Stepping closer Elena hoped he would answer as the man she knew from that first meeting.
MERYON HARDLY KNEW what to do and even less what to say. His pride rose up like an angry beast. “My apologies,” he said again, with a perfunctory bow.
Elena raised her hand with that abrupt gesture she used to stop someone from speaking.
“Don’t you try to stop me, Elena. You’ve had your say and I will have mine.” The duke did not even try to control his voice, did not care how he sounded. Reason had no place in this.
“You are standing here telling me you are insulted by my offer when you clearly want the same thing I do.” He raised a hand to his cheek. “You want me every bit as much as I want you. You know that is true.”
“I would have been happy to know you better. To have an affair based on affection and respect. Not commerce and convenience.”
Elena was quieter, still angry but not shouting. Meryon had a mental image of a balance where when one of them shouted the other calmed.
“Know me better!” He laughed, he could not help it. “We know each other intimately. What more is there?”
Elena shook her head as if he had asked the most pathetic question imaginable. “We know each other physically, Your Grace, but now that is almost a distraction. Do you really think that to know where to touch and when to kiss is to know me completely?”
“No, of course not. If giving you the book was a mistake then surely my note gave you some idea of how I regard you.” How did he explain that sex was all he could give of himself for now?
“Your note was its own insult. You appreciate my generous spirit.” She picked up the note to read the words. “And the way you can reciprocate is with a meaningless thing.”
Elena tossed the book onto the table and ignored it when the volume fell on the floor. “Meryon, what we could have had was never about gifts or money. Never.”
“Tell me what you want.” He took a step closer to her. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly? “It seems I am incapable of understanding without an explicit explanation.”
“Meryon,” she said, taking a step closer as well.
They were still too far apart, in every way.
“I was hoping for love.” She blinked away the tears he could see filling her eyes. “Don’t you understand that what we have is about love and not power?”
“You were expecting a proposal of marriage?” Meryon recoiled as if punched. He did not mean to edge the word with such disdain but he was totally confused. Marriage was out of the question. As she had said, they hardly knew each other.
“Marriage?” Elena’s tears were gone and the anger was back. “We are not much more than strangers. This argument is proof enough of that, of our mutual misconception despite our compatibility in bed.” She bent over and picked up the note and the book from the floor, read the note again, and then crunched it into a ball, dropping it on the table.
“I would not consider marriage for even a single second, Your Grace. I am an independent lady of means. I value my freedom too much to tie myself forever to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, stung.
Elena circled the room, but there were no paintings here to calm her. She stopped after ten steps and with a sharp breath continued her diatribe.
“I was insulted that you would ask me to be a kept woman, so that my life would revolve around nothing but your needs, when you wanted it, at your convenience. I would be no more to you than your valet or your tiger.”
“I have heard quite enough,” Meryon said, reaching for his hat and gloves.
“I am not finished,” she shouted as she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “If you, Your Grace, were not so afraid of laughter, of love, of so much as a smile, we could have been very happy together. Now all you have are these two days to remember me by.”
The duke grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Elena’s shock at such handling barely registered. When he spoke it was through gritted teeth. “When I say that I have heard enough, signora, you are well advised to stop talking.”
“Oh, is that phrase another code? Is it like telling the tiger to go look for your walking stick?” Elena yanked her wrist from his grip and folded her arms, as if that would guarantee her safety. “That makes it all the more clear that I am not part of your world.”
“Elena!” Meryon could feel his temper uncoiling, like a bear too long asleep. “You are the most aggravating, self-righteous woman I have ever met.” The words streamed out oh, so quietly, but with lethal accuracy, and he made no attempt to hold them back. “You can shout like a harridan and always think you are right. You may be beautiful and sing like an angel, but you lack every feminine trait save one.”
Meryon so wanted her to ask what that one trait was. Of course, now she did not speak, which was just as well as he had not finished.
“You think that one night of ill-advised conversation in the dark is license to invade my life in every other way.”
He could see her biting her lip and wondered where her control had been a minute ago.
“If you need to hear the words ‘I love you’ then you will wait a long time. I never even spoke those words to my wife.” He bit the words off and looked away from her. “The truth is …” He took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. “The truth is, I’m not sure that I even know what love is, but if shouting and hitting are part of it then I want nothing to do with it.”
“I am happy to leave it that way, Your Grace.” Elena’s expression was as haughty as a queen’s. “Take me home. Now.”
She stood straight and still, waiting for him to do what she asked. No, what she commanded.
“I will, but you will always have a special place in my memory. I have never lost my temper with a woman. Until today.”
Elena said nothing, but continued to draw on her gloves.
There was no point in continuing this. He was a Pennistan and only a fool would think he did not have a temper, but he had learned with the aid of a good tutor and his father’s switch to control his anger better than his brothers ever did.
With a vow of silence until he bid her farewell forever, Meryon left the room to call for his carriage. He never would have guessed, when they raced up the stairs, that the day would end like this.
26
MERYON DECIDED HE WOULD go back to Jackson’s after he left Elena and find someone who wanted a fight as much as he did. Then he would go home, avoid the family, and let Magda and a glass of wine soothe his wounded pride.
Elena Verano would call that truly pathetic, but it was no more pitiable than a woman who assumed that sex paved the way to a future beyond the bedroom. This had nothing to do with his ducal title and everything to do with Elena’s unrealistic expectations.
He had brought the cabriolet, thinking that with the fine weather the drive back would be a lovely way to end their interlude. Now the new conveyance would be the one bright spot on the interminable trip back to Signora Verano’s home.
———
ELENA ENDURED THE DRIVE back to Bloomsbury as if it were a punishment she deserved, wondering in which circle of Dante’s Hell a person was made to suffer for sins of carnal feeling and pride.
She stared at the dark green blanket that covered her knees, picking out the threads of varying shades of green with brown and black mixed in. As much as she tried to ignore them, the duke’s words echoed endlessly in her head. His mistress. Meryon had asked her to be his mistress.
The thought made her feel ill. That he could reduce lovemaking to a financial arrangement disgusted her. There was no point at all in pursuing any sort of friendship with this man.
If she opened her mouth she would cry, Elena was sure of it. Heartache filled her so completely that it would take only the slightest opening for it to pour out.
It was no distraction to watch Meryon’s hands. His touch on the reins to urge the horse forward or to slow him was a crude simile for the control he wanted
over her. She had invited it as surely as she had invited his first kiss that night in the dark, when they had been no more than a man and woman without name, title, or expectations.
Now Elena understood that they were more than that. He was a duke. With the title came a way of life that meant everyone did as the duke wanted, as the duke wished. Oh, yes, a duke had enormous responsibilities, but those did not affect her nearly as much as his wants and wishes.
He had never told his wife he loved her. That might have been the most amazing thing Meryon had said when temper had burst from him. That was no longer something that should concern her. They had no future, and the reason why had much to do with his inability to even say the word “love.”
Elena Verano was better off without him. Meryon was a duke and her world was singing, a skill, or more accurately, a gift that was worth more to the soul than the dozen titles Lynford Pennistan could lay claim to.
Signora Verano might be known as a singer. By birth she was Lady Ellen Bendasbrook, a name that she had rejected as the Duke of Bendas had rejected her. In Italy her married state had protected her from advances. Now she knew that if Elena Verano stayed in London there would always be conjecture by both men and women.
How she wanted to talk with someone about this, but there was no one to whom she could unburden herself. Perhaps she should go to Paris. Coming to England had been a mistake.
Elena closed her eyes as they filled with tears and reminded herself that it was not more than twenty minutes to Bedford Place. Surely she could keep her composure that long.
The trip took so long that it was a struggle Elena almost lost. It both helped and hurt that the duke did not seem to notice her deep uneven breaths or the few tears that tracked down her cheek. Would all her memories of him be like this, pain mixed with pleasure?
Elena opened her eyes as the cabriolet made the turn onto Russell Square and it became clear that they were, indeed, traveling more slowly than usual. Through eyes blurred by tears, she could see conveyances of all types clogging the street that edged the square. The greensward itself was filled with people.
Russell Square was a popular spot, but she had never seen so many people in one place, much less a few doors down from her own home. She pulled off a glove and brushed the tears from her lashes so she could see more clearly.
A crowd, a large crowd, gathered around a man, standing a head above the rest, addressing them. He had a booming voice, but still the words did not carry to the edge of the multitude that must number in the hundreds. The throng pressed forward and the whole group groaned.
“Where did all these people come from?” Elena bit her lip. She’d had every intention of never speaking to the duke again.
“I hope they have the required magistrate’s permission.”
The duke sounded more concerned than indignant.
“They must have.” He answered his own question and went on looking at her for the first time since he climbed up beside her. “They would have brought a statement for you to sign giving the time, place, and purpose.”
“Yes, a man came to the door but I am not the legal householder, merely renting, so I could not sign permission. They must have found others. I wonder if my neighbors realized how many more than fifty there would be.” Were any of her neighbors even home? “Why are these people not at work?”
“I suspect they wish they were at work,” Meryon answered.
They were being so calm and sensible, as if no angry words had been spoken, as if nothing had changed. It made her eyes fill all over again. Stop, she commanded herself, and was relieved when it actually worked.
“Since the war,” he added, “there are too many people and too few positions. Think of all the soldiers who are no longer needed in the army.”
Now she wanted to yell, “I am an intelligent, educated woman, not the strumpet you would make me.” Instead she tried to sound civil. “I read the papers, Your Grace.”
“I see. Yours was a rhetorical question.” His voice was stiff.
“Yes,” she snapped. She raised a hand and then dropped it, realizing how often she made that gesture. “Please do not say another word. Otherwise we will start arguing again. I have no interest to entertain the public.”
“Nor do I. You spoke first.”
“And of course you must have the last word.”
The duke looked at her as if deciding whether to rise to the challenge. After a long pause he inclined his head. “Yes, I must. Call it a ducal privilege.”
“As if there weren’t enough ducal privileges without that one more.” Elena bit her lip to hold back the smile at having bested him. It was petty but she would count her victories, no matter how small.
She gripped the edge of the carriage frame as the horse grew restless. The animal was strong and well-bred and responded to Meryon’s calming touch despite the unusual circumstances.
No one paid any attention to them, their interest focused on the speakers amongst them. Elena could not tell if the men scattered amidst the crowd were the main orator’s representatives or were taking advantage of the gathering to make their own opinions known.
The people acted as though they owned the thoroughfare and it took the duke more than a few minutes to move the cabriolet to the side of the street. Finally Meryon had a word with the tiger and Wilson led the horse around the edge of the mass of people.
Eventually the crowd grew too dense to proceed. The duke did not relax when he stopped the carriage, but called Wilson to him and sent him off to ascertain if there was another route to the house in Bedford Place.
I can walk from here, Elena thought. It would be all she could do not to run and it could not happen quickly enough. Without a word to the duke, Elena stood. Surely she could jump down without doing herself injury.
“Do not even think of jumping down.” The duke took her arm above her elbow and hauled her back to her seat. “It is not far to your house but it is obviously not safe.”
Safer than I am here with you, Elena thought, pulling her arm from his grasp.
Meryon spoke even as he concentrated his attention on something or someone in the crowd. “Look over there, signora. Is that not one of your servants standing on the base of that statue?”
The height of the cabriolet now proved an advantage. It was easy to see over the throng and Elena followed his line of sight.
“Yes! Yes, it is.” Elena stood up, pressing a hand to her heart. The duke’s horse sidled a bit and she sat down abruptly. “It’s Signore Tinotti’s wife, Tina.”
“Either she climbed up there to find a better view or she is looking for someone.”
“Tina would never be so unladylike as to climb up on the plinth for a clearer view of that speaker.”
“Then what is she doing there?”
“An unanswerable question, Your Grace.” Elena was proud of herself for not snapping at him, for asking something neither could possibly know the answer to. And where was Tinotti?
“She may need help climbing down.” Meryon could not make out Tina’s expression from this distance.
“Perhaps. But she does not enjoy crowds, because she is so tiny.” The tiger hurried back before Elena could speculate that Tina’s fear of being trampled was why she had climbed up on the statue.
Wilson took a moment to catch his breath. “Your Grace, sir, the hard part is this stretch right here. The people on the edge are not riled, just curious. They will move if we do. It’s simple enough once you are beyond them. You turn at the next street and work your way around.”
“I will do that presently.” The duke turned to Elena but seemed lost in thought, someplace else entirely. When he spoke he was as commanding as ever. “I will go help the woman, if you will promise me, Elena, promise, that you will wait here for us.”
She did not want the duke to do anything heroic. She did not want to see him as anything but a cad, but Tina’s well-being came before her own sensibilities.
“Yes, I will wait.” Elena watc
hed her maid as she answered Meryon. She was wearing something in a bold blue. It was easier to think about that than how frightened Tina must be.
“Look me in the eye and promise. No matter what you may think of me, your safety is as important to me as your honor is to you.”
WHEN ELENA TURNED her eyes to his, Meryon wished he hadn’t insisted.
“I will wait, Your Grace.”
Those were the words she said, but her eyes spoke volumes more. They were defeated. No, worse than that. Heartbroken. And he knew her heartbreak was his fault. He had done that. It did not matter at all that his own heart felt leaden.
“Wilson!” the duke called out as he reached for his cane. The tiger came to him immediately. “You are to stay here and watch out for the lady and the horse. Mind you, boy, the lady’s safety comes first.”
Meryon did not wait for more than a nod and reached for his cane. As he was about to jump down from the side of the carriage away from the crowd, Elena spoke as though the words were being forced from her. “You had best leave your walking stick here. The crowd might not welcome a gentleman among them.”
“The lady’s right, sir, Your Grace.”
Meryon dropped the stick and decided that did not make much of a difference. He took off his gloves, removed his stickpin, loosened his cravat, and traded his hat for the tiger’s cap. The cap was what changed him the most, and Wilson smiled and raised a hand to cover it.
Meryon walked back to Elena once more and pulled himself up onto the one high step so she could hear him over the noise of the crowd. “I will have to say something that will make her come with me, to convince the Signora that she will be safe with me.”
“Tell her that I sent you to look for her. I will wave to her if you direct her attention to me.”
“All right.” Meryon stood there a moment longer, trying to read more than heartache in Elena’s eyes. The sadness faded but the disillusionment that replaced it was not any easier to see. His anger resurfaced, but this time aimed at the person who had erased his lover’s smile. Elena had the right of it. The Duke of Meryon was an idiot.
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