Never a Gentleman (16 page)

He slowly shook his head. “You are a constant surprise.”

“I’m not certain why. You know I didn’t have what is considered a normal upbringing.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate that.”

For a moment, she thought she caught the memory of the night before in his eyes. She wished he hadn’t seemed so revolted by
what had happened. But it wasn’t something to discuss in a public room. No more than preventing childbirth, anyway. Suddenly,
she found herself chuckling.

“Something amuses you?” Diccan asked.

She shook her head. “I was just thinking that I can’t think of another couple who knows less about each other than we do.”

He offered an arch smile. “No such thing, madame. You know that I have unequaled taste in all things, and that in my hands
a quizzing glass can be more lethal than a saber.”

“And that your father considers all other mortals to be lacking in moral fortitude.” She’d no sooner said it than she was
blushing again. “My apologies. That was rude.”

“Never apologize for telling the truth, Grace. It is most fatiguing.”

He had reverted to his public persona, Grace realized, eyes hooded, posture languid, tone droll.
Was that a good thing or a bad thing
, she wondered. It had always intimidated her in the past.

“Even if the truth is unpleasant?” she asked.

“Especially then. But only to me. I’m not sure the
ton
matrons would appreciate it as much as I.”

I want you.
She had no idea where that thought had come from. No, she knew perfectly well. It came from the sudden memory, a flash of
his tousled hair between her knees, his fingers trailing fire, his eyes wicked and laughing as he’d done unspeakable things
to her. She desperately wished last night had ended differently.

She might as well wish she were a different person. One who could truly attract a man as sophisticated and vital as Diccan.
One who could match him equally. She might as well wish for her father back. Or, come to think of it, her mother.

“What truth has you blushing now?” he asked as the waiter swept away her empty plates.

She couldn’t remember eating a thing. “My appetite.”

“Well, yes. That is worthy of a blush or two. I must admit I am in awe. How do you not weigh more than Lady Cornley?”

Grace sipped at her tea. “A friend of yours?”

Diccan shuddered. “God forbid. I swear the woman devours her mates. She’s had five, I think.”

Grace found herself laughing. “You do know the most interesting people.”

Diccan picked up Grace’s lists and perused them as she sipped her tea. “Pugs,” he said suddenly. “I categorically forbid those
loathsome creatures in my residence, no matter which of these it will be.”

Grace smiled. “A pug once offended you?”

“They must offend all civilized persons, madame,” he said, looking affronted. “They
snuffle
. My mother has made it her life’s work to breed the little monsters.”

Grace nodded. “You must be the authority on pets, then. I have no experience with them.”

Diccan looked up at her, his face curiously still. “No pets at all. What about the monkey?”

She smiled. “I have yet to live with him. From what I’ve heard, though, he is less pet than nemesis.”

“Unheard of, madame. I’d suggest you didn’t like animals, but you managed to find favor even with my reprehensible horse.”

She smiled. “I never said I didn’t want one. I said I never had one. Horses and hunting dogs are the only animals that survive
a forced march, and those are notoriously bad lap pets. Did you have pets as a child? Besides the pugs, of course.”

“Pugs are not pets. They are vermin. And of course I had a pet. I had a goose.”

Grace almost spit out her mouthful of tea. “I beg your pardon?”

He looked severe. “A goose. Surely you have made the acquaintance of a goose or two.”

“Of course I have. I ate them.”

He flinched. “I would prefer not to hear the details. My goose was a stout defender of small boys and barnyards. Her name
was Mildred.”

Grace felt laughter burbling up in her chest. “An estimable name, I’m sure.”

Diccan shot her a look that would have seemed threatening, if his eyes hadn’t been twinkling. “This information is not for
public consumption.”

“Dear me, no. Since you are such an arbiter of fashion, it might become all the thing to have a goose perched up alongside
one in the carriage, and then where would Christmas dinner be?”

His lip notched upward. “Precisely. Now then, do you have a pencil? There are several houses here not worth the look.”

Grace handed him her pencil and he began to scratch through certain addresses. “Bentley?” he mused to himself, frowning. “How
did I not hear about this?”

“Viscount Bentley? The agent said that he is also selling his string. He sounded as if it was of some import.”

Diccan looked up, still frowning. “He just lost his son. What else, I wonder?”

“Pardon?”

He started, as if called back from far away. “Do you drive?”

She couldn’t help wondering what he wasn’t telling her. “Do camels count?”

“Not unless they’re attached to a curricle.”

She nodded. “In that case, I will limit my boast to being able to drive anything from provisions wagons to phaetons. I once
attempted to move a piece of field artillery, but General Picton objected.” When Diccan raised his eyebrow, she smiled. “There
was a lot of time to fill between campaigns. It was a favorite pastime of my father’s men to test my skills.”

“You had phaetons at Talavera?”

“Calcutta.”

He shook his head. “And I thought riding camels to the pyramids qualified as accomplished. Bentley has a matched pair that
would be good for you. And you said you already had a mount.”

She nodded. “I had hoped to have Harper bring her up when we found permanent lodgings.”

“Where is she now?”

“Longbridge. In Berkshire.”

He flashed a wry smile. “Residing with the monkey?”

“Indeed.”

“Don’t feel compelled to include him in the invitation. I have a particular aversion to fleas.”

She chuckled. “I’ll have you know that Mr. Pitt is more fastidious than half the peers I’ve met.”

“He has all my admiration. He still does not have a place in my house. It is my second pet law.”

“What about the Harpers? They are as close to family as I have left. Is there a place for them?”

“I remember them. Feisty little Irishman and fiercer big Irishwoman?”

She nodded. “They are also at Longbridge. They’ve looked after me since I was seven.”

“I assume they are also unafflicted by fleas?”

“Breege would box your ears for even suggesting it.”

“Have you informed them of your change of status?”

Uncomfortable, she set down her cup. “I… um, thought I would let them know when I had an address. Silly to have Harper bring
Epona to a hotel just to move her again.”

He nodded. “Well, have them come. Although I think they might feel stifled in a townhouse.”

She hated it that he was right. Sean and Breege would wither in this rarefied atmosphere. They had barely survived Lady Kate’s.
Better they stay at Longbridge to help the Singhs fit in. But she didn’t know how to go on without them.

“Come to think of it,” Diccan said, “I would feel better about leaving you here if they are with you.”

For the second time in moments, he’d brought her up sharp. “Leaving? Where are you going?”

He waved a hand. “Paris, for now. But who knows? I could find myself in the wilds of Siam.”

She was assailed by a fresh surge of loss. Wasn’t that what she wanted? To be on her own? But to once again be left behind
with no more thought than a forgotten umbrella?

She must have betrayed her distress, because Diccan seemed to go very still. “You’ve known this about me.”

“Indeed I have.” Grace managed a wry smile. “I was just thinking that I’ve never been to Siam.”

Diccan scowled. “I thought you preferred to stay here.”

Grace tried not to look hurt. “Would you
prefer
I not accompany you? This is a quite a new situation for us both.”

He took too long to answer. Grace’s heart began to drop.

Finally he gave her a stiff smile. “How can we know what we want to do? We’re still strangers. I say we spend an hour each
day sharing information: likes, dislikes, favorite people, foods and such. Do you like the color blue? Does Shakespeare make
you weep? Would you walk across broken glass for the last lobster patty? It should only take a few months to know enough to
be able to revisit the question, don’t you think?”

Grace tilted her head, as if considering. “Favorite people will take a while. But the other questions? Yes, yes, and absolutely.
I’d drag you across with me if there were also
gulab jamun
.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I do hope that is a food and not some heathenish religion.”

She smiled. “It is a delicacy of India. My friend Radhika makes them for me. Fried dough in rosewater, sugar, and cardamom.
It puts English syllabubs to shame.”

Diccan had not given up his arch look. “Rosewater is for perfume, not the sweet course.”

“Come now,” she argued. “Surely you’ve had more exotic foods than roast and kippers.”

“And counted the hours until I returned to the land of bland and boring. There are enough surprises in life, madame. I don’t
need them at my table.”

As often happened, Grace couldn’t tell whether Diccan was still jesting or not. She hoped he was, because if not, theirs would
be a greater mismatch than even she had feared. Even more so because she suddenly realized that whatever else happened between
them, she didn’t want to be apart from him for months or years at a time. Even at the risk of forfeiting her home and all
her dreams, she wanted a chance at a full life with this man.

She thought she’d been frightened before, but this thought terrified her. She knew better, though, than to let Diccan see.
“I suppose I’d better add a good English cook to my list of tasks.”

“Some red-faced woman with hams for hands and a way with a joint.”

She smiled. “I know this marriage isn’t the one you would have wanted, Diccan,” she said. When he moved to instinctively protest,
she raised a hand. “Don’t dispense with the truth so easily; you might not get it back. What I want to say is that I will
try my best to be an asset to you. I might not yet know how to seat formal dinners, but I can guarantee you the best accommodations
in Bangkok.”

She wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected. She knew for certain his wasn’t delight. She thought Diccan might have even
paled.

“I think it would be better to wait at least a week or two
before deciding the future, don’t you?” he asked, leaning back a bit, as if afraid of some contamination.

Grace berated herself for letting her tongue run on so. She knew that men didn’t like to be pushed, and Diccan would certainly
consider her words pushy. As if happy to prove her point, he tapped his fingers at the edge of the table.

“Until we do know each other better,” he said, his voice oddly strained, “I think it also might be better for us if we postponed
the… physical side of the relationship.”

Grace felt as if her stomach had dropped away.
No
! She wanted to cry.
Don’t take that away, too.

“I don’t want you to suffer for my misconceptions again,” he said before she could quiz him.

Her instinct was to argue. How could he think she’d suffered? One look at the distress in his eyes silenced her. She could
only give him a jerky nod, as if he hadn’t just pulled her feet out from under her. Again.

He never waited for her answer. Gathering his newspaper, he got to his feet. “I’m afraid I’ll be busy the next few days,”
he said, at least having the decency to look uncomfortable. She hoped he felt like hell. “I simply have too many urgent meetings.
And then there are two embassy balls…”

Again he faltered to a stop, certainly aware that he’d once again insulted her. He was going to embassy balls that he didn’t
wish her to attend. Because she would humiliate him. Because she would never be worthy to be his wife, no matter how she tried
to camouflage her inadequacies with Madame Fanchon’s handiwork.

Maybe it was just as well he didn’t want physical relations, Grace mused. She suspected that if she ever got him naked, she’d
pour alcohol on him and light him like a plum
pudding. But she never got a chance to tell him that either. Not even facing her, he threw off a stiff bow and left.

She had obviously displeased the Fates, because she was still gathering her lists up when Diccan reappeared in the doorway,
looking decidedly unwell.

She instinctively came to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“We didn’t escape quickly enough, madame wife,” he said, holding a calling card between finger and thumb like a dead rat.
“We have a visitor. My sainted mother has arrived.”

Grace found that it was suddenly hard to breathe. “Is she as bad as your father?”

Diccan’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, no. She’s far worse.”

Grace’s spirits hit her half-boots. She looked down at another of her practical gray gowns. She knew her hair was insipid,
a tight bun meant to get her hair off her face. And her leg was still stiff from her night in the chair. Not exactly the way
she would want to meet her new mother-in-law.

“I don’t suppose she’d be satisfied with seeing only you,” she suggested, with a sickly smile.

His answer was to hold out his hand. “Come, my girl. She is but an old woman. I’d put my blunt on Boadicea any day.”

Considering the look on his face, Grace didn’t think she believed him. She knew she had no choice though, so, putting her
hand on his arm, she allowed him to guide her across the hall into one of the private parlors.

Lady Evelyn stood by the fireplace, where the morning light would not betray her age. Not tall or short, not especially beautiful,
not quite blond. But regal. Regimental sergeants would have wept at her posture. Debutantes undoubtedly quailed before those
cold gray exopthalmic eyes. And the devil himself must have envied the self-
satisfaction in that tight smile. Clad in a deceptively simple cream
indienne
walking dress with matching green spencer and bonnet, she was the picture of elegance.