Our Wicked Mistake (33 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
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Very much so, he was afraid.
“I was merely curious as to if you had any ideas,” Luke said slowly, wondering at his friend’s sudden appearance. “Since you retrieved the journal for me, I thought you might find it an interesting new slant on the mystery. Is this important?”
He’d sent a brief missive describing Fitch’s claim on how he came into possession of the journal, but he hardly thought his friend would find it so interesting he’d attend a ball just to discuss it. Michael wasn’t much for social engagements, unless they were forced upon him.
“So Fitch says he
found
it?” Michael’s hazel eyes held a speculative gleam. “That explains how it could wind up in the hands of such an unimaginative man, but tells us little else. Since the ghost of Lord Brewer is unlikely to pilfer the journal years after his death and haunt our club, only to carelessly leave the book of his most pri vate thoughts behind, we can rule your beautiful lady’s husband out as the careless culprit. No servant either could gain entrance to the club, and unless Fitch was ly ing to you, they would sell it anyway, if they’d bothered to steal it, or more likely, blackmail Lady Brewer.”
“I quizzed the staff at the club to see if any of them remembered the incident, but it was months ago. No one had any helpful information.”
“I might look into it myself.”
Luke moved a little farther into the corner to avoid a group of young ladies who paraded past, twittering and whispering behind their gloved hands. Michael, as an unattached marquess, could well be the target of the calculated promenade, or it could be Luke—a viscount wasn’t the same prize, but still significant. Either way, with resignation they inclined their heads politely before returning to their conversation. “I see you’ve thought about this. Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
Of course he did. Michael always had reasons. He didn’t blink an eye without just cause. “And they are?” Luke asked bluntly, puzzled over the journal and the course of events that had set about his world being knocked awry. Madeline was always the current focus of his thoughts.
“The journal is possibly tied to another investiga tion.”
“How so?”
Michael looked at him directly, his eyes crystal clear and questioning. “You worked for Lord Wellington. Surely you’ve heard of Roget.”
He had, but that had been back in Spain. It was incongruous to hear the infamous spy mentioned here, in a civilized London ballroom. Luke asked carefully, “What could a man like him have to do with Madeline’s husband’s journal?”
“I think he might have been involved in the original theft,” Michael said with his usual lack of inflection, “and then he left it to be found. My question is . . . why? Tell me again about your conversation with Fitch. As close to word for word as possible.”
Chapter Twenty-four
 
 
 
T
he rich green lawn echoed with delighted shrieks and a melee of running boys, two galloping puppies, and a wayward ball that seemed to find its way into the pond with unerring accuracy, causing someone to wade in after it. The end result was that all the children boasted a certain degree of mud, much, as far as Madeline could tell, to their delight.
Ah, if life were only that simple once again.
“Goodness, this has been a warm summer.” Next to her, Marta sat languidly in her chair, watching the antics of her offspring with a motherly smile. “Lovely for the boys, though. They hate the rain keeping them inside.”
Trevor certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, his dark curls in an unruly halo as he dashed after the ball again. The game being played was unclear, and Madeline suspected the rules were either made up as it went along or didn’t exist at all. “This is good for Trevor. I don’t use the country estate much because it so large and it is just the two of us, after all.”
“Langley Hall is a bit less ostentatious.”
“Maybe we’ll spend more time out of the city next year.”
“Trevor is always welcome here, of course.” Her sister in law narrowed her eyes against the sun. “He looks more like Colin every day.”
“I know.” Madeline spoke with affectionate remem brance. The affair with Luke had given her that, among other gifts. The pain of her husband’s loss wasn’t gone—it never would be—but it was different. No longer a cause for loneliness and sorrow, but she could remem ber Colin, and see him in Trevor, with fondness and nos talgia, not acute pain. She was a woman who had loved and loved well, but was no longer the desolate widow.
“Tell me about the elusive but apparently now attain able Viscount Altea.” Marta said it as naturally as she might request a second cup of tea. “Everyone is abuzz. Even David said something to me, and as you know, he notices absolutely nothing.”
Madeline was very fond of Marta’s genial but admit tedly vague husband. She smiled, studying the tips of her slippers visible beneath the hem of her lemon muslin day gown, and then looked up. “Luke is rather hard to describe, actually. If pressed to do so, I suppose I would say that he is a complicated man who prefers to ap proach matters in an uncomplicated way.”
“Meaning?”
All along, Madeline had known she would have to have this conversation at some point. She’d debated how to explain her decisions regarding Luke to her sister in law, but Marta had always been a dear friend and she was Trevor’s aunt, after all, and honesty seemed to be the best course. “He’s told me he isn’t interested in a marriage between the two of us. So we are friends, but that is the extent of it.”
Nonplussed, Marta gazed at her, a faint frown creas ing her brow. “Friends? I do not think a man of Lord Altea’s reputation has female friends in a strictly pla tonic sense.”
If she hadn’t blushed, perhaps she might have carried it off, but Madeline had no intention of lying to Marta. “I’m a widow,” she said carefully. “The same strictures don’t apply as when I was a young debutante. Now and then he escorts me to a function, and he joined us—my mother and Aunt Ida included—at the opera the other evening. Otherwise we are very discreet.”
“I ... see.”
“Do you?” It was important that was true.
“He’s extremely handsome, of course.” The words held a certain hesitant tone, as if Marta was trying to excuse her sister-in-law’s fall from grace.
Yes, he was, but his physical appeal aside, Luke was so much more than another titled gentleman with good looks and superficial charm.
To admit to a torrid affair with one of London’s more notorious bachelors was not the easiest confession she’d ever made, especially since she valued Marta’s opinion of her, but what she was about to say was even more difficult. Madeline looked out over the serene park, the sloping lawn with the playing children, the leafy elms fluttering verdant leaves in the summer breeze, and collected her emotions. “I’m very much in love with him.”
The moment that followed was quiet, except for the splash as the ball careened into the water again. The young nanny in charge began to scold the offender, who stood obediently for the diatribe but had a suspiciously broad grin on his face.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Marta’s tone was soft. “But I know you well enough to have guessed that already, for you would not go lightly into such a relationship. Is a marriage truly out of the question?”
“He’s adamant . . . or he was at the beginning.” Madeline squared her shoulders. The realities were as they were. “I entered into this with full knowledge of his position on it ever being permanent. Do not blame him for deceiving me or seducing me, for that matter. It was freely my choice to enter into our arrangement. He was extremely honest beforehand.”
“I doubt anyone would believe Altea forced you,” Marta said dryly. “A man with his reputation always has options. Any number of beautiful ladies dangle after him at all times, I’m sure.”
That was no doubt the truth, but Madeline preferred not to think about it. “I meant I knew you would hear the whispers, and I wanted to talk to you myself before you drew any conclusions. I am a lover, not a fiancée.”
“What of Trevor?”
A simple three words that were not simple at all. “I considered him, of course,” Madeline explained slowly, with emphasis. “But he’s very young and Luke’s inter est in me will not last.” She did her best to sound ac cepting of something that broke her heart each time she acknowledged it. “It can’t last, by the very virtue of how we’ve chosen to conduct our relationship. Therefore any possible scandal will be so long in the past by the time Trevor is old enough to understand that I doubt it will matter. Perhaps he will hear of it, and perhaps he never will. I have no intention of embarking on a career as a merry widow, Marta. I won’t say this is my way of finally putting Colin’s death behind me. That isn’t possible, and what is happening now is much too complex to define so easily, but it has freed me somehow. I feel like a woman again.”
Even with their parasols the sun was warm and mel low, and the bucolic country setting, with the sedate stone country house behind them, incongruous to their somewhat scandalous conversation. The flagstone ter race reflected the heat, and Madeline brushed a damp lock of loose hair from her neck.
And waited.
Colin’s sister’s acceptance was so important to her. This was much harder than appearing with Luke in public for the first time and that had been hard enough. When she looked back on it,
he’d
been there, and it had somehow seemed quite natural, the two of them to gether. She cared also about her family’s opinion, but knew that despite what she said about Luke, her mother and Ida both believed a wedding was in her future. Nei ther of them knew for certain there was a physical re lationship either, but with Marta she felt compelled to tell the whole truth, partially because they were close friends, and partially because of their mutual love for Colin.
At last Marta, who had been silent for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few moments, said, “I understand all of it but one part. Oh, I see why you’d be attracted to the viscount, and of course, why he’d seek you out . . . you are very beautiful, Madeline, and have much to offer any man. Wit, charm, style, and, most of all, a warm heart. Colin worshipped you. I believe he would have done so his whole life had he lived to be a hundred. While I am pleased you have found love again, should you ever settle for less than full measure back? Besides, there should be brothers and sisters for Trevor.”
If she hadn’t asked herself the same question, her smile would have been less tremulous. “Apparently I must settle for what he has to give.”
As for brothers and sisters, there was the possibility she’d conceived, but it was difficult to feel joy over such an event when she was uncertain of Luke’s reaction. He was an honorable man, and maybe he would offer marriage, but he had strong feelings on the subject, so it was hard to be sure. He wouldn’t abandon her, that she knew, but even if he did agree to wed her for the sake of the child, it was not at all what she wanted. She wanted to be his wife, but only if he loved her.
“If he doesn’t understand you are a treasure, then Lord Altea is a fool,” Marta said stoutly, with a flash in her eyes.
On the contrary, Luke was both intelligent and hon orable enough he would have left her alone. . . . He
had
left her alone for an entire year after that first night, but she had chosen to launch into their affair. “According to him, he isn’t opposed to marriage, just marriage to me,” Madeline murmured, wondering how she would bear it if he did marry some pretty young girl just to beget an heir.
“That makes absolutely no sense if you and he . . . that is . . . well, it makes no sense.”
Unfortunately, Madeline was beginning to think it made a great deal of sense, at least to Luke. “He feels it too. The first time we met, it was there between us, not just the attraction, though that was very real. I don’t know if I can explain it adequately, but we
know
each other. We are quite alike in many ways, and being together comes very naturally. I feel confident we would be happy if we wed.”
Marta stared at her in perplexed inquiry. “If what you say is true, this discussion becomes more peculiar by the passing moment.”
Quietly, she explained, “Marrying a woman he doesn’t love means if he lost her, the pain would be bearable. I think he’s very afraid he could love me.”
What will happen
, Madeline thought,
when he realizes he already does?
She’d lose him, she feared. Immediately he’d distance himself.
Unless she could find a way to help him exorcise his demons, whatever they may be. She’d lost Colin because his illness had been a battle she could not fight. This—this was different. Nor was it just her happiness at stake. She loved Luke too much to let him settle for less than what she could give him.
What they could give each other.
“If you know you could make him happy, how can you possibly reconcile not insisting on a future together, Madeline?” Marta reached across the small table between their two chairs and clasped her hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “Not for your sake, but for his.
That
is love.”
A very valid point.

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