by Shana Galen
“I hope you’re not taking it personally.”
“It isnae easy.”
Across the street, Lady Daphne walked on, her footman following close behind. She peered into shop windows and nodded at acquaintances and then all of a sudden she stopped, turned, and looked straight at him. Colin felt the force of her scowl all the way across the street. She lifted her bow-laden skirts, and without even looking to make certain it was safe to cross, she stepped out.
“She’s off her head,” Duncan said, watching her. Colin didn’t agree. She knew what she was about. As she crossed, carts and hackneys slowed and stopped to make way for her. She sauntered across the street and stopped before him without so much as a faltering step.
“Yer a wee bit mad, so you are.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A pleasure to see you again as well, Mr. Murray. I cannot imagine why you are not yet wed.”
Duncan put his hand over his heart. “Ouch. I’m hit.”
Colin saw Daphne’s lips twitch slightly and knew she was struggling not to smile. Duncan’s charm inevitably won people over. Then she turned her gaze to him, and Colin had the urge to straighten his shoulders. “Good morning, husband.”
He inclined his head.
“I was surprised not to see you at Mrs. Fox’s dinner party last night. Lately, you turn up everywhere.”
He’d dined at the Draven Club the night before, but she did not need to know that. “I don’t care for dinner parties,” he said.
“Too intimate?”
Like Duncan, he felt the jab. “Too ostentatious. The last one I attended featured thirteen dishes. Not only did the dinner drag on for five hours, it was a complete waste of food as none of us could eat another bite after the eighth course.”
Her eyes flicked away, perhaps thinking of the number of courses at Mrs. Fox’s dinner party. She opened her parasol, angled it to shield her face from the sun, and held out her hand to the footman. He seemed to know what she wanted because he pulled a sheet of vellum from his coat pocket and placed it in her palm.
“It’s too bad you don’t care for dinner parties.” She offered the paper to him. “My father has invited you to one.”
Colin looked at the paper lying on her pink glove like it was a spider. “Why?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
She shrugged. “I suppose he couldn’t allow my mother to have all the fun.”
“More likely he wants to beat ye senseless,” Duncan muttered.
“Will you take this or must I send Daniel to deliver it to your residence? He had instructions to do so later today, but I thought we should take this opportunity to hand deliver it.”
“Thoughtful.” Colin took the paper, brushing her glove as he did so. He much preferred meeting with her in private. Their encounter at Lady Rosemont’s musicale had shown him her haughty exterior could be melted away. Of course, meeting her in private had its drawbacks as well. She made him want, made him feel, and both states were to be avoided.
“Do ye have any sisters?” Duncan asked. “I wouldna mind an introduction.”
“My sisters are married, Mr. Murray.”
“Are any of their husbands elderly?”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “No. Why would you—no.” She shook her head. “I do not want to know why you might ask that. Mr. Murray, I’m afraid I simply do not know any ladies who would suit you. Perhaps you should see a matchmaker.”
“I did. She terminated our business arrangement.”
Daphne’s parasol slid sideways. “She terminated you? Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”
“I have faith in ye, my lady. Ye’ll find me a lass.”
With a sigh and a slight shake of the head, she righted her parasol again, almost swiping Colin’s face as she did so. He didn’t think it was an accident.
“Gentleman, if you will excuse me. I have more shopping.”
Duncan said his good-byes, but Colin took her arm and walked with her. She shook him off. “I already have an escort.”
“But I want to speak with you for a moment.”
“We’ll speak at the dinner party. I have no doubt.”
He leaned close, inhaling the scent of her perfume as he did so. It was that same heady mixture of tart and sweet. He knew the scent but couldn’t quite place it. “You don’t want this dinner party any more than I do. Why not just tell me what sort of trouble you are in, let me help you, and we can go back to the way things were?”
She shook her head, angling her parasol so her face was hidden from the gaze of anyone passing. Colin didn’t know if she did not want to be seen with him or she simply did not want anyone to observe their conversation. He liked to think the latter, but he could not rule out the former.
“It’s too late for that,” she said.
Colin paused, catching her arm so she had to stop as well. They stood before a shop with a sign in the window that read Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco Coming Soon! Proprietor T. Gaines. As it was not yet open, no one went in or out, and it was the best chance for a private conversation on Bond Street they could hope for. “What do you mean it’s too late? For the dinner party or the trouble?”
She looked away, giving her footman a signal to stand out of hearing range. “Both.”
Colin closed his eyes in relief. She had finally admitted she was in trouble. At least they were making progress. All he had to do was fix the trouble, and they could go back to leading separate lives.
“You don’t really believe that, do you? That we can go back?”
He hadn’t wanted to think about it. “You don’t?”
“My parents say it’s time we behaved like a real married couple. You are back from the war now, and our behavior is causing people to talk.”
“God, no. Tell me people aren’t talking,” he drawled.
She gave him a scathing look. “You may not care, but my father is a duke. He won’t have it.”
“I don’t answer to your father.”
“Then perhaps you might answer to me. Why have you avoided me until now? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”
His collar felt too tight and he ran a finger beneath it. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then what do you feel for me?”
Bloody hell but his cravat was choking him. Why hadn’t he realized Jacobs had tied it too tightly this morning?
“Do you feel anything for me?” she asked.
“I like you well enough,” he said, managing to take in some air despite his closing throat.
“Oh, how romantic.”
“I am not romantic.”
“You don’t say.”
“Were you always this sarcastic?” he asked. Spots had begun to dance in front of his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He’d probably fall over dead in a few minutes. His one consolation was that he would have an excuse not to attend the dinner party if he was dead.
“It’s an acquired skill quite necessary to survive the ton.”
He nodded, his lungs opening up again now that she had stopped asking him what he felt for her.
She cocked her head. “Are you well? You look a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine. You are the one in trouble. I fought Napoleon in the war. I can fix your problem. What is it? Did you spend too much at the modiste?” No doubt her trouble was something minor he could easily settle.
She swung her parasol, and Colin ducked so the edge of it caught the back of his head. Only his swift reaction had saved him a stinging blow. “What the devil is wrong with you?” He wrested the parasol away from her.
“What is wrong with me?” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “How dare you? You think I’m some foolish girl who needs you to sweep in and rescue her? I don’t need your help or you!”
“I’ll make that decision.”
“Go jump in the Thames, you overbearing cretin.” She held out her hand. “Parasol.”
Still in shock from being called a cretin, and an overbearing one at that, he handed her the parasol. She took it
and walked away without a backward glance. Her footman scurried after her.
Colin frowned as he watched her go. A moment later, Duncan put his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “I may no be the smartest man alive, but even I ken not to tell a woman I’ll decide something for her.”
“You heard that.” Colin scowled as he watched her pink skirts disappear into the packs of other shoppers on Bond Street.
“I’d say a quarter of the street heard it.”
Colin lifted his shoulder, dislodging Duncan’s hand. “She’s impossible.”
“She’s a woman, so aye. That’s a given.”
Colin blew out a breath. “And she says I’m a cretin.”
“If you doona mind me asking, Pretender, why doona you use your skills to find out what her trouble might be?”
Colin cut Duncan a glance. The Scot had a point. Why hadn’t Colin thought of it himself? In France, he hadn’t walked up to men and tried to find out where Napoleon was moving troops or ammunition. He’d disguised himself and infiltrated their ranks or hid in plain sight among them to overhear their conversations. So why not employ the same tactics with his wife? He could follow her and find out what trouble she was in. She’d never see him, never even know he was there.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Colin said.
Duncan puffed out his chest. “I have my moments.”
Colin considered his next steps. Daphne wanted him to go away, and that’s what he’d wanted too. He first wanted to be certain she didn’t need help. Once he was sure of that, he would leave her alone again. The duke wouldn’t be happy, so perhaps some sort of arrangement might be agreed upon. He would live his life in one part of the country and she in another. They would appear together when necessary. It was not uncommon for husbands and wives to make such arrangements when formal separation was not an option.
And that was what he wanted—to separate from her again. Wasn’t it? Being near her weakened his resolve and made him forget that she was to be avoided. The past few days, he’d found himself thinking about her and anticipating when they’d next meet.
But, of course, when they did meet she always asked what he felt for her. Spending time with her was never as simple as a kiss. She wanted more of him. And that was exactly why he had to get away.
“This lass of yours has me wishing for a wee dram of whisky,” Duncan said. “Let’s go to the Draven Club.”
“You go. I will see you there.”
“Oh, where are you off to then?”
“I have to go home.”
COLIN TOOK A HACKNEY to the FitzRoy town house on the outskirts of Mayfair. His father, the viscount, swore that in the time of his father or grandfather or great-great grandfather—it depended on the day the story was being told—the house had been in the very heart of London’s most desirable area. Now Berkeley and Grosvernor Squares had replaced Clarenton Hill, but the FitzRoys were still there.
Colin did not bother to knock on the door. He could have afforded a bachelor residence, but he usually stayed here when in Town. Of course, lately his three sisters had been in Town as well, and he’d been happy to retreat to Mayne House.
As soon as he entered, Pugsly, the elderly pug who had lived with the family since Colin had been a boy, scampered into the foyer, his nails clicking on the wooden floors. He snorted his happiness at seeing Colin and danced over to him. Colin bent and rubbed his head then the dog’s belly when Pugsly immediately flipped over and shamelessly tossed his legs in the air.
“Pugsly, you mustn’t be so friendly with strangers.”
Colin glanced up to see his sister Louisa standing at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed. She was the oldest of his sisters and the prettiest with her dark curly hair and hazel eyes.
“I’m not a stranger,” Colin said.
“You might as well be. You are never here.”
Colin knew the admonishment was said out of love. “I am here now.”
“Good. Then come up and visit with us.”
Colin glanced at the door of his father’s library, cracked open so Pugsly could go in and out. “I’d actually wanted to speak with father.”
“He has his head together with James. Come up and when they are done, I am sure they will join us.”
Colin couldn’t see a way to escape. James was the eldest brother and the heir to the title. It was probably best to wait until they had finished their business. Colin started for the stairs and Pugsly tried to follow, hefting his round body onto the first stair then giving Colin a baleful look. Colin reached down and lifted the pudgy little dog and carried him up, scratching behind his ears as he did so. Pugsly’s little body twisted with pleasure.
He set the dog down at Louisa’s feet and kissed both her cheeks then followed her into the drawing room where his sisters Mary and Anne sat sewing. Colin had noticed his sisters were always sewing something or another. He couldn’t imagine what. Since Mary was in Town, and she was the only one of the three to have young children, he looked about for his niece and nephew. “You have come at nap time,” she told him, rising to kiss his cheek. She was the shortest of the three sisters with straight brown hair and light brown eyes. “They will be up soon and then all our peace will vanish.” Mary was only two years older than he, and growing up, they had always played together as his brothers were twelve and ten years older and already away at school by the time Colin was of any interest.
“Where have you been?” Anne, the middle sister, asked as she too rose to embrace him. She was the tallest of the three and had eyes almost the same green as his and cropped dark hair she wore with a turban.
“Here and there,” Colin said, taking a seat on the couch across from Anne and Mary. He would not mention Mayne House or else they would surely come to call on him, out of interest in seeing a ducal house, if nothing else. Pugsly put his paws up on the cushion and snorted loudly, and Colin lifted him to the cushion beside him.
“Would here and there include the Rosemont musicale?” Louisa asked, sitting in her chair and lifting the book she had obviously been reading.
Colin was adept at schooling his features, but he had to choose his words carefully. “Why do you ask?”
“Because we read about you in the Morning Chronicle,” Anne said. “You behaved quite scandalously.”
“And had the bad taste to do so with your own wife,” Mary added. “You know the fashion is for scandalous liaisons with women not your wife.”
“Although I suppose the ton will make an exception if the husband and wife in question have not spoken for years,” Louisa added.
Colin stroked Pugsly’s soft ears. “How do you know we haven’t spoken for years?” he asked, tone even and slightly disinterested.
Louisa raised a brow. “Well, have you?”
Colin shrugged. “I spoke to her just this morning.”
“Really?” Mary set down her sewing. “Tell us all about it.”
That reminded Colin of the invitation to the dinner party she’d given him, and he extricated it from his coat and broke the seal.
“A love letter?” Mary asked.
Colin looked it over and shook his head. “An invitation to a dinner party. You are included as well.” He handed the invitation to Anne, who had stuck out her hand in her usual imperious manner. The women passed it around and commented on the paper and the printing.
“Are you shaking in your boots?” Louisa asked.
“Should I be?”
“I imagine the Duke and Duchess of Warcliffe intend to take you to task. It’s not as though you and Lady Daphne have a typical marriage. You’ll have to acquiesce to the duke’s demands. That is, unless you plan to tell him why you detest his daughter.”
Colin frowned. “I don’t detest her.”
“Clearly not, if what the Morning Chronicle reports is true.” Anne waved the invitation before handing it back.
“You like her then?” Mary asked.
“No one would blame you if you don’t,” Louisa said. “She’
s not exactly all sweetness and generosity. Even I fear the censure of the Three Suns when I attend a ball.”
“Daphne would never censure you,” Colin said. But he didn’t know if that was true. He really didn’t know her very well at all.
“She has always been very polite,” Anne said, clearly being generous.
Pugsly nudged Colin’s hand, and Colin stroked him again.
“So you like her then?” Mary asked again. Colin didn’t answer, he didn’t know what he felt for Lady Daphne, and even if he had, he didn’t feel the need to share his feelings with his sisters.
“How are your children, Louisa?” he asked. The three sisters had been sitting forward, waiting for his answer, but now they slumped back.
“We should have known Colin would never talk about his feelings,” Anne said. “But you cannot avoid this marriage forever, Colin.”
“You are correct, as usual, Anne,” said a deep voice, and Colin turned to see his father had entered the drawing room. Pugsly jumped to his feet and then to the floor and ran to the viscount, immediately offering his belly for scratches. The viscount obliged as Colin stood. His father looked older than he had in recent months. His hair, which had once been as dark as Colin’s, was now almost completely white, and the viscount moved more slowly these days. He seemed to strain to bend down to rub Pugsly’s belly.
“My lord,” Colin said. “I hope you are well.”
His father straightened. “I’m tired. James asks a thousand questions. They are all good questions, but the answers tire me. I have left him with the accounts.”
Louisa rose. “Shall I help you to your chamber, father?”
The viscount smiled. “A nap is in order, but Colin will help me, won’t you, son?”
“Of course.” Colin offered his arm and the two strode out of the drawing room with Pugsly following. His father’s chamber was on the same floor at the far side of the house. As soon as they entered, Colin had to brace himself for the memories of his mother. He could still smell her rose perfume in this chamber, still see her lying in the bed, pale as a ghost.
Now a small set of steps had been placed on her side and Colin watched as Pugsly trotted up them, turned three times, and settled into what was clearly his spot on the bed. The viscount gestured to a grouping of chairs to the side and Colin joined him there.