Ruined by Moonlight (26 page)

“You would never be unfaithful to me.”

The lack of hesitation and the conviction in his voice
warmed her. “No,” she agreed with soft emphasis. “I wouldn’t. But not all men are as insightful as you are.”

“A stunning compliment from a woman I could swear has inferred more than once before that I am somewhat obtuse.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But, yes, getting back to the actual discussion, Colbert is a distinct possibility as the catalyst. But we must ask ourselves what the underlying motivation is. An attack on his pride or his heart? Our villain is counting on something specific happening from the sequence of events. Once we understand what that is, we can narrow our focus to a motivation. If someone wanted to make sure the engagement was severed, then they will benefit in some way or they wouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”

She hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms but he was right. Of course. Ben was no doubt frequently right on this sort of topic, but he didn’t share his opinions with her often.

What a nice change in their lives that he’d done so.

“I can’t say.” She lifted her silver hairbrush and ran it through her hair, thinking. “This entire scandal has affected any number of people, now that you put it in that fashion.”

When he watched her idly use the brush, something in his demeanor changed. It was subtle enough she might have even missed it, but with this heightened awareness between them, she caught his honed-in attention to the languid movement of her hand.

Yes, he’d largely ignored her for the first six months of their marriage, but for the first time she wondered how much she’d ignored
him
. Ben was not easy to understand but she’d expected
him
to understand
her
, not the other way around.

Maybe she hadn’t been entirely fair.

“Since we are going to be colleagues, in a manner of speaking, perhaps,” she suggested, her tone dropping a notch, “we could forgo the festivities this evening and stay home and discuss this.”

H
is wife was a siren, complete with flowing dark hair and a tempting smile.

Ben had sat for two unproductive hours after Alicia’s uncle had left and done what had worked for him so well during the war. He’d used solitude like a friend, like an ally, and taken time just to think.

Infuriatingly enough, though, he hadn’t really given much focus to the problem at hand. Instead he’d wondered what Alicia might be doing, what the evening might bring, and he’d be damned if in the end he hadn’t actually gone to her room.

And now she wanted to stay in and…talk.

In delectable undress, with her long-lashed eyes shadowed and the lace of her flimsy chemise barely covering her oh so perfect breasts, she sat at her dressing table and looked at him as if she had no idea just what she was doing to him.

Bloody hell, he hadn’t wanted to go out in the first place, so her suggestion was appealing.

“It is a clear evening and the temperature pleasant. Shall I order dinner up?” He could hear the lower timbre
of his voice but couldn’t help it. “Alfresco on the balcony, perhaps?”

An inspired idea. She smiled in a way that sent a jolt of intense desire through him, a dimple appearing in her smooth cheek. “That is very romantic, my lord.
Much
better than our previous plans.”

Romantic? Should he point out that if they ate on the balcony, the bed would be conveniently nearby?

No, probably not.

He didn’t have the slightest idea what their previous plans were except they no doubt involved evening wear and a play, party, or opera he didn’t want to attend. Though he doubted her idea of romantic matched his exactly, he was interested in finding out how close they could come to a mutual perception of the word.

His involved her naked beneath him or on top of him, for that matter. Now that the ice between them was broken, so to speak, he was more than anxious to explore just how adventurous his lovely wife might be coaxed into being in bed. After all, she was the one who insisted they follow a less traditional path than most couples of their social class. The usual course of it all was that a wife was a duty and a mistress a pleasure.

How convenient if she could be both.

“I’ll make the arrangements.” He hesitated, reluctant to reveal he had absolutely no idea what her favorite foods might be, and settled for saying instead, “Do you have a preference as to the menu? I am certain the cook would oblige any request.”

“Have you
met
our cook?”

“Come to think of it, no.” Before his marriage he had left all that to Yeats, and now he supposed Alicia had
some hand in managing the household. He had enough to do as it was.

Alicia shook her head and he couldn’t help but notice how it sent her shining hair sensuously brushing across her pale shoulders. “We arrange the menu for the week every Monday and changing it is a very dangerous proposition, I assure you. She is a force to be reckoned with and rules the kitchen like a small tyrant. Whatever it is you can be sure it will be delicious, but do not risk your life by asking her to change it for me. She will be delighted, though, I must say, that you will be home.” She added softly, “So am I.”

“I suppose I am guilty of eating at my club fairly often, but it never occurred to me that anyone cared one way or the other, much less the staff. Less work for them, one would think.”

“I believe more people care about what you do than you realize.”

“I’m the earl.” Which translated to a great deal of people depending on him and on the success of his estates and business ventures, even on his influence in the political arena of Parliament. That was why he was so busy.

“Not what I am referencing at all, but we will leave it at that, shall we?” Alicia’s mouth twitched. “If you will give me a few minutes with my toilette, I will join you shortly.”

It probably would have been more gallant to go kiss her hand or give some similar gesture, but instead he merely nodded and left the room, not trusting himself to keep from hauling her into his arms and carrying her straight to the bed. A unique sensation, since he’d always
prided himself on his self-control, but lately that had been severely tested.

Downstairs he encountered Yeats in the hallway and conveyed his request, and he’d be damned if he didn’t think he saw a slight glimmer of satisfaction in the older man’s face as he nodded. “Very good, my lord. Er…may I inquire, on her balcony or yours?”

“I doubt it matters.”

The butler cleared his throat. “May I suggest yours? Assuming, of course, this is a gesture on your part, or otherwise Lady Heathton would be making the arrangements.”

Earl aside, he suddenly had the feeling a great deal of his household was paying more attention to the nuances of his marriage than he had been himself. Drily, he acknowledged, “Yes, it was my idea, so my balcony it is.”

“Excellent choice. I will have a table brought up and all arranged.”

“Thank you.” He stopped in the act of turning away and asked, “Tell me, is the cook truly temperamental?”

Yeats smiled, which he did not do very often. “Very much so, my lord, but she is worth it, and there are some things in this life one must weigh on a scale of gain or loss. I believe you’ve had her roast capon. Extraordinary. Now, then, shall I have wine ready to be served in say…an hour?”

The gown she selected was a soft green but not appropriate for dinner, with a modest neckline and small bits of white ribbon; much more suitable for the afternoon. However, they were eating outside at home, and it was perfect for the clear evening and soft breeze, and for once she wasn’t subject to society’s close scrutiny. Alicia
had her hair swooped into a casual twist at her nape and left it at that, and when the knock came on her door she rose with a singular anticipation.

This was the first time Ben had suggested they spend time together alone. He’d chosen the venue, and her heart was beating fast as she moved toward the door adjoining their rooms.

He stood there, and though he’d changed his clothes also he had eschewed a cravat, which she found she liked. Her austere husband could be too formal as it was, and the casual look made him more approachable. When his gaze swept over her, she experienced a small tingle of anticipation at the gleam of appreciation in his hazel eyes.

Or maybe it wasn’t all that small.

“I see you possess a green gown after all.”

“Well, not an evening gown, but I see that informal is the tone of the evening.”

“A nice change.” Ben offered her his arm. “I admit to not having a fondness for stuffy ballrooms.”

She allowed him to escort her through his bedroom to where French doors opened to the balcony and was rewarded by the sight of a small table covered with a white cloth lit with candles that flickered in the light breeze. Crystal glasses and a bottle of wine awaited them, and someone—she doubted it was Ben, but still a romantic touch—had brought up a spray of roses from the garden.

“Nice, indeed,” she agreed as he politely pulled out her chair. Stars were just beginning to appear as dusk waned into twilight, and she settled her skirts as he deftly poured her a glass of wine and accepted it with a smile. “Thank you. This is a lovely idea.”

“Actually, I think staying in was your idea, my dear, but I will take credit for it if you are willing to give it to me.”

Well,
my dear
was not
my love
, but Alicia had the impression her husband had not meant to say that endearment in the first place. It was unrealistic to be disappointed, so she took a sip of wine and didn’t comment. It was a beautiful night, the man she loved was sitting across from her giving her his full attention for once, and it would be ungrateful to not appreciate the moment. Just a week ago she would have counted this scenario as highly unlikely.

“I don’t give credit such as that easily,” she murmured over the rim of her glass. “Just remember that, my lord.”

He caught her teasing tone and the corner of his mouth lifted in an attractive quirk. “Yes, I’ve noticed. And here I thought we’d come to a meeting of the minds, so to speak.”

She had to laugh because she thought it was possible Ben was actually teasing her. “I don’t believe our minds are precisely what you want to meet.”

“A compromise is always nice.”

The arrival of a footman with a tray stopped her from having to comment. The first course proved to be a delicate broth with floating tips of asparagus and was deliciously light and fresh. Ben ate with enjoyment, which was a bit different from his usual abstraction, and one bite into the next dish, a fillet of sole stuffed with tiny shrimp and topped with some sort of creamy sauce, he murmured, “I believe you about the cook. I am not sure why I never noticed before. By all means, let us keep her happy.”

“She worked for a French chef as a scullery maid but showed enough aptitude that he began to train her, or so she said when Yeats hired her.”

He took another bite with appreciation, chewed slowly, and swallowed, then asked, “That is somewhat of a coincidence. I don’t suppose you know his name.”

The candlelight flickered again, giving shadows to his cheekbones and the straight line of his jaw. Alicia had always done her best to not think about the women he’d known before her because her husband truly was a very handsome man.

A passionate lover.

She’d lost track of the conversation.
What did he just ask me?
“Whose name?”

“The chef’s.”

Perplexed, she stared at him. “No, I don’t. But I have never asked either. Why would I? Isn’t it easy enough to believe she is telling the truth because the evidence is on your plate?”

“The food is superb,” he murmured in agreement. “And I imagine there is more than one French chef in England, but still it would be interesting and it is one of the aspects that confuses me.”

She didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about. “Aspects of what?”

“Why did your cousin’s kidnapper make such an effort to treat her and Andrews so well? Whoever it was hired a talented French chef and took the time and trouble to get Andrews his favorite whiskey.”

Well, they had ostensibly stayed in to discuss that very topic, though she had to admit to being distracted by both his proximity and the intimate implications of a moonlit dinner on the balcony off his bedroom. She did her best to concentrate on the subject at hand and not notice how the breeze slightly ruffled his hair. “It is rather a contradiction since one would assume the kidnapping
itself was an act of malevolence. I confess part of the reason I wished to stay at home this evening is to avoid all the questions over my cousin’s absence and now reappearance. The
ton
can be relentless when there is a hint of a juicy scandal to be had.”

“And here I assumed it was a desire for my company.” Ben picked up the wine bottle and refilled his glass. “How arrogant of me.”

“I do desire you.” The moment she said it, she hastily amended, “I meant, I do desire your company at all times.”

“I liked the first way you put it better, for I most definitely desire
you
.”

A flush touched her skin at the meaningful look he gave her. Had not the next course arrived, with another footman discreetly whisking their plates away, she was not at all sure how she would have responded. The entire point of confronting him had been to make him aware of her as a woman, not just the wife he had acquired. It seemed she’d accomplished that goal.

Be careful what you wish for.
…

There was a somewhat predatory gleam in his eyes, and she had a feeling that the control she’d taken when she’d insisted he not bed her unless he made some effort in other aspects of their relationship was slipping away. That was demonstrated when they finished their dinner and he declined port, dismissed the staff with his compliments to the cook, and regarded her across the table. “I suppose, as you have set the rules, what happens now is entirely up to you.”

To be fair, she understood his stance—after all, she’d counted on his honor in the first place when she’d decided to take a gamble and confront him. And yet was it
too much to hope that her husband would be swept away by the romantic setting?