Edith Layton (20 page)

“There’s truth in that, at least,” his father told Gilly. “If they stayed home, people would think they were badly hurt. Or that there was bad blood between them.”

“Instead of just spilled blood,” Rafe said with a shake of his head. “This way, they can pass it off as a jest.”

“Well, all right,” Gilly grumbled. “But it’s a good thing for you, Drum, that Ewen’s papa had a card game with his old cronies tonight. He’d comb your hair if he saw you.”

“My uncle saw, my dear,” Drum said lightly, “and was as vexed with me as you might wish. But he is a man and so he understood.”

“Well, then I’m glad I’m not one, after all,” she retorted, “because I don’t!” A look from Damon’s sisters made her curse her hasty tongue. Her cheeks flamed as she realized that likely none of them had ever wished to be boys, nor known any females who had, either. She ducked her head. “I suppose we can muddle through. It’s dark in the theater, and it’s not like the Andersons’ soiree is important, like Almack’s.”

“Here’s a flight,” Drum said. “Our Gilly concerned about Almack’s?”

“Why, I’
m
not, of course,” Gilly started to say, shot another quick look at Damon’s sisters, and went on, “but people who can be admitted should be glad I can’t be, tonight. Shall we go?”

“C
an’t
be?” Drum asked.

“It’s not important. I’ll get invitations there one day, I suppose,” she said, with a toss of her head. “If I don’t, I won’t languish. There’s more important things to worry about. Like getting to the theater on time. Let’s go. Looks like we’ve already seen the farce, but I don’t want to miss the first act of the play.”

“It is important,” Damon said, “but not tonight.”

But he was speaking to the air, because Gilly had stepped over to Drum and was standing in front of him, inspecting his bruised face, frowning fiercely.

“Why did you do it?” Gilly asked Damon, the first chance she got him alone. She leaned over to whisper to him. They sat in the Ryders’ box at the theater, and she was sure there were more eyes on their party than on the stage.

He shrugged. Then chuckled. “For the life of me, I can’t answer that,” he said, because that, at least, was absolute truth. “It seemed the right thing at the time.” He stared at her. “You look very lovely tonight.”

Now she shrugged, a hasty twitch of her shoulders that drew his eyes to her breasts. He hadn’t just said it to divert her attention. She was lovely. She wore a dark gold gown, a rich autumnal color to greet the coming season. It made her skin radiant and turned her hair to palest gold by contrast. She looked nothing less than divine, though the way the narrow gown fit made his thoughts much more earthy.

“I have to get you citrines to go with that,” he mused. “Or topaz…no, something rarer, finer…Russian amber, I think, set in old gold.”

“You’ll have to live to do it!” she said acidly. “Why are you fighting with Drum?”

“You think he’ll kill me? Or are you threatening to kill me if I dare to touch him again?” He heard her take in her breath, and wished he could call his words back.

“I’ll kill you both if you do that again,” she muttered, and he laughed and turned to the stage as though he’d forgot what he said.

But neither of them did, nor did Drum, sitting behind them, a slight smile on his lips.

They stayed until after the farce, because no one wanted to join the crush downstairs as the theatergoers filed out. Though it was the theatergoers, and not the crush, they wanted to avoid.

“I still say, let’s go home,” Gilly argued, as they waited for the theater to empty.

“And have them say we lack bottom as well as sense?” Drum asked, one eyebrow flying high, like a pennant over a bloody battlefield.

“You see the problem,” Damon said, “we have to go to the party now.”

Damon rose, stifling a groan at the effort, as well as a sigh when he thought about driving off to another entertainment tonight. In truth, he wanted to go home, badly. He ached in every part, including his heart when he saw how Gilly kept studying the earl’s long face.

But he didn’t have to worry about being ignored. Because when they arrived at the townhouse where the Andersons’ party was in full cry, he met an old friend. Cousin Felicity noticed first. They had stopped at the entrance to the crowded salon, because Felicity planted herself there and refused to be budged forward.

“Oh my!” she trilled after they’d been announced, her voice trembling with suppressed delight. “Look who’s here!”

“Oh my,” Damon’s mother echoed in faltering tones, as she too stared into the room.

“You knew of this?” Damon demanded.

“Well, she did write and say a visit was possible,” his mother said, “but I thought she’d call on us first….”

Gilly didn’t have to ask who they were talking about.
Or who all the men with her were staring at. She knew at once. The lady was beautiful. She had raven hair. Gilly couldn’t tell if she had a dowry of thirty thousand, or if she was kind to animals. But it could be no one else but Lady Annabelle, who had stopped talking and was staring at Damon, her face first registering shock at his wounds, then, clearly, embarrassment, and then tremulous joy at his presence.

Damon took Gilly over to her immediately.

“My lady,” he said, taking Lady Annabelle’s little white gloved hand. “It’s been too many years, hasn’t it? You’ve grown even lovelier. Now that,” he said with a grin, as he turned to Gilly, “would have got me a giggle years ago. And she wouldn’t have believed me either. But now she’s so used to praise she doesn’t even blink those long lashes. Gilly, here is Lady Annabelle Wylde, an old friend and neighbor you must have heard us talk about. Annabelle, I give you my fiancée, Miss Gilly Giles, and her friends, Lords Drummond and Dalton.”

Drum bowed, but Rafe had to be nudged in his bow, because he was staring so hard at the lady. But she’d eyes for no one but Damon. Big dark eyes, Gilly noted nervously, before she realized Drum didn’t even seem to notice.

There was dancing. It was a fashionable party in London, and even if it wasn’t a ball, if it was evening, and if it wasn’t a musicale or merely a
squeeze
, there had to be dancing.

“She’s very lovely,” Gilly told Damon’s cravat as they danced.

He didn’t ask who she meant. “And so you think I’m going to rush over and ask for her hand? A little late for
that. Gilly, I can’t keep telling you this. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to believe in me.”

“I believe in you, all right. Just not in me.”

There was nothing to say to that, he knew it too well. “Rafe seems taken with her,” he said, for something to say. He narrowed his eyes. The redhead had been gaping at Annabelle since he’d set eyes on her, and was still doing it. “Would that be a good match, do you think?”

“Rafe? Yes, whatever girl gets him would be lucky. He’s gruff and forgets his manners sometimes. But there’s no more honest man in London. Or a braver, truer friend.”

“I saw your friend Drum eyeing her, too,” Damon said too casually. “You said dark beauties were his style. She’s that, and much more. What about him?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes widened and she quickly glanced over at Drum where he stood in the dim light at the sidelines. And felt her breath catch as she saw him watching her, just as he’d been doing all night, and not Lady Annabelle.

Damon saw Gilly’s head turn, the direction of her glance, felt her sigh of gratification and saw her tuck in the edges of her pleased smile. He had his answer, no matter what she said.

“Oh, Drum would be perfect,” she said too lightly. “But he’s hard to predict.”

“No doubt,” he said, and turned the subject as they turned on the crowded floor. “You
will
understand that I do have to dance with her? You won’t see high romance in a neighborly gesture?”

“I won’t,” she vowed. He’d have been content if he
didn’t have the notion that it didn’t matter to her.

Gilly danced with Damon, and then with some of Damon’s brothers, almost as though it were the wedding day she’d told Lord Wycoff about, and not just another London affair. Then she danced with Drum. But that was a country dance, and she had no chance to do more than nod at him as they stepped through their paces.

At last, she pleaded exhaustion, sent Damon to get her something cold to drink, and retreated to a spot beside a pillar at the outskirts of the dance. But it was as if her idle thought of Lord Wycoff had conjured him.

“What am I to do with you?” Lord Wycoff asked, as he came up beside her. He leaned his shoulders against the pillar as though watching the dancers, too, but Gilly knew she had all his attention. “I become accustomed to the fact that you’re lost to me, at least presently, and applaud you for it, even as I deplore it. And now, look at this.”

“At what?” she asked.

“At the fact that you are still here in town, and still not yet wed. At the further fact that you can’t take your eyes from your friend, the Earl of Drummond. That he and your fiancé look like they paid a visit to a sausage grinder, but everyone knows they had at each other today. And at the fact that your fiancé is dancing with a woman who looks at him as though he
were
a sausage, and she, starving. Though she’s obviously not, as every man here tonight has noted.”

“Been talking to the mamas here at the side of the dance?” she shot back. “I thought you’d be prowling, instead.”

“I am,” he said gently.

“Well, save yourself the trouble, for you’ll get nothing but bad gossip,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “First off, the dark lady is Damon’s neighbor, and he can’t help the way she looks at him, can she? He’s not looking at her that way, is he?”

He nodded. “Point taken. You astonish me, go on.”

“Well, I don’t know why sound reasoning should surprise you. What else is there to say?”

He chuckled. “Everything you didn’t say.” He turned serious. “Look you, Gilly. I find myself in an awkward position. I actually like you. I really respect you, and yes, I believe I have given up on getting you, just now. The way you’re going, however, I will get you eventually. But it won’t please me. No. Don’t hit me, that would put paid to your reputation! Look back at the dance and listen, for I’m doing something extraordinary, and not for myself, for once. It shocks me as much as it will surprise you.

“Good,” he said, as she turned her head resolutely from him and glowered at the dancers, so he could admire her perfect little profile. “Now then. Take note. I have an object lesson for you tonight. See my wife, there—the thin woman with the blade of a nose, short thin hair, in the red gown? The one dancing with the young captain of the guard?” he asked quietly. “Yes. There. An odd couple, surely, you’ll agree. He’s handsome, if a bit vacant. His mustaches are the most expressive thing on his face, but the ladies seem to like him. But notice. She’s older than he by a decade and more. And married. And not, alas, it pains me to say, a very attractive female, in spite of her elegant
gown and expensive hairdresser, is she? But she’ll be in his bed tonight. Because he’s the sort she always prefers—young, muscular, and dim. And many men don’t care what’s prime, so long as it’s free.”

“You don’t object?”

“I don’t. I did, once. Long, long ago. It didn’t matter to her then. It doesn’t matter to me now.”

“Of course it does!” she breathed. “It pains you. It grieves you. Anyone can see it.”

“No. Only you—and only because I tell you.”

“Can’t you do anything?”

“Short of murder?” he asked. “There’s nothing to do. A divorce would be a scandal that would scar my children, my family, my name. And now I’d be a hypocrite if I objected. Because now I do the same. Whatever I am, whatever my catalogue of sins, acquit me of that. I am not a hypocrite.”

“I’m sorry for you, I honestly am,” Gilly said softly, “but I don’t see what you hope to accomplish by telling me this.”

“Don’t be sorry for me, I brought it on myself, and no one could be sorrier than I am. The point, my dear Miss Giles, is that marriage without love is hell. Marriage without trust is worse. When I believed you chose young Ryder because you thought you could do no better, it wounded me—I couldn’t offer better, after all. But I could see it, in a way. He has merit. I made it a point to ask about him, and then to speak with him. He’s intelligent, humorous, has morals and manners, and drive. In time, I thought, perhaps it would work out for you. You clearly knew what you were doing, even if your heart clearly wasn’t in it. That gave you hope.
Which is better than most of us can expect.

“But now!” He laughed bitterly. “My dear, do you know what your eyes are saying when you look at your friend, the earl? He’s a good man, too, mind. I know him, and am pleased to say I do.” His voice became harsh. “But I know your situation, too. Yours and his. Look you, my girl. I’ll say it this once, and only because I’m in a strange mood tonight. But I warn you—if you languish now, if you yearn for something you can’t have now, and take less because it’s offered or expedient, you
will
burn for it later. In every way. And I don’t mean just in an afterlife. Think on. And don’t act until you know the consequence of your actions.

“I tell you this because you’ve touched me in ways I don’t understand, and in too many that I do. You fascinate me,” he murmured. “I’d love to be your lover someday. But in another way, I’d dislike it enormously.” He levered his shoulders from the pillar and sauntered away.

Leaving Gilly alone, and wondering. She looked up at the dancers again—and saw Drum waltzing with some pretty miss. And saw he wasn’t looking at his partner, but only over her head—at her. Gilly stood very still. Wycoff was right. He’d made his own life a misery. She’d had enough of misery. Now, too, longing wasn’t an option for her anymore. She’d had too much of a taste of reality.

She’d vowed never to tell Drum about her feelings for him. What would be the point, except for embarrassment and shame? But if something had changed? It might only be herself and her perceptions of men.
But what if it was his perception of her? And what if he told her his feelings for her, first?