Kathryn Smith (17 page)

“If you are afraid of falling in love, it is all right. It happens to all of us eventually.”

His words were little comfort, though Wynthrope knew that’s how they were intended. “Thank you, oh wise one.”

The scowl was back. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

“Why are you still here?” Wynthrope shot back.

North exhaled a harsh breath as he stroked the stubble on his jaw. “Because you are my brother and I love you.”

Wynthrope regarded him blankly, even though his words tugged at his heart. “I would love you as well, but I’m too afraid.”

For a second North looked as though he would dearly love to pummel him. It was going to hurt if he gave in to the urge. Fortunately for Wynthrope, North laughed instead. “You really are an arse, Wyn. You know that?”

Wynthrope nodded, a hesitant smile pulling at his lips. “I know.”

His brother regarded him through a tilted gaze. “Are you sure you do not want to come for dinner?”

“I am sure. I had some bread and cheese earlier.”

“And I won’t have to defend you to my wife when you’ve broken her friend’s heart?”

Wynthrope’s smile faded. “I cannot promise that, North, you know that.”

Straightening, North shrugged as he strode toward the door. “I suppose that is all I can ask.”

Wynthrope lowered himself onto the sofa again, his forearm over his eyes. Soon there would be nothing but silence and he could wrestle with his demons in peace.

His brother’s voice drifted over him. “Will you be all right here alone?”

He grimaced. “I’ll be fine.”

But when he heard the gentle click of the door closing, and the silent darkness closed in on him once more, Wynthrope knew he wasn’t going to be fine. He wasn’t going to be fine at all.

M
oira was as nervous as a new bride when Wynthrope came to collect her for the evening.

It was New Year’s Eve and she hadn’t seen him since Christmas. It was the longest they had ever spent apart in the whole duration of their relationship. She had filled the days and evenings as much as she could, but troubling questions and nagging doubts plagued her all the same. She knew she should have more faith in him—and in herself—but she couldn’t help wonder at times if he had lost interest.

“I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to see you again,” she informed him as they faced each other across the interior of his carriage. It was an expensive vehicle, well appointed, softly lit, and delightfully warm on this chilly night.

He appeared uncomfortable, and for a second she regretted speaking. She should probably pretend not to care and not let on that she had missed him, but she was too old to play those kinds of games. If he didn’t want to see her, or
wanted to put distance between them, that was his prerogative, but she would prefer it if he told her outright and saved her the embarrassment of being slowly cast aside.

Shadowed features remained impassive. “I thought you might need some time alone after what happened Christmas night.”

Maybe a day to think about it, but he had ignored her for five. His excuse was weak at best. “Why would you think that?”

His eyes were beyond dark, and far too difficult to read in this light. “Because I needed time myself.”

“Oh.” What else could she say? She hadn’t expected him to be so honest with her in return. And what did he mean that he needed time alone?

“I like you, Moira.”

She stared at him in the flickering lamplight. He made it sound like he was imparting some great secret. He looked as though he was as well. “Thank you. I like you as well, though I think that should be obvious.”

“Should it?”

Her cheeks burned. “I do not normally shove my hand down the trousers of men I do not like.” She had never shoved her hand in anyone’s trousers, but he didn’t need to know that.

He chuckled. “And you accuse me of saying scandalous things.”

Moira smiled in return, her embarrassment waning. She felt far too comfortable at times in his presence. “I suppose you must be a bad influence on me.”

Wynthrope’s good humor seemed to fade before her eyes. “No doubt I am.”

He was in such a strange mood, it made her uneasy. Was he trying to tell her something? This was all so very confusing. Just when she believed things were a certain way between them, he did something that made her doubt her judgment.

“Do you not want to see me anymore, Wynthrope?” She braced herself as the carriage hit a rut in the road—and for his reply.

This time his laughter was harsh as he turned his face toward the window. The shade was down, so Moira had no idea what he was looking at. “I want to see you all the time.”

He did? She didn’t know what to say. “I enjoy our time together.” What an understatement that was.

Tilting his head, he regarded her as though she had no idea what he was talking about. “Do you? These last few days have been empty without you in them. Tell me, did you think of me at all?”

She met his gaze evenly, openly. “Every waking hour of every day and even in a few of my dreams.”

He seemed so pleased, and yet so pained by her admission. He glanced away, then lifted his gaze again, his expression earnest and strained. “Moira, I—”

The carriage rolled to a halt. They were at their destination.

“You what?” Her question was hurried. She wanted to hear his reply before the door opened.

Wynthrope smiled. “I missed you.”

That wasn’t what he meant to say, of that she was certain, but it would do for now. It was nice to know regardless. Moira returned the smile. “I missed you too.”

The carriage door opened and Wynthrope alighted first, turning to help her down. Holding up her skirts and ermine-lined cape, Moira took his hand and stepped to the ground. Looking up, she saw that they were in front of an elegant-looking building on King Street.

“What is this place?”

“Eden,” he replied, placing her hand on his arm. “Surely you have been here before?”

Moira shook her head. She had heard of the popular club, certainly, but she had never stepped foot through its doors as
it had opened while she was in mourning for Anthony. “No, but I have heard so much about it, I have long wanted to come.”

“I’m glad I could be here to witness your first time.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they climbed the steps. Was he being flirtatious, or did she simply hear it in everything he said now? “Does the first time ever live up to one’s expectations?”

His arm jerked beneath her palm. She had caught him off guard! “My dear Lady Aubourn, whatever do you mean?”

“Do not play innocent, Wynthrope.” It was difficult not to smile. “It does not suit you.”

He grinned. “You are with me. I will make certain your first time is everything you could ever dream it would be.”

A shiver practically fell down Moira’s spine. If he only knew how much she wanted to put that theory to the test. “And if my expectations are not met?”

He paused at the door and fixed her with a gaze that just about melted the soles off her slippers. “Then I will keep trying until they are. Now stop looking at me like that or I’ll have to shove snow down my trousers.”

Moira didn’t know whether to chuckle or preen at his words. The idea that she could have such an effect on him was a heady thought indeed.

Inside the club they were met by a hulking majordomo who took their outerwear and led them to the ballroom where the private party was being held. The club was owned by Lord and Lady Angelwood, who ran the business as partners, much to the chagrin of many of the
ton
. That didn’t stop most of society from frequenting the club, however.

Tonight the club was open by invitation only. Wynthrope had been invited because he had known Lord Angelwood for
years, and because Octavia’s friendship with Lady Angelwood made them and the Rylands meet frequently on a social basis.

The ballroom was a cavernous room with marble pillars and floor. The Italian marble was a delicate peach under the light of the glittering chandeliers. Chairs lined the outer wall where people could sit and chat and watch the dancing. On the left wall were a set of French doors opening to another room where Moira could see a small group of gentlemen gathered around the refreshment table, no doubt collecting a glass of punch for their ladies.

The musicians were hidden behind an ivory and gold screen, giving the illusion of music being conjured rather than played. A few couples were already dancing while others milled about.

Yes, for a private party in the middle of winter, it was a decided crush.

Moira was well aware of the stares that met them as they strolled toward where Devlin and Blythe stood talking to another couple. Wynthrope was not known for being the kind of man who often escorted ladies to social affairs, and she was not known for attending any function with a gentleman at all. That was what had made her a target for those vindictive men in the past, her lack of “companionship.”

What did the gossips say about them? Did they wonder what he saw in her? Or why someone like her was with a man like him? Did they think the relationship was purely physical, or did one or two of them actually possess the intelligence to speculate that maybe they simply liked each other’s company?

Could they tell that she was so happy to see him again that she could dance a jig? Could they see how pleased she was that he claimed to have missed her? Served him right, the bounder. If he hadn’t been such a fool and simply came to call, he wouldn’t have had to miss her at all.

And why had he needed five days to think about what had happened that one night? Even she hadn’t obsessed about it to that degree.

“Moira!” Blythe exclaimed, gathering her up in an exuberant embrace. “How marvelous to see you again.”

Moira was happy to see her as well, but Blythe’s exuberance felt as though it might have cracked a rib.

“It is so nice to see a friendly face,” Moira admitted once the larger woman had released her. “I am not that acquainted with many of the guests.”

“We must remedy that.” Taking her by the hand, Blythe made their excuses to the men, and tugged Moira along behind her. Moira had no choice but to follow. If she dug in her heels and grabbed hold of another guest, she still would not be able to slow the force that was Blythe.

Within the course of the next twenty minutes, Moira had met Lilith, Lady Angelwood herself, and her friends the ladies Braven and Wolfram. Moira liked each of them exceedingly well, and accepted an invitation to take tea with the three of them some afternoon.

After that, Blythe introduced her to Viscountess Praed, a businessman by the name of Dunlop and his charming wife, and a whole host of other people whose names she could never begin to keep straight. Her head swam with nameless faces, all of whom she hoped to see again—and hopefully remember.

“Oh no,” Blythe murmured as a group of three ladies approached them. “Moira, I’m sorry, but I do not think we can avoid them.”

Moira arched a brow at her new friend’s apology. Who were these ladies that they made a woman such as Blythe cringe?

Ladies Dumont, Pennington, and Brightstone, apparently. “Lady Brightstone is a notorious gossip,” Blythe informed
her in a hushed, hurried whisper as the women neared. “Pennington is a viper. She tried to make Varya’s life miserable when she first came to London. And Dumont…” Blythe’s expression turned almost sympathetic. “Lady Dumont is a former
friend
of Wynthrope’s.”

Heat rushed to Moira’s cheeks. “Oh.” She knew exactly what Blythe meant by “friend.” She also knew that if the lady still had feelings for Wynthrope, she was bound to see Moira as competition.

The women were almost upon them now, so there was no chance of escape. They were like harpies bearing down on helpless victims, each of them dressed in the height of fashion with feathers in her hair and cosmetics accentuating her features. They looked more like fashion dolls than real women.

“Lady Blythe!” the oldest of the women greeted. “Oh wait, it is simply Mrs. Ryland now, isn’t it?”

Blythe’s smile was as serene as an angel’s. “Lady Ryland, actually, Lady Pennington. My husband was knighted, you will remember.”

“Oh yes.” The plump woman turned her false congeniality on Moira. “And this must be Lady Aubourn.”

Blythe made introductions and Moira did her best to be cordial to each woman, even though the buxom Lady Dumont looked as though she’d like to take her eyes out. Competition indeed. Although Moira didn’t think the fleshy blond much of a rival. True, she had a luscious figure, but there was a jaded aura about her that Moira knew would not hold Wynthrope’s interest for long.

“You came here tonight with Wynthrope Ryland, Lady Aubourn?” Lady Pennington questioned.

They certainly didn’t waste any time getting to the point. Moira kept her countenance as emotionless as she could. “Yes, I did.”

Lady Pennington’s narrow eyes were bright. “He is a very handsome man.”

Moira nodded. “I believe most women would agree with you.” She would not be baited. She would
not.

Apparently Lady Pennington was hoping for the opposite. “He is truly a remarkable specimen of manhood.”

Lady Brightstone cast her a puzzled glance. “You make him sound like an insect or an animal.”

Lady Dumont smiled at her companions. “Well, he is equipped like a horse.”

God, had they orchestrated that entire conversation just for that one remark? Moira made a face. Even she knew that Lady Dumont was exaggerating. “Now that’s just ridiculous. No man could ever be
that
large.” Oh dear, had she said that aloud?

The other women seemed surprised by her outburst as well, especially Blythe, who hid her laughter behind her hand.

Lady Dumont regarded her through narrowed lashes. “I assure you, Lady Aubourn, I
know
all about Wynthrope Ryland’s
equipment
.”

The woman was deliberately trying to goad her, trying to make her look foolish—trying to make her jealous. Moira straightened her spine, conscious of an equally annoyed Blythe beside her. “And I assure
you
, Lady Dumont, that I
know
he is not built like a stallion. Perhaps you are not as acquainted with his
equipment
as you believe.”

Oh, if only she could have captured this moment somehow. All four of the women stared at her with wide eyes and open mouths. Though while Blythe looked positively thrilled, the other three were less than impressed. They never expected for a moment that
she
, the prim and proper viscountess, would be so scandalous. Wynthrope Ryland was a bad influence on her indeed.

“Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I think I need some air.”

She hadn’t made it very far before Blythe caught up with her. “That was hilarious. You are my new favorite person.”

Halting, Moira raised a hesitant gaze. All the anger and bravado drained from her being. “What do you think Wynthrope will say when he hears?” And he was bound to hear, of that she was certain.

Blythe waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll laugh, especially when he hears what you said in return.”

Oh yes, no doubt he’d be just thrilled that she told one of London’s biggest gossips that he wasn’t incredibly well endowed. Men loved that kind of thing.

“You are really bothered by it, aren’t you?” Blythe’s expression was wonderfully sympathetic. If Moira hadn’t already liked her before this, she adored her now.

Moira nodded. “I’m not accustomed to these things. I suppose I’ve been a wallflower for too long.” She had spent so many years being the perfect viscountess, and to ruin it now by saying something so base and scandalous made her feel as though she was somehow besmirching Tony’s name.

And her own.

The tall redhead gave her a reassuring smile. “You held your ground. Do not let them ruin your evening.”