Love With the Proper Husband (27 page)

“London was exceedingly dull. I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps I have simply grown bored with it all. Besides, you are such a good example I decided there was much at Berkley Manor that needed attention. Beyond that,” Reggie said pointedly, “it is the end of the week.”

“Is it?” Marcus suspected the grin on his face was nothing short of ridiculous. “Already? Are you sure?”

“Quite.” Reggie’s expression was thoughtful, his words measured. “I see you are in better spirits now than at our last meeting.”

“Reggie, what you see before you is a changed man.” He laced his fingers behind his neck and tilted back his chair. “A man who is content with his lot in life. No, not merely content, but happy.” He grinned. “Unreservedly, unabashedly, irrevocably happy.”

“I see,” Reggie said slowly. “And the cause of all this unreserved, unabashed, irrevocable happiness?”

“The cause? I should think you of all people would recognize the cause.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

Marcus thumped his chair back to the floor and leaned forward. “Then you should be happy for me as well.”

“Of course,” Reggie murmured. “Congratulations are no doubt in order. And that calls for a drink in celebration.”

He stood quickly and crossed the room to a cabinet built into the wall between bookcases, designed to match the fluted wood columns that marked one wide section of bookshelves from the next around the walls of the library. Marcus had always considered it either an architectural masterpiece or a joke. Probably a bit of both. While the columns in the room appeared at first glance to be nothing more than decorative embellishments, nearly half concealed such cabinets. Reggie pulled open the door to the one that housed Marcus’s brandy.

“Would you like a glass?” Reggie’s voice was muffled behind the cabinet door.

“No, but I do appreciate your generous offer,” Marcus said wryly. “Especially as it is my brandy.”

“I thought you would.” Reggie returned to the desk, two glasses in one hand, a decanter in the other.

Marcus raised a curious brow.

“It would be most impolite of you to let a guest drink alone.” Reggie set the glasses on the desk, a shade harder than was necessary, and again Marcus noted Reggie’s demeanor. He was preoccupied, as if something of importance weighed on his mind. It was not at all his usual manner. “You wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Never.” Reggie filled the glasses, pushed one across the desk to Marcus, then took his seat.

“Not you. You, Marcus, have always been unfailingly polite.”

“One of the rules one lives by,” Marcus murmured and watched his friend with growing concern. Marcus knew the viscount as well as he knew himself, and there was definitely something amiss. Reggie studied the brandy in his glass silently, as if the amber liquid held the answer to whatever was plaguing him. His silence alone was worrisome.

Reggie was not the sort of man given to brooding or moodiness. His unrestrained nature never failed to recover from even the most devastating of circumstances. Marcus remembered when Reggie’s father had died a good ten years or so ago. While the pain his friend suffered was obvious, Reggie had chosen to handle his grief by celebrating his father’s life rather than mourning his loss. It was a lesson Marcus took to heart when his own father had died.

“Are you all right?” Marcus said.

Reggie paid him no heed.

Indeed, throughout their long years of friendship, Marcus could not recall an occasion when Reggie’s basic enjoyment of life did not overcome whatever ill fortune had reared its head. Even while in the final throes of a disastrous love affair, and Marcus had long ago lost count of those, Reggie was typically overly dramatic, always boisterous and eventually philosophical. And always more than willing to freely discuss and, in truth, examine every word, every nuance, every minor aspect of whatever had led to the latest breaking of his heart.

“Reggie?”

But he was never, ever subdued or reserved or reticent. He was never quiet. Marcus tried again. “I credit my current good humor to the fact that the sun was a remarkable shade of green today, which I cannot help but think will surely benefit the tenants in their quest for an excellent harvest this year.”

Reggie’s gaze jerked to Marcus’s and his brow furrowed. “What?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Marcus said slowly. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” Reggie shook his head and took a long swallow of his brandy.

“Nothing?” Marcus snorted in disbelief. “You may be an excellent liar when it comes to telling a lady she is the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen, but you’ve never managed it especially well with me.”

“You’re not all that lovely.” A slight smile tugged at Reggie’s lips. “In point of fact, I don’t find you the least bit att—”

“Come on, out with it,” Marcus said firmly. “I have never seen you in such melancholy spirits. Why, you’re positively…” Marcus searched for the right word, then grinned. “Poetic.”

Reggie barked a short laugh. “Well, if my plan to attract the undying affections of the ladies by being dashing and dangerous doesn’t work, I can certainly adopt the attitude of a brooding poet.”

“You’re doing it far too well, my friend.” Marcus’s voice sobered. “What’s happened in the last few days to put you in such a state?”

Reggie blew a long breath. “I have discovered I may well have been wrong.”

Marcus laughed with abrupt relief. “That’s all? You’ve been wrong about any number of things before, and I daresay will be again.”

“No doubt.” Reggie shrugged dismissively.

“What, precisely, were you wrong about?”

Reggie hesitated, then drew a deep breath. “The nature of men and the honor of women.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Impressively philosophical but not much of an answer.”

“You think not? I thought it was an excellent answer.” Reggie swirled the brandy in his glass thoughtfully for a long moment. “I seem to find myself on the horns of a rather nasty dilemma.”

“And?”

“And I fear whatever choice I make will have terrible repercussions.” Reggie got to his feet and wandered toward the nearest bookshelf. “As I said, it is a nasty dilemma.”

“That does sound dire.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and watched him carefully, trying to ignore a growing sense of impending disaster on his friend’s behalf. “Am I to gather, then, that in the scant few days since I left London, you’ve become embroiled in yet another affair of the heart?”

“Would that it were that simple,” Reggie murmured, perusing the books as if to find an answer among their spines.

“Blast it all, Reggie,” Marcus snapped. “You’ve never been the least bit reluctant to confide in me before, why are you so reticent to do so now?”

Reggie coolly pulled a book from the shelves and paged through it. “The stakes are much higher now.”

“What stakes? Do stop going around in circles, old man, and come to the point. What are you talking about?”

Reggie snapped the book shut and shoved it back in its place on the shelf. “I gather from your manner when I arrived all is well with you? Between you and your wife, that is?”

Marcus heaved a sigh of frustration. “Yes, of course, we are bloody blissful together. My life is well in hand, it’s yours that is of concern at the moment.”

“Even so.” Reggie folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall of books. “Correct

me if I’m wrong, but I further assume you have at long last fallen over the precipice?”

“Yes, yes,” Marcus said impatiently, “and I am quite enjoying the flight. Now what—”

“I was wrong, Marcus.” Regret sounded in Reggie’s voice.

“You’ve said that and I still don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

“Everything.” Reggie blew a long breath, and his gaze locked with Marcus’s. “I was wrong and you were right.”

For a long moment Marcus stared in confusion, then at once he understood exactly what Reggie couldn’t bring himself to say. Realization slammed into Marcus with the force of a fist to his chest, stealing his breath and clawing at his soul. He got to his feet, braced his hands on the desk, and struggled to remain sane.

And distantly in the back of his mind, he noted the faint but unmistakable sound of something falling from a great height and crashing irrevocably to earth.

And knew it was his heart.

Chapter Fourteen

The only thing more lacking in intelligence than a man in love is, regrettably, any man at all.
Helena Pennington

“You learned something in London, didn’t you? About Gwen and this man you were so confident did not exist?”

“I am sorry, Marcus.” Reggie shook his head and stepped closer. “I didn’t want to tell you but I

—”

“You didn’t tell me!” Marcus grabbed his glass, tossed the brandy down his throat, then grabbed for the decanter, knowing it was that or his oldest friend’s throat. “You haven’t told me a bloody thing!”

“I know.” Reggie shook his head. “This is exceedingly difficult for me.”

“My apologies for making your life awkward!” Marcus drew a deep breath and tried to force a note of calm to his voice. “Tell me precisely what you have learned. Now.”

“It’s not what I learned.” Reggie grimaced. “It’s what I saw.”

“What could you possibly have seen in London—”

“Not London, here.”

“What?”

“I saw her, Marcus.” Reggie winced. “With…him.”

“From the beginning!”

Reggie drew a deep breath. “I was on my way here and I took a shortcut from the London road. You know, the one that cuts a good half an hour off the ride and goes past the old dower house.” He cast Marcus a curious look. “Did you know it’s occupied?”

“Yes!” Marcus clenched his teeth. “Go on.”

“Very well. As I was passing, I saw a gentleman ride up and go into the house. I didn’t recognize him. He was older than we are, obviously wealthy, and”—Reggie lowered his voice confidentially—“he had an air about him that said he didn’t want to be seen.”

“And then,” Marcus prompted.

“I thought it was odd, of course, as no one has lived there for some time, and curious as well given the man’s secretive manner. I would bet my fortune he had arranged an assignation of an amorous nature

—”

“Reggie!”

“Sorry. Well, I was giving it no further thought, aside from a chuckle or two, as I have been in similar situations, when I saw your wife arrive.” Reggie’s forehead furrowed with concern. “She rode straight up to the house and didn’t even bother to knock. Just went right in without a moment’s hesitation.”

“I see,” Marcus said slowly, struggling to maintain his calm. “And?”

“And…that’s it.” Reggie frowned. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Marcus said sharply. “It’s not nearly enough.”

He needed to consider this in a rational manner and ignore the thudding of his heart in his chest and the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach and the lump in his throat. At first glance, it did indeed seem as though Gwen was meeting someone in the old dower house. Reggie had seen her and some unknown gentleman, but there wasn’t, in truth, any real evidence of anything untoward. There could be any number of excellent explanations as to precisely what Gwen was doing.

“Marcus?”

What she might well have been doing every afternoon since their arrival.

“Marcus, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, Reggie”—Marcus forced a note of calm to his voice—“that you are just as prone to jump to erroneous conclusions as I am.”

Reggie’s mouth dropped open. “Erroneous conclusions? Come now. What I saw is much more damaging than anything you based your previous suspicions on. You had nothing whatsoever to go on. I have solid proof of something not quite right.”

Marcus stared at his friend. “Thank you for putting it all in perspective.”

“Sorry.”

“I refuse to think the worst of her until I know the truth.” Even as he said the words, Marcus knew they would be easier to say than to abide by.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair. Hadn’t he and Gwen talked about trust just that morning? How could he expect her to trust him if he didn’t extend her the same courtesy? “I have come to know my wife rather well in recent days. Or at least I think I have. She has been on her own since her father’s death, and it is unreasonable for me to expect her to change her nature as quickly as she changed her marital state. I must respect that she is an independent soul and private as well, and in many ways, I think, as cautious as I about emotion, but I do not doubt that she is an honorable person.”

“Perhaps, but she’s also a woman.” Reggie shook his head mournfully. “They are a different breed entirely and, in my experience, not nearly as trustworthy as men.”

“Gwen is,” Marcus said stoutly, struggling to believe it.

“You’re taking this far better than I thought you would.”

“Am I?” Marcus laughed shortly. “It doesn’t feel as if I am.”

“Well, you are, and I quite appreciate it. Good God, this has been awful.” Reggie downed the contents of his glass, stepped to the desk, and refilled it. “I want you to know, I did not come here straightaway. I rode for a long time, debating whether or not to tell you. You have no idea how difficult this has been for me.”