by Lavinia Kent
Whatever she had been about to say was swallowed, held back deep in her throat. Her gaze rose to his and he read fierce anger, anger and steely determination—and hurt. He was lucky it was not her hand poised above his thighs or he might have found himself speaking a few tones higher. He felt his own anger at her fade as he absorbed the full range of her emotions.
“Doveshire.” Linnette held each syllable, reminding him of their early conversation—how much he liked hearing his name on her lips. Pleasing him had clearly lost all priority. “I didn’t know you had guests.”
“They, Elizabeth and Annie,” he saw the color fade from Linnette’s face at his words and attempted a correction, “Lady Westhampton and Lady Richard came to speak about the Orphanage of Lost Angels.” Surely she could not be upset by that. “Lady Richard has just excused herself for a moment.”
“I see.”
“I do hope I—we have not caused a problem.” Elizabeth’s tone did not mirror her words. She made no move to increase the distance between them. If anything, she leaned closer, her heavy perfume smothering him.
He pulled his hand away from Elizabeth’s, and stood. “Why don’t I go and see what has become of Lady Richard?”
“I am sure she’ll be back in just a moment,” Linnette said. “And I don’t imagine that she’d be happy to be bothered.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Damn. What was he thinking? You didn’t bother women when they were refreshing themselves—unless it had been planned beforehand.
Elizabeth slowly rose to her feet, her movements almost languid. She smiled like a child eyeing a bonbon, her eyes caressing him before moving back to Linnette. “You seem a little flushed, my dear duchess. Is something bothering you?”
Before Linnette could answer, Annie entered the room. Her eyes darted from one to the other as she tried to understand the situation. “Are you ready to leave?” she asked Elizabeth, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello, Annie?” Linnette took a step toward her, turning her back on Elizabeth—and him.
Annie looked up and met Linnette’s gaze and something passed between them. “I am sorry, Linnette. I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. I thought you might prefer to just ignore me, ignore all of this.”
”Oh Annie, I do realize that none of this is your fault.” It was impossible to miss that she did not include Elizabeth in the statement.
“I still can’t help but feel part of it. I think even being at Annabelle’s last week was enough. Nothing seems the same anymore.” Annie’s gaze fell back to her feet.
Linnette stepped forward and placed a hand on each of Annie’s shoulders. James could almost see her mood gentle as she spoke. “I do understand—and I must talk to you about Annabelle. I just think that perhaps we can be of help to her. I think she may need friends very badly and you have always been an excellent friend.”
“I do try.”
Elizabeth coughed, drawing her back straight. “I am still here.”
“Believe me. I am very aware of that.” Linnette dropped her hands from Annie’s shoulders, her anger returning, and turned, her voice cool. “I am curious why didn’t you speak with me about the orphanage. I have been responsible for funding it for years—from long before my husband’s death.”
“I am afraid that was my doing.” Annie stepped forward. “I was trying to make things easier for everyone.”
Linnette raised a hand to her brow and James could feel the fatigue that lay behind her careful smile and studied voice. “Have you resolved everything or is there still room for my input? I do actually care about the orphanage.”
James wished he could go back in time and force the ladies to speak with Linnette to begin with. “Doveshire will back whatever your wishes are,” he said with some formality.
Had Elizabeth rolled her eyes behind Linnette’s back? He rather thought she had. He would have called attention to it, only that would clearly do nothing but make the situation worse.
“Of course, we want to know what you think,” Annie said with some firmness, and a glare at Elizabeth. “But right now we really must be going. I promised Lady Smythe-Burke we would pay a call and she does believe one must arrive an hour early to be on time. And she is a most generous patron of our Lost Angels.”
“I suppose that Annie is correct. We must say our farewells. I do know how you hate for us to say goodbye.” Elizabeth spoke with only the faintest undertone of sarcasm as she smiled at Linnette. Then she moved closer to James and looked up from those up-tilted dark eyes. “And I do hate to take my leave as well.”
Hostility was just about bristling off Linnette by now. He wished he could soothe her, but instead took the time to say the proper farewells.
Linnette watched as James escorted Annie and Elizabeth to the door in the hall. What was the man thinking? Didn’t he realize if you gave Elizabeth a smidge she’d take a mile—or more? No, he probably didn’t. Men had always been attracted to Elizabeth, with her exotic looks, and never seemed to realize just how clever her mind could be. The only thing that put them off was her fierce demeanor.
Normally, Elizabeth seemed completely unaware of the admiration she generated. But things had changed these past weeks since she’d decided to take a lover. She was tired of waiting for her absent husband to return and had decided to try out a different kind of life—if only she’d chosen a target other than James.
It had been hard to hold back a cry when she’d entered James’s office and found him alone with Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s hand where it definitely should not have been.
And she had actually encouraged Elizabeth’s desire to take a lover in the beginning. A woman could only wait for a man for so many years—assuming that the Earl of Westhampton ever planned on returning from his endless travels.
But now it had all come to this! What had Elizabeth been thinking with those blasted cartoons? Was it just to get her hands on James? This would not end well for anybody.
Damn it all.
Linnette’s temples were pounding, and she wanted nothing as much as to crawl upstairs and under the covers—alone.
But first she needed to talk with James. Annabelle was right, confronting him was the only solution.
She didn’t care if he was still angry. This had to be resolved. She had to know why he had left, why he had waited so long to return.
Only, damn it all.
She didn’t want to talk—not now. She felt a complete shrew and was bound to act like one if pressed, and he always did seem to press. Perhaps she could let it wait—just a little longer.
“You wanted to speak?” James reentered the room.
She massaged her left temple, wishing the pain away, wishing she did not feel she was just delaying. “Yes, but not now.”
“It was not what it looked like. I would never—.”
“I do know that.” And oddly enough, she did. There were so many ways she did not trust him, but his fidelity was not one of them. “I know clearly where the blame lies.”
“I don’t think that—.”
She rubbed harder. “I believe you. I begin to realize that the one thing we have between us is truth. You still have not lied to me.”
“That is true.” He took a step toward her. “I must apologize—for this morning. It was not quite—.”
God, she didn’t want to discuss that now. They both needed to explain things that could not be explained. “No apologies are necessary.” And then she saw from his expression that they were. “James, I do understand—and I actually quite enjoyed myself. Now why do we not slice out that piece of our lives and regard it as an aberration. We both acted out of character. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” His eyes remained serious. “Yet still I bleed.”
There were no words she could say. Even if she could call back her laughter, she could not change her answer. She stared back at him, wishing once again that she could turn back time. “Perhaps I should apologize instead.”
“Only if you truly did not mean it, if your answer is different.”
Her gaze dropped. “I said ‘yes’ eight years ago. I will not again.”
“So you will not lie, either.” Now she heard the bitterness of his tone.
“Why have you never lied?” The question was out before she could tell herself to let the matter drop.
He answered slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever even considered the question. It has never occurred to me to lie. What would it serve?”
She turned her back to him and walked to the desk, staring down at the account books he had been reviewing—her account books. “I don’t know. It just seems strange that we can have all of this distrust between us—and yet no lies.”
“I do not distrust you.”
“But you did.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” His voice deepened.
“It is why you left me.”
“Whatever makes you believe that?”
“I have had eight years to consider the matter and that is what it always comes down to. I can think of several things—or people—that might have made you leave, but it all comes down to a lack of trust in me. Whatever happened that forced you to go—and I do believe you felt forced—if you had trusted me to stay with you, no matter what, you would not have left.”
CHAPTER SIX
She was right.
He had never considered it in that light before, but Linnette was right. He had not believed that she would stay with him—or at least that she would wish to. Things might have progressed too far for her to actually leave him, they might have married, might have had a child, but in the end he had always believed she would wish to leave, to have the life she had been born to.
Any remaining anger at her earlier laughter melted to nothing. Neither of them was without fault.
He watched as she bent over the desk, a finger skimming down the column of numbers. She chewed at her lower lip. Her heavy hair was swept up into a swirl of curls leaving her neck bare, the edging of thick lace at the top of her gown brushing against the few tendrils that had escaped.
She tapped a finger on the account book and then turned to him. “You do the addition in your head, with no need of paper to figure.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been able to do that—not in all these years of keeping the accounts. I always have to scratch, and add, and add again to get the correct answer. I’ve never been able to just do it in my head.”
“I remember.” And he did. He could remember her sitting with her school books before her, pen in hand, trying so hard to find the answer that he could just see—and he’d always admired her for her effort, and for the fact that she always did find that answer, no matter how hard it might be.
“It makes my head ache to try—and it is aching already. It has not been an easy day.”
“No, it has not. You came in wishing to talk. Do you wish to continue?” It was hard to ask when he did not know what he wished. There was more honesty between them at this moment than he could ever remember—but he was not sure he wanted her honest answers. They might reveal too much about himself.
She lifted a hand and rubbed her temple again. “We should. But, no, I do not wish to.”
“Then what do you wish?”
“I wish you would tell me the truth—the whole truth.” She moved around the desk toward him. “No, I do not even wish that right now. I wish a quiet dinner with only a few candles. I wish to sit by a fire, although the afternoon is warm. And I wish to go to my bed early and to sleep the whole night through without a single dream.”
“I cannot grant the last, but I can leave and allow you the first two.”
“No, you mistake my meaning.” She took another step forward. “I wish you would stay and just be with me. No talk beyond the weather and catching up on each other’s lives. Tell me more of your sister and your stepfather and I will tell you of my little niece. Have I told you that Judith has had a daughter? The plumpest, sweetest little thing you have ever seen. She makes me dream for things I should not. No, ignore that last. It is not the conversation for tonight either.”
“You want me to stay?” He hated to sound dense, but it was hard to believe.
“Yes. I am tired of avoiding life, whatever we have between us cannot be hidden forever. Circumstance demands we have some relationship. Do you think we can just be together as we used to be, as friends? Do you remember those long summers when I would sit beside you while you fished in the stream? Those summer days when we could talk for hours about nothing?”
“I do.” They were some of the happiest memories that he had. “And you were right.”
“I was right.”
“I did not trust that I could keep you happy. I did not trust you to keep wanting me. I know that is not the conversation that you wish for now, but it needs to be said. I was young and you were even younger. I knew that our dreams were not real, that the life we imagined could never be.”
“Are you sure? I have never known what could be.” She turned away from him. “But no. I do not wish to have this conversation tonight. Tonight I want to escape, to take one night and pretend that life is easy.”
“If that is what you wish, that is how it shall be.”
“I will tell cook that you are staying for dinner—and I will have a fire lit in the parlor. It may be silly, but it is what I want.”
Something was brushing her nose. Her neck was aching, her head bent at the most impossible angle. Linnette opened her eyes slowly. The room was dark, only a few faint coals glowed on the hearth.
Where was she? Her own parlor, she saw, but why? The pillow beneath her head shifted and sighed.
James.
He was still here. Her face was pressed to his chest. Her sleep-muddled mind tried to remember the evening. A quiet and lovely dinner. Sitting by the fire, slightly too warm, but soft and relaxed. She’d read for a while and he’d glanced through some papers.
He’d told her, in more detail, of his sister, just married to the new vicar and expecting her first child. His stepfather lived with them and although growing old and a little blind still managed to find his way about the library. He must have memorized the books by now, but could never resist pulling them out and fingering through them.
She’d shown him the drawings of her niece that she’d done a few weeks ago in the park. They lacked the skill of a true artist, but she rather thought she’d captured something of the innocence and joy the child radiated.
And somehow they’d kept their hands off each other, managed to hold back the desire that still flickered with every glance.
Yes, it had been a most lovely evening, the sort of evening she’d once thought would fill her life and so rarely had—although her dreams had not ended with them asleep in the parlor.
A soft sigh escaped her lips at the thought.
“I should be going.” The words rumbled from deep within James’s throat.
She turned her face to stare up at him. His normally smooth-shaven jaw was beginning to bristle and she had to curl her fingers to keep from stroking.
Not touching him had been the hardest part of the evening. Whenever he’d drawn close or their eyes had held for that second too long she’d wanted to stroke, to touch, to revel in having him close—but she’d resisted. She knew too well what a single touch could lead to.
Memories of their encounter that morning filled her and she was glad he could not see her blush. She still did not know how to feel about the whole affair. “What time is it?” she asked.
“I am not sure. Given that the coals of the fire are still glowing it cannot be as late as it seems, but if I do not leave now, I will not.” His voice trailed off at the end as if awaiting her response.
There was temptation to tell him to stay, but she dared not.
She did not know what she wanted and there were too many questions left unanswered between them.
And there was the cartoon. She doubted that anyone w
as watching the house, but they could not be too careful before they decided what path to take.
She might very well decide to throw all caution into the wind, but if she did, that it would be with intent, not by mistake or through carelessness. “Yes, perhaps you had best go. It is late and the servants will have enough to gossip about.”
“It was not by chance that they left the door open half a foot after clearing the port and glasses.”
“No, I am sure it was not. They do tend to be protective even when there is no need.”
“It is probably best that they did. Even I draw the line at debauchery with the servants watching.”
She smiled. “You sound very like my mother when you say that, and I would never have believed that any such similarity was possible.”
“It gives me shivers, but I am afraid you might be right. Not, of course, that I mean any disrespect to your mother. She was a lovely woman. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”
“Thank you.” She pushed herself upright, away from him, longing for his warmth the moment it was gone. “I do miss her.”
“Well, I’d best be leaving.” He made no move to stand.
She forced herself to her feet, going to stand at the window, looking out into the darkness, pretending she did not miss the heat of his touch.
There was no sound of movement behind her.
“What do you want from me?” She asked the question quietly.
“I told you what I wanted this morning and you laughed.” Now she did hear him move, heard him stand and stretch.
“You were serious.” Still, she did not turn to look at him.
“Yes, I do believe I was.”
She had no answer for that. Marriage? To James? Now? It was a preposterous thought, but one that drew her. “I am sorry I laughed.”
“It is I who should be sorry. I had no right to treat you like that no matter the provocation.”