Our Wicked Mistake (34 page)
Read Our Wicked Mistake Online
Authors: Emma Wildes
At least his sister’s future was settled.
Luke couldn’t help but be amused at the difference in both Miles and Elizabeth, the air at the dinner table festive for the first time since his sister’s debut in the spring. Even his mother, once he’d carefully explained that he was in favor of the match, had finally come around. He wasn’t positive she entirely agreed the trappings of title and fortune were not linked to a contented marriage unless both parties were shallow and valued only the superficial, but he had pointed out Miles was hardly impoverished and likely, actually, to become affluent one day. There was also the irrefutable possibility that Elizabeth might stay stubbornly unmarried if she couldn’t have her choice of husbands, and besides, no one in the family would be surprised they’d gone from unruly childhood friends to lovers.
He was glad for her, and a certain part of him he wasn’t aware still existed envied their undeniable happiness.
“I’d like a winter wedding,” Elizabeth said, spearing a small piece of chicken and daintily putting it in her mouth.
“Winter?” Miles looked entertainingly pained at the long wait.
Which, Luke had a feeling, was intentional on Elizabeth’s part, for she immediately hid her expression by sipping her wine.
“It will take at least that long to plan,” Luke heard his mother declare, her fork suspended near her mouth, her eyes narrowed. “One cannot rush a proper wedding, and Elizabeth is my only daughter.”
The only problem was Luke had no confidence—after having seen that tempestuous kiss—that the two of them would wait half a year and not do something rash in the meantime, no matter what Elizabeth said. “The fall is nice,” he suggested pleasantly. “Only a few months away, and the weather much more cooperative to travelers.”
Miles looked grateful, his mother indignant, and Eliz abeth took a moment, but then smiled with a mischie vous glint across the candlelit table. “I suppose guests should be a consideration.”
“Indeed,” Luke said dryly.
“A few months?” His mother shot him a disbeliev ing look. “Obviously you know nothing about planning weddings.”
She was right, of course. He knew very little about formal weddings, but he did know something about how an impatient groom might feel. Luke set aside his fork, doing his best not to react. “No,” he agreed. “But this should be up to both Elizabeth
and
Miles.”
and
Miles.”
The arrival of the dessert course stopped the argu ment, and when he and Miles retired for their port to his study, his stepcousin sat down with a rueful smile on his lips. “I appreciate the effort on my behalf.”
“You’ll have to stand firm if you don’t want your wedding to be the grandest affair in the history of Brit ish society,” Luke informed him ironically, sinking down into the comfortable chair behind his desk. “But I am going to guess you already know that, since you know my mother very well indeed.”
“I do know.” Miles stared at the beverage in his glass with moody humor. “But I can wait, if it is what Eliza beth wants.”
“Humph.” Luke had much less faith. “I think half a year is a bit optimistic.”
“So do I,” Miles admitted cheerfully, stretching out his legs.
A swift wedding was definitely in order from that cheeky smile, Luke decided then and there. And it wasn’t Miles he was worried about, in truth. Elizabeth could always talk Miles into the most reckless behavior possible. “You’ll need to quickly put a stop to the cam paigning to make the wedding as grandiose an affair as possible.”
“Aunt Suzette is no match for Elizabeth’s tenacity.”
“She’s never married off a daughter before. Be careful.”
“Or a son.” Miles arched a brow jokingly.
“I’ve been married.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Luke wasn’t sure why he’d said them. Perhaps it was Madeline’s absence, which left him edgy and bereft. Maybe it was his sister’s palpable happiness in the glow of first love that gave introspection a new meaning.
Maybe it was just time to hear the words said aloud.
There was no doubt Miles was astounded and speechless. He took a gulp of his port, choked and coughed, and sat up straighter in his chair. “What?”
“In Spain.”
At least Miles had the good sense to stay quiet. Luke wasn’t even sure why he’d mentioned it in such a casual manner. He never spoke of it, not even to Alex or Michael. They knew, or he was sure at least Michael knew part of it, but both were private enough individuals they had never asked questions.
“She was”—he smiled in memory that was bittersweet—“Spanish. A
senorita
. A true lady. Beautiful, courageous, and though the daughter of a don, also integral to the Spanish resistance in the area the British wanted to wrest from Bonaparte. We were allies.”
senorita
. A true lady. Beautiful, courageous, and though the daughter of a don, also integral to the Spanish resistance in the area the British wanted to wrest from Bonaparte. We were allies.”
“I see.”
Miles didn’t actually, Luke reflected. No one did. “I married her. She was killed by the French, along with the child she carried.”
End of story.
No, not quite.
“Lord, Luke, I’m sorry.” Miles’s voice was strained.
“So was I.” Luke refilled his glass, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel.
“Elizabeth doesn’t know this.”
“No.”
Miles nodded without hesitation. “Of course not. She would have told me.”
That sort of conviction caused a twinge of envy. It was what made Elizabeth and Miles perfect for each other, because they were
friends
.
friends
.
Was Madeline his friend?
Luke thought perhaps she was. Passionate lover, yes. Friendship was different. Even more intimate. That dan gerous territory made him pour another glass of port. He’d never told Madeline what he’d just revealed to Miles.
He should.
Maybe.
“Why would I tell my sister?” Luke asked in a voice perfectly absent of any emotion—to his amazement, be cause his throat had tightened. “It was done, over, fin ished, by the time I came back to England.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“I have no idea.”
“Don’t you?” Miles was young and yet his expression held a certain venerable wisdom. “Might it have some thing to do with all this talk of weddings and a certain Lady Brewer?”
Chapter Twenty-five
T
revor had fallen asleep on the journey, and though normally he insisted he was too old for outward demonstrations of affection, he was tired enough he curled comfortably into her arms, and Madeline had the simple pleasure of holding him as they rocked along.
revor had fallen asleep on the journey, and though normally he insisted he was too old for outward demonstrations of affection, he was tired enough he curled comfortably into her arms, and Madeline had the simple pleasure of holding him as they rocked along.
... brothers and sisters for Trevor . . .
Madeline smoothed his hair from his brow and lightly traced the curve of his smooth cheek. He was so precious, a miniature of Colin, yet hers also, with his inquisitive mind and dark eyes. She was blessed, and Marta was right: she did want more children. She loved being a mother, experiencing the gift of her son’s smile, the sound of his laughter, the joy of watching him grow.
If Luke and I had a child
, she thought, leaning her head back on the seat and letting her imagination conjure the image of a smiling baby,
would he or she be blond, and perhaps have Luke’s unusual gray eyes
?
, she thought, leaning her head back on the seat and letting her imagination conjure the image of a smiling baby,
would he or she be blond, and perhaps have Luke’s unusual gray eyes
?
No. She shut off the daydream abruptly, her eyes opening.
The weather had turned sullen, with low, ominous clouds in charcoal banks across the sky, and the smell of rain in the air. She had the curtain rolled up for ven tilation, for it was warm and humid, and she watched the countryside roll by, the increased traffic on the roads telling her they were approaching London.
And Luke.
Was she pinning false hope on an illusion? The night after the opera, she’d caught sight of his reflected ex pression in the glass of the window when he’d entered her room.
Not an illusion
, she decided a quickened heartbeat later, because she’d seen the unguarded vulnerability, the stark look in his eyes he usually concealed so ef fortlessly. The real question was, should she allow him to reach the conclusion that it wasn’t passion alone that brought them together on his own, or did he need her help?
, she decided a quickened heartbeat later, because she’d seen the unguarded vulnerability, the stark look in his eyes he usually concealed so ef fortlessly. The real question was, should she allow him to reach the conclusion that it wasn’t passion alone that brought them together on his own, or did he need her help?
The latter, she decided firmly as the vehicle rumbled along and it started to rain. A smile tilted her lips de spite the dreary weather.
Michael had the list, the names of the staff, and a tenta tive timetable.
It was a start.
“The matter of motive,” he said matter of factly, “is still unclear. I’d like to talk to Lady Brewer if possible. Or it might be better if you spoke with the lovely lady. If any of the members had a special association with her husband, it would help me immeasurably.”
Luke walked his horse around a low hanging tree branch laden with droplets from the recent rain. “But naturally, she is to know nothing of why I am inquiring about her late husband’s acquaintances?”
“Naturally.” Michael’s agreement was unruffled and even, the sodden sound of his mount’s hooves on the muddy path muted. “Do you wish to inform her that her husband’s cousin could be an infamous traitor who will hang the moment we can prove duplicity against the Crown?”
“No,” Luke admitted, shaking droplets of moisture out of his hair. “But I doubt she is going to know anything that can help. Madeline isn’t the kind of woman who would protect a traitor.”
“We often know small, significant facts we have no idea are important.”
“That us lesser mortals don’t recognize the significance of, you mean.” They splashed along, and Luke was happy to be out of doors despite the rain, physical activity an antidote to his restless spirit. “We all haven’t your perceptive powers.”
“We don’t all need them.”
“True,” Luke agreed, remembering Michael’s capture by the French. It was a miracle his friend wasn’t dead, but both Alex St. James—then a colonel commanding a regiment—and he, an aide to Wellington, had moved heaven and earth to first find Michael and then free him.
“You have your uses,” Luke drawled, glancing around, the park deserted in this weather. They were completely alone, most of the
haut ton
choosing the drier indoors on such an inclement afternoon. “So, did you read it?”
haut ton
choosing the drier indoors on such an inclement afternoon. “So, did you read it?”
Michael didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He could redirect and evade if he wished, but rarely did he pretend. “Yes.”
So, Michael had read Lord Brewer’s journal. “I see.” Luke shot him a sideways look. “And?”
“And ... nothing. I was looking for a book code or the like, not a peek in your lady’s private life.”
“But peek you did,” Luke said bluntly as Michael drew up his horse by a small copse of dripping trees, bringing his own horse to a halt. “It’s what you do, so I don’t blame you. But tell me, did Brewer say anything that will humiliate Madeline, should Fitch choose to forfeit his life by speaking out?”
Michael looked startled, then amused. “A rather strong statement.”
“I have rather strong feelings on the matter.” No hesitation. “And he knows it. I made it quite clear in our little meeting in Bath.”
“Unfortunately, he might not have been the one to send her the stockings and garters.”
“How in the name of Hades did you know about—”
“I’m interested,” Michael interrupted in explanation. “When I’m interested, I know—”
“Everything,” Luke finished grimly. “I take it you have a spy in the house?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Why?” Luke’s hands tightened on the reins invol untarily.
“Just wait.” Michael, as always, sounded absurdly calm. No doubt he’d sounded exactly the same way when pulled half dead from a squalid cell in a crumbling fortress after the French had done their best to extract the information they wanted.
Luke recalled clearly the account of how beneath the blood and filth his friend had been ashen white when rescued, and Alex, whose regiment had actually taken the fort, had reported Michael had been locked in a cell so small he couldn’t stand without stooping. His condi tion was atrocious. Luke hadn’t seen him until a few days later when he’d arrived at the camp. Michael had been only semiconscious, but at least washed and bandaged, and that had been bad enough.
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