Almost - Almost A Bride Part 14

She shrugged. "Little enough. Does it matter?"

He didn't reply, merely continued to look thoughtfully at her, lightly tapping his mouth with two fingers. Then he shook his head as if dismissing the issue.

She came over to him, reaching her arms around his neck. "Perhaps now we could finish what we started earlier." She moved one hand up to his head, pa.s.sing her flat palm over the white streak springing from the widow's peak. It fascinated her.

He held her waist between both hands and kissed her mouth, then reluctantly reached up for her arms and brought them down to her sides, holding them there. "Not now, Arabella. I have to go out." His eyes had changed, lost some of their earlier warmth and humor. There was no sign now of incipient desire in their cool depths.

"Out?" The question sounded both surprised and displeased, and she knew it was a mistake. "But you were out all morning."

His gaze became opaque and he let go of her arms, stepping away from her as he did so. "I have friends to see," he said in his calm, neutral way. "And I have business to attend to. I've been absent from Town too long as it is."

"Yes, of course," she said, her voice now as level and neutral as his own. "Will you be in to dinner?"

"No, I don't imagine so," he said, going to the door that led through her bedchamber, to the adjoining door to his own. "I will probably dine at Brooke's and play late."

"It's probably as well, since I planned to spend the evening in the hothouse organizing my orchids," she said, managing to sound as if nothing would suit her better.

"If you're not asleep, I'll come to you when I get home." He turned at the door, smiled, and wished her a quiet good evening.

Arabella remained standing in the middle of the room, where he had left her. He was going to his mistress. She knew it as certainly as if he'd told her in so many words. And there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing she could do about it. She didn't even have the right to object since she had agreed that he would continue his liaison and she would not interfere.

But so soon. They'd been in London barely twenty-four hours. She realized now that at the back of her mind had lurked the hope that the pa.s.sion in their marriage would satisfy him.

Arabella shook her head. What a fool she was. A naive fool. But never again. And never again would she give him the slightest indication that she had any interest whatsoever in his movements.

Jack hailed a sedan chair on the corner of Cavendish Square. "Mount Street," he told the chairmen as he climbed in. He sat back, tapping the hilt of his rapier, his face dark. It was the devil's own nuisance that he had to see Lilly today. But simple courtesy, not to mention loyalty, demanded that he not leave her in suspense. He had written to her informing her of his marriage but had given her no details. She would know he was back in Town-after his visit to Brooke's this morning, everyone would know it-and she would be waiting for him.

The chair drew up outside a tall double-fronted house. Black iron railings bordered the short flight of well-honed steps leading to the front door. Jack paid the chairmen and looked up at the house for a moment before mounting the steps. The heavy curtains at the long windows of the second-floor salon twitched slightly and a shadowy figure moved across the window. Lilly was at home.

He mounted the steps and lifted the heavy bra.s.s knocker. The porter who opened the door bowed at the familiar visitor. "Her ladyship is within, your grace."

The steward came forward to greet him but Jack waved him aside and crossed the hall to the stairs. "I'll announce myself." The man stepped back. His grace of St. Jules was one visitor to the house of the earl of Worth who dispensed with the formalities.

The countess of Worth was seated on a brocaded sofa when her visitor entered the salon. She was dressed for an informal evening at home, in a loose silk negligee and a dainty lace cap over her powdered ringlets. She appeared to be reading but Jack was no more fooled by that than he was by her informal attire. Lilly had spent hours at her dressing table to achieve her present delectable appearance.

She looked up from her book, closing it over her finger to keep her place, and smiled at him. "Why, Jack, how lovely. This is a surprise."

"Nonsense," he said with a faint smile as he crossed the rich turkey carpet to the sofa. "You knew I would come today." She held out her hand and he took it, lightly kissing her fingertips. She tightened her hold and drew him down to her. He kissed her mouth, but it was a light, friendly kiss rather than the pa.s.sionate embrace she had both invited and expected.

He straightened but continued to hold her hand, a slight shadow in his eyes even though he smiled down at her. "You are as perfect as ever, my dear Lilly. The new coiffure becomes you."

"You didn't come here to pay me compliments, Jack," she said, a tiny frown drawing her well-plucked eyebrows together.

"It's impossible not to pay you compliments, Lilly," he said gallantly, releasing her hand. He leaned over and smoothed the lines on her forehead with a forefinger. "Don't frown, my dear. You don't want wrinkles, they're so aging."

Despite her dismay at his lack of pa.s.sion, she consciously relaxed her forehead, wiping away the frown. "So, you are a married man," she said, trying to sound lighthearted. "I never really expected you would succ.u.mb, Jack. Indeed, I doubt anyone did."

He withdrew his snuffbox from his pocket, observing mildly, "Marriage has to come to all men eventually." He took a pinch of snuff and with his free hand took her wrist, turning it up as he dropped the snuff onto the blue-veined skin. He carried her wrist to his nose and inhaled the fine, fragrant powder. It was a gesture that bespoke a lover's intimacy and it rea.s.sured Lilly. She had had a faint, barely acknowledged fear that he had come to bring their liaison to an end.

She asked casually, "Have you brought your wife to Town?"

"Yes, she's at present in Cavendish Square." He strolled to the fireplace and stood with his back to the fire. "So how are things with you, Lilly? How is Worth?"

"Oh, as tedious as ever," she said with a sigh, tossing her book to the floor as if casting aside the unfortunate earl. "He's being so difficult about my debts. I lost a mere thousand guineas at Devonshire House the other evening, a trifle, Jack, a bagatelle, and would you believe he is refusing to advance me the money to settle the debt?" She unfurled her fan and waved it lazily in front of her face, her china-blue eyes regarding the duke closely over the top.

"Oh, that's easily settled," Jack said. "I'll write you a draft immediately." He went to the marquetry writing table and wrote swiftly, sanding the ink before folding the sheet and handing it to her.

"You are so good to me," she said warmly, reaching to the table beside her and taking up a jewel box with delicately painted Sevres plaques inserted in the lid. She tucked the draft inside. It was not something she wanted to leave lying around for her husband's eyes. "Come sit beside me, Jack." She patted the sofa. "I want to hear all about your wife. The gossip has it that she's a country mouse, a dull thing."

Jack didn't move from his place before the fire. He smiled, but it was not the kind of smile that gave Lilly any confidence. "My dear, I will not discuss my wife with you . . . or indeed with anyone."

"Oh, such scruples," she scoffed. "You were happy enough to talk about the kind of wife who would suit you."

"True enough. However, there is a difference between discussing that and the lady herself. I'm sure you understand." The smile was still in place, but the gray eyes were opaque as they rested on her face.

"You'll not object, I trust, to my visiting her," Lilly asked with an arch smile. "Unless, of course, you intend to keep her imprisoned in Cavendish Square. Will she have a debut?"

"My wife made her debut some ten years ago," he told her, picking up a jade card box from the mantel. "And I'm sure she will be receiving callers once she has settled in . . . This is a pretty thing." He held the box to the light. "I haven't seen it before."

"I acquired it at a rout. It was placed as a wager in a game and I won the game," she said with a touch of impatience. "How soon will your wife be-"

"I congratulate you, my dear," Jack said, replacing the box. "It's a valuable piece." He sat down, one arm propped on the arm of the chair, legs casually crossed. Idly he swung one foot in its silver-buckled shoe. The smile had not left his lips.

This was turning out to be a most unsatisfactory encounter, Lilly reflected crossly. She had hoped for a cozy discussion of the bride, along the lines of their previous conversations on the subject. Of course, despite her protestations she had known that Jack would take a wife eventually. He needed heirs and she couldn't provide them.

"Don't pout, Lilly, it doesn't become you," the duke said, the smile now touching his eyes. "There's not the slightest need for it. I will not discuss my wife with you. That's all there is to be said on the subject. So, tell me who's new in Town."

"As far as I know, only you," the countess said. She rose from the sofa in a graceful cloud of pale silk and lace and drifted towards him, her hands outstretched. "Come, Jack, it's been weeks since I've seen you, and you're not being at all friendly."

She alighted on his knee with the delicacy of a b.u.t.terfly, putting her hands on his shoulders as she kissed him. "There now, isn't that better?" She rubbed her cheek against his.

Jack inhaled her fragrance, it was very different from Arabella's light scents of rosewater and lavender usually mixed with a healthy dose of the good rich earth. The comparison disconcerted him. Lilly's dainty body and alluring scent had never before failed to arouse him.

He kissed the side of her neck and then gently but firmly put her away from him, saying with a smile, "Forgive me, my love. But I don't have much time."

She looked at him with surprise and a hint of dismay. "But Jack, there's always time. And we won't be disturbed. You may be sure that the porter will tell Worth I have a visitor if he returns prematurely, and you know he won't come in."

Jack shook his head as he rose to his feet. "I ask your pardon, my dear. But I must go."

"I suppose your country mouse of a wife is waiting for you," Lilly declared, showing her teeth for a moment.

He frowned and shook his head in faint reproof. "Careful, Lilly."

Lilly was angry, her blue eyes clouded, her lovely mouth set in a less than attractive downturn, but she was too clever to let him leave on a sour note. She offered a rueful smile as she said, "Oh, dear, please forgive me, Jack." She laid an elegant white hand on his arm. Her nails were long and exquisitely shaped.

Jack placed his own hand over hers even as he thought of his wife's ragged fingernails with the dirt beneath them. "There's nothing to forgive, Lilly."

"Oh, but I can see you're displeased." She offered a tremulous smile. "I had been so looking forward to our reunion. It's been so many weeks, and . . . well . . ." She lifted her rounded shoulders in a gesture that combined apology with sensuality as the movement lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s for a moment above the lace-edged neckline of her negligee.

For a moment, Jack was tempted. And then it was gone, a mere fleeting memory of a past attraction, and he knew he couldn't prolong this meeting any longer. He took her hands and kissed them. "We'll talk again, Lilly." He squeezed her hands and was gone, and she could hear his step quickly receding along the corridor.

Lilly crossed her arms over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stared into the fire. She had never believed that a marriage of convenience would take her lover from her. When they had talked about it together, it had always been understood that nothing between them would change. She must see this woman for herself. How formidable a rival could she be? A country mouse.

Lilly examined her image in the gold-embossed mirror above the fireplace. Her complexion was flawless, her lips red, her eyes a pure celestial blue. No, she decided. She would admit no rival. She had made a few mistakes this afternoon. Jack had to be handled carefully, she had always known that. And this afternoon she had exposed her need for him. A need as much for his deep pockets and generous purse as for the pleasure he brought her body.

Jack stood outside the house in the gloom of early evening, drawing the crisp air into his lungs. It was tinged with the foul stench of sea coal and the rich fumes of horse manure as a carriage horse lifted its tail in the narrow street in front of the house and deposited a steaming pile on the cobbles. The cries of street vendors mingled with the clatter of iron wheels and the shrieks and catcalls of gangs of ruffians roaming the alleys. The city was noisy and it reeked, but it didn't reek of blood and the clamor was not the mob's screams for vengeance, shrieks of triumph as yet another aristo head fell into the basket. His nostrils flared at the memory and he wondered if he would ever be able to put it behind him. Would the day come when he could think of Charlotte without the b.l.o.o.d.y images? Would the day come when he could think of Arabella without the shadow of Frederick Lacey?

He looked up at the well-kept facade of Worth's house. The window panes sparkling, the paint fresh. Almost as fresh as the paint on Lilly's cheeks.

G.o.d dammit. He felt as if he'd been cut loose from his moorings. Lilly entranced him, he had always enjoyed her, and counted the price he paid in settling her gambling debts worth every penny. But not this afternoon. The brittle artifice that varnished their liaison had lost all allure.

"St. Jules, I heard you was in Town." A cheerful greeting brought him out of his reverie and he forced a polite smile for the earl of Worth, approaching his house from the mews at the rear. "Been riding at Richmond," the earl confided. "Beautiful day for it. Enjoyed it so much I nearly found m'self benighted."

"It was a lovely day," Jack agreed, returning the bow. "You're keeping well, Worth?"

"Oh, yes, fit as a flea," the earl said, waving his riding crop in evidence. "Been to see my lady?" Nothing in his expression indicated that he knew what might have transpired under his roof.

"Yes," Jack said simply. "I found Lady Worth well." He remembered the Worth progeny and asked after them. Not a question he would have asked of Lilly. Her maternal inclinations were sporadic at the best of times.

But the earl, on the other hand, was a very devoted parent and never hid the pleasure he took in his children. Worth's expression softened. "Oh, they're all well, Fortescu. Rosy as apples and bouncy as puppies. Thankee for asking. Young Georgie is driving his governess to distraction . . . full of beans, he is."

"Delighted to hear it," Jack said. He made a move to take his farewell but the earl had not finished.

"I hear you've brought a wife to Town," he said, beaming. "My congratulations, dear fellow. Dunston's sister, is it?"

"Lady Arabella, yes," Jack said. He could detect nothing but good humor behind the earl's warmth. The man was nowhere near as clever as his wife, but surely he had made some connection between Dunston's suicide and his half sister's marriage to the man who had played him to his death.

"Yes . . . yes, I was forgetting the name. I remember meeting her when she came to Town for her Season . . . nice girl. Sure, you've done well for yourself, Fortescu." Still beaming, the earl swept him a bow and turned to his own front door.

Jack walked off, swinging his cane. It occurred to him that the earl's bonhomie could have something to do with the idea that if his wife's lover had a wife, then maybe he would be less of a lover. Hardly an unreasonable idea. And perhaps not without good grounds.

To his surprise, he realized that he had reached his house on Cavendish Square. He'd been so deep in thought, he hadn't noticed which way his steps were taking him. He thought he had intended to spend the evening at Brooke's, but it seemed he was mistaken.

With a slightly self-mocking head-shake, he mounted the steps to his front door, which opened as he reached it. "Is her grace in the conservatory, Tidmouth?" he asked as he divested himself of cane, hat, and gloves.

"No, your grace. She spent two hours in there seeing to her flowers and then her grace took the dogs for a walk," the steward informed him, managing to convey disapproval despite his lack of expression.

Jack frowned. "Where did she go?"

"I believe her grace said something about Hyde Park." Tidmouth reverently laid the duke's leather gloves on a silver tray on the console table.

"Who accompanied her?"

"I believe her grace went alone . . . except for the dogs, of course." The note of disapproval was even more p.r.o.nounced.

"I see. Pa.s.s me my gloves and hat again, will you?"

"Yes, your grace." With the utmost gravity Tidmouth handed the articles back to his employer.

"What time did her grace leave?" Jack drew on his gloves.

"About an hour ago, your grace." Tidmouth went to open the front door again and bowed the duke back onto the street.

Jack walked around the square, wondering which route his wife would have taken to the park. It was almost full dark by now and the watchmen were beginning to patrol the streets with their torches. The park was a dangerous place at night-indeed, even in daylight in certain of the more wooded corners-and Jack was unsure how reliable Oscar and Boris were as protectors. They looked fierce enough and could put on a convincing growl when aroused but he had the sneaking suspicion that they were as soft as b.u.t.ter underneath.

It wasn't just the park that was dangerous at night either, he reflected with anxiety-fueled annoyance. The streets could be lethal for a lone and obviously wealthy woman. What could she have been thinking of, to treat London as if it was no different from her native village? His step quickened, his annoyance turning to real anger as he turned from the square onto Henrietta Place, and then he saw her in the gloom -or rather, the dogs saw him. They came bounding towards him, barking excitedly, feathery tails flying.

"Down," he instructed sharply as they leaped against him. "Arabella, what do you think you're doing?"

Arabella stopped as she reached him, slightly out of breath with the effort of keeping up with the dogs'headlong rush. Her cheeks were pinkened by the now cold air, her hair tossed by the wind, Monsieur Christophe's creation a mere memory. "Walking," she said. "The dogs have to have their run twice a day here since they can't be let out on their own. We went to the park."

"Don't you know better than to go unescorted?" he demanded, his anger sharpened by relief.

"I have the dogs," she said, puzzled by his obvious irritation. "They wouldn't let anyone come near me."

"It doesn't occur to you that a man with a knife could dispatch the pair of them with no difficulty?" he inquired with unconcealed sarcasm.

Arabella frowned. "I thought you were going to Brooke's this evening?"

"Don't change the subject," he snapped. "Quite apart from the danger of walking in the park unescorted, it's not done. Women in your position do not wander the streets of London like gypsies."

"Oh, Jack, even if I were willing to subscribe to such nonsense, no one would recognize me. n.o.body knows me here." She laughed up at him. "Come now, it's not like you to be such a stickler. You're the man who insisted on sharing the roof of an unmarried and unprotected woman, if you recall."

It was Jack's turn to frown at this inconvenient reminder. It was not something he wanted spread abroad for either of their sakes, and for some reason he could no longer treat his own past carelessness with the lighthearted amus.e.m.e.nt that Arabella was evincing. She was right, he was becoming a regular stickler for the proprieties.

"That's not the point here," he said, trying to hang on to the high road even as he sensed it slipping from him. "The situation is changed, you must see that."

Arabella slipped her hand through his arm. "Very well," she said pacifically, urging him to turn back towards home. "I'll promise that once I've burst upon the fashionable world in all my Directoire finery and Greek coiffures, I will be the soul of propriety. But for as long as I'm incognito, I shall walk where I please with only myself and the dogs for company."

"You'll not walk anywhere unescorted after dusk," he stated. "Understand that, madam."

"Yes, your grace. No, your grace," she said with a chuckle. He seemed despite this a.s.sumption of annoyance to have returned to his old self. His eyes were warm and inhabited again. "Why aren't you gambling away your fortune this evening?"

Jack recognized with resignation that he'd been given all the compliance he was going to get. "I changed my mind," he said. "I thought I would dine with my wife, who I expected to find planting orchids, not roaming the nighttime streets of the city. How are they, by the way? Will they survive?"

She was suddenly all gravity. "I can't be sure," she said, a worried frown drawing her unruly eyebrows together. "They could go into shock anytime in the next two days, so I'll have to watch them carefully."

"Of course," he agreed with equal gravity. "We must hope for a happy outcome."

"Yes, indeed we must," she said, blithely unaware that his solicitude for her beloved orchids could be anything less than utterly genuine. "Why did you change your mind?" she asked, reverting to the original subject.

Jack wasn't sure himself. "We had some unfinished business, as I recall," he said casually.

"Ah, yes, so we did," Arabella agreed.