A Matter of Temptation (6 page)

R
obert had an uneasy feeling he’d find himself burning in hell for the actions he’d taken today. And rightly so.

He’d been convinced the woman was marrying the
Duke
of Killingsworth, cared only about the title, the prestige, the political gain, but the manner in which she gazed at him, the manner in which, even now, she frequently lovingly touched his arm as they stood in the drawing room greeting the guests who arrived at her parents’ home proved his assumptions false. Without question. Without doubt.

He was a fool. She cared for him.
Incredibly desperately
.

No, she cared nothing for
him
, he chastised himself harshly. She cared for
John
, John who had called himself Robert all these years. His brother who’d told the world that John had gone off to America to seek his fortune. A plantation in Virginia, of all places. And he was writing himself letters to tell of his imagined exploits. Diabolical.

At least now Robert had an inkling regarding the manner in which his absence had been explained, although he still wasn’t quite certain how John had managed initially to meet with such success. His parents must have questioned why one of their sons hadn’t returned from a night of merriment. The servants must have wondered. Friends, acquaintances…any number of people must have suspected something was amiss.

Surely Weddington, of all people, would have harbored suspicions—

“Don’t you think so, darling?”

He glanced down into the eyes of the woman looking up at him so painfully adoringly. “I’m sorry. I was distracted for a moment.”

Worry flashed in her eyes, before she smiled more brightly and lifted her chin ever so slightly. “Lady Catherine was just saying how much her parents regret not being able to attend today’s ceremony. I was assuring her that we would plan to visit them as soon as possible. I was simply asking if you concurred with my suggestion.”

Who the deuce were Lady Catherine’s parents?
She looked vaguely familiar, but the only Catherine he remembered was a distant cousin his father had once talked of Robert possibly marrying. But then the girl had bloodied John’s nose and the discussions had, thank goodness, come to a halt. The girl preferred trees and frogs to tea and frills. Of course, she was also all of twelve…

“Lady Catherine,” he murmured.

She smiled becomingly. She was certainly no longer twelve.

“You must tell your brother that he need not stay away on my account. I hold him no ill will. And I would so love to see him again. Perhaps now I’d give him the kiss he fancied rather than a bloody nose.”

“I shall tell him. And we shall see to visiting your parents, although it might be a while. My wife and I shall be rather busy for a time.”

Her smile increased. “Of course you will, and well you should be.”

While she walked off, his wife squeezed his arm and whispered, “You’ll have to share that story sometime. I regret never having met your brother.”

Before he could comment or reflect on not only the irony but the inaccuracy of her statement, a gentleman was standing before him, demanding his attention, and Robert once again found himself drifting back to thoughts of Weddington.

The memories bombarded him. Why hadn’t he thought of Weddington sooner, questioned his absence on such an auspicious occasion?

Weddington had been his closest friend. How could Robert have forgotten? Perhaps because it had been so terribly long since he’d thought of anything other than escape and retribution.

But now that he had a moment to reflect, he realized that Weddington should have been there. Yet he hadn’t stood with Robert at the Church. Of course, he wouldn’t have if he were married. Only an unmarried man could serve as best man. But still, regardless of his marital state, he would have been in attendance to witness the ceremony; he would have been at this inconvenient breakfast to wish Robert and his new wife well. Why wasn’t he?
Was
he indeed married? Or was he dead? Ill? Abroad?

Who could Robert ask regarding the status of his friend? No one, for surely it was a question to which he should know the answer. But he didn’t. He didn’t know the details of his best friend’s life. Didn’t know the details of his wife’s life, for that matter.

Or the details of the lives of the people surrounding him. Or the details of the nation. What had transpired since he’d been in Pentonville? What wars had been fought? Did England continue to reign supreme? He assumed Victoria was still queen, but then he was coming to realize that he couldn’t rely on his assumptions to get him through this nightmare.

He’d thought he would have time to adjust to being back in society, and instead he found him
self in the unconscionable position of trying to appear normal when he no longer had any idea what normal might entail.

He felt as though he were suffocating: his throat was closing off, his chest was tightening. For years he’d been isolated, alone. He’d fantasized about his freedom, about having others near, about being touched, talked to…but now he found that close proximity to anyone caused his heart to race, his palms to sweat, his skin to itch. He could think of nothing to mutter other than thank you, good to see you, appreciate your coming. How did one carry on a casual conversation when all he wanted to murmur was “Talk to me, about anything, everything. Just let me enjoy the sound of your voice.”

Especially his wife’s voice. He enjoyed its musical lilt, wished people would speak to her only so that he could concentrate on the soft sounds. Her voice reflected such caring, such devotion, as though for that moment in time when someone stood before her, only that person mattered and nothing else. What a gift she possessed. So gracious, so charming. He could clearly see why John had chosen her.

Robert would be content to look at her, to inhale her sweet fragrance, to hear her voice, to touch her hair—a rich mahogany sheen—and know its silkiness, to gaze into her dark eyes and have her gaze into his. Instead he would have to distance himself from her, because he yearned for
all the things a woman could give a man…and he had no right to take them from her. She was bound to him by vows and documents—but not her heart.

He’d expected her heart to be unfettered, unbound—something he might come to possess in time, but she’d already given it away, at least in part, if not in whole. And she’d given it to a man he’d come to despise.

She complicated matters. He would have to do what he could, as quickly as he could, to ensure that the title remained with him. How to prove his claims, though, remained the crux of the problem. There were no physical characteristics to distinguish him from his brother. It would be one’s word against the other’s.

And he had little doubt that John in the outside world all these years was more capable of mounting a defense than Robert, who had eight years of talking to no one. Deprived of company, men had gone insane within those prison walls. Perhaps he had as well, to entertain the notion that he could so easily recapture what was his by birth.

As people filed past, offering congratulations, he thought he recognized a few of them, but he couldn’t put a name to a face. Men he’d gone to school with, men with whom he’d been friends, were noticeably absent, and he was left to wonder if John had purposely alienated them.

It would make sense that he wouldn’t want Robert’s intimates to be too close. After all, there
might be the danger that John would reveal his true self. And Robert was now faced with the same dilemma. How would he give the appearance that he knew these men, that he knew the status of their lives, that he had visited with them at the club during the last week—and that they knew him—without revealing who he really was?

He was grateful that men were acknowledging his distraction with a knowing smile, a conspiratorial wink as though they knew the cause, the cause being his charming and lovely wife.

And she
was
a distraction. He could hardly take his eyes off her, while she was giving her undivided attention to each guest. What an exquisite hostess she was, what a gracious duchess she would make. Yet how would she feel when she learned a duchess she was not to be? Not if her heart belonged to John. Not if this mockery of a marriage was to be undone.

He wondered if there was someone here in whom he could confide, someone whose opinion he could seek out. And once anyone learned how he’d disposed of John, then what? He would be brought to task for his actions, as he should be. He knew his solution had not been the best, but eight years of isolation could make it difficult for a man to think clearly.

But then so could a lovely wife. She had a most delicate profile, and when she smiled, even slightly, a small dimple appeared in her cheek. It fascinated him, as much as anything else about
her. He could well understand why John had taken to her. He wondered what their courtship had entailed, and if there were promises John had made that she’d expect Robert to carry out tonight.

He could well imagine the promises he himself would have made. To love, honor, and cherish seemed paltry by comparison. To love deeply, passionately, unendingly. To honor and cherish in the same manner. She would have his devotion. He knew he was assessing her on nothing of any consequence or significance, and after so long without the company of others, he no doubt lacked the ability to judge accurately or with any precision. Yet something about her went beyond the most fundamental of appearances. He could hardly explain it. But he sensed in her an incredible strength, determination, and gracefulness.

Perhaps it was the lack of hesitation in her voice when she spoke. The manner in which she sounded truly glad to greet guests, grateful for their time and attention. Perhaps it was the way she put them at ease.

Perhaps it was the direct contrast between her and her mother, who was standing on the other side of them with her father, speaking loudly, excitedly, as though their company’s presence somehow reflected on her, while Victoria Alexandria Hawthorne gave the impression that she was humbled by their attendance.

She wasn’t arrogant, showy, boastful, or proud. She quite simply fascinated him.

“Robert?”

He’d been staring at her, and although she’d been speaking, not a single word had registered in his mind, so lost in his thoughts had he become. Her cheeks reddening with embarrassment, she tilted her head slightly toward the man standing in front of him.

“Lord Ravenleigh wished to know if you’d heard from John.”

Lord Ravenleigh. He recognized him now. Of course, the Earl of Ravenleigh. And beside him were his two sons. Twins. What were their names? He couldn’t remember. They were a dozen years younger than he was. He wondered if he should warn them of the treachery one might someday inflict on the other.

“My brother sent his regards,” Robert forced out.

“I daresay I find his adventures interesting reading. Do hope you’ll bring his next letter by the club and enthrall us all.”

Robert cleared his throat. “Of course. I shall be delighted to share his letters should I receive any more.” But since John wasn’t free to write them, Robert doubted he would receive any.

His wife touched his arm, a little differently than she had before, as though she were trying to impart some knowledge to him.

“I hope you’ll forgive my husband if he’s not at
the club for a while. We’re leaving immediately after the breakfast to go to Hawthorne House.”

He supposed he would have discovered that bit of information eventually, but he was grateful to know it now. It removed a good deal of his tension. The breakfast was merely an inconvenience, to be endured a short while. Once finished, they would be on their way. Thank goodness they had no plans to stay in London. He needed to get away and contemplate his options.

“Of course, of course,” Ravenleigh said. He winked at Robert. “When you’re back in London then.”

The earl leaned toward Victoria, whispered something Robert couldn’t hear, but the flush in her cheeks deepened.

Ravenleigh walked away, then his sons were offering their congratulations. Robert noted the burn scar beneath one of the young men’s chins. He remembered hearing that their father had marked the younger son when he was born so he’d forever be able to tell his twin sons apart. Robert found himself wishing his father had done the same thing. He wouldn’t have minded if his father had marked him as the elder—to have a few moments of pain he couldn’t remember in order to have been spared years of agony he’d never forget.

The twins were the last to arrive, the last to walk away.

Victoria’s mother approached, her face glow
ing as though she’d just been told she’d ascend to the throne. “You and Victoria shall lead our assemblage into the library where we’re serving breakfast.”

The library. He had no earthly idea where it might be or if he should even know where it was located. “I would be honored to follow you.”

She blinked. “But that’s not the way it’s done. The bride and groom lead the entourage.”

“And if I’m distracted by your daughter’s beauty and lose my way…”

“Victoria will see that you arrive safely.”

So much for his awkward attempt to cover his ignorance regarding the layout of the house. Mrs. Lambert left him there, going off to issue orders to others as to how they should follow. He looked at Victoria, offered her his left arm. “Shall we?”

“Do you really fear that you might lose your way?”

“I must confess to being overwhelmed today. It’s a wonder I remember my name.”

“But the difficult part is behind us.”

No, my darling, I fear it still faces us, when you learn the truth. How can I spare you from the scandal that will erupt?

“I am quite ready to be on our way to Hawthorne House,” he murmured.

She blushed yet again, and he realized she might have mistaken the lowering of his voice because he’d not wanted to offend others as a sign he wished to have her alone, to be with her the
way a husband longed to be with his wife. He couldn’t very well disabuse her of that notion. But when she placed her hand on his arm and whispered, “Simply stay in step with me,” he could do little more than be grateful and determined to worry about what he would do later.