A Gentleman Never Tells (18 page)

He took out his watch, glanced at it, and turned it up to the moonlight.

“Look here, sweetheart,” he said, patting the edge of her shoulder. “I’m awfully sorry. But . . . do you think perhaps . . . oh, damn. Here.” In a few long strides he reached his tree, and the bottle of champagne propped against the base. He grabbed it by the neck and popped it open.

“Here,” he said, handing her a foaming glass. “Drink. All better, eh? Nothing like a spot of the old bubbly, in times of trial.”

She took the glass, drained it, and held it out again with a choking hiccup.

“Ah. Yes. Bottoms up.” He refilled her glass to the brim and set the bottle back in the grass. “Well, in any case, and as I said before, I’m frightfully sorry about this. Dreadful cock-up. Appears I gave you the wrong note, ha-ha. No doubt we’ll all have a jolly laugh about it in the morning, eh?”

She glared at him over the rim of her glass.

He cleared his throat. “But I’m afraid, if you’re quite all set up with the champagne and whatnot, I really must . . . must be off.”

She said nothing, all her concentration apparently fixed into her champagne glass.

He took an experimental step away, and another. “Well, then. Farewell. Much luck. Enjoy the . . . er . . . the champagne.”

Another backward step, and he turned and bolted for the castle.

*  *  *

T
he wrong note. He’d given the bloody housemaid the
wrong note
.

Which meant Sir Edward’s letter lay underneath Lilibet’s door. Unopened, he hoped. God, how he hoped.

Sir Edward would have his head, if Lilibet didn’t have it off first.

He ran across the meadow, up the terrace steps, across the flagstones of the courtyard to the door. The hall was still and dark, illuminated only by a shaft of moonlight beaming through the high windows along the stairway. He went up the steps two at a time, arriving at Lilibet’s door in a breathless gust. After a quick thrust of his hands through his hair, he lowered one fist to knock.

And stopped, just in time.

Philip slept in the room with her.

His hand swung downward to crash against his thigh.

He stood there a moment, chest still gently heaving from the effort of reaching her door. A cold trickle of sweat trailed down his back, disappearing into his shirt. He put both hands on his head and turned to walk down the succession of hallways to the west wing, where the gentlemen had their rooms.

Inside his room, he lit a candle and removed his jacket. Light flickered about the furniture and the few items atop the bureau. Norbert’s makeshift cage had been covered with cloth before he left, on Philip’s orders, so that the grasshopper could settle down and get some rest in his new surroundings.

An unwilling smile nudged up the corners of Roland’s mouth. He went over to the chest of drawers and lifted the edge of Norbert’s cloth. The grasshopper did, in fact, appear to be resting along one side of his cage, contemplating a blade of grass with one drowsy eye.

Roland lowered the cloth and looked about the room. He’d no desire for bed; energy still looped about his body, disappointment and panic and general annoyance at himself. He walked back out of the room and locked the door behind him.

Perhaps a swim in the lake. That should clear his mind a bit, help him consider his options. God knew his mind needed clearing; he’d been making mistake after mistake ever since he’d crossed the border into Italy.

He went back across the meadow at a jog, mind already pursuing his next course of action. There would be hell to pay in the morning, of course. Flowers? What blooms had emerged already? Well, except for the all-damned peach blossoms, may the bees inflict a mighty plague on them all. He’d go out early, before breakfast, and find something.

The quickest way to the lake lay through the peach orchard, but he’d be damned if he ventured back in there. Instead he skirted the trees, along the terrace wall, keeping a baleful eye on the downward slope. The moon was now directly overhead, cold and distant, casting a precise glow across the grass, just enough to pick out a path.

A sound came out of the darkness ahead.

He staggered to a stop.

There it was again. Odd sort of noise, a bit high-pitched and uneven, almost like . . .

Giggling.

Roland frowned. His eyes narrowed to slits, trying to pick out details from the shadowed shapes before him.

Another giggle.

He took a step forward, and another. A few more.

He came upon them so quickly, he nearly stumbled over their outstretched legs. “What the devil?” he stammered.

“Why, Roland! Is that you?” One of the shadows shifted against the wall. “We thought you’d gone back in.”

His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Lilibet?”

“Come join us, if you like. Though the champagne’s nearly finished.” He felt something hard and cold bump against his leg. The champagne bottle.

“We?” he asked, voice dry. “Who’s
we
?”

Another voice, through the darkness. “Signore!”—hiccup—“You come again?”

“Francesca.” He sighed. “Of course.”

*  *  *

S
he’s really very nice, you know,” Lilibet said. She slung her arm through his, savoring the sturdy warmth of bone and muscle beneath her hand. “Though she drinks a great deal. I hardly had half a glass.”

He grunted. “Just as well, in your condition.”

“Yes, that’s so. Wine turns my stomach at the moment. Was she awfully upset, in the orchard?” Roland was walking quickly; she had to take a few jogging strides to keep up.

“Only for a minute or two.” He stopped abruptly and turned to her, his face a mere outline in the night. “And you? You don’t seem so awfully upset.”

“Well, it was rather awkward for a moment or two. I saw the two of you, and I thought . . .”

“The worst, I expect.”

“Just for a minute. Then I realized what had happened and had a good laugh. And poor Francesca. She really is madly in love with you, you cad. It must be a terrific problem for you, having women swooning at your feet all the time, left and right.”

“Rather a nuisance, yes.” His voice was stony.

“Are you angry with me?”

“I am . . .” He paused, apparently searching for a word. “Bemused.”

She smiled. She felt invincible tonight, flooded with power and ecstasy. She reached up and caressed his cheek, the bold, perfectly set bones of his face. He’d shaved before coming down; the skin sprang sleek and dewy beneath her fingers. How she longed to bury her nose in that skin, to inhale its clean, male scent. Instead, she said: “I have a confession for you. I wasn’t going to go to bed with you tonight.”

His face tensed beneath her hand. “What’s that?”

“I’m sorry.” She let her hand trail down his shoulder, his arm, until she was holding his stiff hand in hers. “I’d only come down to tell you something. Something rather important; something I want you to know.”

“What’s that?”

“I sent out a letter today, to my solicitors. I’ve asked them to initiate a suit of divorce.”

His gasp came out of the darkness. “Wh-what? . . . But Lilibet, that’s marvelous! Have you really done it, at last?” He took her elbows and drew her against him. “You darling! We must celebrate! We must . . . oh Lord!” His arms came around her, lifting her up, swinging her around in a circle. “By God, darling, my own darling, I’ll see he doesn’t harm you, or Philip. I’ll stand by you like a champion; I shan’t leave your side . . .”

“Hush! Stop!” She couldn’t help laughing. She put her hands to his shoulders and pushed, gently but firmly, until he set her down on her feet again. “No. You’re getting dreadfully ahead of yourself. This has nothing to do with you, Roland.”

His fingers pressed into her back. “What do you mean, nothing to do with me? It has
everything
to do with me. With us. By God, Lilibet, you’re carrying my child . . .”

She put her finger to his lips. “This is between me and my husband. Well, and all the women he’s gone to bed with, whom I shall have to list and name, with dates and places and all sorts of tiresome things. I shall have to prove not only that, but cruelty as well.”

That checked his annoyance. “I’m sorry about that, darling,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Jolly awful business for you.”

“Yes, it will be. It will be a dreadful ordeal, Roland.” She took a deep breath and grasped his hands, which still rested at her back. She brought them around front and squeezed them. “Which is why we must stay quite apart until it’s finished. Until I have Philip in my legal custody, clear and sound, I can’t take any chances. You must stay away.”

A nightjar trilled softly from the direction of the orchard. Roland’s hands lay heavy in hers. “Stay away?” he repeated.

“Yes. I can’t force you to leave the castle, of course, but it would be best.”

Another long, heavy pause, and then his hands slipped up her arms to grip her shoulders. “Leave? Are you mad? Good God, no. If he discovers where you are . . .”

“Then I’ll deal with him, Roland. But there can’t be any hint of impropriety, on my part, or the whole thing will fail. Not a hint.” She looked into his shadowed eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.” His fingers pressed harder.

“Because if he finds out, if he can prove . . .
that . . .”
—she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word
adultery
, not aloud—“then my suit will be disallowed. The divorce won’t go through. The petitioner must be blameless, you see, or else the courts will say I’ve no grounds for complaint.”

“I say, you’ve studied the law rather carefully, it seems.”

“Of course I have. I’ve done nothing else.” She peered up into his face. “Is it . . . is it all right?”

He thrust her away and ran his hand through his hair. “No! It isn’t all right! What the devil are you saying? It’s not all right, Lilibet. For God’s sake, the damage is already done! You’re
expecting
! Do you think you can
hide
it? It won’t matter if we’re as chaste as monks from now on, if your belly is bumping up against the judge himself!”

She shook her head. “I know. I realize that. Which is why I’ll stay here until it’s all finished. Refuse any visitors. I’ll endeavor not to see anyone, until it’s final. And if he
does
find out, there’s no proof . . . The dates are close enough . . . He can’t say for certain . . . and everyone
here
will support us, will say we haven’t been together.”

“It could be months. Years. The birth, my God, if something goes wrong . . .” His voice was hard, desperate. How she wished she could see his face through the darkness! Somehow it was all harder, talking to a voice in the void that had all the characteristics of Roland, and yet seemed a stranger.

“Then I’ll deal with it, Roland,” she said. “I have to. Don’t you understand? You can’t be involved, not at all. Every moment we spend alone could damn us in court. It could ruin everything.”

He stepped forward and seized her hands again, pulling her against him. “No. I don’t understand. We’ve waited more than six years already. And now that you’re finally here, in my arms, with Somerton at last behind us, you can’t possibly expect me to stay away. I’ll go mad, Lilibet.”

She couldn’t make out his face, but she could feel the weight of his eyes, drenching her with the intensity of his emotion. That magnetic allure of his, pulling at her, drawing her under his spell; the sweet madness taking over her brain again. She squeezed her eyes shut and placed her hands against his chest. “No, you won’t. And neither will I. We are human beings, Roland, not animals. We won’t do this. Not yet.”

He said nothing. The warmth of his skin gave her an instant’s warning before his lips, firm and tender, brushed against hers: once, twice. “Lilibet.” He touched his forehead to hers and drew his hands up to cradle her face. “Please. I can give you so much pleasure, darling. So much love. Just let me. Allow me the privilege. Just once. Just tonight. Who will know?”

“Roland, please . . .” she murmured into his lips, every cell of her body whirling and aching at his touch. He felt so
right
; so exactly fashioned for her alone.

“I want you so much, so deeply.” His voice rumbled in her ear as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. “You can’t imagine how hard it’s been, waiting for you.”

No doubt about that, she thought. The physical evidence pushed like a fire iron into her belly.

“Yes, I
can
imagine,” she said, pulling back. “Do you think I don’t want it, too? I want you desperately. I long for you, every night. I . . .” She could hear the hoarseness, the plea in her own voice, and stepped outside the circle of his arms to breathe the air in great cleansing gasps. “You asked me to have faith in you,” she went on quietly, at last. “And I’m showing it to you now, Roland. I’m trusting you with everything right now. Don’t you see?”

He turned away a few degrees, staring up at the castle. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Quite serious. Please understand.”

“Oh, damn,” he said. “Oh, damn.”

Silence spun about them. She felt his acquiescence seep into the air, reluctant and agonized and . . . well, rather sulky.

She couldn’t really blame him.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I won’t touch you, if that’s how you want it.” He leaned close, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. “But I’m not leaving, Lilibet. Not on your life. I’ll stay, and keep watch on you and the baby and Philip. And Norbert the damned grasshopper, I suppose.” He tilted his head and spoke into her ear. “And I will not, for one moment, stop trying to change your mind.”

“You won’t succeed.”

“Yes, I bloody will,” he growled.

She reached up and pushed away the lock of hair on his forehead. “Oh, cheer up,” she said. “It’s not as desperate as that. After all, if you give up on me, there’s always Francesca.”

“Francesca,” he muttered.

They walked back to the house, arms held rigidly away from one another. At the doorway, just before they parted, Lilibet remembered something.

“Oh, I meant to tell you. I had the oddest note under my door this afternoon. Do you perhaps know where it came from?”