Almost a Gentleman (27 page)

"You're right. I hadn't been thinking ahead. I hadn't been thinking of anything except tonight."

He frowned. "But you haven't told me how you'd come to be conversing with her, or what she said that's upset you so terribly. She's a very good person, after all, though she might seem a bit crude."

"I wouldn't say crude. I'd say rather, direct. She said several
direct
things about you."

"Hmmm."

She supposed that he took her meaning.

"You two must have hit it off rather well," he offered. "It sounds as though your conversation touched on some rather intimate matters."

Ungracefully, she raised her skirt above her knees for a moment, smiling coldly as she watched him endeavor not to stare at her legs. She let the fabric drop. "I needed a garter. I wanted to be as perfectly dressed as I could. For you."

"I see."

"Yes, I expect that you do see that. Well, two women can become quite close when they're sharing intimate garments. Especially when they've shared a lover as well. Or so she assumed."

He nodded warily.

"Well, not a lover, perhaps. A customer, rather. For she also assumed that we'd shared a profession."

"Dear me." He looked angry and yet somehow relieved. "Well,
that
must have been distressing for you. I can see how you would find
that
most unpleasant. I'm awfully sorry about it.
That
was quite my fault, not to have explained your situation to the Cockburns."

He smiled so charmingly and apologetically that she wanted to slap him again.

"Oh, no you don't. I
won't have
you thinking that I'm offended by what she thought about me."

"But…"

"In some ways she was quite right. My miserable marriage was no more than a form of prostitution; it was simply the form that the church and crown have chosen to sanction as legitimate. I got a lot of clothes and jewels out of it though, so Mrs. Cockburn was quite correct, from a certain point of view, to say that I'd done very well for myself."

"I didn't know. I'm sorry." He nodded soberly, moving forward to take her hand.

"Don't touch me."

"But…"

"You really don't understand what's making me so angry, do you?"

Shrugging uncertainly, he opened his mouth to speak.

"No, you don't see it at all. You think it's perfectly all right if
you
fuck half the prostitutes of London—"

He raised an ineffectual hand.

"Yes, I know, not really half. You didn't bother with the poor old diseased ones we see cowering in doorways. Well, neither should I have, though I do try to give them a coin when I pass.

"But among the young and pretty ones, the ones specially chosen to service members of your class—well,
there
you did pretty well, didn't you, Lord Linseley?"

"I tried to help them."

"Don't change the subject. In fact, you did
so
well with them that according to Mrs. Cockburn you gained a certain celebrity in her circles."

Try as he might, he couldn't quite hide the flash of gratified surprise that lit his eyes.

"Lord, you're insufferable. Oh yes, they found you quite the
satyr
, as she put it, didn't you know? You had every high-class dolly in London twittering over your capacities, over the size of the, the…"

She found she couldn't quite complete the sentence. He smiled at that.

"But it's nothing," he said. "After all, that was all in the past, before I'd met you."

"Indeed. And let me remind you of one little episode in
my
past. Because when you learned that before I met you
I'd
wanted a little pleasure, a little bit of human warmth, or even, perish the thought, a little bit of
fun
... Bloody hell, Linseley, when you discovered that
I'd had
needs and desires and the sense and wit to figure out how to satisfy them…"

"But that was different."

"Exactly
how
, pray tell, was it different?"

"It was different because…"

A shadow of doubt passed quickly over his features, to be replaced by a stubborn certainty.

"Because I'm a man, dammit. And you are not."

This time she would have done more than strike him. Rake her fingernails across his face, perhaps, or do something considerably ruder with her knee. But he caught her wrist before she was able to do any damage. He held her immobile for a long moment, peering curiously down at her.

I could kiss her right now, he thought, just to prove to her how different a man is, how implacable his desires. She was remarkably strong for a woman; under her dainty puffed sleeve he could see a slender muscle flexed in her arm, tensed to resist him. But would she resist a kiss? Perhaps a kiss would be the best way to resolve all this foolishness.

He looked into her eyes, searching for a signal to continue. He knew she wanted him; after the air had cleared she'd probably thank him for cutting through all these clumsy recriminations. Anger was a strong passion, after all. And all the passions were finally rooted in desire.

But it wasn't anger he saw in her eyes. It was profound disappointment.

He dropped her arm. "I implore your pardon, but I'd better go."

"Yes, I think you'd better."

She turned again to stare at the piercing stars in the black sky outside her window. Dully, she heard him shut the door behind him.

And that's the end of it, she thought.

She'd feared losing him the previous night when he'd found out about Billy. And she supposed that, in fact, she had lost him then, no matter how aroused they'd both become by their enticing proximity in the carriage all day.

The strength of their mutual desiring was simply not enough, she thought sadly. No point beginning an affair if she were to be held to some stifling standard of feminine sexual conduct. Better to continue to be Marston, even if Marston were in danger. She'd stay in Lincolnshire for a week or two as she'd intended anyway, care for Billy, and plan the safest and most prudent way to bring him back to London. For she couldn't depend on Lord Linseley's protection forever. It wouldn't be fair.

In the long run, she told herself, it didn't really matter. She and he could have no future together anyway. It's just that she'd been so happy with him in the carriage today that she'd let herself forget that.

Meanwhile, there was this silly costume to take off. Surprisingly, she discovered that she didn't want to. Not quite yet. Perhaps it was all the labor that had gone into dressing up for him, but she rather liked the way she looked. Perhaps, before she changed her clothes, she'd see how Billy was doing.

He'd woken just a quarter of an hour ago, the chambermaid told her quietly. His wounds pained him considerably, the girl added, trying hard not to stare at Phoebe's costume; he'd refused to take any gruel. But he had allowed the girl to change his bandages. It seemed to Phoebe that she'd done an excellent job.

"I'll try to feed him," Phoebe said. And indeed, he brightened at the sight of her pretty dress and bright shawl, and did take a few spoonfuls from her. She sat with him until he fell back to sleep, and then, regretfully, returned to her room, which seemed rather lonelier and drearier than it had a few hours earlier.

She supposed she could go downstairs and get some supper. But Mrs. Cockburn would be surprised to see her, she'd have to explain why she wasn't with Lord Linseley, and anyway, she wasn't hungry.

I might as well go to bed, she told herself. Best if we make an early start tomorrow.

She'd folded the shawl away in the armoire, and was standing before the mirror, arms raised to unfasten her necklace, when she heard yet another knock at the door.

Her heart leapt.
Three's a magic number
, she thought.
Don't be ridiculous
, she scolded herself a moment later. It was probably only the chambermaid, come to report on Billy's condition. Phoebe hoped he wasn't developing a fever, for if he were they'd have to remain inconveniently stranded at the Swan for quite some time.

"Yes, yes, just a moment. Thank you, I'll be right there."

But it wasn't the chambermaid.

The earl of Linseley stood in the doorway holding a covered basket. He looked truculent, ill at ease; she hoped he wouldn't want to continue their earlier set-to. But his voice, when he spoke, was warm and quiet.

"You must be hungry," he said. "They said you hadn't come down for supper, so I packed what they'd brought up to my room. I'll leave it with you, if that's all right."

She nodded. Perhaps she was just a bit hungry after all. "Yes, thank you. That's very kind. You can put it on this little table."

"Of course. On the little table."

But he didn't put it down; he simply stood in place, looking profoundly uncomfortable. His ears and hands were red and chapped, she thought, as though he'd been out in the cold without hat or gloves. Finally, he took a breath and began to speak.

"I took a walk," he said. "I needed to think about what you'd said to me. I found it… confusing, you see."

"I expect that you did."

"In truth, I found it deuced disagreeable."

She frowned and he continued quickly. "Well, it's always disagreeable to discover that one has been in the wrong. But it seems that I can't avoid the unpleasant truth. Please accept my apology for having acted so possessively, and for holding you to different standards than myself. It was unworthy of us both. I was wrong and you were right."

She stared at him in amazement. Clearly this little speech hadn't come easily to him.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to laugh with joy, weep with relief, and praise heaven for his stubborn integrity. But instead she only smiled. "You truly are a most unusual gentleman."

"You forgive me then?"

"You know that I forgive you, David." Gently, she took the basket from him and put it on the table.

"In fact," she continued, "I might have acted a bit possessively myself. Every dolly in London is rather a lot of competition for a lady no longer in her first bloom of youth. Especially one whose dress is so utterly passe."