Debt of Honor

by Ann Clement

  Anger helped him find his voice. “What on earth makes you think I have a mistress?” he demanded.

  He derived certain comfort from Letitia’s undisguised embarrassment. A bright-pink hue, like some of Mrs. Baillie’s famous floribundas, spread over her face. Good. She should be ashamed. But the determined way in which she squared her shoulders told him she thought otherwise.

  “Your habits betray you, sir,” she said. “But I beg your pardon. In a marriage of convenience, you are, of course, entitled to your own life.”

  Percy’s pulse kicked up. Being entitled to one’s own life was one thing. But equating it with lax standards? Unwanted recollections rose from the shadows of his memory.

  “My habits?” he growled. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

  “There is nothing to explain.”

  “Quite to the contrary,” he rejoined. “I’m completely at a loss as to which of my habits led you to such ridiculous suspicions.”

  “Suspicions?” she repeated with indignation. “But where else can you spend your nights? I think not sitting outside and writing poems under the moon. Besides, you have made your attachment so perfectly obvious, I’m surprised you didn’t take better precautions to protect the identity of your lover. I do not wish to meddle in your affairs, but you were the one speaking of my consequence in the neighborhood. It seems now like a jest. You couldn’t stay away from Mrs. Vernon even on our wedding night. You, who told me not to create scandals.”

  “Good God, stop it!” Percy grabbed her shoulders, wishing he could shake all those idiotic ideas out of her head. He flexed his fingers over the soft fabric of her dress and took a steadying breath instead.

  It was a mistake to look into her eyes again. Despite her declared indifference, they were filled with so much hurt that his fury seeped out like water through a sieve. From what he knew about Stanville, Letitia’s life had been replete with opportunities to form a very low opinion of men. No wonder she’d jumped to such conclusions. But Mary Vernon?

  Letitia swallowed and blinked rapidly a couple of times, and, damnation, now he felt guilty. His fingers moved over her shoulders as the desire to pull her into his arms and soothe all that hurt rushed in uninvited.

  He had to be losing his mind. Panic scalded him like hot iron. Percy let go of her shoulders as if the fabric had burned his fingers, and stepped back.

  “Let us come to an understanding,” he ground out. “Whether we wed for convenience or not, we said our vows. I do not have a mistress and never will, as long as I have a wife. I expect the same of you. Nothing is more abhorrent to me than infidelity in marriage. Nothing! Do you understand that?”

  She stared at him before nodding at last.

  “Good.” He took another calming breath and walked a few steps away to a window, clasping his hands behind his back. “Why Mary Vernon?” he asked.

  “You have been very close, I understand, since you both were widowed.”

  “I see no connection.” He shook his head in disbelief. “So you think we were comforting each other in our widowhood? Your source, madam, was either grossly misinformed or simply spinning fantasy tales. Banastre Vernon was a very good friend of mine and made me the executor of his will. I have been helping Mary with the management of the estate since his death and shall continue for as long as my involvement is required.

  “Neither Mary nor any other woman has been the cause of my absence in the evenings. Until I find another steward to take on some of Petre’s new responsibilities, I must do much of it myself. This is why I return home late, usually after you have already retired. Then there are still books to be updated, so you are long asleep by the time I come upstairs from the library. That’s all.”

  She said nothing.

  Percy gazed around the gallery.

  “If you want to know where I spent our wedding night, then I’ll tell you. It was in this house. I was not even seven when I walked over its threshold for the last time. There were memories here I wished to confront alone. It was something I needed to do for myself. Forgive me if I gave you a mistaken notion regarding the reason for my absence. I had no idea it would matter to you, or that you would even notice.”

  “It did not matter,” she said tersely. “But you can hardly blame me for interpreting your absence the way I did.”

  “Well, from now on,” he rejoined humorlessly, “you can go to bed assured that I am not abusing your trust in any way.”

  Letitia bit her lower lip in reply.

  The gesture irritated him, evoking the idiotic thoughts he had had on various occasions about kissing her mouth. There couldn’t be anything more inappropriate, considering everything between them. Hopefully, she would leave now, and he would go back to his business too. Petre was coming soon. They had planned to visit another tenant’s farm on Wycombe Oaks estate before the day’s end.

  Letitia’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Will you show me the house?” she asked.

  Still shaking inside, Letitia watched Percy’s somber countenance. His fierce denial was no less surprising than her spontaneous accusation. Could she really trust him? Her thoughts whirled around that question, deciding between what she wanted to be true and what she had thought had been the truth. She should leave now, leave him to his affairs, yet something kept her rooted to the gallery floor.

  “Will you show me the house?” she asked instead.

  Percy raised an eyebrow, clearly astonished by her audacity. He must have wished her gone long ago. An uncomfortable weight settled in Letitia’s chest.

  But then his face slowly brightened with the hint of a smile.

  “Come,” he said and extended his hand to her.

  Her heart accelerated for a couple of beats when she placed her palm in his.

  The warmth of Percy’s skin and the solid grasp of his fingers that curled around her hand sent shivers of pleasure down her body. Almost shyly, she put her fingers around his hand and held it as firmly as he held hers. There was a world of comfort in his touch, yet other feelings surfaced too, sweeping her like a wave so powerful one should either avoid it altogether or expect drowning. Her legs became a little wobbly.

  Percy stopped in front of the door to the dark passage she had discovered.

  “What is there?” she asked when he opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

  “My parents’ apartments,” he replied, taking her hand in his again and walking toward another door that she only now noticed in the dark wall. “Or, rather, the baronet’s and his lady’s apartments.”

  The first room must have been lovely—a lifetime ago. The once yellow walls had gathered enough dust to resemble old bales of hay. The dark stone jambs of a huge Elizabethan fireplace made them even gloomier. But it was the window that caught Letitia’s eye. Old stained glass ran across its middle, becoming in the upper part a honeycomb of small panes in dark gold.

  “My mother’s bedchamber,” Percy explained. “Come. There is more to see.”

  They passed through a small sitting room to another bedchamber that mirrored the first one in size, but the dark paneling made it decidedly more masculine.

  Then they went through a couple more passages and peered into several more rooms. In each, Percy explained what it had been.

  Letitia forgot about time. There was too much to absorb. Recalling the watercolors and drawings Percy had at Bromsholme, she now saw everything in a new light, felt almost feverish imagining the possibilities. Meanwhile, Percy obliged her with the history of the house and his family. His rich baritone enveloped her like a protective cloak around her shoulders as they walked through empty rooms echoing with their footsteps. She sank into the cadence of his voice while he spun his stories.

  Finally, Percy stopped in front of a large door. When he pushed it open, she gasped.

  They were in the great hall of the old cas
tle.

  Letitia let go of Percy’s hand and slowly walked to the center of the room. A huge hearth stood to one side, with a very long table in front of it. She remembered the table from one of the watercolors. Its size must have been the reason her father had left it behind. The chairs she’d seen in the watercolor were gone. A torn tapestry lined part of one wall, while only hooks were left in the stonework after others. A few pieces of furniture, possibly as old as the castle itself, were scattered around.

  Letitia took in the ornate carving of the baluster guarding the minstrel gallery and tall Gothic windows fitted with stained glass. The sunlight mingled with the colors, turning the dull stone floor below into a carpet of intricate design.

  She raised her head. The dark, heavy beams of the ceiling held the roof like the stretched-out arms of Atlas. The hooks from which the chandeliers had been suspended beckoned like crooked fingers.

  “This is magical,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

  “Thank you.”

  Letitia jerked her head. She hadn’t heard Percy come up behind her. He’d spoken softly, his voice low and intimate in the vast space of the hall.

  Suddenly, the powerful beauty of the great hall receded into the background of her thoughts. The real magic was in Percy’s face, in the intensity of his gaze that warmed and burned at the same time, in that shapely mouth she longed to feel on her own.

  He reached up and took a lock of her hair in his fingers, as if testing its texture. His eyes were now focused on that little thread joining them together.

  Deep currents of desire spiraled down Letitia’s spine.

  As if aware of it, Percy shifted his gaze back to hers. He let go of her hair, but instead of dropping his hand, he let the tips of his fingers slowly smooth over her cheek.

  The wave of heat and sudden uncontrollable need to feel his touch surged through her. She tilted her head so that his fingers had to linger on her face. They did. Apparently, he was in no hurry.

  His thumb found her lips and moved gently along the lower edge, and Letitia exhaled shakily through her mouth. She was going to explode from all the sensations assaulting her at once. Thank God, his other hand slipped around her and held her firmly in place; her knees had just refused to do their duty. Being anchored to him felt so good. Steady. Beautiful.

  The heat in her veins and the unsteadiness in her legs reached another level when Percy lowered his head slowly, and their breaths mingled. Was he going to kiss her? If Letitia’s thoughts were clouded before, they simply vanished now. She just wanted him to…

  But then Percy dropped his hands almost as unexpectedly as he had put them on her.

  “You should like the view from those windows,” he said in a strangled tone and walked to the opposite side of the room.

  He stopped by one of the Gothic windows, his rigid back to the hall.

  Dazed and surprised, Letitia joined him there. The queasiness that had overpowered her a moment before gave way to a growing panic. She felt like someone thrown overboard a ship in the middle of an ocean. Heaven help her, she lusted after him. And he, no doubt, had noticed.

  How disgusted he must be with her now, a woman who wasn’t even a real wife, who had accused him of having a mistress, and then practically begged to be kissed. Letitia felt heat rise in her face, but this time, it was deep shame. He must think her a complete wanton, and now probably would believe most of those ridiculous stories that had circulated about her in town.

  She glanced at him on the sly. Percy stood still, facing the window as if she weren’t here at all.

  Letitia followed his gaze. Several inches shorter than Percy, she found the slanted stone slabs forming the windowsill too high for her to see the grounds immediately below it. But despite other thoughts preoccupying her mind, amazement swept her once more. The vast panorama of gently sloping fields and groves, complete with a village and church spire glistening in the afternoon sun, took her breath away. And far to the right glared the white rocks of the outcropping where they had met for the first time. It had been three weeks…

  Percy seemed to have forgotten about her.

  “Thank you for the tour,” she said and stepped away. “I did not intend to take so much of your time. If you tell me how to find my way, I shall not trouble you anymore.”

  He turned around then.

  “It was my pleasure,” he said. “Allow me to show you out.”

  “No,” she replied. “Just tell me how to find the door.”

  As the cloud of dust created by Letitia’s gig slowly settled along the road, Percy walked away from the great hall window. He had stood there, watching his wife pick her way between the stumps of the saplings on what had once been the courtyard lawn. She stopped several times to contemplate the space as if she was comparing it to the watercolor in his library.

  Everything about her was beautiful, as usual. And that gorgeous hair, tugged now and then in different directions by the breeze. It tempted him before, but now, freed from its own weight and the bonnet she forgot to put on, it became an irresistible feast for his eyes. He had to consciously keep his fingers from going through the riotous curls when she walked by his side. But, of course, he gave in to the temptation eventually. Damn him.

  He’d known how beautiful Letitia was from the moment of their accidental meeting on the outcropping, although, elated as he had been by the recovery of Wycombe Oaks, her beauty meant nothing to him then. Now, three weeks later, it became more and more difficult to dismiss her from his thoughts. The long-gone feelings and deeply buried desires stirred back to life against his will.

  She always challenged him in some, usually unexpected, way. There was not one dull moment with the spoiled heiress who wasn’t spoiled after all. And then, there was just the sheer physical pleasure of being with her. It felt so natural to hold her hand in his.

  By Jove, he very nearly kissed her minutes ago!

  In the end, he stopped himself, suddenly frightened by the intensity of his desire. Hadn’t he promised her she was safe from him? He almost broke his word.

  Worse, Percy didn’t want to keep it anymore. Perhaps he ought to forget about his plan of sending Letitia away to live on her own, and instead take her to bed, like a real wife.

  And start down the same road to doom as before?

  No. The price to pay might be much more than either of them could bear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Percy stood patiently in front the mirror while his valet once again inspected him head to toe. Finding opportunities for improvement, Pergot smoothed a few unnoticeable creases on the coat, then added a couple of well-pronounced ones to the arrangement of the cravat. But when he proceeded to rearrange the fob of Percy’s pocket watch to make it hang just so, Percy drew the line.

  “That will do, Pergot,” he said, hoping he did not hurt the old valet’s feelings. Pergot had been dressing his father before him. “You will embarrass me if I take longer than my wife.”

  “Sir George always took as long as Lady Albinia,” Pergot replied, examining his creation with a critical eye, “and he turned heads wherever they went.”

  “I’m dining only with her ladyship and Mrs. Baillie.”

  Pergot seemed undaunted, especially since another crease appeared magically on one of the sleeves. “Her ladyship will be pleased if you turn out all proper, sir. If she ever catches sight of you in Sir George’s old coat, she will think she married a vagabond.”

  Or a highwayman. Percy bit back a smile.

  He finally made his escape and headed toward the staircase. But before he got as far as Letitia’s bedchamber, Miss Fourier’s voice reached him through the slightly open door.

  “…with anchovies. They might give you trouble again.”

  “Mrs. Baillie will not serve salmagundi for dinner, Josie. And don’t remind me about that despicable Lady Rochford. I cannot bear hearin
g her name.”

  Lady Rochford? Percy stilled instead of knocking on the door.

  “I cannot blame you, my dove,” the companion concurred. “I shake with anger whenever I recall what she did to you. Unfortunately, your father took that nonsense seriously.”

  “Look at the bright side of things, Josie,” Letitia replied a little too cheerfully. “If it happened again, no one would be blamed. Quite to the contrary. I can see congratulations flowing in—unfortunately for the well-wishers, all in vain.”

  “Maybe not in vain in the future…” Josepha suggested with audible hope.

  “Oh yes, forever,” Letitia said in a tone not inviting any discussion. “Well, never mind. I promise you not to eat all the anchovies Mrs. Baillie’s cook has in her cold pantry. Should I take a shawl? There may be some chill in the evening.”

  “I put it together with your bonnet.”

  “Thank you, Josie. Your new book and the yarn you wanted for the reticule are in the sitting room. I better hurry. Sir Percival is no doubt pacing the hall and grinding his teeth.”

  Percy knocked.

  “I’m on my way downstairs,” he said when Letitia swung the door open. “Are you ready?”

  Letitia tied the ribbons of her bonnet and nodded.

  Without any warning, the pleasure of seeing her melted something in his heart. On the sly, he took a deep breath, enjoying the delicate waft of her scented water that was only Letitia and no one else.

  Despite his renewed resolve to keep his distance from her, he had not been able to get out of his head that almost kiss in the great hall. The memory of desire brightening her eyes as she turned up her face for his touch had tormented him most of the night.

  Now, once they climbed inside the carriage, Letitia turned away from him, watching her side of the road, her back straight. Percy waited for a moment, but she was as lively as a piece of marble.