Then Richard had died and Adrian had no choice really but to leave the department. He had married Evie and until recently had been more than content with his choices in life. While this wasn’t the first time he had wondered about his wife’s feelings, it was the first time he had realized the extent of his own doubt.
But hadn’t he always felt the least bit convenient? Hadn’t he always wondered if she truly loved him or if he simply suited her needs? Not that she had ever actually made him feel that way. Nor had she ever given him any solid reason to question her love. But he had wondered. What man wouldn’t?
And hadn’t he wondered who was really the love of her life? A dashing, dangerous man she had never met face-to-face or the steady, reliable, respectable, dull lord she had married? Sir or Adrian? It scarcely mattered that they were one and the same. This might well be his chance to find out. Fate had presented him with the perfect opportunity, and he would be a fool to pass it up.
“I shall make you a bargain, Max.” The plan formulated in his head even as he said the words.
“A bargain.” Max’s brow rose. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. If I recall, your bargains always left me with more work.”
Adrian grinned and retook his seat. “You have become a most suspicious man.”
“It goes with the position.” His eyes narrowed. “And this bargain?”
“I shall make myself available to you in whatever manner you may need my services.”
Max stared. “You’re coming back to the department?”
Adrian shook his head. “In an advisory capacity only.” He paused. “For now.”
“And later?”
“We shall see.”
Suspicion shone on Max’s face. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“There usually is in a bargain.”
Max considered him carefully. “Good God, you have that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“That look that says you have come up with something terrifying but brilliant.”
Adrian grinned.
“I’m not going to like it, though, am I?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Adrian said in a casual manner. “I suppose that depends on how much of a bureaucrat you’ve become.”
“More than I appear, I would say.” Max sighed. “And less than I should. What do you have in mind?”
“It’s, well, a personal mission, as it were.”
“Oh, that sounds good.”
“I should like to resurrect Sir. Only in dealings with Evelyn, mind you,” Adrian added.
“You want to become Sir again?” Max said slowly. “But only with your wife.”
Adrian nodded.
Max studied him for a long moment. “Dare I ask why?”
“As I said, it’s personal.”
“Not if you’re using my department, it’s not.”
“It used to be my department.”
“Past tense.” He paused. “However, I do have a certain amount of discretion. Aside from the questions surrounding the file, it’s an oddly slow period. Won’t last long, no doubt.” He leaned forward in his chair and met his friend’s gaze. “What did you have in mind?”
“I simply want to renew Sir’s correspondence with Eve.” Adrian shrugged. “There’s little more than that.”
“I see,” Max said thoughtfully.
Annoyance surged through Adrian. “What, exactly, do you see?”
“I see a man who isn’t at all certain of his wife’s affections.”
“Rubbish.” Adrian scoffed. “I trust Evelyn implicitly.”
“I never mentioned trust.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched. “I extrapolated.”
“You thought she was seeing another man.”
“She was.” He drew his brows together. “You.”
Max ignored him. “If I recall correctly, Sir’s relationship with Eve, if only on paper, had begun to get somewhat heated.”
“Not at all.” Adrian scoffed.
Max stared for a long moment, then chuckled.
“What?” Adrian snapped.
“You, or perhaps I should say Sir, intend to seduce her, don’t you?”
“I don’t intend anything of the sort.” Adrian rolled his gaze toward the ceiling as if Max’s charge were completely mad and not exactly what he had planned.
“You intend to try.”
“I trust my wife implicitly.”
“You said that.” Max’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Nonetheless, you want to find out if her heart is truly yours or if she still harbors some affection for ...” Max grinned. “You.”
Adrian snorted. “That’s absurd.”
Max raised a brow.
“Very well then, I admit it.” He glared at his friend. “It’s insane, isn’t it?”
“That’s probably the appeal. There’s a fine line between incredible stupidity and brilliance. One you have walked in the past. But you’ve always been fond of those plans that can’t possibly work and yet do. One can only hope this one works as well.” Max drew a deep breath. “I do, however, feel compelled to be the voice of reason.”
“Go on.”
“You do realize, she might well be able to forgive you not telling her that you were Sir before your marriage, lies of omission and all that, but this, this is, well, deceit.”
“Regardless of what name I use, I am still her husband,” Adrian said in a lofty manner.
“You are trying to trick her.”
“No, I’m not. I just want ...” He shook his head. “This question has been in my head since the beginning. I imagine I only suspected her of infidelity because of my own doubts. But I have no doubt Sir’s efforts will be unsuccessful,” Adrian said firmly. “And that will be the end of it.”
“You can lie to yourself but I know you too well.” Max fixed him with a firm look. “I never thought I’d see the day that you, Lord Waterston, are afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. I have more confidence in her than I have in myself.” But deep down, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, he was indeed afraid that, once again, he was wrong.
Max shook his head. “You do realize this might be your most dangerous game yet.”
Adrian nodded. “I admit, it’s a gamble.”
“And if you lose?”
“I don’t know. What I do know ...” Adrian blew a long breath. “Is that, in this game, the stakes have never been higher.”
Chapter 11
“Have you ever killed a man?”
Celeste looked up from her desk. “Not that I can recall,” she said mildly. “I have inflicted well-deserved bodily harm on one or two, but I don’t believe I have ever killed one.”
“Pity.” Evelyn resumed pacing the parlor floor.
“Was that merely a casual inquiry or do you have something in mind?”
“Both.” It was a difficult decision. Did one strangle one’s husband before dinner or after? Or perhaps in his sleep. No. Evelyn clenched her teeth. That would be too easy on him. Adrian needed to know why he was about to breathe his last.
Celeste raised a brow. “Dare I ask if the intended victim is Sir Maxwell or Lord W?”
“As I haven’t heard from Max in days, he is not currently at the top of my list of men who deserve to be murdered.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “My husband, on the other hand ...”
Celeste stared. “What has he done?”
“I am still too furious to talk about it.” She cast her friend an apologetic smile. “Even with you.” It was hard to keep what she had learned from Beryl to herself. Adrian’s actions were not merely infuriating but humiliating as well. How did one say aloud, even to one’s closest friend, that one’s husband didn’t trust her? No, this was between Adrian and herself, at least for the moment. Besides, Celeste might have found a way to make Adrian’s actions seem less objectionable than they were, although Evelyn couldn’t imagine how.
“I see.” Celeste watched her pace the length of the room. “I don’
t believe I have ever seen you this angry before.”
“I have never been this angry before.” And not merely angry but hurt. How could he think so little of her?
Looking at it rationally and knowing her own lack of patience, she decided against waiting until dinner. She had already waited entirely too long, but Adrian had been gone all afternoon. Little did he know that was a huge mistake in strategy on his part. It left her with several unoccupied hours in which to grow angrier, if that was at all possible.
“Indeed,” Celeste said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I have ever seen you angry at him at all.”
“Nonsense, surely I ...” Evelyn paused in midstep and stared at the other woman. “You’re right. I can’t recall ever having been angry with him before.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”
“Not at all.” Evelyn scoffed. “We are perfectly suited to one another. There is scarcely an area in which we disagree. Occasionally, we debate but I don’t remember so much as a minor argument.”
“It was only a matter of time then.”
“Apparently. In truth, our life together thus far has been practically perfect.”
“One can’t ask for more than a practically perfect life.” Celeste cast her a pleasant smile.
“No, one can’t.” Evelyn stared at the other woman. “But he’s certainly not perfect, you know.”
“He does seem perfect.”
“Hah.” Evelyn scoffed. “He reads papers at breakfast while he eats. Sometimes I find myself watching him to see if he’ll put his cup back in the saucer or spill it on the tablecloth.”
Celeste gasped. “No, not that.”
Evelyn continued to pace. “I sleep in his bed most nights, and mind you, I quite like waking up with him, but he sprawls diagonally across the entire bed and I spend the entire night clinging to the edge in fear of falling off.”
“The fiend.”
Evelyn paused and lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “Sometimes, I push him harder than necessary in an effort to get some room for myself.”
Celeste bit back a grin.
Evelyn resumed pacing. “He thinks the servants are there for him alone and he leaves his clothes scattered at night, but he has everything on his desk arranged precisely to his liking. Woe be it to anyone who dares to move something.” She stopped. “Did you know he keeps his desk drawer locked?”
“My God, how do you put up with it?”
“The man is incredibly arrogant and thinks he is right about everything. He is efficient in matters he cares about and completely disorganized in those he does not deem important. Regardless of whether or not anyone else considers them important.” She shrugged. “Admittedly, I’m not perfect either.”
Celeste sucked in a sharp breath. “No!”
Evelyn cast her a firm look. “That particular bit of sarcasm is becoming tiresome.”
“My apologies.” The amusement in Celeste’s eyes belied her words.
“I am scarcely ever ready to leave to go anywhere in a timely manner and I know that drives him mad. I refuse to have lamb served at the table.” She shuddered. “I cannot abide so much as the smell of it but Adrian loves the vile stuff. And apparently”—she wrinkled her nose—“I snore.”
Celeste choked back a laugh.
“He finds it amusing.” She sighed. “He seems to find most of my faults amusing. It’s one of his more endearing qualities.”
“He’s sounding somewhat perfect again.”
“He’s not.” She resumed pacing. “I am quite content with my life as I have always assumed Adrian was as well.”
“No doubt.”
“Content and happy.”
Celeste nodded.
“I’ve never been this happy.”
“And it’s obvious.”
“My life is everything I ever dreamed of.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Including a husband I adore.”
“It does sound perfect.”
“In most ways it is,” she said firmly. “Both publicly and privately. Why, we are on every guest list. We support artistic endeavors and museums. I am involved with any number of charitable activities. Adrian is making a name for himself in Parliament. His family has become mine ...” She widened her eyes with realization. “We don’t sound perfect at all, do we? We sound ... expected. Overly proper. Too respectable. We sound bloody well dull!”
Celeste’s pleasant smile didn’t waiver.
“Good Lord.” And hadn’t Adrian said life had been rather dull of late? He had also suggested that he acquire a mistress and she a lover. He had been teasing, of course, just to see if she had been listening. Still, what if there was a modicum of truth in what he had said? What if he did think his life was dull? Worse, what if he thought his wife was dull? Admittedly, he’d had an adventurous life before their marriage. What if now he wanted something more? Could Beryl possibly be right? Did he think she had a lover because he wanted one of his own? Or already had one?
Fear now mingled with anger and hurt. Was two years too long to be happy?
Stewart appeared at the open door and knocked.
“Yes?” Celeste asked.
“Lady Waterston wished to be informed when Lord Waterston had returned.” He turned his attention to Evelyn. “His lordship is in the library, my lady.” He paused. “But he did say he did not wish to be disturbed.”
Celeste choked.
“Thank you, Stewart.” Evelyn nodded in dismissal.
“I suspect Lord W is about to be disturbed,” Celeste said as soon as the butler had gone.
“Very disturbed.” If her husband wanted excitement in his life, she was more than willing to provide it to him.
“I assume whatever it is you’re angry about has to do with Lady Dunwell’s visit.”
“She brought me some very interesting information.”
“That you would prefer not to tell me.”
“I should tell my husband first.”
“Should I wish you good luck then?”
“I don’t need luck,” Evelyn said firmly. “But you might say a little prayer for his lordship.” She nodded, took her leave, and headed to the library. And tried and failed to ignore the distressing thought lingering in the back of her head: what if two years was all anyone had?
Evelyn straightened her shoulders and pushed open the door to the library without knocking. Adrian sat writing at his desk, directly across the large room from the door. With floor-to-ceiling shelves flanking windows and panels hung with family portraits, this was his sanctuary. On those occasions when he was away, this was where she always felt his presence. Where she always felt closest to him.
“I said I didn’t wish to be disturbed,” he said without looking up.
“Even from me?”
He glanced up and smiled and her heart fluttered. She loved the way he smiled. “Never from you.” He covered whatever it was he’d been writing and got to his feet. His brow furrowed. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”
“Should something be wrong?” she said in a cool manner.
“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “But obviously something is.”
“Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Or perhaps ...” She drew a deep breath. “Something you wish to ask me?”
“To ask you?” He stared at her for a moment, then realization crossed his face and he shook his head. “No, not a thing.”
She arched a brow. “Really? Nothing at all?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How very interesting,” she murmured and casually circled the room. So this was how he wished to play this. A knife twisted in her heart. They had never played games before, not with each other. They had always been candid in their dealings with one another. She paused by a bookshelf and flicked away a small feather clinging to a book’s spine. No doubt left by the dusters used by the maids. She met his gaze directly.
“I thought perhaps you wished to ask me about my lover.”
His eyes widened. “Your what?”
“My lover.” She crossed the room toward him. “You know, the one I was meeting at the Langham.”
He winced, circled the desk, and stepped closer. “Evie—”
“Did you honestly think I would do that to you? To us?”
“I didn’t want to think it but—”
“But what?” She glared.
“But ...” He squared his shoulders. “It seemed a plausible answer to your manner of late.”
“My manner?” A tiny voice in the back of her mind pointed out she had indeed been preoccupied of late, thanks to the department. She ignored it. Her voice rose. “My manner?”
“It was a mistake on my part,” he said quickly.
“And not your only mistake.”
“Perhaps not,” he said cautiously.
“Perhaps?” She glared. “Then bursting into a hotel room to confront your errant wife, who has done nothing of any real significance to make you jump to such a conclusion, was not a mistake?”
He cringed. “Well, admittedly, as you weren’t there, that was a mistake as well.”
Fury widened her eyes. “Because I wasn’t there?”
“Well, yes. No.” He shook his head in confusion. “You’re twisting my words.”
“That’s not all I’d like to twist!”
“I am sorry.”
“For which part?” she snapped.
“All of it?” He did look somewhat unsure of himself. She’d never seen him uncertain before, and under other circumstances, she might have felt a twinge of pity for him. But not today.
“You didn’t trust me!”
“And I am sorry for that.” He nodded. “Yet another mistake.”
“Not only did you not trust me but you managed to humiliate me as well.”
My Wicked Little Lies Page 12