Rupert pounced. “So you did speak to him? Did you tell him to kill Harlow?”
“Of course, I did not! And how the devil could he have done so?”
“Then tell me what happened,” Rupert challenged. “How come Harlow died when neither Barden nor I shot him? Did you know the doctor?”
“Oh, for the love of God! Do I have to listen to this? Forgive me, Deborah.” With a hasty bow, Dudley stalked from the room.
“Nicely done, Rupert,” Christopher observed. “A master-class in how to learn nothing while riling your brother to the extent he will no longer speak to you.”
Rupert growled. “I’ve spent nearly two years doing nothing. I won’t spend another with my name blackened. And I’ll tell you something else, Dudley is up to his neck in this. He knows a good deal more than he’s saying.”
*
It was, perhaps, as well that they dined that night at Letchworth House, giving the brothers an evening apart to cool off.
“What started the argument off?” Christopher asked Dudley as the carriage began its journey.
Dudley shrugged impatiently. “I suggested he go back to his ship first thing tomorrow.”
“Just because you are expecting your wife tomorrow?” Deborah said. “Cousin, you should have more faith in her if not in yourself.”
She meant it at the time, and yet almost as soon as they entered Coggleton House, the advice rang hollow in her ears.
They were shown immediately up to the drawing room, where her mother and Lucy were already ensconced along with Lady Letchworth, Sir Edmund, and Mr. and Mrs. Ireton. As hostess, Lady Letchworth came immediately to greet them, but for some reason, Deborah’s attention had strayed to Mrs. Ireton, whose face had lit up in animated welcome. Deborah had never quite realized her beauty before, had never seen that the smile behind it was aimed solely at Christopher.
Only then did she begin to understand Dudley’s full sense of futility, fighting against an earlier love that had never formally ended. She had heard rumors of Christopher’s amorous affairs in London, but foolishly, it had never entered her head that there was one almost on her doorstep.
Keeping the smile plastered to her face, she tried to shore up her crumbling world, reminding herself that nothing had changed, that a smile meant nothing. That even if it did, this was what she agreed to. He was free to follow his heart. She had never imagined that hers would be lost to him.
It isn’t, she tried to assure herself as she sat by her mother to hear the latest news. It would be impossible in the mere week since we met. We are simply friends, and I am trying to adjust to my new life. But either way made no difference. She would have to endure.
For now, she tried to concentrate on what her mother was saying. Stephen had fallen and skinned his knee. Giles thought he might like Harrow School, though it was horrifically expensive, and Lucy…
“Mama,” Lucy said between her teeth, from which Deborah gathered her mother had been about to say something indiscreet, just as Mr. Ireton was approaching them. He was a slightly raffish looking man of medium height and smooth, good looks. His posture declared boredom, although there seemed to be a gleam of at least pretended interest in his eyes as he sat down by Deborah.
“Mrs. Halland, how charming to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you.”
“Have you?” Deborah said in surprise.
“Indeed, and I believe it is my honor to escort you to dinner this evening, so I thought we should begin our acquaintance at once.”
“How thoughtful.” For some reason, his gaze disconcerted her. It seemed to imply too great an intimacy, though she could not tell how or why. Scratching around for trivial topics of conversation, she said, “Do you and Mrs. Ireton make a long stay at Coggleton House?”
He shrugged. “My wife might stay here for the summer, but I plan to return to my own estates in the south next week.” He smiled. “So, you must make the most of me.”
She smiled politely in response, although she had no idea what he meant.
She was glad when dinner was announced. Although she would have to spend it beside Mr. Ireton, at least she would have company on her other side. Mr. Ireton rose, bowing, and when she laid her fingertips lightly on his sleeve, he covered them with his hand in a gesture that was not quite a friendly pat.
With relief, it came to her that he was flirting with her. Some gentlemen considered it the only way to converse with a lady, so she knew she should not refine upon it. On the other hand, she could not help wondering if he actually found her attractive, if she was attractive. This question had never much concerned her before. Lucy was the beautiful sister who would make a good marriage. Deborah, as the eldest, had been more concerned with duty and earning enough money to keep the family until said marriage. She had never expected to be married at all, and it had never entered her head that she might be pretty, let alone that she might care.
I don’t care, she assured herself as Ireton held her chair and bent solicitously over her. Dudley sat on her other side.
“So, are you not terribly bored over at Gosmere Hall?” Ireton asked as they began to eat.
“Oh, no. There is much to be done in the house to open it up and refurbish it. Then there is the garden, and Christopher is founding a school in the old dower house.”
Ireton looked amused. “Which is why I ask about boredom. Forgive me, but it sounds deadly dull. Do you not miss London?”
“No. I prefer a quieter life.”
He smiled. “That isn’t what I hear.”
Startled, she couldn’t help her gaze flying to his. His eyes glittered, warm and knowing and absolutely without respect.
He knew about the scandal, the ruin from which her marriage was supposed to save her.
She forced an amused smile to her lips. “I assure you, I know my own mind best.” She turned to Dudley, who, fortunately, had reached a gap in his conversation with her mother. “Did Christopher warn you against the boats you might find by the lake?” she asked, seizing at the first topic to enter her head.
“Why, no, are they rotten?”
She entertained him with a shortened version of the afternoon’s adventure. He laughed, and she even won a quick grin from Christopher seated on the other side of the table beside Mrs. Ireton.
Of course, she could not avoid talking to her other dinner companion for the rest of the meal, but she tried to preempt unsuitable or insulting subjects by throwing out mundane comments about the excellence of the food or the charming decoration of the dining room. He responded in kind, although his voice was indulgent rather than chastened. He was playing with her.
Avoiding looking at him meant she also had too much time to observe other people. Christopher seemed quite engrossed in his conversation with Mrs. Ireton and laughed frequently. The fascinating smile Deborah had grown used to was suddenly annoying when she saw it directed at another woman.
“What is it?” Ireton murmured. “You didn’t expect him to be faithful, did you?”
“I have no idea who or what you are talking about.”
“My dear lady, we all know yours is a match made in heaven. And what is sauce for the goose…”
“You must excuse me, sir.” With relief, she rose to follow Lady Letchworth and the other ladies from the room. Mrs. Ireton lingered just a little too long, bending over Christopher to speak in familiar, bantering tones.
“I’m so glad you are here, Deb,” Lucy said beside her, linking arms as they left the dining room. “You must know Sir Edmund is going to announce…oh hush, here comes his sister.”
Deborah gave Lucy’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Good,” she murmured. She was glad for her sister’s happiness, but also, practically speaking, once the betrothal was announced, whatever scandal Mr. Ireton had heard could no longer hurt Lucy. At least, not to the same extent.
After visiting the cloakroom set aside for their comfort, the ladies repaired to the drawing room where, on Lucy’s inquiry, she retold the story of the
capsizing boat on the lake.
“You must have got soaking wet!” exclaimed her mother.
“Were you very frightened?” Mrs. Ireton asked, smiling sympathetically.
“Actually, no, I probably should have been, but at the time, it just seemed funny.”
“Funny!” her mother repeated in outrage. “Christopher must take better care of you, and so I shall tell him!”
“He took perfect care. It was he who was wet to the waist while I suffered little more than a damp hem. And water-stained boots. And in any case, we were never in any real danger. Is that a new headdress, Mama?”
Her mother allowed herself to be distracted, and a few moments later, Deborah noticed she and Lady Letchworth sat together in quiet conversation, no doubt on the subject of the betrothal about to be announced.
Before very long, Sir Edmund led the gentlemen into the drawing room, and while his mother rang for tea, he suggested a walk for the younger people. Since this was clearly a thinly veiled invitation to Lucy, Deborah rose at once to play chaperone.
“What an excellent notion,” Mrs. Ireton agreed. “Christopher, you and Lord Bilston must come, too.”
“Will your shawl be warm enough?” Mr. Ireton’s voice sounded too close to Deborah’s ear, startling her. At the same time, he adjusted the folds around her shoulders, and she drew away from him under the pretense of hurrying after Lucy. Inevitably, as they crossed the front hall to the door, Lucy held Sir Edmund’s arm, while behind her, she knew Mrs. Ireton had claimed Christopher’s. To avoid Ireton, Deborah attached herself to Dudley, but to her annoyance, a footman accosted them with a note on a silver tray.
“My lord, this was brought from Gosmere Hall.”
“For me?” Dudley said in surprise, picking it up. Almost at once, his face lit, and then fell ludicrously into something very like despair. “It’s from my wife… Go on, cousin, I’ll join in a moment.”
There was nothing for her to do but walk on to Mr. Ireton, who was civilly holding the door for her. Outside, it seemed uncivil not to accept his arm, especially since he was ushering her in the same direction as the others, into a pleasant garden. The light was fading, but a few lanterns had been lit to avoid any gloom.
“You are much more beautiful than I expected,” he said.
“You are very kind to say so,” she replied somewhat mechanically, for her attention was on Christopher and Mrs. Ireton in front of them. She clung to his arm, turning up her lovely face to his. Jealousy clawed at Deborah’s stomach, the sharp pain taking her by surprise.
“Not kind. There is a certain glowing quality to innocence that draws one. I suppose I am impressed that you radiate such a glow.”
She blinked. “There is no need to be impressed. There is no cleverness. I always look the same.”
“If that is what your husband tells you, he has lost his touch. I am quite a connoisseur of the female sex, you know.”
“Congratulations,” she said politely, drawing a surprised breath of laughter from him.
“You have a nimble tongue,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Let us see what else you can do with it.” A sharp tug drew her toward a path on the left that led straight toward a maze of high hedges.
Instinctively, she dug in her heels, which clearly amused him.
“Don’t be afraid. I am very good at love play and shan’t disappoint you.”
“Sir, I am already disappointed,” Deborah said indignantly as she pulled free of him. “I find you offensive!”
His arm slid around her waist, hauling her into the maze path, out of sight of those in front. “No, you don’t. But if you insist, we can make it quick and exciting with your husband and my wife only yards away. And yet, no one will guess our mutual pleasure.”
“What is wrong with you?” Deborah demanded and stamped so hard on his foot that his hold loosened. Immediately, she whisked herself away and came face to face with her husband and Mrs. Ireton. “Mr. Ireton slipped,” she said shortly.
Christopher’s eyes narrowed as he glanced swiftly from her to Ireton. She had no idea how he would regard her detour with Ireton, but from the flash of fury in his eyes, he would at least defend her right to choose.
He took a hasty step toward Ireton, and at once, Deborah caught his arm. She could not have a fight ruining Lucy’s engagement. “Perhaps you could catch up with Lucy?”
He scowled down at her for an instant, and she forced a smile. “I am fine. And I have Mrs. Ireton to keep me company.”
His lips twisted into a rueful smile, and then he strode off along the path.
“Clever,” Mrs. Ireton drawled. “But there is no need. I am not angry with you.”
“I see no reason why you would be.”
Mrs. Ireton searched her face as though looking for signs of intelligence and finding none. “Of course, you do not. Shall we send my naughty husband inside?”
“He is your husband, ma’am.”
Mrs. Ireton’s eyes narrowed. “But would you complain about him?”
“I am not so vulgar,”
“And she would have us believe,” Ireton said, a slight edge to his amused tone, “that she is not so guilty.”
Deborah tilted her chin. “Then, you would complain of me?”
“I am not so crass,” he shot back. “Besides which, you are of no concern to me beyond your colorful past that promises such pleasure for the future…to your husband, of course.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Deborah turned away in the direction of the house, putting one foot determinedly in front of the other.
Ireton laughed. “Little liar. My dear, there is no point. The world knows it was you who spent the night in orgiastic pleasures at Connaught Place—the night after Her Highness departed.”
A gasp behind made Deborah spin back. She had been too agitated to hear the return of the others. Lucy’s panicked face gazed at her in horror and fear. Beside her, Sir Edmund stared in shock. As if involuntarily, he stepped away from Lucy.
Chapter Twelve
“Frederica, take everyone back inside,” Christopher said in a hard voice.
“Chris, please—” Mrs. Ireton began to plead.
“Now,” Christopher said pleasantly.
The damage was done. Nothing could save this evening for Lucy now. Deborah, white-faced, seized Lucy’s cold hand and dragged her away, but Mrs. Ireton was before her, her arm linked to her brother’s, hauling him away with something very like fright.
As she reached the front steps, a thud and a groan made Deborah look behind her. But she could not see the garden path, and there was no sign of either Ireton or Christopher.
Lucy said nothing at all. Pale and silent, she returned to the drawing room with Deborah and went immediately to sit by her mother. Sir Edmund sat at the other side of the room. The mothers of the supposedly happy couple looked perplexed.
Now was, presumably, to have been the moment of announcement, but Sir Edmund, stiff-lipped, said nothing at all.
Almost blindly, Deborah took a cup of tea from Lady Letchworth, murmuring a word of thanks before going to seat herself on a vacant sofa. She wondered with despair if Christopher would fight a duel with Ireton, or if Christopher would just try and persuade him to keep his mouth shut.
Dudley sat down heavily beside her. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to order the carriage early?” he suggested quietly.
“Why, is something wrong?”
“No, oh no, it’s just that my wife is at Gosmere Hall. She arrived this evening shortly after we left, and she doesn’t know…”
“About Rupert?” Deborah murmured. “I’m sure you and I could go once we’ve finished tea, and if the others wish to stay longer, we can always send the carriage back. But Dudley—” She broke off as Christopher strolled into the room.
He didn’t appear to have a hair out of place, although for some reason, he was wearing gloves, which he seemed to have forgotten as he took his tea from Lady Letchworth. He came and perched
on the arm of Deborah’s sofa.
“Where did you leave my husband?” Mrs. Ireton asked with a reasonable imitation of amusement.
“He got lost in the maze, silly clunch,” Christopher said mildly. “He sent me away. So I wouldn’t be surprised if he has fallen over in the dark. Send a search party to fetch him in ten minutes.”
“Lady Bilston is at Gosmere,” Deborah said bluntly. “She arrived early. Do you think Dudley and I should go and welcome her? The sad choice is between being rude to her or to Lady Letchworth.”
“Oh, you must not stand on ceremony with me, my dear,” Lady Letchworth declared. “The dinner was quite informal, and Lady Bilston will be all alone at Gosmere, will she not?”
This, of course, was not Dudley’s chief concern, but Deborah merely agreed and thanked her hostess for her kind understanding. “You must come for dinner at Gosmere now we have got the most useful rooms in order,” she said recklessly.
A footman appeared at the door. “The carriage is ready for Mrs. Shelby, my lady.”
Lady Letchworth’s eyebrows flew up, “Oh my, are you going so early, too?”
“Miss Shelby is feeling unwell,” Sir Edmund said with odd abruptness. “I took the liberty of ordering their carriage.”
“Oh, thank you, sir, most kind,” Deborah’s mother said worriedly. “No, don’t come down with us, Lady Letchworth, you have your other guests. Thank you for the most enjoyable dinner! Goodnight! Deborah, come and see us tomorrow.” Her voice disappeared out of the door with Lucy, after one stony curtsey, trailing after her.
“Excuse me,” Deborah murmured and hurried out in their wake. She found them in the hall, already wrapped in cloaks, being shown out of the front door to the waiting carriage. Deborah all but ran after them.
“Lucy,” she called urgently.
In the flaring lantern light, Lucy turned on her a face of such mingled misery and anger that Deborah was brought up short.
“Don’t,” Lucy said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t speak to me, Deborah. Not tonight. Maybe never. I wish you had never come home.”
Married to the Rogue Page 13