Chapter Twenty-Three

P urity knew Foxford was making light of her question in order to ease things between them, but she couldn't so easily let go of the raw pain she'd felt since being blindsided by Lady Varley. She had only Foxford's word that nothing had happened, and she was trying to cling to her belief in him despite the swirling doubts.

He sighed. "I am a gentleman, despite doing some churlish things, and I don't think it right of me to make a list of women with whom I've shared a kiss."

"Or done more," she said softly.

"Or more," he agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I am not certain what I ought to say. I cannot go back and undo things I've done. And since that was all before I met you, my previous actions do not count for anything. The best I can offer is that at least you won't end up with an inexperienced dullard in your bed."

Purity didn't gasp only because she was used to his inappropriate remarks. Besides, she appreciated that he wouldn't speak of his former conquests. It elevated him, but that wasn't what she wanted to know.

"Why did you and Lord Varley exchange blows?" she asked.

"Because I knew he had spoken to The Times , or his wife had. I couldn't call her out or set my fists against her, nor could I buy up every paper in London, but I thought thumping Varley might make me feel better."

Purity decided to stomach the unpleasant task of confronting the other terrible things the woman had said.

"Lady Varley said you fought over her. She was telling the truth about going to your house. So why would I doubt her? Did you attack Lord Varley because of what was written about me, or did he throw the first blow because he thought there was something between you and his wife."

Matthew's momentary silence, rather than instantly contradicting the version, made her catch her breath.

"He hit me first, but only because I taunted him about Lady Varley, it's true," he said.

Wrenching her hand free, she covered her face.

"I cannot be with a man who uses his indiscretions to torture another. How cruel!"

"You don't understand," Foxford began. "He was smugly enjoying a meal while you were in pain over the filthy gossip. Nor would he behave with honor by standing and facing me so I could land a facer. I had to goad him to it by discussing his unfaithful choice of a life's mate."

It sounded credible, but also disdainful. Could she tolerate a life with this type of man and his unfamiliar world of rashness? On the other hand, she'd spent three days missing him, wanting his presence, feeling empty at the thought of no longer ending up as his wife.

"You cannot hold this against me," Foxford insisted. "You don't understand how men deal with such things. It was a matter of honor."

Her thoughts were spinning at his ridiculous statement.

"You think women do not understand honor?"

"I think you do not have to uphold it, fight for it, or worry over it in the same way that a man does. Varley thought he had bested me, first by sneaking upon us and hoping to shame you in order to harm me, and then by allowing his wife to tattle."

"So, you insulted his wife to be honorable," she concluded.

He shook his head. "I needed him to do the gentlemanly thing of using our fists. It is clean. It is not sneaky. It finishes the matter, or it ought to."

"You are right," she said. "I do not understand."

He surprised her by taking her face between his hands.

"Honor to a man is like reputation to a woman. Does that help to clarify it?"

For the first time, she recalled she'd entered the room merely to tell him to go away and leave her alone for another week. For that reason, she had not brought her maid, and yet they had been closeted together alone.

"It does," she said, hoping none of her family found them in such a situation.

Her hope turned to dread when he lowered his mouth to hers. This would be impossible to explain.

And then, as she knew would happen, all rational thought vanished. She had missed him so very much, his touch and his smell and his grin and his kiss.

She hadn't even had time to put her hands on him when he drew back.

"My apologies. We were in close contact for as long as I could manage without kissing you."

She wished it hadn't been so brief, but their luck had held considering the door was open.

He rose to his feet and reached for her hand to bring her up beside him.

"I don't suppose you have time to spend the day with me."

She smiled slightly. "The whole day would not be proper."

"I shall take as long as you will give me," Foxford declared. "Can you secure a maid or your mother as chaperone and come with me now?"

"Where are we going?"

"To The Pantechnicon. I am going to buy a new sofa for my drawing room. I want you to choose the fabric and the style. After all, it shall be your drawing room, too."

Purity heard only the word sofa , remembered Lady Varley's awful confession, and slapped Foxford hard across the cheek. His head snapped to the side, and a moment later, her tears began to fall.

"What the devil?" he asked, laying a glove to his red cheek.

"You are a liar," she said, choking on the despair rising in her throat. "If I cannot believe you now, how shall I ever trust you when I am your wife?"

She couldn't look at his face another instant. The man lied as easily as he breathed, and she had willingly believed him. Again!

Before another false word left his lips, she fled the room.

Matthew wandered out of the fine house on Piccadilly speculating how he could have made it worse.

He ought to return to his study and consult his schedule. He knew he had a ledger to look over, sent by his Surrey estate manager the day before. His Tangley Manor was a medieval monstrosity, but he loved it, despite its hunger for coin. And he had correspondence to answer. Moreover, his banker had requested to meet with him, and he had an appointment with a solicitor regarding the marriage documents.

He doubted he would need them now.

Yet instead of doing anything responsible, he headed to Boodle's to drown himself first with wine and then with brandy.

When Quinn entered the dining room hours later, Matthew was already in his cups and thinking of going to a tavern for gin. He wanted to obliterate the day from his mind, and gin could do that better than anything else he knew.

"You missed a clutter downstairs," Quinn said. "One of our senior members accused one of our junior members of cheating."

"At what?" Matthew asked, leaning his head on the cool white tablecloth.

Quinn frowned down at him. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Resting. The room is spinning. Who was cheating at what?"

"Sanders gave old Rosen a physicking at faro. I don't think he cheated at all. I think Rosen needs spectacles."

Matthew rummaged around in his pockets until he pulled out some coins. Picking out two pence, he pushed them across the table.

"Give these to Rosen so he can buy another pack of cards. That'll set him right."

Quinn laughed. "It's not the cards he has lost. It's a goodly chunk of his fortune. If I had known you were up here, I would have fetched you down to witness. You should have seen them both buttering their bets, higher and higher, with the rest of the chaps edging off wagers on the side."

"Then what?" Matthew asked, trying to care and failing.

"Sanders kept winning. The last hand, Sanders had swabbers while the only face Rosen had was his own." Quinn laughed and took a seat. "What has you half seas over? Nothing to do with your lovely lady, I hope."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because for weeks, every one of your moods has been caused by that gimcrack. She has you wrapped around her finger but good. It's like you're already married and living under the cat's foot."

Matthew started to laugh at the funny little phrase about a henpecked husband.

"More like a kitten's paw," he muttered. "I may as well enjoy it as a single man because I don't think the gimcrack, as you so crassly call her, is ever going to become my Lady Foxford."

"Why? What did you do?"

Matthew slapped the table, echoing the sound her hand had made. "That's the rub. I don't know. Not a clue. One minute we were kissing and going out to the shops, the next, she was calling me a liar."

Quinn poured himself a glass of brandy from the near-empty bottle.

" Hm. I've never thought of you as a liar."

"Thank you," Matthew said, drawing the bottle back to his side of the table and tipping the dregs into his mouth. "Another," he called out to the waiter.

"You're speaking to a floor lamp," Quinn said.

"Blast!" He looked again. No wonder the chap hadn't moved the last two times he'd demanded more liquor. "I don't think the lamp knows where the best brandy is stored."

He started to laugh and couldn't stop.

Quinn joined in, but soon they both fell into silence.

"What am I to do?" Matthew asked.

"About what exactly?"

Matthew groaned. "About Purity Diamond, of course? About my kitten ?"

"Whoa, old boy," Quinn exclaimed. "Don't say too much now, will you? You'll regret it tomorrow."

"Probably."

"Do you love her?" his friend asked.

"Even drunk as an emperor, I'm not so spoony that I don't know the answer. Yes, I love her."

Quinn sighed. "I was afraid of that."

Matthew started to laugh again. "Why?" Everything seemed either amusing or tragic.

"Because it means I shall have to help you. I know you would help me in similar circumstances."

"She slapped me," he said. "Three times so far. Or was it four?"

"Then she must love you, too, or she wouldn't let you near her that many times to offend her."

"She doesn't trust me," Matthew said. "Not regarding other women."

"One can hardly blame her. You know what you need?"

"More brandy?" Matthew asked hopefully. "Weren't we going to get some gin?"

"No, the headache isn't worth it. You need to get in good with her family. What about her eldest sister, the one who got married while you were away?"

"Does she have gin?" Matthew wondered if he was going to die of thirst.

"No, old chum, but she probably has some sway. Convince her you love Lady Purity, and your troubles will be over."

Matthew rose to his feet and staggered. "I have sway a-plenty." And he roared with laughter again.

Sober and bathed, Matthew handed his calling card to the butler at Lord and Lady Hollidge's home on Grosvenor Square the following day. Perhaps he should have brought Quinn with him in order to vouch for his character. After all, it was his friend's half-baked idea, which had sounded spectacular at the time.

However, not only did his success seem less certain while he was standing upon a stranger's doorstep, bringing his friend along would have been childish, even spineless.

The butler allowed him into the entrance hall and asked him to wait while he climbed the stairs. This gave his nerves time to prickle with doubt until he was pacing in a circle.

Purity was worth the discomfort of coming hat-in-hand to win over her sister.

The butler returned and escorted him into a serene and sunny drawing room. Better than being shown the door, Matthew thought.

It occurred to him that Lady Hollidge might not know he was on the outs unless Purity had come to see her between the slap and this morning.

Footsteps had him turning to see ... Matthew startled. For a moment, he thought Purity had entered the room.

"I receive that expression quite a bit," her sister, Clarity, promised. "I am sure Lady Purity does, too. The impression only lasts an instant, and then you can easily see I am not she and vice versa."

While she spoke, she did a quick tour of the room, picking up each pillow, fluffing it with a solid thump, and setting it down again.

"If your eyes don't tell you, then our differing natures quickly will."

"Indeed, my lady. Your sister was on my mind, so naturally you reminded me of her."

Matthew had only met Lady Hollidge at the Syon House gala. She had been always in movement, whether playing the lawn games or chatting with other guests, laughing a great deal, and appearing genuinely happy. Her husband had been always by her side, not somber but decidedly less animated than his viscountess.

The only time Matthew remembered her being still had been during the picnic, but she and Lord Hollidge had not sat near Matthew, so he hadn't talked with her. They'd departed while he had been stupidly destroying Purity's reputation next to the ridiculously endowed statue.

"Would you care for tea?" she offered.

Her question reminded him of Purity. He ought to say no since he was uninvited and imposing, so he did, just as she'd instructed him.

"Thank you, no. I have no intention of taking up much of your time."

"Shall we sit?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you." Matthew waited for her to take a spot on the sofa before he sat in a chair opposite.

"I suppose you are here because my sister no longer wishes to marry you," she began before he could think how to start.

The devil . He'd hoped she hadn't been privy to an earful of his faults. On the other hand, he appreciated her direct manner. Apparently, she had no qualms about making her guest feel uncomfortable.

"You know about that, then," he said lamely.

"Frankly, I was surprised when I learned of her decision. You seem to make my sister happy, albeit a little nervous. I watched you two at the gala." She shook her head. "And you certainly shall never get a finer woman than her. So why did you cock it all up?"

"I honestly don't know what I did wrong."

"Engaging in certain amorous activities upon your sofa with Lady Varley might be top of the list," Lady Hollidge said, and her tone was no longer the least bit welcoming.