My Lady, My Lord (28 page)

His looked incredulous. “Yes, you do.”

“No, I have changed my mind.” Oh, merciful heaven, this hurt, but not the relinquishment of her old dream. The confusion of her new one.

“When?”

She schooled her features. “Just this week, in fact.”

He shook his head. “No, Corinna. That ship won’t sail. I may not be a renowned intellect, but I know a little something of dissembling. I taught it to you, if you recall.”

“I am not dissembling. I don’t wish to purchase the company any longer. I apologize if that inconveniences you, but it’s the truth.” She pushed the papers against his chest. He didn’t take them. She felt like a fool, like a woman who didn’t know her mind, only her sore, heedless heart. She ducked her head to hide the tears threatening.

“Corinna.” His voice sounded altered, quiet and strong upon her name. She looked up and his gaze fixed in hers. “I want to make it right for you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I do. Once, years ago, Ian, I wanted to make it right for you too.”

His eyes shuttered. “Did you?”

She must say it. Finally. “That day of your father’s funeral, I watched you stand up before all those false grievers, the gossipmongers and prophets of your ruin who thought you admired him and wished to emulate him because you never once said otherwise. You never publicly disrespected him. I watched you act like a great lord, with concern for your family, so much better than your father ever was, and I wanted to tell you how difficult I knew that had to be for you. I went to the stable that night to do so.”

“My mother sent you.”

“She didn’t. I told you that because I was afraid if you knew I went to you of my own accord you would despise me, but you did anyway.”

“I was not myself.”

“You were foxed, but you were entirely yourself, strong and capable, in possession of who you were and who you wished to be. I said something, I don’t know what, trying to tell you I understood.” She remembered it like it happened yesterday. That night in the darkened stable, his expressive eyes had blazed with pain and anger, so unlike the teasing boy’s gaze that twinkled with deviltry. She had stammered, and he’d moved to her swiftly, grabbed her by the shoulders, and for the first time in their lives she had feared him.

“You told me that now that you owned Dashbourne I was forbidden there, and on all your properties.” Her words faltered. “I had always been a little in awe of you. But I think I started hating you that day.”

He stared at her for an endless moment.

“What, then,” he finally said in a low, hard voice, “explains your contempt during the two decades preceding that?”

Corinna reeled inside, her soul bared yet his eyes like frost, and she was again in the stable, the empty shock that had filled her then washing over her now like an engorged river, drowning her.

He drew the papers from her trembling fingers and stepped back.

“I thought as much.” Without another word, he went to the foyer and out of the house.

Corinna stared at the door, dry-eyed. She did not weep. She had used up all those tears nine years earlier.

I
AN WENT HOME
. Tomorrow he would pack up and go to Dashbourne for the remainder of the season, to the single place he was certain Corinna would never again come, as she had so eloquently noted today, reminding him of one of the greatest moments of shame in his life. The others all involved her, too, of course.

Until tomorrow the inside of his house seemed the best place to avoid her. And for that matter everyone alive. He had no taste for company now. His mother would be hurt he’d left the wedding celebration without notice. But she would have been more distressed if he had remained. He could no longer dissemble with Corinna. It was over. It should have been over weeks ago, but he’d been too much of a fool to bring an end to it.

Now he could.

Her last silence had spoken volumes. She might admire his consequence, as she said she had at his father’s funeral, but she could not like his character. That, unfortunately, was the one thing Ian was not willing to change. Habits, possibly. But the rest of him, the boy he’d been and the man he still was, must remain. If she despised that, there was no hope for it.

He entered his study and pulled the deed to Pelley’s company—now
his
—from his pocket. She had refused it to spare him trouble with Pelley, but Ian knew there was more to it. Willful, hardheaded Corinna wouldn’t be beholden to a man she disrespected. It went against her stringent moral code. But above all, she wouldn’t let him have the last word. He should have known better.

Good Lord, what was he going to do with a publishing company? He dropped the document onto the desk. Let Morris figure it out.

His secretary had left a pile of correspondence for him. He took up Morris’s note atop the stack.

My lord,

I have taken the liberty of retaining a modest number of volumes from the collection you recently purchased and now intend to sell. You seemed particularly interested in these when the books first arrived, and I believe they make an excellent addition to your library. The titles are listed below.

R.M.

Ian crumpled the paper and spread his hand over his face. Her interference in his life would never end, it seemed. He would be stuck with her forever, without actually having
her
. He couldn’t fathom what he had done to deserve this punishment, though he supposed tormenting her for decades might be a good place to start looking for an explanation.

He went to the cabinet, pulled out a glass and a bottle of twelve-year-old brandy, and started drinking.

Hours later he awoke to the descent of night through the window of his study and Simmons lighting a fire on the grate.

“You should not have to see to that, Simmons,” he grumbled, lifting his throbbing head from the chair back and rubbing his neck. “Where is the maid?”

The old butler straightened. “You recall, sir, that some weeks ago you promised the staff a holiday every third Tuesday evening. As you are at home this evening, Andrews and I remained in, of course.”

Ian groaned. It had to be Corinna’s doing, the damn reform-minded bluestocking. He pushed himself out of the chair and shuffled to the door, the bottle of brandy still sloshing in his blood and clogging his head. At least his valet was around to make him the miraculous tonic. Ian needed a vat of it at present.

He slogged to his bedchamber. Andrews came from the dressing room as though he’d been waiting for him. “Mr. Simmons apprised me of your situation, my lord.”

“Did he?” Ian drew off his ruined cravat and the coat he’d worn to the wedding to watch his mother marry her father and his last hope of forever escaping Corinna whistle down the wind. Perhaps she would avoid family gatherings. If she didn’t, he surely would.

“Yes. But I delayed in mixing a batch of tonic this time, sir.”

Ian’s aching head came around, a nasty sensation tickling his stomach that had nothing to do with brandy. “This time?”

“Yes, my lord. After the last occasion when you were adamant about not drinking it, I did not know whether you would wish me to offer it again.”

Ian clamped his eyes shut. He shook his head, but the vision behind his eyelids did not dissipate. He opened them. His valet regarded him with righteous indignation.

“Andrews,” he said as evenly as he could, “I would be most grateful if you could mix up a batch of the stuff as soon as possible.”

Andrews’s face lightened. “Yes, my lord. Immediately.” He went into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

Ian walked to his bed and stared at it, unable to make himself lie down. He hadn’t slept a restful night since the night she had spent in this room, in this bed. But he hadn’t actually slept that night, either. He’d spent most of it making love to her, and the rest watching her sleep.

He rubbed his hands over his face and for the first time since his father died, he wished he were anywhere else than in his own body living his own life.

When Andrews returned, he drank down the bitter potion and instructed him to prepare garments for a night out. He ordered a cold bath, dressed, and called up his phaeton. He couldn’t drive the curricle, of course. She had.

He climbed into the carriage and snapped the reins. Diversion would do the trick, and he knew exactly where to find it. A hand of face cards and another bottle of brandy and he would be right back where he always liked it best. In himself.

He drove to his club and found his friends bent over a game of backgammon, a waiter removing the remains of their dinners.

“Chance, old fellow, how were the nuptials?” the marquess grinned. “Did the bride get docked yet, do you know?”

“Good God, Drake, you’re speaking of his mother.” Jag flashed Ian a glance.

Ian could have told him not to worry. Nothing could bother him now. Determination strummed through his veins, quick and purposeful.

“I’m in tonight, gentlemen,” he said, settling into a chair and commanding a bottle from the waiter. “Where shall we take it? Falstaff’s? Willoughby’s?”

“You want to play?” Jag said curiously. “That’s a change of late.”

“Heading over to Lady Newhart’s rout, don’t you know,” the marquess said, focused on his pieces on the board. “The Widow Avery will be there.” He waggled his brows.

“So will the Widow Weston, no doubt,” Jag added. “Mirina Newhart and Amabel are thick as thieves. Want to get tied up in that again, Chance?”

“Not particularly.” Nor Lady Avery. He may as well be damned for eternity. It would take that long to wrest Corinna from his soul. “No.”

Jag glanced up, a knowing look in his eyes. Ian stared at him over the rim of his glass. The baron grinned, then looked back to the board.

Damn and blast Grace. Damn and blast Corinna. And damn and blast ancient goddesses with nothing better to do than cast a man into Hades without a by-your-leave.

“Well, come with us anyway,” Stoopie mumbled. He moved a piece. “Card room’s supposed to draw the best of them tonight. Everyone will be there, so there’s no sense in going elsewhere.”

Ian leaned back in his chair and nodded. “All right. I’ll go along.” If the only place he could sleep anymore was sitting up in a chair in his study thoroughly disguised, he may as well be out as at home. Tomorrow, when he arrived at Dashbourne, at least he might get some rest. But he doubted it.

“Go along where?” Gregory said approaching the table. “Any place I’d like to be?”

“Lady Newgate’s,” Stoopie muttered, deep in thought.

“Lord and Lady Newhart’s gathering,” Jag corrected. “You’re welcome to join us, Greg.”

“Thanks, but come to think of it, I don’t think I will. I’m done in for the night. Too much work does a fellow weary, not to mention too much champagne at noon.” He turned to Ian. “Where did you disappear to? Mother looked all over for you. Had me looking too.”

“I went home, where you easily could have found me.”

“Corinna seemed off. Mother suspected you and she quarreled.” He frowned. “Not a good show, Ian, if you don’t mind my saying it.”

“I do mind.”

“Well, I’ll say it anyway. She’s our sister now and I’ll defend her from the likes of you as well as anybody.”

“How admirable of you.”

Gregory’s brow was still drawn. Then, abruptly, it lightened and he grinned. “I told her that.”

“Told whom what, little brother?”

“Corinna. I told her what I just said to you—that I would defend her as nobly as I was able. And do you know what she said?”

“I am all ears,” he drawled, his chest tight.

“She said of course I’d behave nobly; you taught me to.”

Jag’s head came up. Ian’s pulse raced.

“Did she?” he said as evenly as he could manage.

“Clever woman,” Jag murmured.

Gregory departed and the pair finished their game. By the time they arrived at Lord and Lady Newhart’s residence the hour had already passed eleven and the place was a crush. Ian set off for the card room. He would glance in, then leave. He’d come for the most asinine of reasons, to deflect Grace’s curious looks. But he didn’t care now if his friend or the whole damn world knew how he felt about Corinna. In a few hours he would be at his estate and at peace. Finally.

Until Christmas.

Would she come? Would she bring her husband? Dear God, would he be expected to attend their wedding?

“How can you walk right past and not notice me, darling?” a female voice sighed behind him. “But I will forgive you this time.”

He turned and looked down into Amabel’s pouting face.

“Apologies, my lady. My attention is fixed on play tonight.”

She draped a delicate hand upon his sleeve. “I can play. I can play very well if you recall, Chance darling. Won’t you let me again show you how well?”

He shook his head in wonderment. “Amabel, forgive my bluntness but I fear you have not understood me. I am not interested. Full stop.”

Her lower lip protruded farther. A lovely lower lip, but not for him. Never again.

“Come now,” she curled her hand along his arm to his chest. “One more night, darling. I can make it memorable.”

He removed her hand from his coat. “I am sure you could for another man. Not me.”

Her lashes draped over cold blue. “You want her.”

He should walk away. “Who?”

“The spinster.”

“Good night, Lady Weston.” He turned.

“I’m not blind, darling.” She grabbed his arm again. “I do have ears.”

“And presumably eyes as well.” Good lord, he had once thought this appealing? “Be that as it may—”

“She won’t give you what I can.”

There, Amabel was dead wrong. Corinna had given him much more. She still did, simply with her presence in the world, and he was damned grateful for it.

“Good night, madam.” He turned and headed back toward the entrance foyer. He had no place to be but home. Alone. But some burdens, it seemed, were meant to be borne for a lifetime.

~o0o~

Corinna paced her bedchamber. But hours of doing so already had not helped. The ache still gnawed at her stomach, the clamp around her heart unbearable, her thoughts thoroughly twisted. She was a mess, pathetic, and she wanted him so badly she could practically taste him on her lips.

He had bought Pelley’s company for her and she had behaved more foolishly than any woman ever had in the history of women, and she’d read a lot of history. But then he spoke to her with such contempt, such wretched disdain, so condemning. But had she given him any choice in the matter?

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.
What did he feel for her?

Her new stepmother was correct. When she’d come upon Corinna in Lady Upton’s drawing room alone and stunned, Charlotte had said that Ian didn’t like conflict. Corinna understood that now. But
she
liked conflict. Or she used to think she did. Or perhaps she merely always thought it was inevitable with him?

It was not inevitable.
It could not be
.

There was only one way to discover it for certain.

She rang for her maid, flung the wardrobe open, and grabbed the first thing her hands touched. The maid looked at the gown askance. Corinna pinned her hair into place and told the maid to button her in. Only as she strode along the sidewalk toward Ian’s house did she see the dark hem flicking out with each hurried step. Her gaze traveled up the ebony skirt to the black sleeves.

So be it. A gown didn’t make a woman. A heart and mind did. And hers were bent in one direction.

She knocked.

“Good evening, Lady Corinna. My lord is not in,” Simmons said. “Master Gregory is present, however.”

“I would like to see him.”

“Certainly.” She entered just as Gregory descended the stairs.

“Cora.” He paused, scanning her dress. “What are you doing here?”

“The lady no doubt deserves a more gracious greeting than that, sir,” the butler said.

Gregory recalled himself. He stepped into the foyer. “I’m sorry, Cora. It’s just that—”

“I need to speak with Ian. Do you know where he is?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“It is quite important.” She gripped her hands together. She would go to his club if she must. She’d done it before. Or to a hotel. Even right into a widow’s boudoir.

“He’s at the Newhart’s rout,” Gregory said, looking at her twisting fingers. “I saw him with Drake and Grace earlier and they said they were heading over there. But I—”

Corinna made for the door. Gregory came after.

“Corinna, what’s all this about?”

“That is between me and your brother.”

“It’s between the whole family now, after today.”

“Really, Gregory, I must be going.”

“Has he done wrong by you, Corinna?” His mouth set in a line. “It’s hard for me to believe, but if he has I’ll—”

“No.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. “If anything, it is quite the opposite, I think.” She pivoted and swept through the door.

She bit off four fingernails waiting for her carriage to be brought around, and another three on the short drive to Lord and Lady Newhart’s house. By the time she entered the fashionable venue, her heart beat so unevenly she could barely breathe, and her hands were cold and damp.