by Candace Camp
“Yes, he is very adept.” Genevieve saw that Myles had paused to speak to a group of people, one of whom was the attractive dark-haired woman her grandmother had identified as Myles’s most recent mistress. The woman greeted Myles with a smile, and a sharp pain twisted in Genevieve’s chest. She wasn’t jealous, of course. It would be absurd to expect a man such as Myles not to have had lovers.
But, if she was honest, she knew that it galled her to think that Myles had once done the same things with this woman that he had done with her. Worse, she could not help but wonder if he had enjoyed it more with Mrs. Bedlington. She was, after all, a widow, accustomed to being with a man. She would not have been anxious or clumsy or uncertain or any of the things Genevieve had been. She would not have been cold.
Nor could she help but think how easy it would be for him to find some attractive, agreeable widow or courtesan who would shower him with affection, never saying a cross word. She jerked her gaze away, irritated with herself, and when she looked back, Myles had left the group and she could no longer see him.
Beside her, Damaris said in a low voice, “Lord Dursbury is here.”
“What?” Genevieve stiffened. Of all the terrible luck! “Where?”
“Yes, I saw them,” her grandmother said, her face revealing none of the irritation that sounded in her voice. “They are standing near the staircase.”
Genevieve casually surveyed the room until her gaze fell upon her former fiancé, talking with one of his friends and Iona Halford, who was hanging on Dursbury’s every word. “Why did I ever decide to marry that man?” Genevieve murmured, and Damaris chuckled.
“He was a most eligible bachelor, however lacking he turned out to be. He is still much sought after. I have heard that the little mouse has made great inroads in that regard.”
“Miss Halford? She is welcome to him.” Genevieve was faintly surprised by the indifference she felt at seeing Dursbury.
Alec returned and handed Damaris a glass, saying in a warning voice, “Have a care; you’re about to receive a visitor.” He took up his place beside his wife and stood stoically.
“What?” The countess glanced up. “Oh, blast! It’s that dreadful woman.”
Genevieve followed her gaze and saw Myles walking back toward them, Lady Dursbury clinging to his arm, her face turned up to him admiringly. Genevieve could not help but notice that not only was the neckline of Lady Dursbury’s dress far lower than her own, she also had a great deal more to reveal. As she watched, Elora playfully rapped Myles’s arm with her fan before opening it to flirt with him over the top of it.
“Countess. My dear.” Myles disengaged from Elora as he handed Genevieve and her grandmother their glasses of ratafia.
“Countess!” Elora swept forward to take Lady Rawdon’s hand between both of hers. Anyone who knew her grandmother would have recognized irritation in the twitch of her lips.
“Lady Dursbury,” Lady Rawdon replied with a great deal less enthusiasm. “How very . . . unexpected to see you.”
“Indeed. Had I known you would be here, of course, I would have been even more eager to attend . . . though I would not, of course, have encouraged Dursbury to come, as well. Lady Rawdon.” She gave Damaris a cursory nod before turning to Genevieve. “I had no idea that we would see you here, Genevieve. I was so surprised when Sir Myles came up to me. I had assumed, of course, that you were still on your honeymoon. Is that not just like a man to cut one’s honeymoon short so he can return to the city?”
“Lady Dursbury.” Genevieve gave the woman a carefully measured smile.
“You must not be so formal with me!” Elora reached out and patted Genevieve’s arm. “We know each other far too well for that. I hope you will not think that I hold any animosity toward you. Whatever anyone else said, I was certain that you did nothing wrong. I told my stepson that very night that it was bound to be just a misunderstanding.” Elora shrugged. “But, of course, Dursbury is a very proud man. And people love to talk. That dreadful Lady Looksby simply would not keep silent about it. Well, it sold an enormous number of The Onlooker, and one cannot expect such people to have any honor, after all. Thank heavens you were not here so you did not have to read all the articles.”
Genevieve murmured some response, though Elora clearly needed none to keep her conversation going. Elora turned to cast a coy look at Myles and laid her hand on his sleeve, saying, “Sir Myles is such a knight, in both truth and spirit, coming to your rescue in that way.”
Genevieve’s eyes followed Elora’s hand, something hot and fierce sparking in her chest. The smile she turned on the other woman made Elora’s eyes widen in surprise.
“It was Lady Genevieve who did me the honor,” Myles said pleasantly, stepping into the awkward gap.
Elora let out a romantic sigh, her eyes shining up at Myles. “Such a jewel of a man, is he not?” She turned back to Genevieve. “There is no need to wish you happy, for I know that must be the result of your union. I am sure Sir Myles’s mother must have been extremely eager to meet you. Such a shame that you were married too quickly for her to attend.”
“Yes. Lady Julia is a lovely woman,” Genevieve countered.
“I hope that you and I will remain friends, despite the . . . incident.” Elora stepped closer to Genevieve, turning back to face Myles, positioning herself, Genevieve suspected, so that Elora’s lush, dark beauty would contrast favorably to Genevieve’s pale, angular appearance. “Indeed, I hope you will all come to my musicale next week. I would have sent you an invitation already had I realized you would rush back from your honeymoon so quickly.”
“That is most kind of you, but I don’t think we should,” Genevieve began her refusal.
“No, you must not refuse me. I shall be devastated if you will not come. And if you are worried about any awkwardness, let me assure you that my stepson will not be there. He despises musicales. So like a man, isn’t it?’
Genevieve did not believe in the woman’s pretense of friendship any more than she wanted to accept it. It was ludicrous that Elora was talking to the woman her stepson had jilted only a month earlier, and Genevieve suspected that her sole reason in doing so was to seize an opportunity to flirt with Myles. She opened her mouth again to decline, but Elora waved her words away.
“No, no, do not answer me yet. Think about it first. I am sure Lady Rawdon will agree with me that our being seen together at my little gathering will do much to repair this silly puff of a scandal.” Elora smiled at Genevieve and the countess, then looked up at Myles, her lips curving sensually. “Do tell me that you will accompany them, Sir Myles.”
“I fear you are quite right that men do not like musicales,” Genevieve put in lightly. “Myles is quite opposed to them.”
Myles smiled, “Indeed, my wife is correct, as always. Ah, I believe the second act is about to start. We must take our leave.”
He extended his arm to Genevieve, and she was quick to take it. Elora, Genevieve was pleased to note, looked decidedly petulant as they walked away from her.
The remainder of the evening passed with excruciating slowness. Afterward Genevieve could not remember anything about the play they had seen, but she managed to get through the ordeal, telling herself that it was bound to be easier after this. Myles chatted with her as they left the theater, still playing the role of devoted husband. It was, she knew, the best way to handle the gossip, but she found it hard to bear having him smile at her as he had before they came to London, his eyes warm, his smile fond. Looking at him still made her heart leap in her chest, just as it had a few days ago, but now she knew that it was all pretense.
Once they were inside the carriage, Myles’s conversation wound down, and as they drove closer and closer to their home, the atmosphere between them became more tense. When they reached the house, Genevieve expected him to take his leave of her, going to his study or even leaving the house again. But to her surprise, he remained with her, escorting her up the stairs.
Genevieve’s insides d
anced with tension, very aware of Myles’s presence at her elbow. She could not help but think of the way they had walked to their bedroom when they were at the manor house, the heat and anticipation building. Now she could only dread reaching her door with him beside her. It would be bad enough to enter her empty room; it would be even worse to have him come in with her, feeling as he did about her but thinking he must do his duty to produce an heir.
She opened her door and turned toward him, her hand on the doorknob and cool dismissal in her voice. She had learned this talent long ago to ward off unpleasant situations. “Thank you for accompanying me to the theater tonight. Hopefully the worst is over now.” She started to go inside.
“Genevieve . . .” Myles said quickly. “Wait. I must apologize for yesterday.”
“There is no need.” Genevieve forced herself to face him unflinchingly, as if it did not affect her to look into his clear, golden-brown eyes, as if she had not traced the tiny scar on his chin as they lay together, sated and drowsy, or felt him surge into ecstasy inside her. She would not think of that. “You have every right to feel as you do. I see no reason to speak of it again. We are both—”
“No,” he said firmly, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “I was angry. I said things I should not have said. I hurt you, and I—”
“Nonsense.” She lifted her chin. “It takes a great deal more than words to hurt me.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and slipped into the room, closing the door sharply behind her.
“Genevieve! Blast it, will you let me explain?”
She saw the doorknob turn and she whipped out her hand, turning the key in its lock with a click.
“Genevieve.” She heard the astonishment in his voice, then the annoyance crowding it out. “Open this door. I want to talk to you.”
“No. This is my room.” She sounded childish, she knew, but she didn’t care.
He let out a curse and slammed his hand hard against the door, then walked away. Genevieve turned and leaned back against the door, her heart pounding, tears pushing at her eyes. She heard Myles’s door close furiously, and her eyes flew open, remembering the connecting door between their rooms. She started toward it, but long before she reached it, she saw its lock had no key, and she stopped, waiting, torn between dread and a strange anticipation.
The doorknob turned as she watched, and Myles opened the door. He stood in its frame, his eyes stormy. “There is no need to lock your door against me. I have no intention of coming in here. You are right; it is your room and yours alone. Pray enjoy your solitude.”
He turned, slamming the door shut behind him.
Seventeen
Sir Myles strode into White’s, frowning. He had left the house early, as he had for the past two mornings, feeling as if he were sneaking out of his own home like a schoolboy escaping punishment, but he had not been able to face another breakfast sitting in lonely splendor at the opposite end of the long table from his wife, exchanging iced small talk. He had gone down to Cribb’s to work out some of his frustration in sparring, but it had barely taken off the edge. He was beginning to wonder if anything would.
“Thorwood.”
Myles turned and saw Lord Morecombe, sitting at a table by the fireplace, a newspaper in his hand. Myles started toward his friend.
“By the scowl on your face, I presume you’ve been reading The Onlooker,” Gabriel said, folding up the newspaper.
“What? No.” Myles dropped into the chair beside him. “That bloody Lady Looksby again? About Genevieve? What could she possibly have to say now?”
“ ‘What notorious lady is already back from her honeymoon and frolicking in London?’ ” Gabriel began to read.
“ ‘Frolicking in London’? What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds faintly immoral, doesn’t it?” Gabriel took up the story again. “ ‘The recent bride is looking a bit wan—could it be because the groom’s eye is wandering to a new prospect?’ ”
“What?” Myles half rose out of his chair, as if to launch himself at something, but sat back down and lowered his voice. “What the devil is she talking about?”
Gabriel regarded his friend over the top of the scandal sheet. “I would imagine you have more of an idea of that than I.”
“You believe that—that tripe?” Myles grabbed the sheet and crushed it in his hand.
“Calm yourself, Myles, everyone is watching.”
Myles glanced around and let go of the wadded-up paper, settling back into his chair.
“Well.” Gabriel shrugged. “I had to wonder. Thea seemed to think that the, um, bloom was off the rose, so to speak.”
“Thea thought—what does Thea know about this?” Myles frowned.
“I presume whatever Genevieve told her.” Gabriel smoothed out the paper and refolded it, keeping his eyes on his hands. “They are apparently becoming thick as thieves.”
“Genevieve went running to Thea? Bloody hell . . .”
“I take that to mean that Thea was right? You have become disenchanted with your bargain?”
“I—why is it that I have become disenchanted? Is all this my fault now?”
“My dear Myles, since I haven’t the slightest notion what ‘all this’ is, I cannot say. However, as a man who is married, I can assure you that whatever happened, it will be your fault.”
Myles groaned and sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table and propping his head on his hands.
“So who is the new light-o’-love toward which your eye is wandering?” Gabriel went on cheerfully.
Myles turned a baleful gaze at him. “There is no new woman. Trust me, Genevieve is more than I can deal with; I cannot imagine trying to juggle two of them.”
“Mm. Well, I am sure it must be a terrible matter to realize you’ve married the wrong woman.”
“I never said I’d married the wrong woman!” Myles sat up. “That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon. My mistake; I thought you were saying you were unhappy with Genevieve.”
“No!”
“Ah.” Gabriel’s brows rose lazily. “I see. This is how you look when you are happy.”
“Oh, God. Of course not.” Myles raked his hand back through his hair. “Genevieve is the most stubborn, most maddening female that ever walked. We have not spoken the past three days except in a stilted, commonplace way. ‘How is your dinner?’ ‘I believe I’ll have that armchair upholstered.’ ‘It was quite warm today, wasn’t it?’ ”
Gabriel smothered a laugh.
“Oh, yes, very funny for you. You are not the one who has to sit there with that freezing blue gaze on you every night, trying to pierce the armor of her meticulous courtesy, and knowing that you haven’t a chance in hell of taking her to bed tonight.”
“So that is where the problem lies.” Gabriel nodded sagely. “I feared as much.”
Myles glowered at him. “I don’t know why you’d think that.”
“Well, Genevieve has never been a warm sort of woman. If you’ll remember, I warned you that you’d likely spend your nights alone.”
“I remember,” Myles said shortly. “You were as wrong then as you are now. Genevieve is . . .” He stopped short. “She is not cold.”
“Indeed? My mistake.”
“She is anything but cold.”
“I see. So it must be her arrogance? Her contempt for others? That waspish tongue?”
“She is not arrogant. A little proud, perhaps, but that is scarcely the worst fault. Her standards are a bit high. But she holds herself to the strictest test. She does not carp or belittle or—oh, the devil! I’ve made a muddle of it.” Myles’s face was a study in misery. “Me! After all these years, the only time it is important, and I have been the most ham-handed, bumbling, misspoken fool.”
“What did you do?”
“I’m not sure. Everything was fine; it was better than fine. We were happy. And then suddenly, it all began to fall to pieces. I suppose Thea
told you about the note Langdon sent her, purporting to be from me. How could Genevieve have thought that I would have put her in a compromising position? That I would play fast and loose with her reputation? She acted as if I was foolish to be offended by that. And then . . .” Myles’s face fell into aggrieved lines. “Then she got angry because I wanted to come back here and take care of that scoundrel.”
“She was concerned for Langdon?” Gabriel’s brows rose.
“No, of course not. She was just offended because—well, I’m not sure why. One would think she could trust me to not create a scandal. I wasn’t going to challenge him to a duel, for pity’s sake.”
“So it was the scandal that bothered her.”
“No. It was—well, she seemed furious with me because I wouldn’t take her to meet Rawdon’s runner. As if I would take a lady to some dockside tavern to meet a runner. I could scarce believe my ears. Genevieve! Who’s never stepped a foot off the path of propriety. Who has rung a peal over my head more than once for paying too little attention to the rules. I told her it would be most improper.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes. I did. I asked her what the countess would think of it.”
Gabriel let out a snort and dropped his head, his shoulders shaking.
“What are you doing?” Myles sent him a sour look. “Are you laughing?”
Finally Gabriel raised his head, mirth shining from his dark eyes. “Oh, Myles. I beg your pardon. I feel a great deal of sympathy for you. But I must say, for a man who has always known just what to say and how to say it, you made a dreadful shambles of it.”
“Because I wanted to protect my wife? Would you not have done the same thing?”
“Of course I would. And Thea would have scalded my ears for it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “When there was all that trouble concerning Matthew, I did my best to keep Thea out of it. But she was determined to be involved. She was not about to let anybody take Matthew away from her.”