No, she must not. If she knew, her face would hold contempt. He looked down as he broke apart the rest of his bun.
“Perhaps you no longer want to accompany me this morning?” his wife asked softly.
He looked up at that. Sly creature. “I don’t scare that easily.”
Her eyes widened a bit. Perhaps his smile had shown too much teeth. Perhaps she’d seen the thing that lurked beneath. But she was brave, his wife.
“Then tell me,” she said, “about the army.”
“There’s not much to tell,” he lied. “I was a captain in the 28th.”
“That was Lord St. Aubyn’s rank as well,” Melisande said. “You bought your commissions together?”
“Yes.” So young, so thickheaded. He’d been mostly interested in the dashing uniform.
“I never knew Emeline’s brother,” Melisande said. “Not well, at least. I only saw him once or twice. What was he like?”
He swallowed the last of his bun, trying to buy time. He thought of Reynaud’s crooked grin, his dark laughing eyes. “Reynaud always knew he would someday inherit the earldom, and he spent his life rehearsing for that day.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “As a boy, he was too serious. That burden of responsibility marks a man, even when he’s but a child. Richard was the same way.”
“Your elder brother,” she murmured.
“Yes. He and Reynaud were more alike.” His mouth twisted at the old realization. “Reynaud should’ve chosen him as a friend, not me.”
“But perhaps Reynaud saw in you something that he himself lacked.”
He cocked his head and smiled. The idea that he should possess a feature that Richard, his perfect elder brother, lacked seemed comical. “What?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Your joy of life?”
He stared at her. Did she really see joy of life in the shell that was all that remained of him? “Perhaps.”
“I think so. You were a friend full of delight and mischief,” she said, and then, almost to herself, “How could he resist you?”
“You don’t know that.” His teeth scraped together. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” She rose from the table. “I think you’d be surprised how much I know you. Ten minutes, then?”
“What?” He was caught flat-footed and blinking up at his wife like a fool.
She smiled. Maybe she had a love of fools. “I’ll be ready to go shopping in ten minutes.”
And she slipped from the breakfast room, leaving him confused and intrigued.
MELISANDE WAS STANDING by the carriage consulting with Suchlike when Vale emerged from the town house a short time later. He ran down the front steps and sauntered over.
“Are you ready?” Melisande asked.
He spread his arms. “I am at your disposal, my lady wife.” He nodded to Suchlike. “You may go.”
The little maid flushed and looked worriedly at Melisande. Suchlike usually came on these outings to consult with wardrobe selections and to carry packages. Vale was watching her, too, waiting to see if she’d object.
Melisande smiled tightly and nodded at the maid. “Perhaps you can do that mending.”
Suchlike bobbed a curtsy and went into the town house.
When Melisande turned back to Vale, he was eyeing Mouse, who was standing against her skirts.
She spoke before he could dismiss her dog as well. “Sir Mouse always accompanies me.”
“Ah.”
She nodded, glad that at least was established, and mounted the steps to the carriage. She settled on the plush seat that faced the front, and Mouse hopped up beside her. Vale sat facing her, his long legs stretched diagonally across the floor. It had seemed like a large—even huge—vehicle until he entered, and then the space was filled with male elbows and knees.
He knocked on the roof and looked across at her, catching her frowning at his legs. “Anything wrong?”
“Not at all.”
She glanced out the window. It seemed strange to be confined with him in such a small space. Too intimate somehow. And that was an odd thought. She’d had sexual congress with this man, had danced with him only the night before, and had had the audacity to strip off his shirt and shave him. Yet those things had been done in the night, lit only by candlelight. Somehow she found it easier to be relaxed at night. The shadows made her brave. Perhaps she really was the mistress of the night, as he called her. And if so, did that make him master of the day?
She watched him, struck by the thought. He sought her out mainly during the daylight hours. Stalked her in the sunlight. He might like to go to balls and gaming hells at night, but it was during the day that he sought to discover her secrets. Was it because he sensed that she felt more weak exposed to sunlight? Or because he was stronger in the day?
Or maybe both?
“Do you take it everywhere?”
She glanced at him, her thoughts scattered. “What?”
“Your dog.” He pointed his chin at Mouse, curled on the seat beside her. “Does it go everywhere with you?”
“Sir Mouse is a him, not an it,” she said firmly. “And, yes, I do like taking him places that he might enjoy.”
Vale’s eyebrows shot up. “The dog enjoys shopping?”
“He likes carriage rides.” She stroked Mouse’s soft nose. “Haven’t you ever had any pets?”
“No. Well, there was a cat when I was a boy, but it never came when I called it and had a habit of scratching when displeased. It was often displeased, I’m afraid.”
“What was its name?”
“Cat.”
She looked at him. His face was solemn, but there was a diabolical gleam in his blue eyes.
“And you?” he asked. “Did you have pets as a child, my fair wife?”
“No.” She looked out the window again, not wishing to revisit her lonely childhood.
He seemed to sense her aversion to talking about that time and for once did not press. He was silent a moment before saying softly, “Actually, the cat was Richard’s.”
She looked at him, curious.
His wide lips curved into a lopsided smile as if he mocked himself. “Mother doesn’t particularly like cats, but Richard was sickly as a child, and when he took a liking to a kitten in the stables”—he shrugged—“I suppose she made an exception.”
“How much older than you was your brother?” she asked softly.
“Two years.”
“And when he died?”
“Not yet thirty years.” He no longer smiled. “He’d always been weak—he was thin and often had trouble catching his breath—but he took the ague while I was in the Colonies and never quite recovered. Mother didn’t smile for a year after I came home.”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned his palm upward. “It was long ago.”
“And your father was already dead, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him, lounging so carelessly in the carriage as he talked about the premature death of his brother and father. “You must have found that hard.”
“I never thought I’d be the viscount even though Richard was always so ill. Somehow everyone in my family thought he would live to beget an heir.” He suddenly looked at her, the corner of his mouth cocked. “He might have been weak of body, but my brother had a strong spirit. He carried himself like a viscount. He could command men.”
“As do you,” she reminded him gently.
He shook his head. “Not as he did. Nor as Reynaud did, for that matter. They were both better leaders than I.”
She found that hard to believe. Vale might mock himself, might like to tell jokes and sometimes play the fool, but other men listened to him. When he entered a room, the very air sizzled. Both men and women were drawn to him like a miniature sun. She wanted to tell him this, wanted to tell him how much she herself admired him, but the fear that she might reveal too much of her own emotions held her back.
The c
arriage slowed, and she looked out the window to find that they were on Bond Street.
The door opened and Vale jumped to the ground before turning and offering his hand in assistance. She rose and placed her hand in his, feeling the strength of his fingers. She climbed down from the carriage, and Mouse hopped down as well. The street was lined with fashionable shops, and both ladies and gentlemen strolled by the display windows.
“Which way do you fancy, my sweet wife?” Vale asked, holding out his arm. “You shall lead and I will follow.”
“Down here a bit, I think,” Melisande replied. “I want to visit a tobacconist first, to purchase some snuff.”
She felt him glance at her. “Are you a fashionable snuff-taker, like our queen?”
“Oh, no.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought before she recalled herself and smoothed out her expression. “It’s for Harold. I always give him a box of his favorite snuff on his birthday.”
“Ah. Lucky Harold, then.”
She glanced up at him. “Do you like snuff?”
“No.” His turquoise eyes were warm as he smiled down at her. “I referred to his fortune in having such a caring sister. If I’d known—”
But his words were cut off by a sharp bark from Mouse. Melisande looked around in time to see the terrier bound from her side and tear across the crowded street.
“Mouse!” She started forward, her eyes on the dog.
“Wait!” Vale grabbed her arm, holding her back.
She pulled her arm. “Let me go! He’ll be hurt.”
Vale yanked her back from the road, just as a big brewer’s cart rumbled by. “Better him than you.”
She could hear shouting across the street, a series of growls, and Mouse barking hysterically.
She turned and placed her palm on Vale’s chest, trying to convey her desperation. “But Mouse—”
Her husband muttered something, then said, “I’ll get the little beast for you, never fear.”
He let a cart pass and then darted into the road. Melisande could now see Mouse across the street, and her heart seized with fear. The terrier was in battle with a huge mastiff at least four times his size. As she watched, the mastiff shook off Mouse and snapped. Mouse skittered away, missing the gaping jaws by inches. Then he charged forward again, fearless as ever. Several boys and men had stopped to watch the fight, some yelling encouragement to the mastiff.
“Mouse!” She looked this time for carriages, horses, and carts as she dashed across the street after Vale. “Mouse!”
Vale reached the dogs just as the mastiff gripped Mouse in its huge jaws. The mastiff lifted Mouse and began shaking him. Melisande felt a scream build in her throat, but strangely no sound came. The bigger dog would break Mouse’s neck if he kept shaking him.
And then Vale brought both fists down on the mastiff’s snout. The big dog backed up a step but didn’t release his prize.
“Oy!” Vale yelled. “Drop it, you devil spawn!”
He hit the dog again just as Mouse twisted wildly in the bigger dog’s grasp. This must’ve been too much, for the mastiff finally dropped Mouse. For a moment, it looked like the massive animal might attack Vale, but her husband aimed a kick at the animal’s flank, and that decided the matter. The bigger dog took off running, much to the crowd’s disappointment. Mouse leapt forward to continue the chase, but Vale grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you little idiot.”
To Melisande’s horror, Mouse twisted in Vale’s hold and sank his teeth into his hand.
“No, Mouse!” She reached for her pet.
But Vale held her off with his other arm. “Don’t. He’s mad with temper and might bite you as well.”
“But—”
He turned, one hand still holding the dog that was biting him, and looked at her. His eyes were a deep blue now and held only a certainty of purpose; his face was more stern than she’d ever seen it, dark and lined and with no trace of amusement. It came to her that this must be what he looked like when he’d ridden into battle.
His voice was as cold as the North Sea. “Listen to me. You are my wife, and I’ll not see you hurt, even if it makes me your enemy. There can be no compromise in this matter.”
She swallowed and nodded.
He eyed her a moment more, seemingly oblivious to the blood dripping from his hand. Then he jerked a nod. “Good. Stand back and don’t interfere in what I do.”
She grasped her hands in front of herself so that she might not be tempted to snatch at Mouse. She adored the dog, even knowing he was an ill-tempered animal that no one else liked. Mouse was hers, and he returned her adoration. But Vale was her husband, and she could not contradict his authority—even if it meant sacrificing Mouse.
Vale shook the dog in his hand. Mouse growled and held on. Vale calmly thrust his free thumb down Mouse’s throat. The dog gagged and let go. In a flash, Vale wrapped his hand around the dog’s snout.
“Come on,” he said to her, holding the dog in both hands. The crowd had scattered when the prospect of blood had disappeared. Now Vale led her back to their carriage.
One of the footmen saw them coming and started forward. “Are you hurt, my lord?”
“It’s nothing,” Vale said. “Is there a box or bag in the carriage?”
“There’s a basket under the coachman’s seat.”
“Does it have a lid?”
“Yes, sir, a sturdy one too.”
“Fetch it, please.”
The footman ran back to the carriage.
“What will you do?” Melisande asked.
Vale glanced at her. “Nothing terrible. He needs to be contained until he calms down a bit.”
Mouse had stopped growling. Every now and then, he gave a violent wriggle in a bid for freedom, but Vale held fast.
The footman had the basket out and open when they reached the carriage.
“Close it as soon as I put him in.” Vale eyed the man. “Ready?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The action was done in a flash, the footman wide-eyed, Mouse struggling desperately, and Vale grim. And then her pet was confined in a basket that rocked violently in the footman’s hands.
“Put it back under the seat,” Vale said to the footman. He took Melisande’s arm. “Let’s return home.”
HE MAY HAVE alienated her, perhaps made her hate him, but it couldn’t be helped. Jasper watched his wife as she sat opposite him in the carriage. She held herself rigidly erect, her back and shoulders straight, her head tilted down just a little as she stared at her lap. Her expression was veiled. She wasn’t a beautiful woman—a part of him was coldly aware of that fact. She dressed in demure, forgettable clothes, didn’t do anything, in fact, to make herself known. He’d engaged—bedded—women far more beautiful. She was an ordinary, plain woman.
And still, his mind furiously worked as he sat, planning his next assault against the fortress of her soul. Perhaps this was a kind of madness, for he was as fascinated by her as if she were a magical fairy come to lure him into another world.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice dropping into his thoughts like a pebble into a pond.
“I’m wondering if you’re a fairy,” he replied.
Her eyebrows arched delicately upward. “You’re bamming me.”
“Alas, no, my heart.”
She looked at him, her light brown eyes unfathomable. Then her gaze lowered to his hand. He’d wrapped a handkerchief around the bite as soon as they’d entered the carriage.
She bit her lip. “Does it still hurt?”
He shook his head, even though his hand had begun to throb. “Not at all, I assure you.”
She still frowned down at his hand. “I should like Mr. Pynch to bandage it properly when we return. Dog bites can be ugly. Do make sure he washes it properly, please.”
“As you wish.”
She looked out the window and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I’m so sorry Mouse bit you.”
“Has he ever done it to you?”
She stared at him, puzzled.
“Has the dog ever bitten you, my lady wife?” If the animal had, Jasper would have it put down.
Her eyes widened. “No. Oh, no. Mouse is terribly affectionate with me. In fact, he’s never bitten anyone else at all.”
Jasper smiled wryly. “Then I suppose I should be honored to be the first.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Merely let him stew for a bit.”
Her face was once again expressionless. He knew how much the mongrel meant to her; she’d all but confessed that it was her only friend in the world.
He shifted on the seat. “Where did you get him?”
She was quiet so long that he thought she might not answer.
Then she sighed. “He was one of a litter of puppies found in my brother’s stables. The head groom wanted them drowned—he said they already had enough ratters about. He’d put the puppies into a sack while a stable boy went to fetch a bucket of water. I came into the stable yard just as the puppies escaped the sack. They scattered and all the men were running about and yelling, trying to catch the poor things. Mouse ran to me and immediately caught the hem of my dress between his teeth.”
“So you saved him,” Jasper said.
She shrugged. “It seemed the thing to do. I’m afraid Harold was not best pleased.”
No, he doubted her stodgy brother would’ve been happy with a mongrel in his house. But Melisande would’ve ignored any complaints and simply done as she pleased, and poor Harold would’ve had to eventually give up. Jasper was learning that his wife was almost terrifyingly determined when she set her mind to something.
“We’re here,” she murmured.
He looked up to find they were drawn up in front of his town house.
“I’ll have the footman bring Mouse inside.” He caught her gaze to impress upon her his inflexibility in this matter. “Don’t let him out or touch him until I say you may.”
She nodded, her face as serene and regal as a queen. Then she turned and descended the carriage without waiting for his help. She walked to the town house steps and climbed them unhurriedly. Her head was erect, her shoulders level, and her back straight. Jasper found that back oddly provoking.
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