The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (42 page)

“And if it’s not still warm, then you’ll be over by the vat of brandy?” Clive joked.

David answered with a stiff smile to his brother and skated away.

“Susannah,” Clive said, giving her a warm look. “Glad he’s gone, eh? It’s been an age.”

“Has it?”

He chuckled. “You know it has.”

“How is marriage treating you?” she asked pointedly.

He winced. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Neither did you, apparently,” she muttered, relieved when he began to skate. The sooner they made their lap around the area, the sooner they would be done.

“Are you still angry, then?” he asked. “I’d hoped you’d managed to get past that.”

“I managed to get past
you
,” she said. “My anger is another thing altogether.”

“Susannah,” he said, although in truth, his voice sounded rather like a whine to her ears. He sighed, and she looked over at him. His eyes were full of concern, and his face had assumed a wounded air.

And maybe he really did feel wounded. Maybe he truly hadn’t meant to hurt her and honestly thought that she would be able to shrug off the entire unpleasant episode as if nothing had happened.

But she couldn’t. She just wasn’t that nice a person. Susannah had decided that some people were truly good and nice inside and some people just tried to be. And she must have been in the latter group, because she simply couldn’t summon enough Christian charity to forgive Clive. Not yet, anyway.

“I have not had a pleasant few months,” she said, her voice stiff and clipped.

His hand tightened around her arm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But don’t you see I had no choice?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Clive, you have more choices and opportunities than anyone I know.”

“That’s not true,” he insisted, looking at her intently. “I had to marry Harriet. I had no choice. I—”

“Don’t,” Susannah warned in a low voice. “Don’t tread down that avenue. It isn’t fair to me and it certainly isn’t fair to Harriet.”

“You’re right,” he said, somewhat shamefaced. “But—”

“And I don’t care one way or another why you married Harriet. I don’t care if you marched up to the altar with her father’s pistol pressed against your back!”

“Susannah!”

“No matter why or how you married her,” Susannah continued hotly, “you could have told me before you announced it at the Mottram ball in front of four hundred people.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was shabby of me.”

“I’ll say,” she muttered, feeling rather a bit better now that she’d had a chance to rail directly at Clive, as opposed to her usual arguments in absentia. But all the same, enough was enough, and she found she didn’t particularly care to remain in his company any longer. “I think you should return me to David,” she said.

His eyebrows rose. “It’s David now, is it?”

“Clive,” she said, her voice irritated.

“I can’t believe you’re calling my brother by his given name.”

“He gave me leave to do so, and I don’t see how it is any of your concern one way or another.”

“Of course it is my concern. We courted for months.”

“And you married someone else,” she reminded him. Good Lord, was Clive
jealous
?

“It’s just…
David
,” he spat out, his voice unpleasant. “Of all people, Susannah.”

“What is wrong with David?” she asked. “He’s your brother, Clive.”

“Exactly. I know him better than anyone.” His hand tightened at her waist as they rounded the pier. “And he is not the right man for you.”

“I hardly think you are in any position to advise me.”

“Susannah…”

“I happen to like your brother, Clive. He’s funny, and smart, and—”

Clive actually stumbled, which was a rare thing for a man of his grace. “Did you say funny?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I did. I—”

“David? Funny?”

Susannah thought about their moments in the snowbank, about the sound of David’s laughter and the magic of his smile. “Yes,” she said with quiet reminiscence. “He makes me laugh.”

“I don’t know what is going on,” Clive muttered, “but my brother has no sense of humor.”

“That’s simply not true.”

“Susannah, I’ve known him for twenty-six years. I should think that counts for more than your acquaintance of, what—one week?”

Susannah felt her jaw set into an angry line. She had no desire to be condescended to, especially by Clive. “I would like to go back to the shore,” she bit off. “Now.”

“Susannah—”

“If you do not wish to accommodate me, I will skate off by myself,” she warned.

“Just once more around, Susannah,” he cajoled. “For old times’ sake.”

She looked over at him, which was a dreadful mistake. Because he was gazing at her with that same expression that had always turned her legs to butter. She didn’t know how blue eyes could look so warm, but his were practically melting. He was looking at her as if she were the only woman in the world, or perhaps the last scrap of food in the face of famine, and…

She was made of sterner stuff now, and she knew she wasn’t the only woman in his world, but he did sound sincere, and for all his childish ways, Clive was not at heart an unkind person. She felt her resolve slipping away, and she sighed. “Fine,” she said, her voice resigned. “Once more around. But that is all. I came here with David, and it’s not fair to leave him off by himself.”

And as they pushed off to take one more turn around the makeshift course that Lord and Lady Moreland had set up for their guests, Susannah realized that she really did want to get back to David. Clive might be handsome, and Clive might be charming, but he no longer made her heart pound with a single look.

David did.

And nothing could have surprised her more.

The Moreland servants had lit a bonfire under the vat of chocolate, and so the beverage was blessedly warm, if not adequately sweetened. David had drunk three cups of the too-bitter brew before he realized that the heat he was finally beginning to feel in his fingers and toes had nothing to do with the fire to his left and everything to do with an anger that had been simmering since the moment Clive had skated up the snowbank and looked down on him and Susannah.

Damn and blast, that wasn’t accurate. Clive had been looking at Susannah. He couldn’t have cared less about David—his
brother
, for God’s sake—and he’d gazed at Susannah in a way no man was supposed to look at a woman not his wife.

David’s fingers tightened around his mug. Oh, very well, he was exaggerating. Clive hadn’t been looking at Susannah in a lustful fashion (David ought to know, since he had caught himself looking at her in that exact manner), but his expression had definitely been possessive, and his eyes had fired with jealousy.

Jealousy
? If Clive had wanted the right to feel jealous over Susannah, he should bloody well have married her, and not Harriet.

Jaw clamped like a vise, David watched his brother lead Susannah around the ice. Did Clive still want her? David wasn’t worried; well, not really. Susannah would never disgrace herself by becoming too familiar with a married man.

But what if she still pined for him? Hell, what if she still loved him? She said she didn’t, but did she really know her own heart? Men and women tended to delude themselves when it came to love.

And what if he married her—and he fully intended to marry her—and she still loved Clive? How could he bear it, knowing his wife preferred his brother?

It was an appalling prospect.

David set his mug down on a nearby table, ignoring the startled stares of his compatriots as it landed with a loud thunk, sloshing chocolate over the rim.

“Your glove, my lord,” someone pointed out.

David looked down rather dispassionately at his leather glove, which was now turning dark brown where the chocolate was soaking in. It was almost certainly ruined, but David couldn’t bring himself to care.

“My lord?” the nameless person queried again.

David must have turned to him with an expression approaching a snarl, because the young gentleman scurried away.

And anyone moving away from the fire on such a frigid day had to want to be somewhere else very badly indeed.

A few moments later, Clive and Susannah reappeared, still skating in perfectly matched steps. Clive was staring at her with that amazingly warm expression he had perfected at the age of four (Clive had never been punished for anything; one repentant look from those huge blue eyes tended to get him out of any scrape), and Susannah was staring back at him with an expression of…

Well, if truth be told, David wasn’t exactly sure what sort of expression was on her face, but it wasn’t what he’d wanted to see, which was full-fledged hatred.

Or fury would have been acceptable. Or maybe complete lack of interest. Yes, complete lack of interest would have been best.

But instead she was looking at him with something almost approaching weary affection, and David didn’t know what to make of that one way or another.

“Here she is,” Clive said, once they’d skated close. “Returned to your side. Safe and sound as promised.”

David thought Clive was laying it on a bit too thick, but he had no wish to prolong the encounter, so instead all he said was, “Thank you.”

“We had a lovely time, didn’t we, Susannah?” Clive said.

“What? Oh yes, of course we did,” she replied. “It was good to catch up.”

“Don’t you need to get back to Harriet?” David asked pointedly.

Clive just grinned back at him, his smile almost a dare. “Harriet is fine by herself for a few minutes. Besides, I told you she was with her mother.”

“Nonetheless,” David said, getting downright irritated now, “Susannah came with me.”

“What has that to do with Harriet?” Clive challenged.

David’s chin jutted out. “Nothing, except that you’re married to her.”

Clive planted his hands on his hips. “Unlike you, who is married to no one.”

Susannah’s eyes bobbed back and forth from brother to brother.

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” David demanded.

“Nothing, except that you should get your own affairs in order before messing with mine.”

“Yours!” David nearly exploded. “Since when has Susannah become your affair?”

Susannah’s mouth dropped open.

“When has she been yours?” Clive volleyed back.

“I fail to see how that is any of your business.”

“Well, it’s more my business than—”

“Gentlemen!” Susannah finally interceded, quite unable to believe the scene unfolding in front of her. David and Clive were squabbling like a pair of six-year-olds unable to share a favorite toy.

And
she
appeared to be the toy in question, a metaphor she found she didn’t much like.

But they didn’t hear her, or if they did, they didn’t care, because they continued to bicker until she physically placed herself between them and said, “David! Clive! That is enough.”

“Step aside, Susannah,” David said, nearly growling. “This isn’t about you.”

“It isn’t?” she asked.

“No,” David said, his voice hard, “it’s not. It’s about Clive. It’s always about Clive.”

“Now see here,” Clive said angrily, poking David in the chest.

Susannah gasped. They were going to come to blows! She looked around, but thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed the impending violence, not even Harriet, who was sitting some distance away, chatting with her mother.

“You married someone else,” David practically hissed. “You forfeited any rights to Susannah when—”

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

“—you married Harriet. And you should have considered—”

“I said I’m leaving!” she repeated, wondering why she even cared whether they heard her. David had said quite plainly that this wasn’t about her.

And it wasn’t. That was becoming abundantly clear. She was simply some silly prize to be won. Clive wanted her because he thought David had her. David wanted her for much the same reason. Neither actually cared about her; all they cared about was beating each other in some silly lifelong competition.

Who was better? Who was stronger? Who had the most toys?

It was stupid, and Susannah was sick of it.

And it hurt. It hurt deep down in her heart. For one magical moment, she and David had laughed and joked, and she’d allowed herself to dream that something special was growing between them. He certainly didn’t act like any of the men of her acquaintance. He actually listened to her, which was a novel experience. And when he laughed, the sound had been warm and rich and true. Susannah had always thought that you could tell a lot about a person from his laugh, but maybe that was just another lost dream.

“I’m leaving,” she said for the third time, not even certain why she’d bothered. Maybe it was some kind of sick fascination with the situation at hand, a morbid curiosity to see what they would do when she actually started to walk away.

“No, you’re not,” David said, grabbing her wrist the moment she moved.

Susannah blinked in surprise. He
had
been listening.

“I will escort you,” he said stiffly.

“You are obviously quite occupied here,” she said, with a sarcastic glance toward Clive. “I’m sure I can find a friend to take me home.”

“You came with me. You will leave with me.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s necessary,” he said, and Susannah suddenly understood why he was so feared among the
ton
. His tone could have frozen the Thames.

She glanced over at the iced-over river and almost laughed.

“You, I’ll speak to later,” David snapped at Clive.

“Pffft.” Susannah clapped a hand over her mouth.

David and Clive both turned to stare at her with irritated expressions. Susannah fought another extremely ill-timed giggle. She’d never thought they resembled each other until now. They looked
exactly
the same when they were annoyed.

“What are you laughing at?” Clive demanded.

She gritted her teeth together to keep from smiling. “Nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” David said.

“It’s not about you,” she replied, shaking with barely contained laughter. What fun it was to throw his words right back at him.