Leslie Lafoy (33 page)

But once the doors were shut behind them . . . She made a mental note to keep the draperies closed and the doors locked. And to stuff the keyholes. In private, the only expectations she intended to meet were Drayton’s and her own. It was a reward they’d both earn each and every hour of the interminable days to come.

Resolved, Caroline smoothed her skirts, lifted her chin, and left her room to begin the most earnest and calculated performance of her life.

  Seventeen  

HE WAS WAITING FOR HER, JUST AS HE HAD BEEN EVERY
night for the last fortnight. How a man could look so seductive just sitting in a bed, his back propped against the headboard while he read in the pale lamplight . . . All right, it probably helped some to know that under the sheet he was gloriously naked—and glorious—but after ten straight nights it wasn’t surprising enough to account for how her breath still caught at the sight of him.

“Get dear Dora tucked in for the night?” he asked as she came around to what had become her side of the bed.

She removed her wrapper and nightgown and laid them on the foot of the bed, saying, “Actually, I just pretended to be asleep long enough for her to slip out. I think she’s meeting Lord Henry’s second footman for a midnight stroll in the gardens.”

“And you didn’t stop her?”

Caroline smiled as he drew the covers aside for her. “I’m hardly in any position to pass judgment on anyone else’s affairs,” she explained, sliding in and scooting across the wide expanse of mattress. As always, he laid aside his little blue book, picked up the glass of wine they
shared, and had it ready to hand her when she arrived at his side.

As she snuggled her bottom against his hip and leaned back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his lips in the hair at her temple. It was silly to be so thrilled by the little things they did that made conversation so unnecessary, but she was. Smiling, utterly content and happy, she tipped her head back and met his lips. As always, his kiss melted away all the tensions of her day and left her sighing in appreciation for how amazingly good he was at making her feel so perfect.

“Speaking of affairs,” she said, settling back against his chest and taking the wine glass from his hand. “Which I vaguely recall that I was. I gather Haywood and Jane have ended theirs?”

Tucking her head under his chin, he wrapped his arms around her midriff as she sipped. “He discovered this afternoon that Jane has fickle affections.”

“Really?” she drawled. “I’m shocked.”

“Then that makes the two of you the only ones in the world. According to him, he went to meet her for a rendezvous and found that Lord Linden had beaten him to it.”

“No doubt,” Caroline quipped, “while Lady Linden was rendezvousing with Lord Vernon in the conservatory. These people aren’t even discreet, Drayton. It’s to the point that I knock before I open the doors of my own armoire.”

He laughed softly, the sound and the feel wonderful as it passed through her. “You know Lord Handen?”

“Round, bald, about a head shorter than I am, and the master of all he surveys?”

“That would be the one. Simone says he likes to wear a saddle and bridle.”

“No!” She turned in his arms to look up at him. “How does—?” He cocked a brow and she settled back again, saying, “Never mind. The answer’s obvious.”

“Simone is actually an incredible font of information about our male guests. Lord Renning prefers to watch through a peephole in the armoire. Lord Ralls prefers a crowd. And Lord Sillings is required to pay as he crosses the threshold because simply contemplating his choices is more than enough for him.”

“She’s not contemplating blackmail, is she?”

“Who knows?” he said, taking the wine glass from her. “I can either run the affairs of an estate or I can control her. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do both.”

“How are the
affaires d’état
?” she asked as he drank.

“French?”

She nodded as he passed the glass back to her. “Lady Aubrey brought the language master along, remember? Having run out of excuses to avoid it, I had to spend an hour with him this morning under the watchful supervision of Mother May I. After which I had to spend
two
hideous hours with the dance master. Also under supervision.”

“I thought all ladies like to dance.”

“Yes, well.” She drank a bit of wine and then confessed, “I seem to have a slight problem with being led.”

“Really,” he said, laughing silently.

“You’d think the man would just give up, let me lead, and keep his feet out of harm’s way. It can’t be very good for one’s professional prospects to be known as the peg-legged dance master.”

He laughed outright, hugging her close. “It’s not funny,
Drayton,” she chastised, grinning. “The poor man is in considerable pain.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sincere.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded him as he took the glass from her. “How are the
affaires d’état
?”

“
Très bien
. Which is French for Mr. Fanes was right when he predicted that Rudman and Thompson would plead guilty and throw themselves on the mercy of the bench.”

“So there won’t be a trial?”

“No, thank God.” He handed her the glass again, adding, “At least their wives and children will be spared a little public humiliation.”

Yes, that was good; for the innocents and for Drayton. Their tears had been weighing heavily on his mind. But in the way that a blessing often created a curse . . . “Well, I’m relieved for the families, but
you
get to tell your guests that the wildly anticipated social highlight of their week has been canceled.
I’m
not going to do it.”

“We could just keep the news to ourselves,” he suggested, “let them all go on their merry way to court and lock the doors behind them.”

She nodded. “And pretend that we’re not here when they wander back. It could work.”

“Or not,” he countered. “With our luck, they’d just camp on the lawn, bathing in your fountain and eating your shrubbery.”

And peering through the windows, their noses against the glass and their hands cupped around their eyes. She took a sip of the wine and shook her head in wonder. “With a few exceptions, they really are a strange lot of people, aren’t they?”

“And who would those exceptions be and why haven’t I met them?”

She smiled. “Lord Betterton seems like a solid sort of man. Polite, sober, rather given to reflection. At least more than the others.”

“Please.” He snorted. “Betterton missed his calling. He should have been a deacon in the Church of No.”

The Church of No?
She grinned. “Oh, he can’t be that bad.”

“I’ll prove you wrong.”

He pulled an arm back and shifted under her, forcing her to quickly sit up so she didn’t spill their wine. She was turning her head to see what he was doing when a pile of little blue leather-bound folios landed on his lap. “What are those things?” she asked as he eased her back against him again. “Aubrey’s always carrying a handful around these days.”

“Issue position statements,” he answered, sorting through them with one hand. “And Aubrey always has a fistful of them because he’s taken it upon himself to be my political tutor. Politicos must have an opinion on everything, you know.”

“No, I didn’t. But to be perfectly honest about it, I’ve never paid Parliament much attention at all.”

“Well, you should have,” he said, apparently finding the one he wanted. He propped the book in her lap and flipped through the pages, adding, “They’re probably the ones who decided magenta was this year’s proper color.”

She frowned. Magenta? He wouldn’t know magenta from violet. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. Read this,” he said, holding the open book up for her at eye level. “Third paragraph down on the right-hand page.”

She read, blinked, and read again. “A wife should submit to her husband in all things?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “What if he’s an idiot?”

He smiled and winked. “Keep reading. You’re not to the best part yet.”

“And if she is willful and acts without his
permission
?”

“Read on.”

Her jaw sagged. “Oh!” she squeaked, reading it again, not believing her eyes. “Oh!”

“I think you’re there.”

“He is within his
God-given
rights to drive her from his house and take her children and her property as a punishment for her evil ways? Oh, my God!”

“I’m sorry, but apparently God is only for men,” he said, letting the book fall closed as he took the wine glass from her slackened hold. “Make a note, darling Caroline, to find yourself a husband who won’t mind lending you his from time to time.”

“If I’m supposed to be submissive and surrender my good judgment,” she countered, “it’s not going to go well and I’d be much further ahead to not marry at all.” She took the folio from his hand. “What issue is this drivel all about?”

“The continuing debate over married women’s property rights and whether they should have any.”

“And Betterton wrote this?” she asked, skimming a few passages that were just as unbelievable as the others.

“Yes.”

She tossed it down with the other books in his lap. “Well, he needs to do a bit more reflecting than he has to this point. Does Aubrey think that’s the position you should support in the House of Lords?”

“Apparently. All of these are pretty much in the same vein. Different subjects, of course, but still very much against anything that might alter the established order in a noticeable way.”

“You’re right about Betterton. I’ve formally and permanently crossed him off my They Seem Relatively Normal list.”

He chuckled and settled his arms back around her. “Who’s left on it?”

“Lady Gregory,” she replied, snagging the glass and taking a healthy drink.

“Lady Gregory?”

“Yes. She’s so . . . effervescent, so lively. She always has something pleasant to say. Lord knows, the conversation never lags when she’s around. And honestly, if she could focus her thinking for longer than five minutes at a time, she could run circles around me in getting things done.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Did you know that Lord Gregory spent five years in the foreign service attached to the embassy in Nassau?”

“Uh-huh.” He cocked a brow. “Did you know that Lady Gregory sniffs her lively effervescence up her nose every few hours?”

“Sniffs?”

“You’re so worldly,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on her forehead and hugging her. “Coca, darling. It’s a powder that makes her so energetic. She acquired the habit in the West Indies. And has taken it to excess.”

Coca. She’d never in her life known anyone who had actually used it. Of course, no one she’d ever known could afford it. “How do you know all that?”

His eyes sparkled and his smile went lopsided. “She offered to share with me. And no, I declined the kind offer.”

Oh, there was more to the story than that and she knew it. “What else did she offer to share with you?”

He laughed and bent his head to give her a quick kiss. “I limit my romantic conquests solely to blondes with smoky blue eyes and some meat on their bones.”

Satisfied, she settled back in his arms with a sigh. “She is very thin. You could stuff a mattress with all the padding in her dresses. Poor thing. I feel sorry for her now.”

“She thinks she’s perfectly happy.”

“What she is is perfectly bored,” Caroline countered. “They all are, really. They’re more demanding than young children. No offense to young children, you understand.”

“Of course.” He tucked her head under his chin again. “I assume that Lady Gregory remains on the list so that her feelings aren’t hurt. Who’s left with her?”

“Lord Bidwell,” she supplied halfheartedly. “But I suppose that you know of some dark secrets lurking beneath his polished, terribly educated façade.”

“He and Lord Ablin are traveling together for a reason.”

“But they’re both married.”

“Then either their wives are deaf, dumb, and blind, or very good sports.”

“Oh, I give up.” She drained the wine glass. “They’re all strange. Do you know that not one single married couple in this house is sleeping with each other? Every one of them is having an affair.”