The Lord Next Door

by Gayle Callen

  Victoria crossed the drawing room, nodding and smiling appropriately as she passed several people. Lord Thurlow was talking with two other men, so she waited where he could see her. When she finally got her husband’s attention, he smiled at her with an excitement she’d never seen before. But she knew it wasn’t about her—it was this Southern Railway business.

  Was she actually jealous of an investment now?

  “My lord, might I speak with you in private?”

  “Of course.”

  He gave their apologies to the other men, and then he took her arm.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  But he wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. His gaze was for the railway directors, and the success of whatever event this actually was.

  She sighed. “Is there a place we can be alone for a few minutes?”

  Now she had his attention. He watched her with the beginnings of a concerned frown.

  “Of course. I know where the library is.”

  He escorted her from the room, and soon the noise of two dozen people speaking at once faded away. The library was at the end of the corridor, and when they were inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it.

  “What’s wrong, Victoria?”

  She looked about her at the thousands of books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. She didn’t know where to start, how to make him understand her position without angering him.

  But she was already angry enough for both of them.

  She decided to be direct. “I just learned we’re to host a party for your railway directors.”

  He nodded. “It was planned long before our engagement. My steward has everything under control.”

  “But I will be your hostess. That was one of the reasons you married me. Am I correct?”

  “That is true for any wife, Victoria. You’re saying I should have remembered to tell you about the dinner party.”

  “Yes. Usually a wife does the planning, not the steward. I would have enjoyed helping you with something I actually know how to do.”

  He linked his hands behind his back. “That never happened in my household, since my mother was so ill.”

  Her anger slipped away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “I don’t mean to keep putting you in these positions,” he said.

  His eyes were sincere as they stared down at her. They made her want to believe everything he said. She would gladly melt into his embrace—

  And then he’d get away with not explaining the rest. She took a step back, and his eyes widened. Did he know how easily his face swayed a woman?

  “I have more questions, my lord. All of these women know about the Southern Railway except me. I thought it was just an investment of yours, but that can’t be true.”

  “It started that way, yes,” he said, beginning to pace back and forth in front of her. “But I discovered that I enjoyed the railway business, for the reasons I gave you when I first took you to the office.”

  “It’s England’s future; I understand that. But why wasn’t investing enough for you?”

  “Because when I had the majority shares, I thought I could make more of it. There are dozens of railways throughout England, all of them running their own little line with a different gauge track, their own little kingdoms. You haven’t ridden a train, so you don’t understand. Often, when you reach a town, you have to leave one train, cross town by carriage, and board another train from a different railway company. The time lost is ridiculous.”

  “But surely the train saves so much time as it is.”

  “Yes, but it could be more efficient, especially when transporting goods. So I’m the unofficial chairman and my railway board has come up with a bold plan. We’re going to buy three other railways in the south of England and consolidate them. All the same gauge track, and every line will be accessible without leaving the train.”

  “That’s a sound plan,” she said, although inside she grew more and more worried about the extent of a peer’s involvement in a company. “But why the secrecy? I understand how you can’t allow your peers to know that you’re involved in commerce. It would be a scandal. Is that all it is?”

  “Only partly,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her. “There’s another man, Mr. Norton, owner of Channel Railway. He’s been talking to one of the companies I want to buy out. The directors and I already have some shares in each of our targets, but not yet enough. We don’t want him to know what we’re doing, or we’ll risk him trying to buy the other companies before we can. If these railways know he’s interested, the price could rise too high.”

  “It sounds risky,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I’ve invested a lot of capital, but nothing I can’t do without. My estates are bringing in a sizable rent these days.”

  But that wasn’t what she meant. He risked his future among the ton if all this got out. She’d thought his work in Parliament was important to him. But when his father died and he moved to the House of Lords, how could he deal with the other peers if they didn’t consider him a gentleman because of his business dealings?

  But she was only his wife; it wasn’t her place to tell him what he must already know.

  It was only her place to worry.

  “Do you understand, Victoria?” he asked.

  She nodded. What else could she do?

  He smiled. “You’re the perfect wife,” he said, tucking her hand into his arm as he led her back to the drawing room.

  The perfect wife?

  As he left her to join his fellow directors, she thought about that phrase. Soon it came to her—she’d once written to him in their journal and described what she thought would be his Perfect Wife.

  And at the time, she’d assumed it would never be she. She’d thought his perfect wife would be as brave and adventurous as he used to be—as he still was. He was moving into industrialization like an explorer, the first of his kind to try something new.

  And all she could do was worry. What a perfect wife.

  The coachman pulled up before Banstead House long after midnight. David had enjoyed the ride, because Victoria had fallen asleep against his shoulder. The warm weight of her made him think of more pleasant intimacies ahead of them. When he escorted her to her bedroom, she looked so drowsy that he wondered if he should not disturb her any more that night.

  But he was selfish. Every time he’d caught a glimpse of her from across the room at the dinner party, he’d thought of being alone with her again. He’d thought of that dress he’d watched her try on, and the way it had made her breasts look like the most touchable, tasty—

  David went to his own room before he swept her into his arms. His valet had turned down the bed and left candles lit. But the man had long since retired for the night, knowing that David preferred to bathe in the morning and to prepare for bed alone.

  Especially when he might not be sleeping immediately.

  He stared at the door connecting his room to Victoria’s, yanking off his cravat and dropping his coat onto a chair. He was normally fastidious about his clothing, but tonight he felt…restless.

  Off came his waistcoat, and he tossed it into a corner, feeling some satisfaction.

  He stared at her closed door, knowing that due to his own wedding night suggestion, Victoria was just as closed off from him.

  But he wanted to make her groan and know that it was all because of him. He wanted her as his real wife, so there would be no more uncertainty between them. Surely then she’d know she could trust him.

  But he had n’t done a good job of proving that so far.

  He meant well—he just kept forgetting to inform her of things. He knew he wasn’t deliberately hurting her, but the look in her eyes tonight, when she’d realized that every other woman there but her knew the railway’s plans…

  Leaving on his trousers, he drew his dressing gown over his bare chest. He leaned against Victoria’s door and heard the cascade of water. Unbidden came a vision
of her sunk in her bath, her nude body glistening, her hair tumbling down around her wet, dimpled shoulders. He would offer to scrub her back, then slide his hands around the front of her and—

  He pulled back from the door and shook his head to clear these foolish thoughts. What was he, a boy waiting for his first woman? At the wash-stand, he splashed cool water onto his face.

  Eventually he knocked on her door. There was absolute silence for several seconds.

  “Just a moment,” she called in a breathless voice.

  He wondered at his own impatience—it was not as if he was going to see even one bare limb. And maybe she was still angry with him. But he couldn’t ignore her.

  “Come in, my lord.”

  He entered her room, and immediately that peculiar scent wafted over him—the smell of jasmine soap from the hip bath cooling near the fire, the warmth from the grate, and finally the scent of Victoria herself, so unusual he couldn’t place it.

  Tonight she stood near the hearth, always as far away from the bed as she could get. She wore the same dressing gown, belted at her waist. It showed off her well-curved figure as it flowed in cream silken lines over her hips. Above the sash, the silk expanded over her breasts, meeting again at her throat. He could see her pulse fluttering just above the neckline. His gaze traveled up, to where she moistened her lips. The dart of her tongue made him harder, and he hadn’t thought that possible. Her lashes were lowered demurely, but she sneaked a glance at him with eyes that glowed violet in the low light. For a moment he froze, entranced by their shine.

  How would she look at him if he pressed for more tonight, if he laid her down on that big bed and—

  But then he’d be disappointing her again, breaking their agreement.

  She frowned at him, her blond brows losing that delicate arch. Since when had this fascination with her appearance crept over him?

  “My lord?” she murmured uncertainly. “Shall I send for a glass of wine? Or brandy?”

  He shook his head as he touched the end of the sash falling from her waist. She bit her lip, a familiar gesture that always riveted his attention on her full mouth. He tugged harder than he meant to, not realizing the sash was knotted. She stumbled toward him and put a hand on his chest to catch herself. Without thinking, he lowered his head until he could inhale the damp, fragrant scent of her hair. He put his hand over hers and held it to his chest—until he realized what he betrayed by his pounding heart.

  He let her go and she stepped back, her face awash in its usual pink glow.

  “Forgive me, my lord, I wasn’t expecting—”

  He guided her hands away from her waist and plucked at the knot himself. The backs of his fingers brushed her stomach, and he felt the catch in her breathing, saw the way she kept her face averted. Then the sash dropped away, and the folds of the dressing gown fell straight from the curves of her breasts. If only she weren’t wearing anything underneath, but he knew better.

  He reached up to undo the single clasp at her throat, and she finally met his gaze. She was as still as a deer, those eyes shining at him—but not with trust.

  The clasp came free and he spread the dressing gown wide, letting it fall back from her shoulders. It slid off her arms to pool on the floor. Of course, she was wearing long sleeves, and she was covered from her toes to her neck, but the fabric was so sheer that he could see her nipples, and watch them pucker from just his look. She was breathing so quickly that everything trembled.

  Chapter 10

  Victoria stood trapped beneath her husband’s stare, feeling naked though she wore her nightdress. He was staring at her as if he could see through it, and she wished for the protection of a corset. She didn’t know her own body tonight, the way it ached when he was near her.

  She’d felt his heart beneath her palm, and its racing speed had matched her own. He wore no shirt under the dressing gown, and the triangle of bare skin at his throat drew her gaze constantly. So she stood still and waited. When he said nothing, she finally raised her eyes to his. Would he touch her? Would he kiss her again?

  But then from somewhere in the depths of the house, they heard a door slam and a woman’s harsh sob.

  Lord Thurlow stepped away from her and cursed aloud. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of this.”

  “But what is it?” she asked, trailing him as he strode to the door.

  “My father.”

  And then he went out into the dark corridor without even a candle to guide him. Victoria hesitated. Would the earl want to see her when he was in distress? Could it make everything worse? Or could she help? For a long moment she wanted to remain there, to avoid the confrontation she knew might happen. But she had spent a lifetime doing that, and it had only made her an easier person to lie to.

  She chose to disobey her husband. She donned her dressing gown, grabbed a candleholder, and followed him.

  The house was coming back to life. Victoria should have felt foolish in her nightclothes, but everyone else was dressed similarly as they came down from the servants’ quarters at the top of the house. She saw the head cook, the butler, two footmen, and several maids. They milled about in the entrance hall, as if awaiting orders. Victoria began to push her way through them, but as they realized who she was, they all fell back, leaving her alone in the center of the room.

  Smith the butler gave her a proper bow, as if he were clothed in his livery instead of a robe. He had hastily donned his white wig, which was slightly askew. “My lady, do forgive this commotion.”

  “Is this something that happens often?” she asked, setting down the candleholder.

  “Occasionally, my lady.”

  “And does my husband usually handle it?”

  This time he hesitated. “No, my lady. The earl’s valet or nurse do.”

  “Then who was crying?”

  “The nurse.”

  “Oh.” She straightened her shoulders. “Perhaps they need my assistance.”

  Smith’s eyes widened. “But my lady—”

  She walked past him and down the corridor to the earl’s chambers. The nurse was standing alone outside the door, sobbing piteously. This was someone she could help, Victoria thought with relief.

  “Nurse Carter,” she said, putting a hand on the woman’s trembling arm, “do tell me what’s wrong. Surely it can’t be this bad.”

  The tall woman hugged herself, tears running unchecked down her face. “I tried to help him, milady, I did. But when his legs start painin’ him, nothin’ helps, and his temper strains somethin’ fierce. Please, milady, I’m doin’ me best. I don’t want to lose me position!”

  “I’m certain your position is not in jeopardy. Lord Thurlow will handle everything.”

  But the woman burst into fresh tears. “Milady, it’s me fault it got this far. Lord Thurlow is never to handle things. It only makes the earl worse!”

  Victoria frowned as she patted the nurse one last time, then walked to the doorway. There was a tray and its contents scattered on the ground between the earl and his son. A servant knelt between them, cleaning up the mess, his shoulders hunched as if he could make himself disappear.

  Lord Thurlow stood in profile to her, staring at his father. Frustration and anger warred in his expression, obliterating his usually pleasant mask.

  “Father, you must cease tormenting the servants.” His voice was very controlled.

  “They’re mine to do with as I wish,” said Lord Banstead loudly. “You’re not the earl yet.”

  Victoria saw pain and sleeplessness etched across the old man’s haggard face. For the first time she pitied him. She could not know what it was like to face one’s imminent death, to lose control of everything one had worked for, everything that gave one pleasure.

  Lord Thurlow gripped his hands together behind his back. “I never said I was the earl, but someone has to manage the household, and you refuse to do it.”

  “Are you saying I don’t know how to rule what’s mine?”

  “Do you hear yourself
? You are not some king whose every wish has to be granted.”

  “But I deserve the respect of my title. What’s going on around here?”

  Lord Thurlow sighed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You never attend parties. Yet tonight you take your wife to a dinner. Something’s different.”

  “Father, I didn’t know you needed to approve my schedule.”

  Unnoticed, Victoria stared wide-eyed between them. Lord Thurlow had asked her not to confide his railway plans to his father. She imagined that would lead to many more arguments.

  She stepped away from the doorway when she heard Mrs. Wayneflete in the entrance hall, consulting with Smith and then sending everyone off to bed. The housekeeper bustled up the corridor, gave Victoria a brief smile, then put an arm around Nurse Carter.

  “Go to the kitchen, dear, I’ve put on a pot of tea. I’ll be in to speak with you soon.”

  After the nurse walked away hugging herself, the housekeeper glanced into the earl’s room, then gave Victoria a sympathetic smile.

  “Right on schedule,” Mrs. Wayneflete said.

  Victoria could only blink at her before saying, “This has happened before?”

  “Every night since I’ve been here. The earl’s in a lot of pain, and wants more of his medicine, which the nurse can’t give him for fear of killing him. He sets up a fuss and attempts to bribe the servants, threatening them with the loss of their positions if they don’t do as he says. Why do you think so many housekeepers quit?”

  “I am so sorry to involve you in all this,” Victoria whispered. Would Mrs. Wayneflete finally leave her after all these years?

  “Now don’t you worry, my lady. I feel sorry for the old gent. Menfolk always do like to feel above the ruin of time. But your husband, he seems to be making things worse, now doesn’t he?”

  Victoria winced. “He doesn’t know what to say to his father.”

  “Why don’t you take him on back to your room and let me deal with this?”

  Mrs. Wayneflete sailed into the earl’s bedroom, wearing her uniform as if she never took it off, bringing with her surety and common sense.