Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

  “Miss Rendell would suit you well.”

  Aigen nodded, but not in agreement with Fox’s pointed suggestion. His friend slouched on his chair. “Doesn’t give a fig what anyone thinks of her, does she?”

  “No.”

  “A bit young, only not. Not a beauty, yet she is.”

  “A fair assessment.”

  Aigen stared at his port and after a bit of searching in the contents, took another swallow. “What brings you here, if I might ask?” There was only the faintest burr in his words. “Besides my wine cellar.”

  “What else but a woman?” Fox, once again seated, stared into his port, too, aware that he might leave here having ended another friendship because of a woman. Again. He did not want to lose Aigen’s friendship. Leisurely, he took a sip. It was an excellent port.

  “If you’ve come to speak out of turn about Lady Eugenia, I warn you I’ll not listen to you.”

  “Not out of turn.”

  “No?” Aigen tapped his finger on the tabletop. “Is there something I should know, then?”

  “Yes.” Fox sighed. “When I was young and stupid—”

  “When were you ever young? You’ve been old since the day you were born.”

  “Young and stupid.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast and let irony invest his words. “I became unduly attached to a woman I believed was in no way my equal in rank or character. Naturally, I refused to accept that a man such as I could form a connection with a girl like her.”

  “Bloody fool.”

  “Yes.”

  Aigen pushed his port to the far side of the desk. He turned on his chair to face Fox. “Was the woman’s name, by any chance under the stars, as melodic to the ears as, say, Eugenia?”

  Fox set his forearms on his thighs and stared at Aigen. “My friend Robert was already falling in love with her. And she with him, it turned out.” He shook his head. “They met, and I never once thought anything could come of it. She was fresh from the country, all life and passion, not an ounce of decorum.”

  “Not proper enough for the bloody Marquess of Fenris.”

  He laughed. “Not by half.”

  “Her damned brother a farmer, too.” He tapped his fingers in a slow tattoo. “Used to be a farmer, though, isn’t that right?”

  He waved that off. “My esteemed father had nothing kind to say about Mountjoy. Or his two siblings.”

  “You didn’t have to listen to him.”

  “I was yet several months away from that insight.” He lifted his glass to the lamplight. “They got on, Robert and her. I couldn’t understand how any two people could be so different yet feel they had anything in common. They recognized something in each other. And I said to myself, how could she recognize anything about the fire that burns in Robert Bryant? I wish you’d met him. You’d have liked him better than you like me.” He shook his head. He keenly felt the difference between the green boy he’d been then and the man he was now. “They were meant for each other. Everyone saw it. Even I saw, though I refused to accept it until it was too late.”

  “Her husband, you mean.”

  “At that time, her future husband, but yes. I kept telling myself she wasn’t worthy of him. Not brilliant Robert. What woman could ever be worthy of him? She’d make fun of his deformity, I thought, his strange habits and mental flights—his genius told in his manner. He’d impale himself on her beauty and her joy of life and never recover when he learned she didn’t love him, or worse, that she was not the sort of woman with whom he could remain in love once he saw her for what she was. How could he be truly in love when she couldn’t possibly love him?”

  “Bloody, bloody fool.”

  He shook his head, still with his thoughts and soul in a past he could do nothing to change. “She never thought of him as a cripple. She never noticed, or if she did, she didn’t care. Not in the least.”

  “She wouldn’t.”

  “As I say, I was young and stupid then. I saw her shortly after he died, and she was wracked. Even I, fool that I am, could see his death had destroyed her.”

  Aigen pushed his glass in a circle on the desktop. “She loved him. I never met the man. Never saw them together.” He let out a breath. “I hardly know her, but I know that much about her. She still loves him, you know that, I hope.”

  “I was wrong.” He shrugged. “About a great many things. My grandfather—he was alive in those days—he and my father both disliked her. They disliked her elder brother, too, and I blindly adopted that opinion as my own. How could any present or future Duke of Camber be wrong?”

  “Stupid of you.” What hung in the air now was what Aigen hadn’t said. That he’d not be that stupid. He’d not make that severe a mistake with a woman like Eugenia.

  “I discouraged Robert. I did everything in my power to stop him marrying so far beneath what I thought he deserved, and it broke us apart. He never spoke to me again. Never mind that for now, I told myself. For I’ll be there when he learns the truth about her. I’ll not say a word against her when that happens. I would offer up my friendship and everything would be the way it was before.” He touched a fist to his heart. “But I’d hate her, you see, for breaking him.”

  “Which she never did.”

  “I resented her because once she met Robert, she never cared for me. Not for me. Not for my rank. Not for anything. And everyone cared for me. Why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t she, too?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Fox sighed and thought of Robert and how bitterly he missed their friendship. “They were fortunate to have what time they did. I heard from others now and again, when someone forgot or didn’t know we’d once been close, that Robert was happy. I chanced to see his mother before she passed, and she told me she thanked God every day for bringing Eugenia into Robert’s life.”

  “And?”

  “And, I do as well. She made him happy, and I was wrong. In every respect. About them. About Robert. And about her.”

  “Does she know any of this?”

  “She knows I nearly convinced Robert to break it off. She knows I thought her beneath him and unworthy.”

  Aigen leaned forward. “No wonder she dislikes you.”

  “I was a fool then.” He leaned across the space between them and grabbed the bottle of port to refill his glass. “I’m not now.” He refilled Aigen’s glass, too. “The woman you marry will be fortunate indeed.” He set the bottle of port on the floor by his chair and lifted his glass. “I mean that sincerely. Whether it’s Miss Rendell or some other woman.”

  Aigen draped an arm along the top of his chair and grinned at him. “Fox. Fox, my stupid friend. Does she know how you feel now? To the point, does it matter?”

  He gave Aigen a look that conveyed his opinion of that question. “If I told her now, she’d never believe me.” He stood. “I don’t want to drive another friendship to ruin over a woman.”

  Aigen shrugged. “Then don’t. That seems easy enough.”

  “I will if it comes to that.”

  “That’s alarming.” Aigen kept his good humor but there was a tension now.

  “You’ve called at Spring Street.”

  “Several times. As you know, Lady Eugenia is working diligently to find a husband for Miss Rendell. She entertains a great deal. You might try calling on her yourself, you know.”

  “I know why you feel about her as it seems you do. I even know why she’d admire and respect you.”

  “Thank you. I think.” Aigen lifted his eyebrows. “Am I meant to be flattered?”

  “You and I, we have a great deal in common. I don’t like many people, but I consider you a friend.”

  Aigen’s smile hinted at an internal irony. “If you had a sister, I swear to you I’d marry her in an instant. But you haven’t.”

  “You don’t need to marry for money.”

  “No.” Aigen flashed a more natural smile. “But it never hurts to have more, does it? Mountjoy is deep in the pockets. Besides, my grandfather has order
ed me to marry a rich English girl. What choice do I have when he’s only days left to live?” He picked up his port while Fox chuckled. “She’d be a good choice for me, Mountjoy’s sister. Young but not wet behind the ears. A pretty woman with the mettle to face down the laird of the castle.” He laughed. “Truth is, I wouldn’t have to pretend to fall in love with her.”

  And that, Fox thought, was exactly why he was here. “Don’t let things get that far.”

  He hefted his glass and set it down untouched. “And if it’s too late?”

  He met Aigen’s gaze. “Is it?”

  “I wonder,” Aigen said after too long a silence, “where that leaves us if it is.”

  “Fair warning.” He sighed and leapt into the abyss. “I have business that will take me out of London for a week or two. I hope not much longer.”

  Aigen understood that perfectly. “Bad luck for you.”

  “The timing is particularly poor, I admit.” He smiled. “Thus, I have come here to drink your port and tell you bluntly that I am no longer young and stupid, and I won’t step aside this time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Six days later. The Italian Opera.

  THE BACK OF EUGENIA’S NECK PRICKLED WHEN someone entered the Duke of Camber’s box at the Italian Opera. Earlier in the day, a footman had delivered Camber’s invitation, and of course—of course—she and Hester had accepted. He hadn’t merely sent them tickets to a production of Don Giovanni, which tickets he included with the delivery of his invitation—the tickets alone would have been triumph enough—but Camber himself had engaged to escort them.

  As it happened, that evening both the House of Lords and the House of Commons sat late, such that Eugenia and Hester took their own carriage to the Haymarket. Shortly after they’d taken seats in the box with Camber’s other guests, Parliament had finished its business for the night and the men who’d been delayed made their appearances. Camber arrived half an hour after the start of the opera.

  The duke sat beside Hester, and that choice, for there were two other seats open, did not go unremarked by anyone with a view of the box. Opera glasses everywhere flashed. As usual, the two had endless notes to exchange about violets and soil and pollination and something about dividing roots and southern exposures. Frankly, when they got started, Eugenia stopped listening. Lord Monson arrived next, and he took the seat beside his wife, leaving the only open seat the one to Eugenia’s left. Camber’s box was in one of the two columns of boxes set directly on the left side of the deep stage, mirrored by the two columns on the opposite side. Prime seating. It was far easier to see the boxes across from them than it was to see the actors. Which was, come to think of it, the entire point.

  Another person came in, and Eugenia turned with everyone else to see who it was. She expected Aigen and it wasn’t him.

  Her heart stuttered. Even in the dimness of the box, she recognized the man’s silhouette immediately. Not Aigen. Fenris. He’d been away from London these last several days, attending to business on his father’s behalf, so Camber had told them. She hadn’t known he’d returned. She hadn’t allowed herself to admit she cared. He was back from wherever he’d been, and she sat in her seat and the evening was no longer ordinary. She tried to settle herself, to regain the feelings she’d always had about Fenris. That he was a cold, unpleasant man who could hardly dislike her more than she disliked him. She couldn’t. No matter what she told herself, from the moment he walked in, she felt as if the floor had fallen away.

  He made his way toward the front of the box and greeted his father and Hester with a nod. Lady Monson received a kiss on the cheek. The point of attending the opera, as Eugenia well knew, was not so much enjoyment of the performance, but to see and be seen. At the moment, Fenris was making sure he was seen. He put a hand on Lord Monson’s shoulder and said a word or two to the man. He had yet to glance in her direction.

  Why should he? They weren’t friends, precisely. They weren’t lovers, either. Not really. Not proper lovers, at any rate. But he’d been away for days, and so much had happened between them before he left. Though she understood he was trying not to make himself hateful to her, the uncertainty of where they stood and what she felt was going to drive her mad. The leap of her pulse at his entrance lingered still, and what was she to conclude from that?

  “Ah,” said Lord Monson, lifting his opera glasses and contorting his upper body to survey the stage. “The Incomparable appears?”

  Fenris laughed.

  Lady Monson elbowed her husband, and that made Eugenia stare at Fenris. As usual, his expression gave nothing away. The Incomparable? She’d heard that sobriquet thrown in Fenris’s direction before, Dinwitty Lane chief among those making the reference.

  Camber harrumphed, but he, too, trained his opera glasses on the stage. Eugenia twisted about to see for herself. On stage, a dance sequence had just ended, and the ballet girls in their shockingly short gowns were now gracefully turning and leaping with tiny cat steps toward the exits. Catcalls from the pit and the very upper boxes where the public was jammed in tight filled the air. There were calls as well from the boxes that contained the very best of London society. Not one of the ballet girls, that she could tell, appeared aware of the hundreds of men and gentlemen ogling them.

  Fenris remained standing. There was only one available seat in the box now, and it was beside her, inconveniently situated next to the wall. Her reticule happened to occupy the chair. She expected that Fenris, if he stayed, would rather remain on his feet than sit beside her where one’s view of the stage and the Incomparable, whom she now suspected was quite possibly an actual mistress as opposed to a former lover of his, would be restricted.

  The singing resumed. With the ballet girls and the Incomparable no longer on stage, the catcalls died away. Fenris continued greeting the others in the box. He lingered over each of the women. Eugenia was the only person he did not approach, and she was by turns relieved and in despair because of it.

  When he was done making sure everyone in the auditorium saw him, he took a step back and looked idly around the box. Eugenia watched him from the corner of her eye. She would be as calm and sedate as he was. If life was about to murder him, he looked so bored, then she would give that same impression. He held the brim of his hat in both hands and leaned his shoulders against the opposite wall, resplendent in trousers, a dark coat, a saffron waistcoat, and a cravat that tread at the edge of too plain.

  During one of his disinterested, sweeping glances around the box, his gaze landed on her. Unfortunately, at the same time she’d just risked a full-on glance in his direction. Caught. She didn’t smile or nod or give any sign that she saw him. She did not wish to be reminded of how she had behaved with him, or for him to think she recalled even a second of that time. If he didn’t care, then neither did she.

  Their gazes locked. My God, one look at him and she was breathless with the impact. She remembered the thrill of his embrace. Touching him. His arms around her. His mouth covering hers. The weight of his body on hers.

  Fenris didn’t acknowledge her smile, but neither did he look away. Beast. Now they were in a contest to see who would give in first. Slowly, insultingly, he dropped his attention below her chin. She ought to be offended, but she wasn’t. Butterflies took flight in her stomach again.

  God help her, she knew in her soul that Fenris would be magnificent in bed. Would it be so awful to enjoy him for that?

  Eugenia faced forward and pretended to be absorbed by the production, though she had a good view of only the front of the stage. Let him stand there and expire of boredom while he tried to disconcert her. On the stage, the tenor launched into an aria. A ripple of anticipation flowed through the auditorium as male attention once again focused on the stage. Eugenia craned her neck and saw that, yes, the ballet girls were back. Fenris moved to get a better view of the stage, then stepped away from his vantage point. He bent over Mrs. Gloster’s hand, facing toward the front of the box so that Eugenia, had she been lookin
g at him directly rather than twisted about and from the corner of her eye, would have had an excellent view of his face. He kissed the air over Mrs. Gloster’s gloved hand and exchanged a murmured greeting with the woman. The man was too charming for his own good. He straightened again and glanced toward the exit. Would he stay? Or did he mean to leave? He did not continue on his way out.

  She consulted her program, but her skin prickled with the awareness that he’d looked at the empty chair beside her. The only available seat in the box. She did not want him to sit beside her. Did she? Her pulse raced. Fenris, however, did not move. The chair was lacking. Or was the problem the woman he would have to sit beside?

  Hester straightened on her seat, leaning toward the duke. The two were whispering again, and for the merest instant she mistook the way the duke listened to Hester for something more than avuncular sentiment. He might be Fenris’s father, but Camber was no white-haired old man. She gave herself a mental shake. He smiled more around Hester and paid her more attention than any other woman, but Camber was more than twice Hester’s age, for heaven’s sake. All they ever talked about was plants and experiments. Horticulture was not the language of amour. If they’d been talking poetry or art, she might have reason to worry, but no one succumbed to love over botany. Plain as anything, Camber thought of Hester as the daughter he’d never had. Fenris had her seeing intrigue everywhere.

  Fenris had left Mrs. Gloster and was now moving behind her row of seats. Her nape itched even more. She stared straight ahead. He was here. Back from wherever he’d been, and she could not stop the frisson of arousal that slid down her spine. He worked his way to the end of the row until he was directly behind her, leaning against the wall again so as not to block the view of the people behind her.

  She no longer heard the opera. Nor did she hear Hester and Camber whispering. Fenris’s presence was a weight, a breath of air across the back of her neck. As if he’d touched her, when he hadn’t. He bent and rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. Since he’d taken off his gloves, his bare fingers touched her skin. She steeled herself. She was not going to let him guess how she reacted to his presence.