Dilemma in Yellow Silk (26 page)

Unlike his mother, he did drink coffee in the mornings. Not that, technically, it was morning. Most of the household had been up and about long before breakfast was served at noon. He had stayed in bed with his wife, but nobody commented on that. After all, as he’d said to her as he rolled her on to her back, they were only doing their duty.

Never had anything felt less like duty and more like the greatest pleasure he had ever known. Every time they made love, the experience improved.

Marcus shifted, settling his unruly body into a more comfortable position. How he could still want her after—but if he continued to think that way, everyone at table would know, once he got to his feet.

He turned his thoughts back to Northwich. Ah, yes, that worked. Idly, he picked up his mother’s discarded gossip sheet. The print was tiny. No wonder she needed the lorgnette. He was almost tempted to borrow it, too.

But no. He read the first two paragraphs and winced.

Val snatched the paper from him. “Oh, this must be good to have you all wrapped up like that. Oho!” He read aloud, to the great delight of Marcus’s siblings. “Such a sight as was never seen before in the new fencing studio Domenici’s. In front of the entire membership, Lord M—, previously a stalwart and admired member of society, dragged his wife and engaged in a fencing match. Lady M— proved an excellent match for her husband, gaining the first hit and changing the odds on her victory considerably. However, his lordship’s superior reach eventually won the day, and her ladyship retired in confusion.”

“No, I did not!” Viola cried. “How dare they? I did not retire. It was a draw!”

“A gallant gesture,” Marcus said. “I would have bested you.”

Viola made a sound halfway between anger and exasperation. She could not know how animated she became like this. He wished it were possible to hustle her up to her bedroom and make the best use of her fury. But he had to shift again and try to think of Northwich.

“While we do not dare to speculate on the current condition of the marriage between Lord and Lady M—, it nevertheless appears the couple share a great deal of passion. Let us hope passion has a material result in nine months’ time, and not six.”

“Oh!” Viola reddened, a pretty blush spreading over her bosom and up her neck to her cheeks. “How dare they?”

“I thought that was mild,” Darius remarked, reaching for the toast and spreading a slice liberally with butter.

“It’ll be a nine days’ wonder,” Lady Strenshall said in a resigned tone. “Let us pray the gossip has died down by August, otherwise we will be shooting down rumors instead of game birds.”

“Not for the first time,” Lord Strenshall murmured. “I wonder how Claudia is doing?”

The implication being the wilder of his female set of twins might be having the same tempestuous start to her marriage. But at least they were doing it decently in the country instead of in the public gaze.

“I have done with this,” Marcus said suddenly. “I want to retire sooner rather than later.” He glanced at Viola. “Since I know you will follow me or rail at me if I go without you, I intend to visit the Duke of Northwich this morning.”

“We,” she said calmly.

He shook his head. “Not this time. If you walk into the lion’s den, he will try to take you.”

“And not you?” Ignoring the protests ringing around the room, she turned to him. “You said if he was behind the attacks, he would want you dead and me alive. So I am in less danger than you.”

Marcus hated that she was right. His instinct was still to wrap her up and tuck her away until he had resolved the problem. “It’s a bluff. If he kills me in his house, if I disappear this morning, after telling everyone where I have gone, my father has a case to bring to court.”

“But I don’t want you to die!” she wailed, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I’ll go,” Val said.

“No, it’s my business. In any case, if I perish, you are the next heir.”

Yes, Viola could be carrying his heir. It was early days, but they had been working hard at making one recently. Perhaps too hard.

He recalled the time he’d bent her over the bed. Oh, no, he could not think of that now. Throughout the days, flashes of delightful memories occurred to him, with predictable effect. Viola’s enthusiastic response was an even greater delight than he had imagined. They had come a long way since their wedding night.

He knew exactly what he wanted after he’d done with this matter. If he could somehow bring the immediate danger to Viola to a satisfactory conclusion, he could take her to his house. They could spend all day and night enjoying each other—as a newly married couple should.

“I will not die,” he told her now.

“I will accompany you,” she said.

He should have known better than to think she would not follow him or insist on coming. Damnation, he had wanted a serious discussion with his adversary. Now he would have to moderate his language, at the very least.

* * * *

Marcus had to admit his wife looked fine in her carriage gown of rich red ribbed silk. Relatively plain, but with gold buttons, and a very fetching hat with a matching plume curled around the brim. He wished he had time to take her for a ride in the park first.

When he said so, she gave him a saucy smile. “Perhaps I will let you one day. The bills for my shopping must be horrific, but I have had little else to do.”

He touched her gloved hand. “I will certainly bear that in mind. We must find you something more productive to do.”

Her laugh warmed him and eased the tension ratcheting his mood.

They arrived at the grand house owned by the Duke of Northwich in good time. Several carriages stood in the square, clustered around the great front door, to which the knocker was still attached. Marcus had already ascertained Northwich remained in town.

He dispelled the brief touch of panic as the footman let down the steps. If he could have sent her home he would have. Why couldn’t he have discovered a willing, obedient wife?

But then she wouldn’t have been Viola, and that was not acceptable.

As they emerged from the carriage, the door opened, and a superior being stood inside, waiting for them. Only the slight widening of his eyes indicated he had recognized them. Since they had called in person, rather than sending in their cards, the butler would be taking a lot on himself if he sent them away. But would he?

Another insult at this stage would not concern Marcus too much. In fact, he was looking forward to the ride in the park they could fit in before dinner if the man was to do so.

But he did not. He let them in to the hall and took the cards. “It is the duke we have come to see,” Marcus said.

“The dowager duchess is holding a salon today. I will enquire as to whether the duke is in, my lord.”

He was in. The butler returned within five minutes. “If you would come this way, my lord, my lady.”

They followed him upstairs to a small but elegant salon next to the closed double doors of the main drawing room. The buzz of conversation filtered through the doors as they opened and someone came out.

The Earl of Alconbury, Northwich’s oldest son and his heir glared at them down his blade of a nose. His lean olive-skinned features rarely reflected his mood, which was generally one of sour displeasure. Today was no exception. He said nothing, but bowed his head to Viola and followed them to the room.

Polished mahogany furniture upholstered in dark blue gave a masculine air to the room, but it was still one a woman could enjoy. Not that either he or Viola were in any mood to enjoy décor. Resentment that such bitter enemies had such a pleasant way of living filled him, when he considered the unhappiness the Dankworth family had brought to so many.

Northwich rose to greet them, an urbane smile creasing his face, one that did not reach his eyes. He bowed to Viola but pointedly did not salute Marcus. Marcus remained upright and waited until Viola rose from her curtsey.

“I had not realized we would be on your list of bride-visits, else I would have called,” the duke said. His dark gaze flicked over Viola. “Although I have not seen you so close before. I would most assuredly have paid a call, had I believed we would be received. Please, do sit down.” He gestured to two chairs set a little apart.

Divide and rule. Marcus led his wife to the sofa and helped her to sit.

Alconbury took one of the spurned chairs, draping arms over the elaborate carving in the pose of a king. His father retook the chair he had vacated when they entered the room. “I take it you do not intend to drop in on my mother today. Her literary salon has almost ended, in any case. Would you like me to send you an invitation?”

“You can send one,” Viola said. She stared at Alconbury. She had never met him before, of course, not even at the few social events they had attended recently.

Most hostesses knew not to invite both families to any but the largest events, and with the young ladies all launched, large balls were rare.

Alconbury watched with his customary concentration. Marcus had not had much direct communication with the man, for obvious reasons, but he had never underestimated the man’s sharp intelligence.

“We could exchange pleasantries all afternoon,” Alconbury remarked. “But your time is probably as limited as ours. If you have business with us, we will listen.”

“Yes, you will,” Marcus replied, not in the least disconcerted by his abruptness. He was cut from a similar cloth, preferring to get to the point, unlike his cousin Julius, who delighted in the obfuscatory remark. “You have caused my wife considerable distress. I will take your insults no longer. I’m here to ask you in a civilized tone to leave her alone. Or I will ensure you do.”

Alconbury spoke first. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“Any way I can.”

Northwich smiled, cool as a cat in a patch of sun. “I doubt it. You are known as a man of utter integrity. Would you dare to break that reputation?”

Marcus reached out and took Viola’s hand. “For my wife, yes. Without a doubt.”

The duke raised a dark brow. “Indeed. I heard it was a love match. I would not have credited it had I not seen for myself.”

Marcus swallowed. “It is a matter of caring for my own. Had you attacked my sisters, I would have acted in the same way.”

“Attacked?” Alconbury said sharply.

“Do not presume ignorance.” Contempt filled him when he swung his gaze to the man. “You wish to deny what you have done?”

Viola squeezed his hand. He assumed from distress until he looked at her. But his wife was furious. By now he knew the signs—the blazing eyes, her luscious mouth tightened into a hard line.

“How dare you, sir? You had my father killed, and you can sit there and deny it?”

Alconbury shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Feigned, of course. “I take part in so many attacks I cannot imagine which one you mean. You will have to remind us.”

Marcus growled low in his throat. “The attacks on my wife, one of which proved fatal to my father-in-law.”

Silence reigned for the time it took a conductor to bring down his baton. “I was under the impression that was a sad accident.” Northwich flicked a glance at his son. Was he asking him if he had taken the initiative, or warning him?

“You were?” Marcus let his cynicism show in his voice. “I understood you had spies everywhere. Could it be we fooled you for the last twenty-six years?” Ah, damnation, what had he said?

The light of understanding flashed in the duke’s eyes. He turned his full attention on Viola. “Yes.” He drew the one word out longer than necessary. “I understand now.”

While Marcus called himself fifty kinds of fool, the duke examined Viola closely. Had he really not known until that moment?

She did not react by fidgeting or any other ill-bred action. She behaved like the woman she was, sitting up straighter and staring back.

“An insolent child,” the duke remarked casually.

“I could say the same thing,” she said. “Considering my birth is superior to yours.”

Oh, yes! As a Stuart princess, she would be revered in this house.

The duke sighed heavily. “Sadly you have made yourself useless to me.”

“Not as much as you would like me to believe,” she answered. “If you dispose of my husband, you may have another shot.” She gazed at first the duke, and then his son. Alconbury had his head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed as he examined her with no attempt at good manners.

If she took offense, she didn’t show it, only stared down her nose at the duke. “If any harm comes to him, I will burn the papers in my possession. That will make me useless to you.”

“My dear, I appreciate the effort.” The duke paused, stared again. “It really is a remarkable resemblance. Have you met your father?”

“I shared the same house with him for many years,” she said. “He died recently.”

If he had not been sitting so close, Marcus wouldn’t have seen the slight tremble of her fingers, controlled almost immediately. His heart burst with pride for her.

“Don’t try to tell me you had no idea,” he said. “Are your spies slipping?”

“I don’t have as many as you seem to think.” The duke kept his attention on Viola.

Not what Marcus wanted. He would have tried another provocative remark, but the duke spoke first.

“I’m surprised not to see your cousin Julius Caesar here.”

Marcus had suffered so many taunts on his own name, the sneering way the duke said his cousin’s name barely registered. Was the duke trying to make him storm out? Or was this his usual nature? “Viola is
my
wife, not his. And before you concern yourself, my name is Marcus Aurelius. I do not appreciate the familiarity to myself or to my cousin so I would prefer you did not use it.”

“I daresay.” The duke waved his concern away with a careless wave of his hand. “You, however, came to see me. While I will offer you the courtesy of entrance to my house, any other consideration is mine to give.” He smiled, a thin curve of his mouth, the fleeting expression soon gone. “Feel free to leave at any time.”

“We will,” Marcus assured him. “We only came to show you what you cannot have. Or would it have been your son who had the honors?”