by Candace Camp
But it troubled him to have no course of action to pursue, and he spent much of his morning trying to think of some way that he could discover the identity of the intruder. Those were not his only thoughts, of course, for he found himself returning frequently to his conversation with Eve the day before and the accusations she had hurled at him.
Her words still rankled. She thought him indolent and idle, as feckless and uncaring as the youths who had bet on Fanny Bertram’s virtue. He could not deny that he had known about the bet, even laughed over it with his friends, but that had been many years ago, when he was young and foolish, and he was no longer the same man. He was not the sort who uncaringly played with other people’s lives for his own amusement.
That was what had really stung—that she had implied that he did not care what happened to her or her reputation as long as he could get her into his bed. Did she really think that he was just playing with her life for his own pleasure?
He would not deny that he was thinking of his own pleasure. Every moment he spent around Eve made him want her more. He was charmed by her laugh, her smile, the light that lit her face when she was happy. Even the sound of her voice in the hallway or another room had the power to make his spirits lift a little and set him to seeking a reason to join her. She was exquisite, enchanting . . . and thoroughly desirable.
He found himself sitting and watching her—at the dinner table, in the drawing room, indeed anywhere he saw her—and thinking of having her in his bed. He imagined her slender, willowy form naked beneath him, her shining pale hair spilling like a waterfall over his pillow. He remembered the scent of her, the taste, the feel, and his need for her grew more urgent daily. Being around her like this and not having her was enough to drive a man wild.
Surely there was nothing unusual in his wanting and pursuing her. She was a beautiful woman. But it was not as if he wanted a quick tumble. He wanted to make love to her, spend time with her, be with her. This thought struck him with some surprise, for he had not really considered before what he wanted with Eve beyond the simple fact of his desire. But he knew that he wanted more than a few days or even a few weeks. It would, he thought, take months to explore the possibilities that awaited him with Eve.
Nor was he thinking only of his own pleasure. He wanted to give her pleasure as well, to make her happy as she made him happy. And while he was sensible that the consequences for her could be far graver than those for him, he had no intention of letting it get out that they were having an affair. They would be discreet; he would never reveal that they were lovers. He would not expose her to scandal.
With an exasperated sigh, Fitz slapped his palm down on the letter opener, stopping it in mid-turn. He was being, at best, disingenuous. Of course he would not reveal anything, but he knew well enough that things tended to come out no matter how one tried to cover them up. Servants talked; others saw the looks that passed between lovers, and they gossiped. Even if there was no real knowledge, there were always rumors. And rumors, he knew, could be as damaging to a woman in Eve’s situation as any truth.
She would not only face the disapproval of society, she would be barred from the only sort of employment a woman like her could seek. No one would hire a chaperone who was rumored to be having an affair. And he knew the fact that she was having an affair with him would only make it worse. He was too sought after in the marriage mart, too well known for any affair with him to pass quietly.
Fitz frowned and shoved back his chair, getting up to pace the room. Was he being selfish? Was he ignoring Eve’s best interests in the pursuit of his own desires? He had, he admitted, started pursuing her without any thought to what would happen to her. Not trying to harm her was not the same thing as actually protecting her.
The only way he could ensure that, he knew, was by not having an affair with her. Which was, of course, the last thing he wanted to do. Fitz stopped in his pacing, scowling fiercely.
“Has that globe offended you?” An amused male voice came from the doorway of the study. “Shall I act as your second?”
Fitz turned. Neville Carr was lounging in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the doorway, idly swinging the silver quizzing glass that hung from his lapel.
“What?” Fitz looked blank.
The other man pointed toward the globe on the stand before Fitz, and Fitz realized that he had been staring down sightlessly at the object as he frowned in thought. He smiled faintly.
“No. I was thinking of other things.”
“The chap who broke in here yesterday?”
“What? Oh, yes. It’s rather frustrating; I’ve no idea how to get hold of the fellow. Come in, sit down. Tea? Coffee?”
Carr shook his head. “Hibbits brought my coffee upstairs.”
As Fitz well knew, Carr was not in the habit of arising at what he considered a barbaric hour to participate in a meal he could not stomach. Instead he was given to sleeping till ten and drinking a stiff cup of black coffee brought to his room by his valet, Hibbits, before dressing and finally sallying forth to face the world a little before noon.
“It’s puzzling,” Neville conceded as he took a seat in one of the two wingback chairs in front of the desk.
Fitz sat down across from him. He put aside his other worries for the moment and turned his mind to the other problem that had disturbed his rest the night before—his young cousin and his good friend. After Eve’s warning he had watched Lily and Neville carefully throughout dinner and the evening. He had been forced to acknowledge the truth of Eve’s words. Lily and Neville seemed to enjoy each other’s company a great deal. Lily’s pretty gray-green eyes rarely left Carr’s face, and Fitz lost count of the number of times the two of them had glanced at each other and smiled.
The attraction was clearly not on Lily’s side alone. Neville talked and even flirted a little with Camellia and Eve as well—Fitz was not sure if Neville was capable of addressing a woman without flirting—but he did not speak to them as often or look at them in the same way he did Lily. It was no wonder he talked to Lily, of course, given the way her face fairly glowed whenever he turned her way.
Idly picking a piece of lint off his sleeve, Fitz said, “How is Lady Priscilla? Have you seen her lately?”
The corner of Neville’s mouth tightened. “Far too much of her.”
Fitz’s brows lifted. “Hardly the words of a suitor.”
“Bah.” Neville waved his hands dismissively. “It’s not Priscilla. Actually, I haven’t seen her an inordinate amount, and when I do, she is invariably pleasant. It’s her mother who is everywhere I turn. That’s why I fled. First I left London. The next thing I knew, she had followed me to Malverley, dragging poor Priss along with her. I realized, of course, what a mistake I had made by seeking refuge at home. Lady Symington and Father joined forces to hound me night and day. They want to make the announcement. ‘What are you waiting for? Priscilla is nearing twenty-five. People are beginning to talk.’ I tell you, I was beginning to see them in my sleep. Finally I bolted. I thought even Lady S. would not pursue me all the way to the Lake District.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure. When Lady Symington gets the bit between her teeth, she’s the devil to stop.”
“No need to tell me,” Neville replied with some bitterness. “That’s the worst of it, the thought of being tied to that woman the rest of my life.”
“Priscilla?”
“No. Priscilla’s all right. She’s a quiet thing. Doesn’t seem to care what I say or do that I can tell. It’s her mother I can’t bear being shackled to.”
Fitz smiled faintly. “Well, surely you can avoid her.”
“I don’t know how. Can hardly run from your wife’s mother, can you?”
“Perhaps Priscilla would enjoy escaping her as well.”
“One would bloody well think so.”
“I thought you were reconciled to proposing to Lady Priscilla.”
“I am. I was. The morning before I left I made up my mind that I would do it. Get
the hounds off me. But then I went down to the sitting room, and there was Priscilla. I knew this was the moment. But I sat there. And she sat there. And all I could think about was being stuck the rest of my life at Malverley with Priss. Lord and Lady Carr. A brood of children running about. I tell you, it was enough to make my blood run cold. So I told her I was leaving and had come to bid her farewell. Then I threw together my things and ran. Thank God for Hibbits, or I’d never gotten it done in time to miss my father and Lady Symington.”
“Then you don’t mean to marry Priscilla?”
Neville sighed. “No. I can’t cry off. Everyone’s been expecting me to propose to her for years now. Father’s right in that; if I don’t come up to the mark, she’ll be shamed in front of the entire ton. She’s expecting it. Everyone’s expecting it. And there’s my infernal duty—I have to marry and produce heirs.” He shrugged. “Priss will do as well as any other woman. Better than most, really. At least she won’t care what I do or where I go.”
“Doesn’t sound like any woman I know.”
“Nor me.” Neville tilted his head, considering. “Priscilla is a different sort. Never know what she’s thinking. But I can’t see any partiality toward me. She’s polite, even kind; sometimes I swear I see her looking at me with sympathy in her eyes. I’m inclined to think she’s no more eager to marry than I am.” He paused. “Which is damned odd, if you ask me. Most women I meet are interested in nothing but marrying and having children. But Priscilla is curiously unmaternal. My sister was there with her newest infant, and I didn’t see Priscilla cooing over it once. No reason to, of course; it was red and squalling and looked just like poor Medford.”
“God help him,” Fitz responded feelingly.
“No, it’s worse—the babe’s a girl.”
Fitz laughed. “Even a mother might have trouble cooing then, I would guess.”
Neville sighed. “I’ll have to go back there. Ask her to marry me. It’s not going to get any easier.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t propose. It doesn’t sound to me as if either of you wants to do it.”
“Not really. But, well, can’t get out of it now. And Priscilla will suit me well enough, I’m sure. Some clinging, loving wife would doubtless be worse. Anyway, there’s the scandal. Father would cut me off. Lady S. would probably skewer me with her hat pin.”
“A messy end,” Fitz commiserated. “If I were you, I’d go back to London.”
“No you wouldn’t. You would never have gotten yourself into this mess.”
“Ah, yes. I am so responsible.”
Neville lifted one elegant shoulder. “No need to be responsible; you’ve got Stewkesbury for that. But you don’t let people squeeze you into things. You’d do the right thing, or you’d have told them long ago to mind their own business.”
“You think me a very brave chap if you think I would say that to Lady Symington.”
“Perhaps that is going too far.”
They were silent for a moment, then Fitz said, “The girls will be sorry to see you go, I know.” He paused. “Particularly Lily.”
He glanced toward Neville as he said the words, and Neville straightened, narrowing his eyes. “Is that what all this is about? Lily?” Neville let out a crack of laughter.
“You have been paying a good deal of attention to her,” Fitz responded mildly.
“Are you going to ask me next what my intentions are?” Carr’s eyes danced. “Honorable, I assure you. I would never try to seduce Miss Lily. She is a delightful young lady, and, well, really, Fitz, she is your cousin, after all.”
“I am aware that you would not set out to harm her. Otherwise we would be having a far different conversation.” Neville’s eyebrows soared upward at Fitz’s words, but Fitz plowed ahead, his face serious. “But surely it must have occurred to you that Lily may not see your attentions in quite the same way as you do. She’s only eighteen and rather unsophisticated. She is not accustomed to flirtation and compliments. Where you intend mere badinage, she may see declarations of affection. I watched her last night and saw how she looks at you.”
“What inspired this sudden bout of cousinly care?” Neville asked, the amused look still lurking in his eyes. “Ah. I think I can guess. The lovely Mrs. Hawthorne.” When Fitz did not speak, he nodded, his guess confirmed. “I have not been able to charm Mrs. Hawthorne, I fear. I am aware that she is suspicious of me.”
“She is here to watch over my cousins. She is not likely to overlook Lily’s budding affections.”
“And I am a rake, am I not, in her eyes?”
Fitz paused, then said carefully, “Her husband was a major. She knew Fanny Bertram.”
Neville stared at him without comprehension for a long moment. “Who the dev—oh.” His face cleared. “Good Gad, that must have been ten years ago.”
“Fanny confided in her sometime after the matter. You were, I gather, the villain of the piece.”
“No doubt I was. Well, I need not wonder at the dismal lack of success I’ve had charming her.” He paused, then added, “Fanny was a willing participant.”
“I know. I told her. But Eve—Mrs. Hawthorne—saw only the aftermath . . . and through Fanny’s telling. Regrets are easier borne if one has someone to blame for one’s mistakes.”
“Well, the beauteous Mrs. Hawthorne can rest easy. And you as well.” Neville grinned as he stood up. “I have no interest in harming Miss Lily. If my charms are too great, I shall have to moderate them. I assure you, I will be very careful with your cousin.” He chuckled as he sauntered to the door and turned back to Fitz. “Who would have guessed that Fitzhugh Talbot would turn into such a staid sort? I might almost think it is Stewkesbury in front of me.”
Fitz scowled at his friend, and with a flourish of a bow, Neville left the room. Fitz stood up and glanced around the room. There was really nothing to do there; he didn’t know why he had taken to coming into the study every morning since his brother left. It wasn’t as if he was going to actually do any estate business. He knew that Oliver did not expect him to. Higgins, the estate manager, would handle nearly everything, and if a problem exceeded Higgins’s authority or ability, he would shelve the matter until Oliver returned home.
He turned and walked to the door. Just as he stepped into the hall, however, he saw Higgins walking toward him, hat in one hand and an accounts book in the other.
“Mr. Talbot.” Higgins nodded deferentially. “I usually report to Lord Stewkesbury every Friday if he doesn’t come by the estate office earlier.”
Fitz recalled that his brother normally dropped by the estate manager’s office almost every day to check on things. “Ah, I’ve been shirking my duty, haven’t I?”
“No, sir. I did not mean to imply that. I just thought I could bring you up to date on, um, what I’ve done this week. If you wish. Or I can wait until Lord Stewkesbury comes home, if you’d rather.”
The man’s request was, Fitz knew, mere courtesy. Fitz had never displayed the slightest interest in the running of the estate on the few occasions when he had been at Willowmere during Oliver’s absence. Higgins no doubt expected Fitz to wave away the report. The man probably assumed Fitz was indolent and selfish, as Eve had accused him of being. Too lazy and disinterested to care about his brother’s concerns or the problems of his tenants.
“No need to wait. Let’s go over it now.” Fitz regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. But, he reflected, as he led Higgins into the study, at least he had the satisfaction of seeing that he had astonished the estate manager almost as much as he had himself.
Eve was in the drawing room with Lily and Camellia when the butler announced the arrival of Lady Vivian and Lady Sabrina. Eve looked up, surprised, and had to smother a smile as the two women walked into the room. Sabrina’s smile was as brittle as glass, and Vivian’s face reminded Eve forcibly of a sulky five-year-old.
Sabrina greeted the Bascombe sisters with seeming delight and tossed a brief ‘Good day’ to Eve, scarcel
y glancing at her. “It’s been an age since I have seen you,” she went on, addressing Lily and Camellia. “I was so pleased when I learned Vivian planned to pay you a visit this afternoon.” She dimpled prettily and threw a teasing glance at Vivian. “I am afraid I quite forced myself upon poor Vivian. But I told her I cannot allow her to keep the Bascombes to herself.”
“You had all week to visit them,” Vivian pointed out, “while Uncle Humphrey and I were away.”
“Oh? You have been gone?” Eve asked.
“We wondered why we had not seen you,” Lily added. “Cam and I were thinking we would have to call at Halstead House.” She stopped, perhaps realizing her wording was not entirely gracious, given the presence of the mistress of Halstead House, and cast a guilty look toward Eve. “That is, I mean, not that we would not want to call at Halstead House.”
“Did you travel far?” Eve put in quickly to smooth over the moment.
“Only to Cousin Peck’s. Well, he is my grandfather’s cousin, so I am not entirely sure what he is to me.” Vivian paused, then added with an impish grin, “Other than a family obligation.”
“Now, Vivian dear, you should not be so hardhearted toward Cousin Peck. He cannot help that he is deaf,” Sabrina offered with a sweet, forgiving smile.
Vivian responded with the same sweetness, “Since you are so fond of him, I cannot but wonder that you cried off going with us.”
“I would, of course, have accompanied Lord Humphrey to his cousin’s, but I was quite laid up with one of my horrid megrims.”
“Of course.” Vivian turned back to the other women. “In any case, it’s not his deafness that I find difficult. It is the fact that he lives in a great drafty pile and is so cheeseparing that he will not allow a fire in any room before November, so that one has to go about bundled up in spencers and shawls, even at the dinner table. His conversation consists of nothing but the great cost of everything from coal to cabbage, and all the while everyone knows that he’s full of juice.”
“Really, Vivian.” Sabrina’s mouth pinched. “Must you use such vulgar cant?”