Edith Layton (18 page)

He chose to ignore the blatant flattery, or invitation. “And where is your little friend Philippe?” he asked instead. “Or are you now too English to wear him as an ornament? I’d think a monkey would enliven this gathering.”

“He didn’t survive the crossing, poor fellow,” she said. “I do miss him.” She smiled. “I’m surprised you do too. You always asked me to put him in his cage and cover it when I was…entertaining you.”

“Angelica, my sweet,” he said, forcing a matching smile, “that’s not a thing we should discuss any longer. Pleasant as it was for both of us, I’m married now. See the lovely woman in the dark
blue gown dancing with that young lieutenant? That’s my lady, Annabelle, Lady Pelham. My wife.”

Angelica scarcely turned her head to see the direction of his gaze. “I know it,” she said simply. “But does she? Come, Miles, the lady’s famous, I heard of her even in Lisbon. Now I see she’s just as they said, beautiful, witty, and charmingly flirtatious. Why, she’s danced with every eligible gentleman here this evening, and quite a few who aren’t. I know she’s your wife, and I congratulate you for it; she’s quite a prize. But she’s also quite up to snuff, and very occupied this evening—while you’re obviously not.”

There was nothing he could say, so he remained still.

That pleased her. “So,” she said, nodding her elegant head, “if you’d care to resume our friendship, I doubt there’d be any difficulty—certainly not from me. Or her, I should think,” she added, gesturing with her fan.

He turned to where she was looking to see Annabelle leaving the arms of the tall red-coated soldier, who was delivering her to another eager partner, this one a slender, poetic-looking fellow who had more hair than she did.

“Yes,” he said with assumed boredom. “And see where the partner she’s just left has gone? To dance with the tall young woman in pink? That, my dear Angelica, is my sister. My wife is recruit
ing for her quite nicely tonight, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes. How much sooner the war would have been won if all our recruiters so loved their work,” Angelica purred. “Come, Miles, as much fun as this is, we know each other too well for this sort of sparring. It’s not my style at all, nor yours, as I remember. But the other kind of tangles we engaged in were very pleasant, as I recall.”

She gestured again to where Annabelle was dancing. “What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I’m the last person in the world to fault your wife’s activities, but I do despair of her taste.” She stared at Annabelle’s partner, and shuddered. “A poet, or a fellow who wishes he were one. How ghastly. Those willowy young men are always concerned more with their own moods and reactions than their partners…they might as well be making love to their mirrors. As for her last partner? Those stalwart soldiers, so often, too often, they are absolutely not.

“But some gentlemen”—she paused to look him up and down, and with a slow smile said—“are so capable and competent that they don’t have to posture and they don’t need a uniform. You still look fit, Miles. But then, you never showed any excess on your person, only in your capacities, thank heavens. Or rather, I thanked heavens then. Which brings me to the point. Are you interested in resuming our friendship? There are no possible strings attached this time, because
I know you can’t marry me. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, does it?”

Six months, he thought, as he looked at her. They’d shared six months of carnal bliss. She’d been a generous, inventive lover. Her svelte body was long, limber, and strong, and she used that strength to their delight. She’d never shown shyness or hesitation, and was as comfortable in her skin as any man. She could roam the corridors of her villa clad only in that smooth olive skin, and not be embarrassed, just amused at his inevitable response. He remembered it—all of it—very well.

But he’d been able to leave her without a backward look. And he couldn’t stop watching his wife, even now. It was no longer the mode of lovemaking that drew him, but the person making that love with him.

“Thank you, but I think not,” he said softly, turning his head back to watch Annabelle as she danced. “You’re very lovely, and I’m honored. But it’s not possible. It isn’t a matter of morals, though it might surprise you to know I have them. It is, my dear Angelica, a matter of simple necessity. There’s only one woman for me, you see, and I’ve found her.”

“Indeed?” she said coldly, and he heard a wealth of things in that one word that he’d never heard from her before. Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought. “I do see,” she went on. “I also see that love really does cloud the eyes,
just as the poets say. How very amusing. Because, my dear Miles, it certainly doesn’t look as if your wife shares your most laudable morality, does it?”

He forced a laugh. “Only if the Puritans are right and waltzing is really like lovemaking. But it isn’t. Just think, if it was, what a strange world this would be.”

“I leave you to your love, and your illusions,” she said curtly, inclining her head in a semblance of a bow. “You used to be far more entertaining, sir. I’ll just have to go looking for someone as amusing as you used to be. Perhaps I ought to ask your wife? She seems to know every man here.”

“At least,” he said as coolly, “every man here obviously wants to know her.” He bowed. “Good night, Angelica, good hunting.”

She turned her back and left him. He stood and kept watching Annabelle. He was, he suspected, a very great fool. Because he never saw her look his way. But she never stopped smiling. And he never smiled again that evening.

M
iles said good night to his sister and mother when their party finally got home from the ball in the small hours before dawn. He remained silent as his sister and his wife laughed together, still burbling with gossip they’d been busy with since they’d gone into the coach to go home. His mother looked weary. His own face was a polite mask.

“It went well, I think,” Miles finally commented as he walked them all to the stair.

“Well?” Camille hooted. “Ho! I can’t remember having more fun. I danced with every man there, I think. And didn’t tread on more than ten or twelve toes in all.”

“You were a great success,” her mother said.

“As to that, I wonder how you’d know, Mama,”
Miles commented curiously. “You disappeared early on. You must have been very sure of Camille’s success. I was told you’d left a message saying you were off playing cards with the ladies. I hope you won.”

She smiled wanly. “Not a great deal. But I’m very tired now. Perhaps I’ve been in the country too long. I’m not used to London’s hours and feel my years tonight.”

“Better get used to them,” Camille said, “because I’ve been invited to dozens of dances, soirées and balls. And I want to go to every one!”

“Your new sister can go with you,” her mother said.

“I will, and gladly,” Annabelle said gleefully. “We’ll go over the invitations tomorrow and find the best ones!” She stretched luxuriously. “Oh, but I’m tired too! Good night,” she told Camille, and kissed her cheek. “You were a complete success. All the fellows I danced with told me they’d call on you. Those who weren’t already married, that is. And I told those who were married who asked the same question exactly whom they could call on! I hope they liked the idea of meeting up with all that fire and brimstone.” She giggled.

“Good night, Alyce,” Annabelle added with more reserve. She started up the stair, and turned. “Coming up?” she asked Miles when she realized he hadn’t mounted the stair with her.

“In a while,” he said.

“Oh well,” she said, “I’m going to bed now. Aren’t you tired?”

“I have some things to do before I sleep.”

“I can’t keep my eyes open a moment longer,” Annabelle declared. “Isn’t it odd how awake we can stay when we’re in the midst of fun, but the second we realize we’re home again it’s like someone opened a seam and all the stuffings come out?” She giggled. “I told my maid not to wait up for me. So I’ll hush now so I don’t wake the whole house. Good night.”

“Annabelle?” her mother-in-law said when they reached the landing together.

“Yes?” Annabelle said, turning around, her hand on the knob of her door.

“I shall sleep late tomorrow, as should we all. So may I have a few words with you now?”

“Well, I’m for bed!” Camille said on a huge yawn. “See you both tomorrow—after I write to Bernard and make him turn puce with envy!” Chortling, she went down the hall to her room.

“May I come in?” Alyce asked Annabelle softly. “You said your maid is asleep, and I dislike talking in the hall.”

“Of course,” Annabelle said, opening the door and ushering her inside. She turned and saw that Alyce’s face was gray, even in the rosy light of the one lamp left burning. “Are you well?” Annabelle asked quickly.

“Well enough. But embarrassed. You see, I—I
must ask you for funds again. I didn’t tell Miles the entire truth. I gamed again tonight, for I was told some of the older ladies were playing for small stakes in the salon. I lost again. I thought I wouldn’t, and that it wouldn’t matter even if I did. But London ladies’ ideas of small stakes are not mine. They play deeper than I remembered, and I suppose it was my pride that insisted that I stay in when I ought to have stopped. But I was trying to recoup. I did not. So may I again prevail upon you for funds? The same amount as last time, plus half again as much more, should do.”

Annabelle stiffened, deep in thought. Her eyes were troubled when she spoke again. “I think it’s time that you ask Miles,” she finally said.

“I can’t.”

Annabelle cocked her head to the side. “Or won’t? I could get you the funds but I’m not at all sure that I should. I asked Miles about your allowance. Without telling him anything, of course,” she added when she saw Alyce’s face grow pale. “He gives you a generous sum. I’m no one to judge you, but surely this is a problem you need help with.”

“Surely I do. But just as surely I can’t go to him.”

Annabelle frowned. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

Alyce paused, then nodded. “But nothing that I can tell you.”

“I think that this isn’t a thing to discuss now,”
Annabelle said, rubbing her forehead. “I can’t think straight. I’m bone-weary, as I’m sure you are. Tomorrow morning?”

Alyce dipped her head in agreement. “But no later. It’s a matter that must be taken care of before another night passes. And again, I ask you not to tell Miles.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

Alyce smiled. “I think,” she said with curious dignity, “when you know more, you shall.” Then she left the room.

Annabelle undressed, her thoughts in confusion. She couldn’t concentrate on Alyce’s folly. The night had been too wonderful, exceeding all her expectations. She was herself again! Only now she had all of London at her feet, not just the men. The women had been friendly to her too, for the first time. She’d enjoyed talking to many of them, and none seemed hostile or resentful of her popularity. Was it because they knew she’d almost died? Or because she was married and no longer a threat? Or…she paused as she rolled down a silk stocking, struck by a hateful thought. Could it be she was really not so attractive after all, but merely pitiful, and deceiving herself because of so many false compliments?

She wished Miles would come in so she could ask him. He might not tell her the truth for fear of hurting her, but she’d be able to read it in his eyes.

She dropped a night shift over her head, gave a
huge yawn, and climbed up into bed. She lay down, but her thoughts refused to slow. She kept thinking of the party, and wanting to talk about it with Miles. She’d introduced Camille to every eligible man, but it seemed she grew enthusiastic only when they spoke about Eric Ford. Did Miles think Eric was a good catch for Camille? Did he think Eric was interested in her at all, or only being polite? Was he as surprised and delighted as she was that Camille got as much attention from the men as any popular beauty tonight? Did he agree with Camille that the young Thornton girl was terrified of that horrid lecher Baron Manton? Would he know how to help the poor child if he did?

There were so many things to rejoice over, almost as many to comment on. Annabelle made a face. She was getting impatient. Why didn’t he come to bed so they could share congratulations for a young miss well launched?

And how did he feel about his wife’s triumphant return?

She’d thought he’d be as jubilant as she was. He’d approved the way she looked, she’d heard it with her own ears. Surely he’d seen her popularity; she’d danced all night, been buttered up to her nose with compliments. She hadn’t been that lauded in years, especially not after her embarrassing failures with Damon, with Drum, with Rafe…Something chilly in her thoughts cooled her pleasure in the night.

Now she wondered again why Miles had danced with her only once. She’d actually danced up to him again later to tease him into another waltz. He’d refused, telling her to enjoy herself, telling her partner—she couldn’t remember who that had been, it was hard to remember any of them now—to be careful of her toes. Then for the rest of the night he’d stayed watchful and quiet. He’d been like a clam all the way home…She sat up. It was very late and growing later, the house was quiet, and yet still he hadn’t come up to bed. Was he ill?

Annabelle stepped out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, and, too unsettled even to put on slippers, went barefoot in search of her husband.

She tracked him to the study, finding him by the only source of real light in the darkened house. The door was ajar, so she could see a fire flickering in the hearth. That plus the lamp on the desk were the sole illumination. Miles sat at the desk, a sheaf of papers before him. But he was looking at the fire dancing in the hearth. He didn’t look sick, only infinitely weary.

Annabelle took a moment to watch him, unobserved. She seldom got a chance to do that because he was always so aware of her. She smiled tenderly as she studied him. He wasn’t as handsome as Damon Ryder; no man in England was. Nor was he as elegant as the Earl of Drummond; few men were. He wasn’t as big and impressive as
Eric Ford, or as lean and spruce as Rafe Dalton. But there was no other man like him, certainly none who affected her pulse the way he did.

His hair was rumpled; he sat in shirtsleeves. The glow of firelight etched that hard profile in crimson, tinting his brush of short, thick eyelashes with gold. Those eyes could be ice or silver blue, but when they looked at her with passion, she shivered with warmth. She thought he was more attractive in his own way than Damon; easily as clever as Drum, and a great deal kinder. He was…She paused, realizing she was luckier than she deserved.

She’d married because she couldn’t bear facing another Season alone, and in so doing had found a man she never wanted to part from. She’d found a soul mate, and at a time in her life when she’d seriously doubted she even had a soul anymore. But he’d uncovered it for her and to her, bit by bit, with his kindness and cleverness.

There’d been a time when she’d demanded the acclaim and admiration of all men, and even that hadn’t been enough to fill the emptiness in her heart. Now she knew she needed only the love of this one man, because he was her heart. She’d set such store by her looks because she’d believed that was all she had. He’d shown her otherwise. Other men had been trophies she’d competed for, even Damon, the great imagined love of her youth. Now she knew what love was and could
only marvel at what she’d thought it had been. Love was friendship and desire, absolute trust and elemental need on every level she could experience. For her, love was Miles. She was so very incredibly lucky, she thought as she stood in the doorway, gazing at him.

He looked up as though the force of her yearning had penetrated his thoughts. But he didn’t smile. “Annabelle,” he said, half rising from his chair, “what is it? Are you feeling well?”

“Oh lud!” she said airily. “Am I going to be asked that for the rest of my life? I’m fine, but I wondered if you were ill. It’s late, why haven’t you come to bed?”

“I’m not tired yet.”

“Oh.” She crossed the room and sat in one of the big chairs near the fire. She tucked her feet up under her, grimacing at how cold they felt against her bare bottom. “Well, I couldn’t sleep. I’m still too excited about the ball. Didn’t Camille do wonderfully? She had every fellow there lining up for a second dance with her. I only had to steer them to her, and they never wanted to leave her. I confess I don’t know how she does it. I don’t mean that she’s unattractive,” she said quickly, because he didn’t answer, just sat there looking at her soberly.

“She’s a very handsome girl,” Annabelle went on, “but that’s not it. Some absolute diamonds were ignored while the men flocked to her. I con
fess I was worried when I saw Damon’s sister-in-law making her bows. Such a little beauty! And the youngest Swanson girl! Who’d have dreamed the last of that lot would be so attractive? But Camille outdanced them all. She deserves it, and I can’t tell you how happy I am!”

He didn’t answer, but she was too wound up with the events of the night to stay still. She wished he’d share in her summing up. She especially wished he’d congratulate her on a job well done.

But maybe she didn’t deserve it.

She grew thoughtful. “I wasn’t responsible for her triumph, though. It’s hers entirely. I admit I’m still astounded. Though she’s always nicely dressed, she doesn’t give a fig about fashion—in any way at all. She doesn’t simper like most young girls, she laughs right out loud—if she thinks the jest’s worth it, because she’ll tell you flat out if she doesn’t. She doesn’t flatter or make doe eyes the way we’re taught to do, but men can’t get enough of her company. Oh,” she said in a smaller voice, her own eyes growing wide. “that’s exactly why, isn’t it?

He didn’t answer, just watched her, eyes hooded, his face still.

Something was wrong. She sat up straight. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“The way you’re looking at me.” She forced a laugh. “Did I offend in any way? I thought you’d
be pleased with Camille’s debut, and that I was accepted again.”

“I’m pleased. Camille did well, but that didn’t surprise me. As for you, you danced all night, and you were the belle of the ball. You obviously had a grand time. What more do you want, Annabelle? Shall I send you flowers? I don’t doubt you’ll get enough tomorrow. Your dancing partners will all send you tribute. Do you want me to as well?”

She was still a moment, thinking about what he said. Then she realized what had jarred, like hearing the wrong note in a symphony. He wasn’t calling her Belle anymore. She uncoiled from the chair and stood up. “You don’t have to send me flowers. Yes, I danced. Yes, I had fun. Because I was so relieved.”

“Yes, you’re beautiful again,” he said impatiently. “Surely you know that. Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

“You think that’s why I’m here, and why I was relieved?” She raised her chin. “Tonight was as important to me as it was to Camille, if for different reasons. It was much harder for me, though. I have enemies. Deservedly so. If they’d all turned their backs on me it wouldn’t have been unfair. I rejoiced because I was received so kindly. If it was sympathy, well, I’ll accept that too. But it’s done. Camille’s launched, I am returned, and I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” he said.

“I see.” She drew herself up and gave him a curt nod. “Very well. I’m tired too—of talking to myself. Good night.”

She marched toward the door. He rose to his feet in one swift motion, stepped out from behind the desk, and caught her hand.

“What?” she whispered, looking back and up into his eyes.