Chapter 17

"How was your promenade?" Will asked, his eyes twinkling in the light cast by the candles on the dining table.

It was early evening, and the summer sky outside might have provided enough light to see by, but for reasons Lydia did not understand, the drapes were drawn, and they were dining as if it were autumn.

She daintily sipped from her soup spoon. "Very pleasant, thank you."

"You stayed at the tearoom for a long while," he remarked, dabbing his lips with a napkin, but she would not look at that tempting mouth.

She smiled back, remembering the lessons Mary had taught her. "Did I? I was not aware that you were observing the entire time. Indeed, I had assumed you left after you gave me such a stern talking-to on the terrace." She mustered what she hoped was a coquettish laugh, meeting his gaze with amused defiance.

"Pardon me?" Anthony interjected, almost spitting out his mushroom soup. "My brother scolded you?"

Lydia chuckled. "Oh, he tried to."

"For what reason?" Anthony leaned forward, like a Society lady who was about to hear the juiciest gossip of the Season.

She waved a dismissive hand. "In truth, I have forgotten. You would have to ask your brother what the reason was." She scooped up another spoonful of soup. "I think he just wanted to speak to me, for I had encountered an old friend, and I suspect my darling husband was bitten by the green-eyed monster."

Will's eyes darkened, and he set down his napkin with such slow menace that Lydia began to wonder if it was not particularly wise to rile him up. "I am not fond of the company you keep," he said drily.

"Oh? What company might that be?" she asked, hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt.

"A gentleman who has sullied himself by falling for a maid, and a spinster who laughs at impropriety," Will replied. "Did you not think it strange that the Duke I was conversing with suddenly decided to leave? Lord Portshire is doing himself no favors. His wife will never be welcomed in Society, and he will struggle because of his choice. You see, Anthony, this is the trouble with the illusion of love—it makes otherwise sensible people do utterly stupid things."

Lydia set her spoon down, folded her arms across her chest, and allowed herself to glare at her husband. "Well, I do not care what a Beast has to say about Lord Portshire's situation. I think it is wonderful. Truly, I wager that unhappiness would be far less common in marriage if love were placed higher on the list of priorities. Perhaps fewer husbands would be inclined to stray, fewer wives would grow resentful, and fewer children would never know what happy, besotted parents looked like."

Will held Lydia's sharp gaze, tension bristling between his chair at the head of the table and hers in the middle, opposite Anthony. She wished she had insisted on sitting at the other end of the table, so she could glare at her husband without having to turn her head.

Anthony snorted. "She makes a rather excellent point."

"As for the spinster who laughs at impropriety, I do not know what you are referring to," Lydia continued, touching the rim of her water glass so one of the servants could fill it. "Nora laughed at no impropriety that I could see."

The servant walked over and poured from a pewter pitcher, and though his face was blank, Lydia could tell he was enjoying his private box seat to this particular theatrical.

Will reached for his wine glass. "She was highly amused at my wedding to your sister. I rarely forget a face, kitten. I have not forgotten hers."

"And people are not allowed to laugh when they are nervous?" Lydia retorted, sipping the water to wet her dry throat. "Goodness, even I laugh sometimes when I am nervous."

Will swirled the wine, staring down into his glass. "As I said, I do not like the company you keep."

"It does not seem to be a matter of not forgetting with you, husband dearest," Lydia said, ignoring him, "but a matter of holding such… useless grudges. So what if she did laugh back then? Have you not gained what you wanted, anyway? Are you now going to tell me who I may and may not spend time with? That is veering somewhat away from the agreement we have if you ask me."

Will raised his gaze, smiling. "I am not going to tell you to do anything."

Under the table, under the cascade of her skirts, her thighs tingled with the memory of his grip while heat rushed between them as her sensitive flesh recalled the particular sensation of his talented touch. His voice whispered in her mind, making it hard to breathe for a moment, "You like being led. I know you do, kitten… When I showed you how to waltz, moved you, guided you, urged you, you liked it. You would not have if I had merely told you."

"My friends are… my friends," she rasped, fighting to recover her seductress act. "They will remain so, for as I have a flighty husband, I shall need my friends when the desire to flee strikes you again."

Anthony stuffed his mouth full of bread, presumably so he would not burst out laughing. But the strain was evident on his face.

"Who is to say that I did not venture to London to see if you would follow, kitten? An assessment of your loyalty to me and an experiment in regard to your willpower?" Will replied, smirking as his lips touched the rim of his wine glass.

Lydia swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to graze her teeth across her lower lip as she watched him sip, the action so seductive that she wondered how Anthony could bear to be in the room. Truly, she had never wished to be a wine glass more.

"Because, my feral tomcat, if that were even slightly true, you would not have looked so utterly shocked when I walked into the opera box," she replied, making her voice as husky as possible.

Will set his glass down, staring at her with a wolf-like look that she could not decipher. Had she enraged him? Amused him? Intrigued him?

"Were your parents a love match, Lydia?" Anthony suddenly jumped in, which did not bode well for Will's mood. If his brother was intervening, she must have angered him.

She was somewhat grateful for the interruption. "Of a kind, yes. They were friends in childhood who grew apart, as children do. Then, they encountered one another when they were older, and… I suppose they thought that familiarity and friendship were an excellent foundation for a marriage. The love blossomed, and though my father is a rather serious sort of man while my mother is sweet-natured and cheerful, their love has continued to flourish. They are never happier than when they are together, complementing one another as they do. I doubt my father would know how to smile or laugh at all if it were not for my mother."

She glanced back at Will, who sat back in his chair, watching her intently. "The trouble begins—or continues—I think, when two people are bound together who are not complementary. Two combative individuals will always fight. Two shy individuals might never find the courage to speak. Two humorous personalities might get along rather well but end up trying to outdo one another. Two fiery personalities will constantly clash."

"But think of the reconciliation," Will said, brushing a drop of wine from his lips with his thumb. "The passion would be… incendiary."

Lydia wished she had her fan with her. "But something that burns ferociously cannot burn for long."

"I would not be so sure of that," Will replied, smirking.

Determined not to let him fluster her, she met his gaze with a smile. "What of your parents? Were they a love match?"

The smirk vanished from Will's face, all humor clouding over into a stormy temperament. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his mouth set in a displeased line, as if he were about to insist on punishing her for her insolence. She had not fully known, until that moment, that she had overstepped an invisible line.

Anthony clapped his hands together, looking as anxious as Lydia felt. "Shall we have the next course?"

"An excellent idea, Anthony," Will said.

The servants swept in to remove the soup bowls, though Lydia was not even halfway through hers, and as they brought in the next course, she had a feeling that it was about to be a very silent dinner.

"Lydia?"

She turned on the stairwell, craving the solitude and peace of her bedchamber and the books she had brought with her. The last thing she wanted was to be delayed from that necessary comfort.

"Anthony." Lydia bobbed her head in acknowledgment. "I was just about to retire for the night."

Anthony approached, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the banister. "I will not keep you. I just… wanted to say that you should not be disheartened. As my brother's wife, you have every right to know about our family, but… it is not something he discusses easily, even with me."

The rest of dinner had been awkward and almost devoid of all conversation, peppered by the squeak of cutlery on plates and the occasional clink of a glass. Anthony had done his best to steer the conversation to more neutral territory, asking about Lydia's day with her friends, but with a brooding tempest at the end of the table, it had not been conducive to pleasant chatter.

"Will you tell me what troubles him so with regard to your mother and father?" Lydia asked.

Anthony hesitated, peering down over the side of the banister to ensure that Will was out of earshot. "I dare not say much, at present, but what I admire in our mother is what Will cannot abide." He lowered his voice. "Our mother has always done as she pleased. When we were younger, she was forever attending balls, the theater, the opera, and other such gatherings."

"That is… a bad thing?" Lydia stared at him, waiting for some clarity.

"She used to attend such things alone," Anthony said in a very pointed fashion. "Whether our father was invited or not, I do not know, but he never accompanied her, and she never waited or asked him to. How she behaves now is somewhat similar to how she behaved then if that helps any?"

Lydia frowned. "You mean… with gentlemen?"

Anthony tilted his head from side to side. "Nothing has ever been confirmed or denied, but Will is certain that our mother was up to all sorts of… um… mischief. He does not trust her. Hates her, in truth. That is why he does not like to speak of her or of her in relation to our father." He paused. "And that is why he does not want you listening to her. He believes she will corrupt you, I suppose."

A spark of shock ignited in Lydia's chest. "He told you of his rules for me?"

"He mentioned them briefly." Anthony would not meet her eyes, suggesting he also knew about her rule for Will.

Humiliation bloomed in her cheeks, rushing up into her head until she felt somewhat unsteady. "That has been very helpful, Anthony. Thank you." She pressed a hand to her chest to try and calm her shallow breaths. "If you will excuse me, I really must retire. I am not feeling so well."

"Can I fetch you anything?" Anthony immediately looked worried and a little bit guilty that he might have caused the sudden affliction.

"No, no, I will be quite all right." Lydia would have taken the stairs four at a time if she had possessed the stride to do so, hurrying toward the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

She had locked the adjoining door last night, and it would remain that way for as long as she was in London.

Closing the chamber door behind her, she went to the bed and sank down on the edge of it, holding her head in her hands.

If he thinks I will betray him, why bother to marry me at all? Why tell me that I may take a lover if he hates infidelity above all else?

"Indeed, why be cross with your mother at all?" she whispered, finding a sliver of anger amidst her bemusement. "Why would you hate her so much when the only thing she is guilty of is behaving like you?"