On a Long Ago Night (39 page)

"Honoria—I—"

She shook her head and rolled off the bed. By the time he

caught up to her she'd donned her spectacles and was scrutinizing

herself in the dressing table mirror. "Just as I thought," she said

before he could ask her what was wrong. "Still as plain as a plank.

Any man would feel like a fool married to me."

"That isn't what I meant."

She seemed not to hear him as she continued to peer into the

mirror. He saw the unshed tears shining in the reflection of her

eyes. "For a few hours I half had myself convinced I was someone

worthy of sparking deathless passion over." She sighed. "But I

understand duty to one's father very well. I hid my shame to protect

my father. I agreed to marry because my father wished it." Her eyes

met his in the mirror, full of resigned sadness. "At least I know you

didn't marry me out of greed." She sighed again. "I have lived my

life as my father wished. You are obeying yours. There is no shame

in that. We will deal very—dutifully—together. I apologize for

being a cow, and thank you for dutifully trying to make me think

you had a more than conjugal interest in me. Perhaps I am with

child already. In any case, you can drop this farcical show of

passion."

James grabbed her shoulders and turned her forcefully to face

him. He didn't know if he was more furious with her, himself, or

their damned paragon parents! "What are you talking about? You're

the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Do you have any idea

how I missed making love to you?"

She lifted a hand weakly. "Please, don't—"

"An amazon is what you are! A valkyrie. You are a

descendant of Hippolyta, Boudicaa and Zenobia. You are kindred

to Alexander's beloved Roxane, meant to be mated with a

warrior—with me. Any real man would happily kill to have a

woman like you in his harem."

"Oh, really?" she asked disbelievingly. "Then why is it that

only one person bothered to bid on me at a slave auction? And that

man wanted me as a translator?"

"You didn't end up a translator, though did you?" He drew

himself up proudly and took a step away from her. Then he looked

her over quite thoroughly from head to foot. "With that hair and

those breasts, you would have fetched a fortune. I couldn't afford a

fortune. So I started the rumor that the Turkish ambassador was

thinking of buying you for the Sultan's harem."

"Boudicaa?" she heard herself croak, barely intelligibly.

"Breasts? Rumor? Sultan? What are you talking—? Are you mad,

or am I?"

Honoria put her hands up to her temples. She didn't know

what to think, or to feel, and shied violently away from doing either

for now. "I am so very tired," she murmured.

"I know," he soothed. "We're working too hard at this."

Her head ached from being bombarded with so many facts

and conflicting responses. All her protective walls were tumbling

down in disarray, the barriers against emotion breached and

broken, though she tried to rebuild them. She was naked and

vulnerable in every way. Every little word and gesture, every

memory, every nuance of meaning in word and gestures and looks

scratched across her tender nerves. Her head ached from too much

information.

James gently lowered her hands from her temples. He began

to massage them in her stead, in slow, steady, heavenly circles. Her

eyes closed of their own volition. She couldn't help but begin to

relax beneath this gentle ministration.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk for a while," he suggested. "Maybe

we should get that breakfast you suggested earlier."

"Yes," she murmured, though it was more of a purr of a

sound. Then she pulled away from his touch. She looked around.

"We need to get out of here. It is time you and I got dressed,

behaved like civilized people, and sat across a dining room table

from one another while having a meal."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "If you want. As long as I get to

take you back to bed eventually."

"That remains to be seen," she informed him with an echo of

her old tartness, but not very much conviction. "But first we are

going to eat breakfast. And then I am dutifully going to give you a

tour of your new home, Lord James."

Her maid and his servant Malik entered the instant Honoria

rang the bell pull, and the next thing James knew, Malik led him

away to his own rooms to be bathed, changed, and dressed. He did

not care that this was customary for great families who lived in

great houses with plenty of spare rooms; James did not want to

have separate quarters from his wife. He knew he had the right to

order a suite of rooms redecorated for them to share, and hoped

Honoria would enjoy choosing new furniture and drapes and

whatever. Women were supposed to like that sort of thing. The one

thing he was going to insist upon commissioning from the furniture

maker was a new bed. A big one.

Honoria would balk, would say it wasn't done for husbands

and wives of their station to live so intimately. They would fight.

He grinned. It would be fun.

He was smiling with anticipation as he was shown into a

dining room an hour after leaving Honoria. He was in the proper

black trousers and jacket of an English gentleman, a cravat neatly

tied over his crisply starched white shirt. He felt constrained and

conservative in such clothing, but he supposed that it was its

purpose: to remind the wearer of his exalted place in this exclusive

society. Here was another rule to change. Let the servants be

shocked; he and his wife would be comfortable in their own home!

And speaking of homes, why did they have to live at Lacey House

at all? Or on the Marbury estates, for that matter?

He was feeling quite the rebel as he pulled out a chair next to

where Honoria was already seated at one end of the long table.

China and silver gleamed all around him, but James had eyes only

for his wife. She wore a dark brown dress and her riotous hair had

been wrestled into a tight bun. Honoria dressed for battle with her

own passionate nature, he knew. His hands itched to slowly take

off her clothes. Her spectacles were perched on her nose as she

read a letter, and James noticed the large pile of correspondence on

the table by her place setting.

She pointedly did not glance his way, and James contented

himself with watching her until the food was brought and the

servers discreetly withdrew from the room. When she put one letter

aside and reached for another, he trapped her hand in his on top of

the pile of paper. "Is that more important than entertaining your

husband?"

"I am being dutiful," was her response. She finally looked at

him, seeming to notice that he was nearby for the first time. "Your

proper place is at the head of the table." She waved a hand toward

the far end of the room. "It's down there somewhere."

"You are a difficult woman, Honoria Pyne."

"I merely strive for perfection," was her cool reply.

"And woe to anyone who gets in your way." He grinned,

refusing to be provoked. "You're a perfect hedgehog, my prickly

darling."

This time she grinned back, despite an obvious effort to

remain stern. "Thank you. I will take that as a compliment, my

lord."

He kissed her hand. "It was meant as one. Eat something." He

released her hand so that she could pick up a fork. He leafed

through the letters. "What's all this?"

"Begging letters from charities, mostly." She'd divided the

correspondence into three separate piles on the pristine white linen

table-cloth. "A letter from my father, and some letters of

congratulations on our nuptials addressed to us both. Gifts have

begun to arrive, as well." She picked up the third pile, which

contained two envelopes. "These are for you."

Honoria went back to her own reading while James read the

letter from his father. Then he broke the seal on the second letter.

"This is from Reverend Menzies," he said with surprise after he

read the salutation.

"I have one from him, as well," she answered. "Inviting me to

visit his vicarage. Did he invite you under separate letter?" she

asked curiously.

James ran his fingers through his hair. "He's acting as dear

Derrick's second," he reluctantly told Honoria.

She sat up very straight and her relaxed expression

disappeared. It was like watching the sun disappear behind heavy

clouds. He would have sworn that the temperature in the room went

colder, as well.

"Oh?" Her tone was pure ice.

James ran a thumb along his jawline and tried to hide his

jealousy and pain with a flippant, "Tell me, would you rather see

Derrick or me come out of this alive?"

"I think you should both go to the devil, is what I think," she

snapped out angrily. She blushed hotly, and looked as if she wanted

to say much, much more. Instead, she glared furiously as James

rose slowly to his feet.

"I need to leave for London right now if I am to be at the

meeting place by dawn tomorrow," he said, as stiff as Honoria a

few moments before. He knew what he wanted her to say, how he

wanted her to act, but she wore the mask of a reserved

Englishwoman right now. And he was in no mood to coax her out

of it this time. "You should learn to give a little sometimes," he told

her, as he rose to his feet.

It seemed like a very long way to the door, and the silence

between them was as heavy and charged as the air before a storm.

His hand was on the doorknob when she said, "Please don't do

this."

He turned to find Honoria standing beside her chair. He'd

hoped that she would come running into his arms. He sighed.

"Honor requires it."

"We do not need more scandal." She applied logic and reason

in a toneless, measured voice as hopeless anger built inside him.

Her hands were clasped tightly together in front of her, the only

sign that she felt anything. "Think of your family name, and of

mine."

"I am."

"You have a responsibility to the Pyneham name and

interests. My father wishes me to become a lady-in-waiting to the

Queen. If my husband fights a duel, he will be disappointed in that

wish. Dueling is against the law in England."

He nodded. "Yes. I know."

"You will be forced to leave the country." She remained

perfectly still as she added, "Perhaps that is what you want."

"I will not be fighting in England," he answered her. He saw

the fear of abandonment in her eyes and the slight quiver of her

lower lip, but she still did not come to him. "My uncle at the

Spanish Embassy has arranged the matter. 'Dear Derrick' and I will

meet tomorrow morning on the grounds of the Embassy," he

explained, before she could accuse him of running away to the

continent so soon after fulfilling his vow to his father. "So, you see,

no English law will be broken. Your queen will not be displeased.

Your father will be happy. I'm going now." He opened the door.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked loudly, desperately, her

voice cracking on the words. "What satisfaction can you possibly

get from killing a bug like Derrick Russell? Why do you want to do

it?"

He glanced back only long enough to see that she still had not

come toward him. "I am not doing this for me. I am doing this for

you."

The door closed.

Honoria was frozen in place, neither able to move forward

nor to take her seat again. The world was upside down, out of

focus—and James was gone. She had let him go, doing nothing

more than toss out a few words to try to stop him from this folly.

She should have pleaded, begged him not to go, seduced him,

even—she should have done
something
! He was gone to London,

to a duel. He could be killed. She might never see him again.

You should learn to give a little sometimes.

The words haunted her; the truth of them hurt her. If only she

had not come down to breakfast still stinging from the knowledge

that he had sought her out from duty rather than undying passion.

She had not thought herself a romantic, but apparently she was. So

she had come down determined to be her normal, dutiful self—and