skimmed his thumb along the edge of the darkening bruise. “I'm rather insulted that you'd think I would.”

Slowly she shook her head, staring at him as though she could not find the words. He envied the ease with which she'd spent an hour talking to her brother, and yet with him, she measured words as though she thought he would judge each one. “I haven't what you need here.”

“You're here.”

Instead of relief or even warmth at his words, which sounded far more sentimental and foolish than he'd intended, she appeared all the more worried. “I have no servants, no one to wait on you.”

“I suspect I can manage. You won't convince me to go so you might as well save your breath.”

“You don't have to worry that I'm going to leave London. Harry is far too weak to travel. I see that now. I think trying to take him to Scotland would have killed him.”

So that's where she'd been planning to traipse off to the night he caught her loading her carriage. Was there someone there to care for her? No, if there had been she'd have gone there long ago. His money would have tided her over for a while, but eventually she would have had to resort to another swindle in order to survive. Or perhaps she would have found legitimate means.

She clutched his arms, gave him a little shake as though she recognized that he was sorting things out, and she needed his complete attention. “He's dying. Sir William said as much. He's not long for this world. Help me, Avendale, help me make whatever time he has left as pleasant as possible. Afterward, you can ask anything of me and I'll comply. I'll stay with you as long as you want. I'll sign papers attesting to that. I'll sign them in blood. Life has been so unfair to him. I just don't want him to have to worry anymore.”

“Anything at all?” he repeated.

“Anything.”

“For as long as I want?”

“For as long as you want.”

He could not imagine what it would be like to love someone that deeply, to be willing to give up one's own hopes, plans, dreams for someone else's happiness. It was beyond the pale, beyond his grasp. What was not beyond his grasp, however, was how badly he still wanted her. Already he had begun to regret that their bargain kept her with him for only a week. Now she was presenting him the opportunity to hold her near until he tired of her. A better man than he would have felt guilty for taking advantage of the situation. He supposed there was something to be said for his character that at least he recognized that he should feel some remorse. But she was offering what he wanted, and he didn't have to give up anything he cared about in order to acquire it. Only a fool would have turned down her offer. He was no fool.

“It seems we've struck another bargain,” he said.

Her smile of gratitude was as bright as a thousand stars beaming in the heavens. “You won't regret it, I promise,” she said, and he found it telling that she thought another promise was needed to seal the first. “However, I still want to stay here tonight, so I can look in on Harry periodically.”

“As I said, I'll be staying with you. I sent my driver back to Buckland after he fetched Sir William. He'll return for me in the morning.”

“You knew I'd want to stay.” She said it with surprise.

Not that he blamed her, as he was taken off-­guard as well. He
had
known. He hadn't really given it much thought, and it was unsettling now to realize that he'd had no doubt regarding what she'd want to do. He hadn't needed to ask. He'd simply known. “It was logical.”

She gave him a skeptical look before saying, “Would you like a tour?”

“Upstairs, perhaps. I've already seen everything down here.”

Straightening her shoulders, she became the confident, bold woman with whom he was familiar. “I should be angry that you broke the terms of our agreement. You were not to bother me when I was here.”

“On the contrary, you were gone more than the allotted time. I was well within my rights to seek you out. I may be a scoundrel, but I do honor bargains made, expect others to do the same.”

She began walking toward the foyer, and he fell into step beside her.

“Did you get me drunk on purpose last night?” she asked. “To ensure I slept the day away?”

It shamed him to admit the truth. “It might have crossed my mind that with enough drink you wouldn't be up to going out today.”

With a wry smile, she slid her gaze over to him. “Even though they were the terms of our original understanding?”

“I'm a selfish bastard, Rose. I want what I want when I want it.”

They reached the stairs. She went up two steps, before turning to face him, stopping him in his tracks. At eye level, she wasn't shy about assessing him. She'd done the same thing the first night, and just as he had then, he wanted now to puff out his chest. “You do realize with our new bargain that I shall spend more than an hour a day with Harry. I shall spend a good deal of my evenings with him.”

“I understand the terms and that I shall get the scraps.” But eventually he would get the entire feast. He wondered why it filled him with a sense of sadness, not for himself, but for her. He didn't want grief to visit her, but it would, and he wanted to be on hand to console her—­which also confounded him because he avoided emotional entanglements like the plague. “But I intend to stay near. I'm making an investment here, and I'm in the habit of keeping a close eye on my investments.”

Her lips curling up into a smile brought him a sense of relief. He'd feared it would be days, weeks before she smiled. That she was doing so at his expense was irrelevant. She slid a hand around his neck and leaned in. “Your command of sweet words continues to astound me. I'm surprised women aren't swooning at your feet at every turn.”

She pressed her lips to his, and he wished that he had sweeter words, that he had mastered the art of kindness. He lifted her into his arms.

“Not here,” she said quietly.

“No, not here.” He'd known that and yet been unable to resist holding her near. He carried on, taking her up the stairs. When he reached the top, he asked, “Which room?”

“The first one on the right.”

He should have known she'd prefer looking out on the gardens to viewing the street. He should have known a lot of things. Should have noticed the sadness in her eyes, the small lines that marred her brow. Should have recognized that her walls were thicker and stronger than his, that they encompassed others.

He strode into a room that astounded him with its simplicity, especially when compared with the library. Ever so slowly he lowered her feet to the bare wooden floor, eased away from her, and walked through the room. Cheap furniture. A bedstead, a wardrobe, a dressing table, a bench, a stepping stool, a sofa. A small table that held a bottle of brandy and one snifter. Nothing more, nothing excessive, nothing that pampered. When he turned around, she had one hand wrapped around the bedpost at the foot of the bed.

“I told you that it wasn't quite up to your standards,” she said.

“I'll survive one night.” He strolled over to the window, gazed out. Darkness had fallen. He couldn't get a good look at the garden, but he could make out the brick wall. While in an expensive area, the property was small. Neighbors could indeed spy on them. He took so much for granted. Privacy most of all.

“When I walked through downstairs, I didn't find a ballroom,” he said.

“I lied about that as well. I wanted to you to think that I possessed more than I did.”

Closing his eyes, he wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn't lie to him about something. To gain what she wanted, she spun lies as easily as one stirred sugar into tea. He couldn't forget that, and yet he wanted to trust her, to take a chance that something real could exist between them. Her footsteps echoed over the wood. Glancing back, he saw her kneeling before the hearth.

“I'll see to that,” he said, and crossed over to the fireplace.

“I can manage.”

He took the matches from her. “I'll take care of it.”

“Are you hungry? I can ask Sally to prepare dinner.”

“I thought you had no servants,” he said as he struck a match and set the flame to the kindling.

“She's not really a servant, but she assists as needed. She's a far better cook than I.”

The fire caught, the warmth welcome. “Perhaps later.”

She rose. “Brandy then?”

“That I could certainly use.” Standing, he watched as she poured the liquor into the glass. There was a familiarity to her actions, a loneliness. How many nights had she poured herself a drink? How many nights had she sipped it alone in this room? Was she as lonely as he was? He filled his nights with women, wine, and wagering—­but it was only so he could avoid the yawning abyss of loneliness.

She handed him the glass, before sitting on one end of the sofa. He joined her there, settling onto the other end, keeping some distance between them, when all he truly wanted was to be as close to her as possible. Now wasn't the time. It wasn't what she needed or wanted. If he got too close, he was going to take her to that bed where he would be cramped and uncomfortable; he was going to ease her distress by bringing her pleasure. She might have indicated that she didn't want it here, but he knew that sex could be an excellent distractor from dark thoughts, fears, and doubts. He'd relied on it often enough through the years.

He took a sip of the excellent brandy before handing the snifter back to her. He hated the worry, the sadness in her eyes. They would travel with her to his residence. He didn't want to consider the number of smiles she wouldn't bestow upon him, the amount of laughter that he wouldn't hear in the coming days. He couldn't limit her to an hour here each day. He would have to give her as much time as she needed. It would mean time away from him. He should resent the moments. Instead he would give up everything he possessed to spare her the sorrow that was coming her way.

She offered him the brandy. He took it, drank more deeply.

“You're not going to be comfortable in the bed,” she said.

“I'll make do.”

She turned slightly until she faced him more squarely. “There really is no reason for you to stay, to be put out.”