“I didn’t realize I’d grown so chilled completing my errands,” she said, conversationally.
Yes, let’s discuss the weather as if we’re mere acquaintances. Not a man and a woman who’d vowed to love one another for eternity.
After slicing a glance outside—much wiser than making a colossal ass of himself gaping at the beautiful woman across from him—he brought his brows together. Scowling at the undeserving ashen sky, he jabbed a thumb toward the street. “It’s freezing out there, and those look like snow clouds. Don’t you have a coach or carriage?”
Pinching his lips tightly, James cursed inwardly. He sounded worried—concerned for Regine’s wellbeing. She was nothing to him now. Merely a woman he’d once given his heart to, and she’d annihilated the organ before casually tossing it in hell’s flames. Now only cinders remained.
She took another sip of coffee as Mrs. Delaney delivered the pastries. “Here you are, Your Grace. I took the liberty of bringing enough for you, too, Mr. Brentwood.”
God. He nearly rolled his eyes. As if he could swallow food, with his mouth dry as dust.
“Thank you.” Regine’s sable lashes widened as her hydrangea-blue eyes lit with pleasure. She took a dainty taste of the pastry. “Delicious,” she declared to the anxiously hovering proprietress.
After another awkward curtsy, Mrs. Delaney hurried to assist patrons at another table.
“I asked my driver to wait with the coach two streets over,” Regine said, in answer to James’s inquiry. “I wanted the exercise. I often take long strolls.”
He remembered that about her. She loved to take lengthy, meandering walks and always discovered something that excited her. A bird gliding overhead. A flower waving in the breeze. The sound of the leaves brushing against each other, or a pretty rock.
Regine had been so innocent back then. So unpretentious and unaffected. He’d never known her to covet fancy gowns or jewels or fallalls. That was why her abrupt decision to marry Heartwaite hadn’t made any sense. Still didn’t after all of these years, in truth.
They settled into silence—perhaps not companionable, but not stilted either—as she nibbled the pastry and sipped her coffee. A crumb balanced upon her lower lip, and she darted her tongue out to swipe it away.
Bloody hell.
James lowered his attention to his cold coffee, lest she see the desire flaring in his eyes. Though he’d only ever tasted her lips, she’d always had the ability to send his lust soaring with a tilt of her head, a twitch of her bottom, a look from those blue eyes, both innocent and seductive at once.
Regine was more delectable than she’d been as a fresh-faced girl of eighteen. She possessed a woman’s refined features and curved form now. Impossibly more exquisite and alluring than the last time he’d seen her, tears streaming from those mesmerizing eyes as he turned his back, refusing to listen to her reasons for marrying Heartwaite. The paunchy, old geezer.
James damn well knew the why of it…
Prestige. Wealth. Position. None of which he could’ve given her. Then.
Why settle for an impoverished vicar’s son? A man newly hired as the lowest ranking employee in a solicitor’s office? Well, there had been two clerks who ranked lower.
And now, James was a partner in that same firm, and if he didn’t say so himself, a damned exceptional lawyer, to boot. His clientele was very exclusive, and his fees very expensive since making partner.
Except he also offered his services pro bono. Often enough, truth to tell, to raise the grizzled eyebrows of his senior associates. Once a month, he opened the office on a Saturday and dispensed free legal advice.
If Regine knew, she’d approve. At least the Regine of old would have. He wasn’t sure about the richly garbed duchess sitting mere feet from him.
A thousand questions he wanted to ask her tapped at his tongue. A thousand things he wanted to say. Things he’d said to himself at least a thousand times these past eight years. Things he’d raged at the heavens a time or two or a hundred, as well.
And yet, he remained silent, unlike the garrulous ladies in the corner who kept sending inquisitive glances his way. Hopefully, their idle tongues wouldn’t carry gossip about Regine. She really oughtn’t to have sat with him. It gave the appearance of a lovers’ clandestine tête-à-tête.
At one time, he and Regine talked so effortlessly about everything. Now an awkwardness existed between them. Eight years in which the chasm had grown ever-wider and filled with uncertainty. Pain. Distrust. Loss. Unbearable loss.
He’d barely functioned the first few months after she’d married and left England. Only by pouring all of his energy and focus into becoming a solicitor had kept the heartbreak from snapping his reason. Well, after he’d stopped drinking himself into a stupor each night. He never wanted to experience that agony again. He wouldn’t survive a second time.
A clock on a shelf near the door chimed the hour, and Regine glanced over her shoulder. “Is that truly the time? Gracious, Juliet will be fretting. I promised to be home with her new spectacles in time for tea.”
She swiftly patted her mouth, and after fishing around inside her reticule, withdrew a letter and a timepiece before locating the coins she sought and placed them on the table.
Did she think he’d expect her to pay? What kind of a cad did she believe him? “I intended to see to your refreshments, Regine.”
She raised her uncertain azure gaze to his. Her eyes had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, as a young girl of perhaps three or four. Wide and round. Clear and bright and an impossible shade of pale blue. Like a frosty morning sky.
Then she’d laughed. Giggled that infectious, unfettered way that was Regine’s alone, and his little boy’s heart had landed at her tiny, waving, chubby feet—hers to do with as she pleased for all time. And for several years, he and Regine had been the best of friends, sharing everything. Then later, they’d become sweethearts. They’d eagerly made plans to marry and spend the rest of their lives together.
But her father had died, and she’d entered mourning. So, he’d tempered his impatience. Only, a month after old Edenshaw’s death, she informed him she was to marry Heartwaite. A week later, she’d become the Duchess of Heartwaite and left the country.
James hadn’t even permitted himself to follow reports of the Duke’s and Duchess’s of Heartwaites travels in the newssheets or gossip rags. He’d resolutely put Regine behind him and faced his future. Without her.
“I thank you, James, but it wouldn’t be proper.”
Now she considered propriety?
She tucked the feminine watch inside her bag before collecting the letter. A shadow flitted across her face, and her lips thinned the merest bit as she returned the folded paper to its nest, and then donned her gloves.
Bad or unwelcome news?
“Thank you for permitting me to interrupt you.” She slipped the reticule on her narrow wrist and rose, all elegant grace. One hand cradling the handbag, she skittered that blue gaze over him, hesitancy and a question brimming within. Something shifted deep inside those azure pools, and she dropped her hand. “Please say hello to your family for me the next time you see them.”
Trivial stuff. Polite, nonsensical pleasantries that acquaintances might exchange—not a couple once passionately in love.
James sought his feet. He might not be a lord, but no gentleman remained sitting when a lady stood. He should say something. But what?
I missed you? Every day. Every hour. Every second.
Had she missed him, too?
How long would she be in London?
Yes, that would do.
“Are you in Town for long? Most people escape to the country this time of year.” He used to go down to Colechester regularly, but since Theadosia and Jessica had married, he didn’t make the trip as often. There wasn’t a reason to anymore.
Not that he wasn’t always welcome in either one of their homes. Or Althea’s, for that matter. The truth was, he struggled in the comp
any of such happiness, knowing he’d never experience the same. Of course, James was glad for them. His three sisters had all endured varying degrees of difficulty before wedding, but in the end, they’d married the men they loved.
The woman he’d adored had married someone else—a bow-legged, bald-as-a-cue-ball, snaggle-toothed decrepit smelling of camphor and stale pomade, and crippled by bunions and carbuncles, too. Fine, that last bit he’d made up. The rest wasn’t so very far off, however.
Though James had never actually met the former duke, a few questions in the right ears had painted a fairly accurate depiction. He’d also learned that although Heartwaite had long-since bid his youth behind, he was regarded as a decent chap.
That brought him a degree of relief, for although she’d crushed his spirit, he’d not have Regine unhappy or abused by her husband.
She busied herself, retying the ribbons of her bonnet. “We’ve only been here for ten days. I’ve let a house in Grosvenor Square. Juliet has some vision issues and is seeing a specialist.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” he said perfunctorily while collecting his coat.
She shook her head. “No, but she’s not keen on wearing her spectacles. Without them, the poor dear can scarce see a foot in front of her. I’ve promised her we might visit several of the attractions and landmarks, even though it’s the dead of winter. She’s been rather bored in the country since our sisters married, and there was our mourning period, of course. I’m hoping her curiosity will help her forget she’s wearing spectacles and make her less self-conscious.”
He shrugged into his caped greatcoat, then gathered his hat and gloves. “Allow me to escort you to your coach.”
“That’s not necessary. Truly.” Her cupid’s bow mouth arced, but no joy lit her eyes. “I don’t wish to inconvenience you further, especially if you have somewhere you need to be.” They reached the door, and she stepped aside to permit him to open it.
Such a natural expectation for a peeress. Did she even realize she’d done so?
Eight years ago, she’d have pressed the handle herself and dragged him out the doorway by the hand. Where had that exuberant, buoyant girl gone?
God. How he’d missed her.
This serene—too poised and composed—woman lacked the spark, the vitality her younger self could barely restrain. Oh, there was no denying she was stunning. Exquisite in her radiant crimson ensemble, the color a perfect complement to her alabaster skin and ebony hair.
But where had she hidden the real Regine? Or, was this who’d she’d become? Had wealth and riches and position turned her into this dignified shadow of her former self?
Once on the pavement, he lightly took her elbow. A frisson jolted up his arm at the contact. Well, that hadn’t changed a jot. One touch, and lust burrowed through his veins, almost making him forget her perfidy. For surely, desire was all this sensation was. After the way she’d discarded him like a holey sock, he couldn’t retain any feelings for her.
They received several curious glances, many quite brazen, as they strolled along. The wind had gathered momentum and tugged furiously at their garments. James was no admirer of London’s tempestuous winter weather. Someday, he hoped to travel and spend the winter months in more temperate locales.
“Just there.” Regine jutted her softly rounded chin to a polished ebony coach. The Heartwaite crest, painted in silver and crimson, glinted brightly on the door. A few heartbeats later, they stood outside the conveyance.
The driver had lowered the steps and stood a respectful distance away.
As Regine turned to climb into the conveyance, James touched her elbow. “Regine, wait.” He’d never get used to addressing her as Your Grace. She was now, and would forever be Regine.
Fool. Stop. She’ll break your heart again. Turn and walk away and don’t look back.
She looked up at him, those wide eyes soft and inquisitive. “Yes?”
“Perhaps you and your sister would like to visit Bullock’s Museum of Natural Curiosities tomorrow?” Bloody hell. He sounded like a smitten swain eager for his lady’s attention. “Or if that’s not enough notice, perhaps the next day?”
She cut the driver a short glance before facing James fully. “You’d escort us to the museum?” Her guileless gaze searched his, uncertainty and yearning in hers. “Don’t you have to be at your offices?”
He rubbed his nose and chuckled, delighted when she also grinned. “That’s the advantage of being a partner. I can take an afternoon off if I wish to.”
And I wish to. Very much, in fact.
“You’re a partner? How splendid.” Pride shone in her clear blue eyes, the outer ring a deeper, navy-blue. “I always knew you’d be a magnificent lawyer.” She had? “Well done, James. I’m so pleased for you.”
And she was. Her smile and the approval in her eyes weren’t affected or merely politesse. Her reaction was, perhaps, the first authentic thing he’d detected since she’d tilted his world on its end and violently spun it around and around thirty minutes ago. The rest she kept hidden behind that carefully constructed façade of decorum.
If James hadn’t known the carefree, vivacious girl of his youth, he might’ve believed the coolly poised, elegant woman before him had always been thus. She’d certainly taken to the role of a duchess with admirable aplomb, hadn’t she?
The churlish thought left a foul taste in his mouth and a prick of guilt as well. He’d convinced himself he didn’t care, and his bitter ruminations proved him a liar.
“Well, do you wish to visit the museum or not?” he asked, irritation with himself giving his tone a cryptic edge. Damn it all, she’d think he was angry with her.
Regine blinked twice then slowly nodded.
“I should be delighted to.” A becoming flush tinted her ivory cheeks, whether from pleasure, the brisk breeze and frigid temperature, or his sharp question he couldn’t determine. “I’m sure Juliet will as well. She’s ever so fascinated with displays and antiquities.”
The latter seemed an afterthought, and the notion pleased him more than it ought. Blast, but he must guard himself against Regine. One winsome smile or joy-filled gaze, and he was practically throwing himself at her feet. Again. Fool!
“Shall we meet you there at three of the clock?” she asked, her head tilted at an endearing angle. An angle ideal for kissing her sweet mouth. For tasting the soft, velvety pillows.
He tore his gaze from those tempting lips.
What had she said?
Ah, yes. Three. Museum.
Perfect. If James arrived at his office by six, he’d still put in a full day’s work before he left at half-past two. “Yes, that will suit.”
“I shall look forward to it,” she said. “And I’m sure Juliet will be beside herself with excitement.”
He handed her into the coach, and long after the door clicked closed, with the wind battering him from without, and his cracked heart buffeting him from within, he watched the conveyance. When the equipage turned a corner, he heaved a gusty sigh.
You, James Abraham Evan Brentwood, are out of your sodding mind.
One outing, he sternly admonished himself. One. And then he’d have Regine out of his system once and for all.
Like hell, he would.
Regine’s stomach churned, tangling in worse knots than the time Juliet’s cat had frolicked in the embroidery threads. She placed a gloved palm on her abdomen, certain she’d feel her belly rolling over itself. Breathing deeply, she checked her timepiece before tucking the watch inside her reticule once more—the fourth time since leaving Grosvenor Square.
It was precisely five minutes to three. Not so early as to seem overly-eager, but not late either. She abhorred tardiness and, similarly, disliked waiting on others—both bespoke a lack of consideration and respect. Heartwaite had maintained otherwise, and she swore while he had lived, they’d arrived fashionably late to every dratted function.
Fretting James might change his mind, she’d not told Juliet they were t
o meet him. Her sister would ask questions Regine wasn’t prepared to answer.
“Bullock’s Museum of Natural Curiosities,” Juliet breathed, practically pressing her turned-up nose to the glass as the carriage rumbled to a stop before two and twenty Piccadilly. “So many marvelous novelties from around the world. All in one place.” She gave an excited little bounce upon the seat as if she were six years old and not fifteen. “I’m ever so glad you agreed we might visit.”
Bestowing an indulgent smile on her, Regine gave silent thanks to James for having made the suggestion. Had he recalled Juliet’s fascination with nature even when she’d been a little girl? How often she’d find a feather, a rock, an insect, or something else, and insist on sharing her treasure with anyone who would listen?
“I’ve heard there are fossils and many preserved birds.” A wrinkle appeared between Juliet’s dark eyebrows above the thin metal bridge of her spectacles. “I confess, I think it’s quite barbaric to kill creatures simply so humans can gawk at them. But I also acknowledge it would be difficult and cruel to keep live species in cages and such.”
“We’ll not visit any exhibits you object to, dear.” Regine patted Juliet’s arm, her stomach tumbling over on itself upon spying James standing, tall and confident, outside the museum’s entrance. His beaver hat and a midnight blue caped greatcoat bespoke quality without being ostentatious. He might easily pass for a lord of the realm.
Her blasted, traitorous heart leaped with anticipation. She had no right to the gladness careening through her upon seeing him. Unwittingly, she clenched Juliet’s arm, and then catching herself, withdrew her hand.
Foolish, foolish goosecap. The carriage bounced as the driver descended, giving her a minute to gather her equanimity and disguise her rattled state.
Juliet—her head cocked like an inquisitive sparrow, her rounded blue eyes assessing Regine much too astutely from behind thick lenses—formed her mouth into a small moue.
Before her inquisitive sister could ask whatever probing question had formed in her mind, Regine fashioned an artificial smile luminous enough to light Seven Dials. At midnight. During a winter storm. Truthfully, she felt somewhat like she grinned in the rigid manner of a grotesque gargoyle.
Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance Page 33