by Brenda Hiatt
Still smiling almost—but not quite—suggestively, he nodded.
“Merely a meeting with friends at my club, whom I’d been neglecting. Lord Foxhaven and his wife are back in Town—you met him at Wellington’s do, I believe?”
There was a slight edge to his tone when mentioning the Duke’s name, though if what Lady Mountheath reported overhearing was true, she couldn’t think why.
“They intend to host a dinner and perhaps a small ball once they’re settled in and would like us to attend, if our schedule will allow.”
“He is one of your closest friends, is he not?” she said, glad to be on safer ground. “I’m certain we can arrange to be there. However, as we are neither of us particularly fond of dancing, I rather hope it will only be dinner.”
Those two dances with the Duke of Wellington had rather dimmed her enthusiasm for balls. In fact, it was partially to avoid encountering him again tonight that she’d decided to decline the Jellers’ invitation, for he’d commented in passing at the previous evening’s rout that he looked forward to seeing her there.
“Did you never attend balls in Yorkshire?” he surprised her by asking then.
“I, ah, no. I rarely mingle with the local gentry, as we have little in common.”
“You spend all of your time at home, then? On your estate?”
Was he digging for information as to the extent of her property? Property that, according to the law, was now his…
“I have plenty to occupy me there, as I’ve been able to afford few servants,” she replied cautiously. “This year’s harvest was poor after such a cool summer, which has had an effect on rents from the tenant farms.”
He nodded, though his expression was too knowing for her comfort. “Surely you must do something for amusement? You used to enjoy fencing…among other things.” Again, a ghost of a wink, reminding her of just how much she—they—had enjoyed those “other things.”
Swallowing, she glanced away. “I tend my herb garden and teach those of the village women willing to learn which ones are most useful, and for what ailments. And I read, of course.”
“Of course. What of your fencing and shooting? I’d hate to think you have neglected those, given your previous level of skill.” His smile suggested he was recalling other skills as well but she refused to blush.
“I occasionally still shoot, as I can devise targets. Fencing is more difficult without proper opponents, though I’ve recently begun to teach—” She broke off. Great heaven, she’d nearly said Theo’s name! “—some of the local village lads,” she continued after a too-long pause.
One raised eyebrow proved he’d noticed her hesitation. “Only the lads?”
“I, ah, haven’t been able to persuade any of the girls’ parents to let them learn,” she improvised, still rattled by her near-slip.
“Pity. The world might be a better place if more shared your enthusiasm for experiences outside their normal sphere.”
There was no mistaking his meaning now. Longings Xena had believed long buried began to stir—longings she dared not indulge. Did she?
To her relief, a footman appeared just then to announce dinner. Instantly, Harry was at her side, his arm gallantly outstretched.
“Shall we?”
* * *
As they went down to dinner, Harry chided himself for attempting flattery to win Xena over, for she’d never been one to have her head turned by pretty speeches. Clearly he would do better to continue engaging her on other topics that might subtly remind her of what they once were to each other—and try to discover all he could along the way.
When they entered the dining room, he was pleased to see that, per his instructions, the two place settings were indeed at right angles to each other at the head of the table rather than at opposite ends. At Xena’s questioning glance, he grinned down at her.
“I thought this would be cozier and make conversation rather easier. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of…of course I don’t mind.” Her tiny hesitation implied he’d flustered her a bit with his earlier allusions.
That was all to the good, as it might cause her to reveal more than she intended, as he suspected she’d nearly done a few moments ago. Was she perhaps teaching fencing to local gentlemen, as well as boys? He pulled out her chair before seating himself practically at her elbow. Unstoppering the decanter before him, he poured the ruby liquid first into her glass and then his own.
“My favorite vintage,” he commented, raising his glass. “A fitting one with which to salute you.”
One brow skeptically raised, Xena saluted him as well, then took a small sip of the excellent wine. “It’s very good,” she admitted.
“I’m glad you like it. You see, we do still have a few things in common.”
She took another small sip, now avoiding his eye. “Our mutual dislike for dancing, for example.”
“That, too.” He let his amusement show in his voice. “Though I must say that for one so disinclined to dance as you claim, you carry off the necessity famously. I’ve meant to compliment you upon it.”
At her frown, he quickly added, “A compliment is only flattery if untrue, you know.” It was an argument he’d used more than once in his defense in the past—most particularly after an enjoyable session of lovemaking. She obviously recalled that circumstance as well, for she looked suddenly conscious, her protest dying on her lips.
“Who knows?” he continued. “With a bit more practice you may come to quite enjoy dancing. I have rather a better excuse for avoiding it, alas.”
“Yet your dancing is far more polished than mine, when you give yourself the trouble,” she retorted. “Indeed, you do an excellent job of making one forget your injury entirely. I’ve been…extremely impressed by how well you’ve adapted.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to be discomfited by a compliment. “I, ah, suppose I am beginning to, at any rate. In the early days my attempts were quite laughable, I assure you. I’d no idea how many tasks require both hands until I was forced to make do with one. The simple act of tying a bootlace is still completely impossible.” Forcing a laugh, he tossed back the rest of his wine.
“Still, it is clear you have worked hard at it.” Her expression was both admiring and sympathetic. “I knew more than one soldier who simply…gave up after a loss such as yours. Poor Private Miller became so despondent he put a pistol to his head. A terrible pity, for he was otherwise quite healthy—and so young.” She sighed sadly.
“Won’t say I wasn’t tempted to do the same early on,” he startled himself by confessing, as it was something he’d never told a soul. “If it weren’t for Pete and Jack—Lord Foxhaven now—I likely would’ve. They pulled me through the worst of it.”
“I’m happy they were there for you,” she said softly, the sympathy in her eyes deepening to something almost like pain.
Harry refilled his glass, glad of an excuse to look away. He was well on his way to becoming maudlin—not at all what he’d intended for tonight. As the soup was brought in, he reverted to their previous topic.
“As there are doubtless more balls ahead of us, perhaps we should devise a strategy that will get us both out of dancing.”
To his relief, the pity left her expression. “I’d be quite relieved if we could come up with an acceptable ruse that will not offend our hosts. What do you suggest?”
“I generally use the card room as a refuge if one is provided, but that would leave you on your own—unless you’d care to join me there?”
Xena regarded him uncertainly. “Ladies don’t, do they?”
“Not that I’ve noticed, but are you so very concerned with observing the proprieties? You never used to be.”
Instead of responding, she took a hasty spoonful of soup, a faint flush creeping up her throat.
Harry pressed his advantage, leaning in a bit closer. “We could always look for an unused room or corner and get up a game on our own, well away from prying eyes. ’Twas a skill we both excelled
at, once upon a time.”
Though she pinkened further, she now met his gaze squarely. “I presume you are not referring to cards now? Though that might solve the problem of dancing, I should think it would create others. I’d not wish to risk embarrassing or insulting our hosts, should we be discovered—particularly the Foxhavens, as he is such a close friend.”
“Jack’s in no position to object after a certain story I heard on my return from Vienna,” Harry said with a chuckle, remembering the tale of Jack and Nessa inadvertently displaying themselves in flagrante at a prominent ball. “Besides, he was the one who—” He broke off with a cough. No, Xena did not need to know what Jack had suggested earlier. Not yet, at any rate. “Ah, well, I suppose we needn’t decide until the problem next arises, eh?”
He refilled his glass—it was somehow empty again—and planned his next assault on Xena’s defenses, which he was almost certain were starting to crumble.
CHAPTER 16
UNSETTLED BY Harry’s innuendoes—or, rather, by her body’s response to them—Xena finished her soup in silence. Harry did the same, though his was accompanied by a deal more wine. Already he’d lowered the level of the initially full decanter well past the halfway point.
A fresh decanter of white wine was brought out with the fish course and Harry proceeded to make heavy inroads into that as well, while asking a few more questions about her home and habits in Yorkshire. Xena limited herself to a single glass, reasoning that she’d best keep her head clear tonight if Harry was determined to drink enough to impair his judgment.
When the pheasant was served, Harry again shifted topics. “I know you don’t much care for compliments, but I can’t help noticing what a very fine string of pearls you are wearing. I suppose new jewelry was necessary for your entree into Society, as well as dresses?”
He’d already seemed curious—even suspicious—about the new gowns she’d worn this week. And not completely without cause, as it turned out. Unlike the dresses, however, the pearls she could explain without blushing.
“They were my mother’s. My father presented me with what little jewelry had been hers on my sixteenth birthday. As you might imagine, I had no occasion to wear it on the Peninsula, so left it in Yorkshire.”
“Ah. I presume their sentimental value prevents you attempting to sell them as you’ve done with your father’s artifacts?”
Though in fact the thought had once crossed her mind after her initial lack of success at the latter, she nodded. “I have little else to remember her by.”
“Yes, I recall you lost her at an early age, while in India. I…remember everything you’ve ever told me about yourself, Xena. It is why I am now striving to fill in a few details of these past few years.”
Had she misjudged him? Was it possible that, instead of a mercenary or suspicious motive, his curiosity was sparked by a gentler impulse? Not for the first time, she wondered whether Yamini was right and that she was doing both Harry and Theo a disservice by keeping them ignorant of each other.
She had not exaggerated when telling Yamini about his drinking, however, for he’d nearly emptied the second decanter now.
“What say you we have the sweetmeats served in the library, where we can sit at our ease?” he suggested as the last course was cleared away.
Though his unusual mood tonight made her a bit uneasy, Xena offered no objection. Perhaps it would be as well if no servants were at hand to hear whatever he might say next, as Harry seemed well on his way to becoming drunker than she had ever seen him. Likely he’d begun while at his club earlier.
He escorted her up to the first floor, the footman following with a tray of confections. As soon as the servant left, Harry closed the library door. “Private, as I said.”
Smiling seductively over his shoulder, he again poured two glasses of port, carrying them both in one hand to where she stood near the fire. “This is better, is it not?”
“I…ah…yes.” To her disgust, her voice came out higher than she intended. She was a woman grown and a mother, not some green girl to be flustered by a man’s attentions—especially a man she happened to be married to!
“I’m glad you agree.” Setting both glasses on a low table, he lightly touched her cheek. “For a while, I feared you had completely lost your thirst for new and exciting experiences.”
Her heart accelerating in spite of herself, Xena swallowed. “Perhaps not…not completely,” she whispered. The longing she’d felt earlier that evening returned, stronger than ever. In vain she tried to remind herself that she mustn’t give in. Harry was clearly drunk—he’d not be saying these things otherwise.
He leaned in closer. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible for you to become even more intoxicating than I remembered, Xena, but you most assuredly have.”
Feeling oddly intoxicated herself, though she’d drunk but little, she swayed toward him. Gently, so gently, he touched his lips to hers, just as he had the first time they’d ever kissed…and now, as then, she was nearly overwhelmed by the riot of sensation that assailed her. This, this was why she had become so addicted to Harry all those years ago. It was an addiction she’d thought long cured…but she’d been wrong.
For a long moment she clung to him, reveling in the spiraling pleasure she’d thought never to feel again. But as he pulled her tighter against him, a tiny thread of sanity intruded. Striving desperately to calm her racing pulse, her desperate longing for more, she leaned away. “I…I can’t.”
“Can’t you, Xena? We are husband and wife, you know.” The passionate yearning in his expression was tinged with a sadness that tempted her on a whole different level.
“I know. But—” The truth about Theo hovered on her lips. No! This was not the time for such a confession. He’d had far too much to drink and her own judgment seemed nearly as questionable as his at the moment.
He seemed to sense her decision, for the sadness in his hazel eyes increased. “I’d rather hoped we could put an end to pretense tonight.”
“To—?”
“I know, Xena. I know about your visits to Rundel Street and who you’ve been seeing there.”
With a gasp, Xena’s hand flew to her throat. Harry already knew about Theo? How? Had Lord Peter broken his promise after all?
“I…I’m so sorry, Harry. I never should have—”
He released her then, almost pushing her away. “Never should have what? Lied to me?” His voice turned harsh but there was still more of pain than anger in his eyes.
Miserably, she nodded. “Please, let me explain,” she began again, but he swung away from her.
“No need. I’d as soon not hear the sordid details of exactly what favors you’ve been granting Wellington in return for the money he’s been lavishing on you. Give you good night, madam wife.” Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
* * *
Harry stormed out of the house without hat, overcoat, or any idea where he was going. His only thought was to put as much distance between himself and Xena as possible.
For a few delicious moments it had seemed they were close to recapturing the passion they’d once shared, the affection that had existed between them. Then, when he’d almost convinced himself he’d been mistaken in his suspicions, she’d confirmed them—had admitted to carrying on an affair with Wellington and lying about it.
Turning a corner, he staggered slightly. Perhaps sharing that second bottle with Jack at the club had been a mistake—especially since Jack had barely touched it. Between that and the wine at dinner, he was drunker than he’d been in over a fortnight—because he’d felt the need for a bit of liquid courage to bolster his attempt to storm the citadel that was Xena.
Not that it had helped. A more spectacular failure he could scarcely imagine. It appeared that even his most practiced overtures couldn’t hold a candle to Wellington’s. Was she even now laughing at his pitiful attempt at seduction? He doubted she scoffed when he complimented her….
/> Still with no clear destination in mind, he quickened his steps, trying to outpace his humiliation.
When Xena had last undermined his confidence, he fuzzily recalled, the Saint had successfully restored it. He might as well try that same solution tonight…and he knew precisely which target would serve his purpose best. With a grim smile, he directed his steps toward Hyde Park Corner and Apsley House, Wellington’s new Town residence.
* * *
Xena stood stock-still in the middle of the library staring at the door Harry had slammed shut as understanding belatedly dawned.
It appeared Lady Mountheath had been absolutely correct about Harry’s belief that she was having an affair with the Duke of Wellington—but completely wrong about his feelings on the matter!
She breathed a sigh of relief, not only that her secret about Theo was still safe, but even more that Harry was by no means happy about her supposed dalliance with their former general. A moment later, however, indignation supplanted that relief.
How dared he make such an assumption on so little evidence? Her behavior had been above reproach, whatever Wellington’s intentions—she’d done nothing more than dance with the man! True, the Duke had indirectly paid for her newest, most expensive dresses, but she had traded no “favors” for them. She hadn’t even known he was the one buying the artifacts until the night before last.
Had Harry given her a chance to explain, she likely would have told him all about Theo, thinking he already knew. By reacting as she had to that erroneous assumption, Xena had surely given Harry what he would consider proof that his suspicions were correct.
But…so what if she had? she thought defiantly. Harry had no right to pass judgment on her given his own reputation for promiscuity! Surely a wife had as much right to extra-marital dalliance as her husband.
At any rate, she could see no way to convince him of her fidelity without telling him the truth about Theo after all. That, she now had no inclination whatever to do, even if her seeming admission of guilt drove Harry straight into the arms of one or another of his mistresses.