Lady Eve's Indiscretion (27 page)

He reached over to remove her spectacles. “Not this time. If you want a shopping outing, I am happy to plan one of those and trot about at your heels like an obedient swain.”

For an instant, he thought she was going to pry, but for what he had to say to Dolan, he could not have an audience, much less one as tenderhearted as his marchioness. “Will you have time to ride out with me before you go, Deene?”

“Of course.” He folded the glasses and passed them back to her. “Was it hard for you to ask that of me?”

She nodded. “I should just take the lads, make it a hack in company, but I feel… more comfortable when you're up on Beast. I think Sweetness has a fondness for your gelding.”

“My gelding has a fondness for you. Every creature on this property is in your thrall, Wife, including me.”

He'd meant it as a tease, but in her grave smile, he saw she'd heard the truth of it too.

“I worry, Lucas Denning.” She climbed across a cushion and tucked herself against his side. It wasn't a sexual overture, but it was an overture, and he treasured it as such.

“About?”

“I have not been this happy… ever. Not ever. I thought I was once, as a girl, but I was a fool. You know I got into some difficulties earlier, before my come out?”

Instinct told Deene that with no warning whatsoever, the moment had become fraught. He knew very well there had been difficulties, but he had not hoped she'd confide the nature of those difficulties to him quite so early in their marriage. Deene considered distracting her with kisses, but instead wrapped his arms around her.

“Your brothers mentioned some menial who'd gotten ideas far above his station. I understood it came to naught.”

He let the words hang between them while he nuzzled her temple and waited.

“I made a complete, bleating fool of myself, Deene. I jeopardized everything and everybody I loved. No young lady was ever as stupid as I, or so lucky to escape the worst consequences of her folly.”

“You were very young, as I understand it. I cannot begin to tell you the idiocies I committed when I was very young. I should be dead several times over, of drink, of stupidity, of excess.”

In his arms, he felt her relax fractionally. He might not have said the exact right thing, but neither had he said the wrong thing.

“You are such a comfort to me, Husband. I should tell you this more often.”

Deene propped his chin on her crown. “You are a comfort to me as well, Evie. I used to abhor rainy days, for example, and now I enjoy them even though you keep me preoccupied with things like ledgers, accounts, and other inescapable duties.”

She extricated herself from his arms. “Duties? Duties only, Deene?”

He nodded, his expression solemn—until she hit him with a pillow and started tickling him.

***

Eve endured a kiss to her cheek, and then a slow, thorough perusal from her brother-in-law, Joseph, Lord Kesmore. He sat beside his wife for two cups of tea, and then bowed to Eve in parting, muttering something about having to see to the horses.

“Louisa, did you or did you not somehow just give your spouse permission to withdraw?”

Louisa paused in the middle of chewing on a tea cake. “Give Kesmore permission? You must joking. He does as he pleases, and I am happy to have it so, that I might enjoy the same license. What shall I report to Their Graces regarding your situation here, Evie? Is Deene acquitting himself adequately?”

Oh, the reports. No doubt Anna had made one, and soon Sophie and her baron would be dropping by, followed by Maggie and the entire world.

“You may tell all and sundry that I thrive in my husband's care.” This was nothing less than the truth. Eve glanced at the door, which Kesmore had closed upon his departure. “Louisa, might I ask you something?”

“Of course. Excellent cakes, by the way.”

Which were fast disappearing. “Does Kesmore… study you?”

“Study me?”

“Study your person? Examine you in detail?” When Louisa looked blank, Eve shifted her gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth. “Does he acquaint himself with the details of you… with the candles lit?”

There was no hiding Eve's blush, but neither was there any disguising Louisa's grin. “Oh, to be sure, though when I take a notion to study him, the curtains are drawn back, there being a deal of Kesmore to study, him being such a handsome specimen.”

Louisa and… Kesmore.

Studying each other.

“Merciful heavens.”

“Maggie sometimes has to tie Benjamin to the bed, for he's not inclined to be docile about it when it's his turn to be studied. I expect Sindal is a more obedient sort of husband. Somehow asking Sophie directly is beyond me, but she has that rosy, well-examined look about her sometimes. Makes a lady feel wickedly special when her husband takes such an interest.”

Wickedly special. Louisa had the right of it. Not just wicked, but wickedly
special
. “Deene says he is making a science of being my husband.”

“Good for Deene, and good for you, Evie Denning. We worried for you.”

For just an instant, Louisa's teasing smile slipped, and Eve had to wonder exactly how much her sisters suspected regarding her past. “You need not worry. I am happily married, and I daresay my husband is too.”

“Usually works that way. Where is this husband of yours, by the way? I think Kesmore was looking forward to interrogating him.”

“I expect him back from Town momentarily. Deene is ferociously determined to gain control of the marquessate's finances, and this requires much in the way of meetings with his cousin Anthony and what I gather are armies of solicitors, merchants, and factors. He's offered to take me shopping.”

Why she felt she had to add this, Eve did not know.

“He wants to show you off, then, but mind you, he'll also be spying.” Louisa spoke with great confidence.

“Spying? On me?” That did not sound promising at all. “Why?”

“He'll lurk in the corner of the shop and watch as you make your selections. He'll see what you linger over, what you almost purchase, what you consider giving to someone else as a gift but not for yourself. Next thing you know, there will be a little box beside your bed one night or at your place when you come down for breakfast.”

“
Kesmore
indulges in such activities?”

“Joseph is the most generous man I know. I'm hard put to keep up with him when it comes to the doting and spoiling, but one contrives lest a husband get to feeling smug.”

To think of Louisa—managing, competent, brisk Louisa—being doted upon and spoiled… it warmed Evie's heart toward her taciturn, unsmiling brother-in-law, and toward Louisa too.

And while she was about it, such thoughts warmed her heart toward Deene as well.

“Come with me, Louisa. I must show you what Deene found for me not two weeks past. It is the best thing ever, though it would not fit in a box to place by my bed.”

Evie rose and took her sister's arm, steering Louisa toward the door.

“Eve Denning, is that a divided skirt you're wearing? I haven't seen you in such a costume since Jenny made one for you years ago.”

“This is the one Jenny made for me, and before you ask, yes. I ride out regularly, provided Deene is with me. That's part of the surprise.”

Louisa stopped just inside the parlor door. “Did I hear you aright? You're riding out? Not just driving out? Climbing aboard a horse and trotting around?”

“And cantering, and the day before yesterday, we galloped and even hopped two logs. Why?”

“Bless this wonderful, wonderful day. Westhaven said I was being a ninnyhammer, and for once I cannot mind that he was right. At long last, my baby sister once again rides out.”

Standing right there in the parlor, in full view of the footman across the corridor, Louisa, the Countess of Kesmore, threw her arms around Eve's neck and burst into tears.

***

“If our wives have been weeping when next we see them, you must not remark it.” Kesmore kept his voice down, but the man's characteristic diffidence was nowhere in his tone.

“Whyever would they weep?” The thought of Eve weeping was alarming, though Deene kept his expression calm as they ambled up the barn aisle.

“I have reason to suspect my wife is with child, and no less personages than Westhaven himself, seconded by Sindal, St. Just, Hazelton, Lord Valentine Windham,
and
His Grace have assured me a penchant for lachrymosity is to be expected even in such a bastion of sense as my estimable Louisa.”

“Is there a married fellow whom you have not canvassed on the matter?”

“You, for obvious reasons.”

“Eve doesn't cry much.” Except sometimes, deep in the night, when they'd made a particularly tender kind of love, and then she clung and wanted to be held securely until she dropped off to sleep in Deene's embrace.

And he wanted to hold her.

Kesmore glanced over sharply. “Your wife had best not be crying on your worthless account, Deene. My lady would take it amiss, and you do not want such a thing on your conscience, presuming you survived the thrashing I would be bound to mete out.”

“Marriage has made you quite ferocious, Kesmore.”

Kesmore paused outside a roomy foaling stall. “On behalf of a woman I care about, I will always be capable of ferocity. See that you recall this should you ever be inclined toward the wrong sort of weak moment. This mare is new, but what is she doing in a foaling stall when she's neither gravid nor boasting a foal at her side?”

Kesmore was not a charming man, something Deene was coming to like about his brother-in-law more and more. “This is Eve's mare, and she will always merit the very best care we have to offer.”

“This is a mature animal.” Kesmore was a former cavalry officer, gone for a country gentleman sort of earl who rode regularly to hounds. He extended a gloved hand toward the mare, who sniffed delicately at his knuckles. “She's in good condition—I suppose she's come off a winter hunting?”

“She is, and Eve takes her out almost daily. So what have you heard in the clubs about your new brother-in-law's licentious nature?”

“Not one word, if you must know. I have swilled indifferent wine by the hour, read every page of every newspaper, and all but lurked at keyholes, and I have heard not one thing to your detriment, save that you are unfashionably enamored of your new wife. The suppositions are that you are tending to the succession and dodging all the disappointed debutantes. I saw no reason to disabuse anybody of such notions.”

The mare went back to her hay. “I am enamored of my new wife.”

“I am in transports to hear it. Likely she is as well.”

Deene turned and hooked his elbows over the mare's half door. “I wasn't aware a man bruited such sentiments about, or is this another aspect of domestic life about which I am too newly married to be knowledgeable?”

Kesmore looked like he might be considering parting with a smile in a few weeks time, provided the weather held fair. “You'll learn. They teach us, no matter we're slow to absorb the lesson. Make the first time count, though.”

“The first time?”

“For God's sake, man, the first time you tell her you love her. Make it count. Even His Grace knew that much.”

“Of course I love her.” Who could not love such a courageous, generous, fierce, passionate… The words trailed off in Deene's mind, disappearing into a mist of surprise, wonder, and joy. He was at risk for babbling and laughing out loud, for doing something outrageous, like kissing Kesmore on the cheeks. “
Of
course
I love my wife.”

The feeling settled around Deene's heart, warm, substantial, and right. He loved his Evie; he would always love her. The certainty was his both to keep and his to share with her when the moment was right.

“Of course you love your wife. Is this the mare Lady Eve came a cropper on?”

“How did you know?”

“Louisa has described her to me in detail. She said Eve used to have dreams or nightmares about this horse. Well done, Deene, to retrieve the lady's familiar. I had my doubts about you, but this is quite encouraging.”

“Glad to oblige.”

Kesmore's expression suggested another dry rejoinder was about to be served up, but the man went still, his eyes becoming watchful. “Our ladies approach. I'll keep my vigil in the clubs, at least when we're in Town, but so far, Deene, your marriage seems to have worked its magic with the gossips and with your lady wife both. See that you don't muck it up.”

Deene smiled, walked forward to take Eve's hand, and bestowed a kiss on her knuckles while Kesmore's warning faded from his ears.

Eve was to recall a small moment from the balance of the day, the first moment when she felt well and truly married. Her husband had taken her hand upon greeting her, kissed her knuckles, and then tucked her against his side as they saw Louisa and Kesmore into their coach.

As the conveyance rattled away with Louisa's handkerchief waving cheerily out a window, Deene sighed gustily. “I am displeased with myself.”

The sentiment sounded at least partly genuine. “Why would you be displeased with yourself, Husband? After a day with the solicitors, my father is usually airing his best vocabulary to regale Her Grace with his displeasure with his factors.”

Deene smiled down at her and began to escort her toward the house. “His best vocabulary?”

“You know.” Eve waved her free hand. “Damned, befouling, toadying, parasitical, blighted, bloated… There, I've cheered you up.”

“You could cheer me up further, except I've gone and invited Anthony to dine with us tonight.”

Their first dinner guest, and Eve had to like that Deene assumed she'd welcome his cousin without any fuss—for she surely would. “I will cheer you up when we retire.”

“This thought will console me as I reflect upon a confidence Kesmore let slip.”

“Kesmore is not a confidence-slipping sort of fellow.” They slowed as they approached the house. Deene would disappear to their rooms to change; Eve would have to let the kitchen know they were having company for dinner. She'd missed her husband the livelong day and considered helping him undress, attending him at his bath, and then notifying the kitchen, except dinner would be served at midnight if she adopted that course, which did not comport with an early bedtime.

“Kesmore is… He suspects his wife to be in expectation of an interesting event, but he has not confronted her.”

“And he did not swear you into the familial brotherhood of secrecy over this,” Eve pointed out. “He must be rattled, indeed. Louisa suspects she is carrying, but she doesn't want to burden him with such a hope until she's certain. They are very… considerate of each other. Surprisingly so, given how brusque each can be individually.”

Deene stopped on the back terrace, wrapped Eve in his arms, and propped his chin on her crown. “Evie? I should not say it, because they've scarce been married longer than we have, but I am jealous of this secret they're keeping from each other.”

Eve leaned into her husband and reveled in the simple closeness of the moment. Because she and Deene were a couple—a unit of marital trust—they knew something about Louisa and Kesmore's union that the parties to that union had not yet shared openly with each other.

This was what it meant to be married, to have a husband, to no longer stand alone in the world. This was what it meant to love and be cared for in return.

When Deene stepped back, Eve smiled at him, blew him a kiss, and at the foot of the main staircase, sent him off to his bath while she went in search of the cook.

The kitchen took the news of a dinner guest very well, almost as if they too had been waiting to demonstrate their willingness to put their best, most gracious foot forward. The housekeeper sent maids to ready a guest chamber, “just in the event the gentlemen get to lingering over their port,” and dispatched a maid to cut flowers for fresh bouquets.

Leaving Eve free to be preyed upon by the odd worry: If the gentlemen got to drinking their port in the library, would there be a lone pillow peeking out from under a table skirt to betray some of the marital activities pursued yesterday in that same library?

Would all the writing implements still be pushed off to the side of the blotter…?

Merciful heavens, might there still be a certain pink, brocade pillow
on
the blotter?

Eve was in the library without willing her steps to take her there. No pillows lurked in questionable locations, not a slipper peeked out from beneath the sofa, not an inkwell betrayed the many occasions when the desk had served some purpose other than the composition of correspondence.

Three days ago, however, Deene had stuffed a handkerchief into one of the desk drawers. Eve dreaded to think of Anthony searching for sealing wax and coming across such a thing. She sat in Deene's high-backed chair and began opening drawers one a time, only to find the very handkerchief—crumpled, but otherwise inoffensive—in a drawer that also sported two bundles of paper, one tied with a red ribbon, the other with gold.

Was this also something Anthony should not happen upon? Deene was very sensitive to the need to avoid slighting Anthony's feelings, for though he held a courtesy title, the man was essentially the senior steward over the entire marquessate holdings, Deene's heir, and family into the bargain.

Eve and her husband were a unit of marital trust. She'd coined the term not an hour earlier, and that meant she was bound to protect her husband's confidences even before such confidences could be bestowed.

In this spirit of protectiveness, she tucked her husband's linen into a pocket and unrolled the document tied with a red ribbon. By the time she'd rolled up and retied the one with a gold ribbon, three quarters of an hour later, her focus had shifted.

She was feeling protective not of her husband, though she would at least allow him a chance to explain himself in private—but once again of her own heart.

***

Something was off with Deene's wife. He sensed this without knowing how, sensed it as a certainty all through dinner. Eve was gracious and charming to Anthony, who looked a little dazed to be on the receiving end of such smiles and warmth.

Prior to the meal, when Deene would normally have been helping his wife to dress and perhaps helping himself to a small taste of marital pleasure as well, their timing had been off. Deene had been quick to bathe, while Eve had lingered at her ablutions, the dressing room door closed “to prevent a draft.”

She'd brushed out her own hair, she hadn't asked his opinion regarding her choice of gown, and most telling of all, she'd worn very plain undergarments. No embroidery, no lace.

As the fruit and cheeses were finally brought out, it struck Deene that his wife was perhaps getting her courses. This little insight was warming in the extreme, an intimacy such as a husband might guess without being told, such as he might intuit before the lady herself realized she was leaving her devoted spouse any clues.

“Wife, if you'd like to retire early, Anthony and I can take ourselves to the library. I'm sure your day has been long, and I would not tire you unnecessarily.” He added a small, smoldering look, one that had Anthony studying the cheese tray.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Eve got to her feet and aimed a wide smile at Anthony. “Cousin, you must make our home your home as well for the duration of your stay. Husband, good night.”

She withdrew before Deene could offer to light her way upstairs, before he could do more than bow her from the room and hope Anthony wasn't going to want to linger over the damned port.

“The library has the best selection of libation,” Deene said. He turned to the waiting footman. “Bring the fruit and cheese along, if you please. Anthony, shall we?”

“Sounds just the thing to settle a wonderful meal. Having spent some time with your marchioness, Deene, I can see why you're keeping her all to yourself out here in the shires. It fuels the talk, I'm sure, but what's one more rumor?”

Damn Anthony, anyway. Deene waited until they were in the library, the door closed, drinks in hand, before he inquired further. “What are you hearing now?”

“Just more of the same, and that you're ruralizing with your wife to make sure your firstborn is truly yours. The usual innuendo and nastiness. How did the interview with Dolan go?”

Deene turned to study the fire. “The stage lost a considerable thespian talent when Dolan decided to keep his dirty hands in trade. He was angry to think I'd invite him to my wedding, then turn around and accuse him of spreading vile gossip regarding the nature of the union. Shocked and livid.”

But quiet with it, not reeling with melodramatic outrage, which was puzzling.

“Did you tell him about the lawsuit?”

“In no uncertain terms. Suffice it to say an amicable settlement is not in the offing.”

A soft rustling in the shadows near the door suggested the fruit and cheese had been brought along.

“You're married now,” Anthony said, coming up on Deene's elbow. “Eve's dowry can finance the lawsuit, her respectability will lend your petition impeccable credibility, and if you can knock her up posthaste—I assume you're giving that a decent go as well—then you'll be a parent yourself by the time anything reaches a public courtroom. Well done, Deene. Too bad the rest of our family business doesn't come as neatly to hand as your litigation strategies have. And from the look of the lady, you're even enjoying the duties the union has imposed on you, while she believes this whole marriage to have been at least half her idea.”

Deene was forming some snappish, off-putting rejoinder in the ensuing silence—he did not care in the least for Anthony's tone—when a cultured female voice spoke from the door.

“I'll put the food on the desk, gentlemen, and once again bid you good night.”

Eve had turned her back before Deene could utter a word, while Anthony reached out and plucked a succulent bunch of grapes off the tray, and the door clicked quietly closed.

“She even waits on you hand and foot, Deene. Very well done of you. Well done, indeed.” Anthony popped a grape into his mouth, his smile conspiratorial.

Eve's voice had been calm and more than civil. She'd spoken with a terrible,
ducal
cordiality Deene found as unnerving as the prospect of charging into a French artillery barrage.

“You will excuse me, Anthony, and if you ever make such cavalier comments again about the nature of my marriage, my motives for marrying, or my regard for my wife, I will disinherit you, call you out, and aim to at least terminate your reproductive abilities.”

Deene stalked toward to the door, only to be stopped by Anthony's hand on his arm.

“You are not going to fly into high dudgeon and act the besotted spouse on me, are you?”

“I
am
in high dudgeon, and I
am
a besotted spouse, but more to the point, Eve has every right to be in high dudgeon.” She had every right to go home to her parents, to eviscerate Deene in his sleep, to bar Anthony from the house… Deene recalled Anthony's words phrase by phrase, and aimed a thunderous scowl at his cousin.

“If she's truly that sensitive, Deene, then give her a few moments to compose herself. She'll want her guns at the ready before you wrestle her into
coitus
forgiveness
, and believe me, I know of what I speak in this regard.”

He popped another grape into his mouth, the picture of a man undisturbed by what could be the end of Deene's domestic bliss. Deene's determination to join his wife wavered in the face of such sangfroid. “You will apologize to her at breakfast, Anthony. You will apologize on your knees and mean it.”

And still, Anthony merely smiled. “But of course. Now, you've been pestering me these weeks for a discussion of the profits to be had from the estates in Kent. Pull up that decanter and prepare to listen.”

Now,
now
when Deene wanted nothing so much as to crawl into his wife's bedroom and explain that his only adult relation was an insensitive oaf with execrable timing, Anthony started spouting facts and figures at a great rate. The very information Deene had been seeking for weeks, provided in an orderly, articulate fashion.

He listened, he asked questions, he asked more questions, and even though he nearly glared a hole in the door and paced a rut in the carpet, Deene did not join his wife above stairs until it was quite late indeed.

***

Eve did not cry. Not this time, perhaps not ever again. She wasn't going to give the situation that much effort.

She'd been a fool, again, believing herself cared for and valued, when what had been sought was her wealth, her position, her standing, her status.

Perhaps even her body—her womb—but not her heart.
Again
, she'd tossed the best part of herself at an undeserving, scheming, handsome man, and found her greatest treasure of no value whatsoever.

And where was her husband now? Munching grapes and swilling brandy one floor and several universes of arrogance away. Well, so what? His cavalier behavior gave Eve time to marshal her composure, to recall that if she had given her heart into Deene's keeping, she could just as well snatch it back without him being the wiser. She'd made no declarations; she'd let no impassioned endearments slip even in their most intimate moments.

Her pride was intact, and she intended to keep it that way.

In the dark, the door to the dressing room eased open. Eve knew exactly the way it creaked, the top hinge being the culprit. She'd purposely not had the thing oiled, because she liked knowing Deene was coming to bed.

“Evie?”

“I'm awake.” A war started up inside Eve's chest. Part of her wanted to throw herself into Deene's arms and make him tell her he'd blistered Anthony's ears for his disrespect of their marriage, and another part of her wanted to order her husband from the room.

“I didn't mean for you to wait up.”

What
was
that
supposed
to
mean?
“Do you need assistance undressing?”

“No, thank you.” She felt him sit on the bed, heard first one boot then the other hit the floor. “I suppose you have some questions?”

So civilized. The offer was tired, almost casual—not the least wary or apologetic. “About?”

“You overheard Anthony mentioning litigation strategy.”