Unmasked by her Lover, page 9
She stood up. “I wonder if we should have tea out here?” she said restlessly. “Or go inside?”
“Perhaps inside?” Mrs. Wrexham suggested. “Complexions, you know!”
Accordingly, they drifted back inside. Meg lingered in the salon, fussing with a perfectly arranged vase of flowers and casting the odd glance at Harry in the hope he would realize she needed to talk to him.
He did. As the other voices faded away toward the staircase, she became aware of someone standing close beside her.
“I think you have beaten them into submission,” he said gravely.
She dropped her hands from the poor flowers and glared at him. “I had to do something while I waited to speak to you.”
“I am all ears.”
Suddenly, it wasn’t an easy thing to ask him at all, this stranger-friend who stood gazing down at her with a smile in his eyes.
It’s only Harry, she told herself severely, and before she could lose her nerve entirely, she blurted out, “Why did you kiss me?”
She expected at least some hesitation, perhaps apology, or embarrassment, even bluster. Instead, he answered immediately, “Because I always wanted to.”
She blinked. “No, you didn’t!”
The smile sparked into silent laughter. “Well, from about the age of fifteen or sixteen. Come, now, it can’t be that big a surprise to you, Meg. I did ask for your hand.”
“Five years ago!” She waved one indignant hand, not even sure why she was angry. “So, now you have done it, you can cross it off your list?”
“What, my list of first kisses? If ever I was crass enough to keep such a list, I suppose I could. But it would then have to go on another list.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hesitate to ask.”
“Kisses to repeat.”
Heat flooded up from her toes. “Then it’s as well you are not crass enough to keep such lists.”
“It is,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she couldn’t breathe. “But still, I am more than happy to repeat the experience if you would like me to.”
“I wouldn’t!” she exclaimed.
“Then, I shan’t.”
“Good!” Glaring at him made his gaze easier to bear, but there was just a little too much understanding in the smile that flickered across his lips.
“I’m still Harry, you know,” he said softly. “For good or bad.”
She could think of nothing to say to that. He stepped back, and she hastily brushed past him to the door, where her breath caught once more, and she swung around to face him. “Honestly, Harry, why did you? Why then?”
“Because you caught me at a moment of weakness. Because you are my friend and beautiful and wonderful.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” she said and fled. His surprised laughter followed her, and in spite of herself, she found herself smiling. In a breathless, shaky kind of way.
*
If Basil took a nap that afternoon, it must have been a short one, for the adults were still at tea when the child, clearly escaped from his nurse, came bounding into the salon and ran straight to his mother.
Garrow frowned in considerable annoyance. But his wife caught Basil in her arms and pulled him onto her lap, anxiously searching for signs of hurt or distress.
Basil only grinned triumphantly. “Mama,” he stated with satisfaction, as the nurse labored into the room at last.
“I see he is a little too much for you,” Garrow observed to the nurse. “Unfortunately, his mother spoils him.”
“No, I don’t,” Mrs. Garrow said, though she was indeed smiling down at her mischievous offspring. “Though he is naughty to run away, and I’m sorry he put you to such trouble.”
Aline Garrow was at her best, Meg thought, with the child. Only with him, it seemed, was she perfectly open and completely free of affectation. She clearly loved him utterly. In play, she rocked him back in her arms like a baby, and he chortled.
Something tilted in Meg’s mind. Fragments of thoughts that had occurred to her throughout the day came together, pushing hard at her biggest anxiety since she had come here. Fear for her sister. Feeling exploded inside her, and her hand flew to her stomach in awe, joy, and fear.
“Meg,” Harry’s low, urgent voice broke in. “Meg, what is it?”
She focused on his face as relief surged through her. “I know,” she said wonderingly, and smiled.
His breath seemed to catch. “Good, because Calvert is home.”
Although Harry had not touched her, his presence steadied her, and she looked beyond him to see Lord Calvert walking into the salon, still in riding dress, jovially greeting his guests. For Meg, so recently flooded by her sister’s emotions, pretending to be Martha had never been easier.
“Calvert,” she said, throwing out one hand toward him. “I do trust your tailor obliged?”
“He excelled himself, my dear,” Calvert replied, kissing her hand and then her cheek. Behind the amiability, his eyes were turbulent. “Forgive me sullying your salon with my travel-stained person. I shall go and make myself more presentable.”
She caught the unspoken command in his eyes. He wanted her to join him in a private talk as soon as she was able. Well, good, she wanted one, too. But Martha would not jump immediately to his command, abandoning her guests, so Meg did not. She smiled and conversed as her sister would have, though most of her mind lingered on that brief connection that had told her so much. Except what to do about it.
As the party broke up, she knew a powerful urge to lay everything before Harry. Especially when walking with her toward the staircase, he murmured, “What is it that you know?”
Things that were not her secrets to tell. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “That Martha is safe.”
His eyes searched hers, but he did not press her. “Let me know if I can help.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she said warmly. She touched his fingers in gratitude and was shocked by the spark of a quite different emotion. Desire. Shoving that aside, she cast him a quick smile and fled upstairs to Martha’s chamber where, as she expected, Calvert paced up and down, waiting for her.
He had changed into evening clothes, but his expression was no calmer.
“She is not in London,” he snapped as soon as she closed the door. “Not with your parents nor in my house. She has not been there.”
“I know. I knew when Johnny appeared.”
“But this is serious, Meg,” he exclaimed, glaring at her. “I have no idea where she is or what danger she is in.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, would have tugged it, she suspected, if it hadn’t been so short. “How could she do this to me?”
Meg stared at him. “You find her inconsiderate?”
“Yes, frankly, I do!”
“She always was a trifle. Though you have taught her a great deal more.”
He paused in his pacing to frown at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you brought this moment on yourself. Did you ever consider her once as you merrily carried on your old life? Did you once concern yourself with her hurt, her humiliation as you flaunted your women and then went home to your loving wife? Did you really think you could have your cake and eat it indefinitely?”
Calvert flushed. “With respect, Meg, that is not your concern.”
“Until you made it mine, to preserve your pride by pretending to be your runaway wife.”
The blood drained quickly from his face again. “You truly think she has run away from me?”
“Can you think of another reason she has gone?”
He scowled. “Yes. If she hasn’t run off with that fellow, Ives, she could have fled his pursuit.”
“Listen to yourself,” Meg said helplessly. “Who should have protected her from that pursuit? Who do you imagine drove her to flirt with the man in the first place? Could you blame her? You drove her away Calvert, and if you want her back, if you want to keep her in more than name—”
“Stop.” He sank onto the sofa, dropping his head into his clutching hands.
“Why?” Meg said mercilessly. “You didn’t. Martha is safe, Selwyn, but she is thinking what is best for her now, and you need to do the same. What, who, is important to you?”
Calvert let his hands fall away from his face as he glanced up. “How do you know all this? Have you seen her? Are you making it up to scold me?”
Meg shook her head. “Of course, I have not seen her. But I know it’s the truth. I feel what she feels.”
“She told me you did as children. But that it faded as you grew up. You said it didn’t happen anymore.”
She shrugged. “It’s true the connection is much rarer now. I think we made it so because, frankly, it is not always comfortable as adults. But I feel her now. Go away, Calvert. I am too angry at what you did to her.”
She was glad to see a stricken look enter his eyes. But he stood obediently, walking like an automaton toward the door, where he paused, frowning, and glanced back at her.
“Does she still love me?” he blurted.
“Yes,” Meg allowed. “But it is on something of a cusp. It is unbearable to her, and she has to look after herself.”
He swallowed. “Was it our last quarrel?”
“It contributed,” she said carefully, “but I don’t think it was the most important issue. You tortured her for four years.”
Even his lips were white now. “What can I do?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Meg said brutally. “It is in Martha’s hands, now.”
She sat down rather abruptly when Calvert had gone. She had no idea if she had done the right thing. She had used Martha’s feelings along with her own speculations and discoveries to berate him, to shock him into taking responsibility and, hopefully, to act upon it.
But two further secrets were not hers to tell. That Martha was expecting a child. And that Meg now knew exactly where her sister was.
*
Harry did not care for the way Calvert wandered at will in and out of Meg’s bedchamber. Of course, it was his wife’s, but with Meg staying there, Harry felt a little more respect should be observed.
He was ruefully aware that his prudish response was prompted by sheer jealousy. And he had been jealous of Calvert for so long that he was positively bored with the emotion. Unsure what devil had prompted him to kiss Meg last night, he had still known as soon as his lips touched hers that this was right. No one had ever felt so wonderful in his arms. No woman’s most intimate caress had moved him as Meg’s stunned, instinctive response to his kiss.
Oh, yes, there was latent passion in her that he longed to taste, and this time he would win her. He was not a gauche youth anymore, and Meg was no longer the confused child he had fallen so hopelessly in love with. The seeds of those people remained, as did the bonds of friendship, which somehow only made this new, ever-growing obsession more intense.
Calvert was nothing to her now. Was he? Lounging in the passage as Calvert emerged from her chamber and strode toward him, he had to bite back his unreasonable anger and try not to be so pleased that his host looked so unhappy.
“I take it you found no sign of her ladyship in London?” Harry murmured.
Calvert blinked as if he hadn’t noticed him and tried to smile. “No. She has never been there. Meg thinks she has left me deliberately and will reappear in her own time.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I think she’s angry with me.”
“Does she have cause?”
Calvert sighed and began to walk. “Yes. I have not been a good husband.”
“No,” Harry agreed, falling into step beside him.
“I won that beautiful girl as my wife and kept her as a trophy while I continued to philander as I always had. I took her devotion for granted. And now, I think I have lost it.” He smiled painfully. “Or so Meg tells me.”
“Meg thought her sister had come to terms with the fact that you loved her but would never be faithful.”
“That wasn’t a decision I should have forced her to make,” Calvert admitted. “Now that I hear it in clear terms. Whatever, she has obviously changed her mind.”
“Why?” Harry asked bluntly. “What changed in the few days before you left?”
“Oh, another tale-bearing letter from a so-called friend. While I was playing the heavy-handed husband and forbidding her to flirt with some local buck.”
“What is sauce for the goose,” Harry observed.
Calvert cast him a crooked smile. “It seems I’m more dog in the manger. Besides,” he admitted, “she was only flirting. I was not. Still, you are in the right of it. Why now? I know she was looking forward to filling the house with guests and enjoying the fun of a masquerade ball. And then, suddenly, she was gone. I am not convinced there is no foul play here, de Vere, though Meg swears she knows Martha is safe and well and thinking what to do next. Can I believe that? Dare I?”
“They were never wrong about each other as children,” Harry replied. “If it wasn’t the case now, I see no reason for Meg to make it up.”
“Perhaps…but why now, de Vere?”
He did not expect Harry to answer. And Harry, who had seen Meg’s involuntary clasp of her stomach during the moment of connection—or understanding or whatever it was that bound the twins to each other—decided to keep his speculations to himself.
Chapter Ten
After an early dinner, everyone piled into a convoy of three carriages and traveled the six miles to the Knowles’ manor house. Here, they were met with delight by their hosts and ushered into a pleasant drawing room where card tables had been set up, and other guests awaited them, namely Mr. and Mrs. Sanhurst and Mr. Ives.
Since Martha loved cards, Meg felt obliged to play a few hands of whist, which she lost, and picquet, which she won. Although they only played for pennies, she was so surprised that she laughed as she swept up her winnings.
“Unseemly crowing, my dear lady,” drawled Mr. Ives, who had been her opponent. “I shall win this hand.”
“But not against me,” Meg declared. “I am bored with picquet.”
“Then I let you win for nothing?”
She paused, frowning at him. “No, you didn’t.”
“My dear, you don’t know whether I did or not. You are clearly distracted, for I have never seen you play so poorly at whist or picquet.”
“It’s true I am worried about my sister, who should have come with us tonight.”
Ives leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure it’s for the best that she didn’t. After all, Mrs. Knowles has unmarried daughters, and the vicar is present. Though I must admit, I feel a keen curiosity to meet so bold a young lady.”
In spite of herself, Meg colored. “If you are referring to the ridiculous lies spread by scandal rags no person of quality should be reading, I can only withdraw whatever good opinion I have of you.”
Ives smiled indulgently. “And yet I see you know what I’m talking about.”
“Of course I do. My brother heard the same nonsense as you. Though he paid it less attention, knowing my sister was with me when it was supposed to have happened. I never took you for gullible before, Mr. Ives.”
“Oh, come, am I no longer Cedric to you?”
“No,” she said flatly.
“Calvert is at the other side of the room,” he said with amusement.
“And you are here, with the impertinence to slander my sister.” She rose and walked away, choosing to watch the play at other tables instead.
Dismayed and somewhat jolted by the knowledge that her ruin was already known here in Kent, she tried to focus her attention on other things, on the cards and the players’ characters.
“You are thoughtful,” Harry murmured, coming to stand beside her some ten minutes later.
She drew back a little so as not to be overheard. “It just struck me, there is no understanding, no bond at all between Captain and Mrs. Garrow.”
“You think not?”’
“They share nothing. Not liking or disliking. No glances, pleasant or otherwise. Not even interest. Even between estranged couples, I have seen more…interaction.”
Harry considered as they wandered toward the whist table. “I suppose his drunken behavior the other night, to say nothing of demanding… er…marital rights in front of the child, might well have given her a disgust of him.”
“Do you see disgust?” she asked curiously. “I see nothing.”
“You do not like Aline?”
“Actually, I do, though I don’t know why. Especially if she was responsible for our highwaymen! But Garrow is another matter.”
“Aline,” he said carefully, “has made a career out of persuading people to like her. Garrow, I suspect, has never cared one way or the other.”
They moved apart by silent consent, and Harry was soon drawn into another game.
At about half-past ten, while the cards were cleared away to make way for a light supper, the Knowles girls led everyone outside for a gentle walk along the lantern-lit terraces at the back of the house. Meg intercepted a few glances of pity and speculation cast at her and knew the rumors of her ruin had spread. Which was annoying. She could hardly refute them when no one would ever broach the subject with her.
She just had to hope that Johnny, Calvert, and Harry would set the matter straight. Even Mrs. Garrow had promised to go along with the tale of her earlier arrival at Calvert Court.
However, she did get another moment when Mr. Sanhurst, the vicar, caught up with her and said how sorry he was to hear of her sister’s trouble.
“If Lady Meg feels in need of spiritual counsel or reassurance of God’s forgiveness, I hope she will come to me.”
“I’m sure she will,” Meg said tartly, “though I’m not sure forgetfulness constitutes a very terrible sin.”
Mr. Sanhurst immediately tried to reverse himself, no doubt imagining Lady Calvert to be unaware of the scandalous accusation against her.
“Forgive me, Mr. Sanhurst,” Meg interrupted him. “I know you speak from a Christian desire to help, but to be frank, I find these rumors ridiculous as well as offensive. Considering she was with us at Calvert Court when some infamous gossip rag claims she was in Connaught Place, I cannot understand why even people unacquainted with her would listen to such nonsense.”
