Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

“ W hat do you think, Somerton?” Shefford asked from across the table at the Siren’s Call.

Lazarus had no idea what they were discussing. He’d been consumed by thoughts of Gwen, as had been the case for the past day since he’d completely ended their association.

“He’s off in the forest again,” Price said in a stage whisper that Lazarus was clearly meant to hear.

“What’s troubling you tonight?” Keele asked.

There was no way Lazarus would tell them the truth, especially with Price sitting to his left. “Just thinking about estate matters and preparing for the speech I’ll be giving next week.”

“Yes, I’m keen to hear what you’ll be saying about our returning soldiers and their plight,” Keele said. “It’s an important issue that requires more investigation and discussion.”

Lazarus nodded vaguely, hoping Keele wasn’t going to engage him on the topic right now. He wasn’t in the mood for political conversation. Or any conversation, really. He ought to just go home.

What he really needed to do was stop moping about and focus on his reading. He’d made good progress with Gwen, and there was no reason he couldn’t continue, especially if she sent him exercises to further his improvement. His chest lightened a bit as he considered that their association wasn’t entirely over, not if she sent him things to work on.

How pathetic that he would cling to such a paltry connection between them.

Perhaps a visit to the Rogue’s Den would help him put thoughts of Gwen out of his mind. Except his fixation on her was not entirely due to physical desire. He had plenty of that, but he also just liked being with her. She gave him confidence and made him feel that his reading problem was not a deficiency.

“I think I’m going to retire,” Lazarus announced. He lifted his tankard to finish his ale, then set it back on the table.

“So early?” Shefford asked. He scrutinized Lazarus a long moment. “What is going on with you of late? You don’t spend as much time with us as you used to. Have you struck up a liaison with someone?”

Lazarus was glad he’d swallowed his ale, or he might have choked. “No. I’ve just been busy.”

“Not everyone requires near-constant female companionship,” Keele said sardonically, eyeing Shefford.

“It isn’t near constant,” Shefford muttered before taking a drink of ale.

Rising, Lazarus looked around the table. “Have a good evening and behave yourselves. Not you, Keele. You wouldn’t know how to misbehave.”

“Not true. I know how. I simply choose not to.” The marquess smirked.

Chuckling, Lazarus moved toward the entrance area. Jo was there and watched him approach.

“Leaving already?” she asked.

“You sound like them.”

“It’s a valid question. You have been, dare I say, sedate in your behavior recently,” Jo observed. “Your reckless kissing with a young lady at a literary salon notwithstanding.”

“Well, you can be assured there will be no more of that,” he said darkly.

“I’m pleased to hear you have mastered your impulses.”

Hardly. “I have removed temptation. Miss Price and I are no longer associated in any way. I don’t expect I’ll ever speak with her again.” Saying that made the pain of their parting sharper. It would be some time, he realized, before he would feel like himself. But perhaps the man he’d been before he’d come to know Gwen was gone forever. Only time would give him the answer.

“It sounds as if you aren’t pleased by that,” Jo said softly. “Is there a chance you care for her?”

“We had become friends, so yes, I care for her. I hope she is able to find the husband she deserves.”

“And what kind of man is that?” Jo asked.

Lazarus did not want to contemplate who would make Gwen happy. He just knew it wouldn’t be a rogue like him. “Someone intelligent and proper, who will hold her in the highest regard.”

“Well, you are two of those things anyway,” Jo said with a light laugh. “The third—propriety—is a tad overrated. Why wouldn’t she want you just as you are?”

He stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”

She shrugged. “That you could be the husband she deserves—and perhaps wants.”

“Has she said something?” Lazarus’s breath arrested as he waited, desperately, for her response.

“No, but I don’t think you should see yourself as someone she wouldn’t want.”

He exhaled. “She has appropriate suitors—men who fit all three parts of the description I gave you.”

She moved closer to him, her gaze fixing on him with an urgent intensity. “But what about what you want?”

He wanted Gwen. But he couldn’t have her, not in the way he’d always had women. She was the kind of woman one married.

“Those are some pretty deep furrows on your forehead,” Jo said. “I can see you are thinking very hard. Perhaps you are conflicted. Is there any chance you might be in love with her?”

The idea of it had flitted about his mind, but Lazarus hadn’t wanted to think about it. Love meant a deeper connection, commitment, whether you wanted it or not. Because when you loved someone, they held a part of you that you could never get back. And if you lost them, that part of you was gone forever.

Lazarus realized, whether he wanted it or not, he was in love with Gwen. And he was already fighting against the pain of losing her along with some small part of himself, a part he’d only just discovered. Because of her. “There is a good chance,” he whispered, afraid to say it, but unable to keep it inside.

“Then fight for her.” Jo looked at him expectantly. “At least tell her how you feel and give her the chance to tell you if she feels the same.”

“She cannot. Feel the same, I mean.” She would never love a rogue like him. He was not at all the kind of man she wanted to marry.

“Why not? She was kissing you back, if I recall. And I think she even said it was her idea.”

“Wanting to kiss a rogue isn’t the same as loving one.” Honestly, Lazarus couldn’t believe Jo was being this obtuse.

Jo made a face at him and speared him with an icy glare. “It could be. You are being horribly obtuse.”

This made him laugh. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

“I am on the outside observing you and Gwen. If you don’t want my advice, fine. But I think if you don’t fight for her or at least tell her how you feel, you will regret it to the grave.”

Lazarus sobered. Regret was an emotion he understood. He would always wish he had more time with his father, that he’d told the man who’d been his champion and his hero how much he loved him and how grateful he was for his support and love.

“I’ll think about it.” His mind churned with what to say. And how to react when she inevitably told him he was a wonderful kisser, but not the sort of man she could marry.

“Think fast, or you will lose the opportunity. Gwen is a lovely person. She may surprise you in how she feels.”

“Are you sure you don’t know something?” he asked.

“I swear I do not. Only that she seems to like you a great deal. I see the potential for more, even if you don’t.”

Lazarus nodded. “Thank you.” He bade her good night and left the Siren’s Call, hailing a hack to take him home to Bruton Street.

Should he call on Gwen tomorrow? He envisioned opening his heart to her, and a cold sweat broke out along his neck.

He had appointments tomorrow, so perhaps the park instead. He would go and see if she was there. If he revealed himself in a public place, it would likely be less awkward. Or would it be more awkward?

Lazarus wiped his hand over his face. He needed to work on his bloody speech. He’d been unable to focus since yesterday. Really, since the salon the other night.

As soon as he arrived home, a footman gave him a letter that had arrived that evening while he was out. Lazarus recognized the handwriting—it was from Gwen.

Waiting until he was in his chamber, he tore it open. There was a reading exercise. Before it, she wrote:

Dear Lazarus,

I hope this finds you well and working hard. I know you will continue to improve with your reading, and I look forward to seeing the results someday.

How would that happen? Unless she was hoping they would find a way to communicate or spend time together. Probably as friends. He continued reading.

I apologize for the romantic nature of this poem, but I thought it would be good practice. It is also how I think of you. If you would like, please write back with how you managed. I would also appreciate any updates on your progress with memorizing your speech.

Fondly,

Gwen

She’d sent a romantic poem? And it was how she thought of him? And she’d signed it “fondly.”

A grin spread his lips as wide as they could go. Throwing off his coat, he went to the desk, eager to read this poem. He finished it in a shockingly short amount of time, and he was filled with hope.

Yes, he would look for her in the park tomorrow, and failing that, he would call on her the following day. He would not allow regret to steal any more from him. Nor would he allow love to slip away.

T he afternoon was pleasant in Hyde Park as Gwen walked with her mother toward the Ring. The weather had been cool thus far this spring, so the sun peeking from the clouds was most welcome.

As soon as they neared the Ring, Mr. Henry Wilton approached and asked if he could take Gwen for a promenade. Smiling, Gwen’s mother agreed and turned her over to the gentleman with light brown hair and blue eyes. Mr. Wilton was of average height and a rather round face. He was not the most effusive person, but Gwen admired his intellect and interest in science and history.

“I trust you’ve been well the past few days,” Mr. Wilton said as they began their promenade.

Gwen had last seen him at Almack’s the evening before last. “Indeed. And you?”

“Quite. Yesterday, I received a most enlightening paper from a scholar who is mentoring me on the subject of the Roman occupation of Britain. It has been fascinating to read.”

That reminded Gwen of Tamsin’s father, who was a scholar of history. She seemed to recall that he particularly enjoyed studying the Roman period. “I’ve a friend whose father specializes in that part of history. Perhaps you’d care to correspond with him. He resides in Cornwall and does not travel to London.”

Mr. Wilton looked over at her with marked interest. It was the most animated she’d ever seen him, in fact. “Cornwall, you say? The gentleman who sent me this paper lives in St. Austell. Mr. Penrose.”

Gwen laughed. “That is my friend’s father. She is the Lady Droxford.”

“I had no idea,” Mr. Wilton said. “What a very small world we live in as we are all connected in one way or another.”

As they continued around the Ring, Gwen looked about and saw many acquaintances. She also saw Min and Ellis and waved at them. At length, she realized she was looking for Lazarus. Though it had been only two days since she’d seen him, she missed his presence. His laughter, the way he looked at her, the diligence with which he worked on his reading. The exceptional skill and passion of his kisses.

Do not think about that, particularly when you are walking with another gentleman!

Suddenly, Lazarus was there. She saw him standing off the track. He was with a beautiful young woman, which sent a pang of envy through Gwen. She wanted to be the woman he was standing and conversing with. Not just in the park, but everywhere.

Mr. Wilton continued talking about the Roman Empire, which normally would have drawn Gwen’s interest, but she couldn’t stop thinking of Lazarus. Or stealing glances in his direction—until they passed him. Had he seen her? He hadn’t seemed to. And if he had, he would likely not have acknowledged her.

Feeling a bit morose as they returned to her mother, Gwen wished she could stop thinking of Lazarus. He wasn’t interested in her the way she might be in him. Might? What did she want?

More. Gwen wanted more of Lazarus. More kissing. More time together. More attending literary salons and being king and queen at medieval balls. She even wanted more dancing, which was baffling.

But he was a confirmed rogue with no interest in anything beyond the kisses they shared and the agreement they’d made. They’d become friends, and she knew he held her in high regard, but in the end, he was still the man she knew him to be: someone not entirely serious who enjoyed the liberty and debauchery of a wealthy, titled, rakish gentleman.

Was he really that man, though? Gwen saw him as so much more, even if he didn’t see it himself.

They arrived at her mother, and Mr. Wilton bowed. He said he looked forward to seeing Gwen soon, and she agreed.

“Do you like him?” her mother asked after he departed.

“Mr. Wilton is quite clever,” Gwen said, her gaze straying to Lazarus where he was still talking to the young lady. She wore a stunning teal-blue walking dress and a pretty hat adorned with flowers and a peacock feather.

“Do you prefer Mr. Markwith?”

Gwen dragged her focus from Lazarus and looked toward her mother. “Perhaps. I haven’t decided.”

“One of them may ask to court you soon, so you should think on it.” Her mother patted her arm with a warm smile. “It’s exciting to think you may receive an offer of marriage very soon.”

Yes, exciting.

Except it wasn’t. Because Gwen realized the only offer that would truly excite her would have to come from Lazarus. And that was not going to happen.

“Let us walk a bit, Mama.” Gwen looped her arm through her mother’s and guided her toward where Lazarus stood. She didn’t get too close. She just wanted to be where he could perhaps see her, and she could make eye contact. Had he received her reading exercise? She was so hoping he would respond.

At last, the woman he was speaking with left his side, rejoining another group a very short distance away. Lazarus appeared to be frowning, his head tipped toward the ground.

Gwen fought the urge to go to him, to ask what was wrong. He looked up, and she finally caught his eye. Smiling, she began to remove her arm from her mother’s, intent on going to speak with him, until she realized she could not.

Not just because they weren’t supposed to continue their association in public, but because he turned and stalked away from the Ring. He’d seen that she was going to move toward him and had removed himself.

She ought to be grateful, but was instead disappointed. It seemed she would need to learn to live with that. As well as seeing a woman on his arm, knowing that would never be her.