The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 12

  Blast it all, the woman was frustrating and annoying and worse yet—in this game of theirs—she was winning. She was as well damnably exciting and every bit as clever as he was. He never would have imagined enjoying doing battle with a woman and yet he was. It was obvious she enjoyed it, as well. A slow smile curved his lips.

  He could admit when he was wrong.

  This was already fun.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE LADIES WERE RIGHT. The Explorers Club ball was a relatively painless way to venture back into society. Violet lay in bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling, trying her best to ignore the rumblings coming from her midsection. It was damnably hard to sleep when one’s stomach keep insisting it had not been adequately fed. The refreshment offerings at the Explorers Club had been sadly lacking in appeal, and Violet had been far too apprehensive before last night’s ball to eat more than a morsel. Silly as it turned out.

  Granted Violet had successfully navigated the salons of Europe and the ballrooms of Brussels and Vienna and Copenhagen and admittedly, the Explorers Club was not at the highest echelons of society. Even so, London was witness to her youth and the scandal of her marriage and a bit of apprehension was to be expected.

  Aside from a few awkward moments she refused to dwell on, the evening had gone remarkably well. She encountered several people she knew, all of whom greeted her cordially. No one behaved as if she didn’t exist or worse, was a creature of scandal. Of course, she was now Lady Ellsworth, a well-traveled woman of sophistication and not Miss Violet Hagen, who preferred reading and writing bad poetry to social occasions. Now she was rather good at conversing with people she didn’t know and quite enjoyed an innuendo-spiced flirtation. She had no idea why she’d been even the least bit nervous.

  James had quite properly danced with each of Mrs. Higginbotham’s friends and judging by the looks on their faces, had charmed them with every step. The man certainly did have a way about him. But most of his dances he saved for her.

  Floating around the dance floor to the strains of a Strauss waltz, with one of James’s hands splayed firmly on her lower back and his other hand clasped around her own, with the heat of his body close to hers, it was hard not to be swept back to another time. When she was twenty-one and dancing with the handsomest, most dashing man in the ballroom. The man who, unbeknownst to him, held her heart as surely as he held her in his arms.

  They had always danced together beautifully, as if they had been created to dance together. Fated to be together forever. She knew better now. An excellent dance partner had nothing to do with fate. Or forever.

  The very fact that he recalled the things they had discussed during his courtship of Marie was both a revelation and reluctantly endearing. He really wasn’t the same man she had married. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but there was somehow more to the man than there had been. As if he had been an unformed vessel all those years ago and now was nearly the shape he was intended to be. She wasn’t sure if that was attributable to maturity or his acceptance of responsibility or even Richard’s death. More likely a combination of all that and probably more. Regardless, this new James was intriguing and undeniably appealing. And a bit terrifying.

  And the things he said—that ridiculous claim about marrying her being the smartest thing he’d ever done. His ludicrous assertion that he intended to atone for his vast number of terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes. And his absurd declaration that he wanted her as his wife with everything that being his wife meant. It was utter nonsense, all of it. Still, it was hard to doubt his sincerity. That too was terrifying.

  James claimed he was trying to be the perfect husband and indeed it was impossible to find fault with him. Certainly she wasn’t about to throw herself into his arms or, God forbid, his bed, but they’d had a surprisingly enjoyable evening. By the end of the night, Violet had decided there was no need to entirely keep her distance. She could guard her heart and still appreciate his company. Why, in spite of his declaration about wanting a wife rather than a friend, perhaps they could be friends after all.

  James may have already decided what he wanted but all Violet wanted was to survive the next three years with her heart intact.

  As well as something to eat. Starvation would not serve her well. She ignored the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother’s reminding her that proper ladies did not forage for food in the middle of the night in—God forbid—the kitchens. She slipped out of bed, pulled on the red silk kimono robe she had bought at a fascinating street market on the Mediterranean coast and headed downstairs.

  VIOLET PUSHED OPEN the kitchen door and pulled up short. James sat at the large wooden worktable clad in his dressing gown, a book in one hand and a slice of bread in the other. In front of him was a wedge of cheese, a crock of butter, more bread and a plate of cold chicken.

  He glanced up at her and nodded at the chair across the table from him. “Join me.”

  “Do you always feast at this time of night?” she asked.

  “Not always.” He smiled. “But it’s not altogether unusual, either.”

  “Mrs. Clarke doesn’t mind?” Violet settled in the chair across from him.

  “Who do you think leaves the plates?” He nodded at a convenient stack of plates in the center of the table. “Apparently I inherited the need for something to eat when I can’t sleep from Uncle Richard. I discovered that when I wandered down here one night shortly after I came to live with him.” A fond smile curved his lips. “We had some of our best talks at this table through the years in the late hours of the night.”

  She reached for a plate. “What did you talk about?”

  “Everything. Nothing.” He thought for a moment. “Whatever was on his mind or on mine.”

  She chuckled and selected a piece of cheese and a slice of chicken. “Richard was good at that. He and I used to have similar discussions in the library when I was here, usually after dinner.”

  “And what did you talk about?”

  “Everything. Nothing.” She grinned. “The state of the world. My travels. You.”

  “I see.” He considered her a moment. “And how the two of us were wasting our lives not being together no doubt.”

  “He did raise that subject frequently.”

  “It was one of his favorites.”

  But not something she wished to talk about at the moment.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  She took a bite of chicken. “Why?”

  “Because you once said it was your favorite of Miss Austen’s works. I thought we could discuss it. Share it if you will.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “It’s going to be a very long three years if you and I are continually at odds.”

  “Reading a book I like will not prevent that.”

  “No, but it will give us something to talk about other than your destruction of my home and my mistakes.”

  She bit back a grin. “Don’t forget your terrible decisions, as well.”

  “I daresay you won’t let me.”

  “Should I?”

  He met her gaze and the oddest frisson of something unexpected raced up her spine. “I assure you, I have no intention of forgetting even if I wanted to.”

  She stared. “You really have grown up, haven’t you?”

  “So it would appear.” He chuckled. “Who would have imagined?” He shook his head. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to face up to the things he has done. Good and bad. And decide where he goes from there. Mine came a few years ago when Uncle Richard fell ill and I feared we might lose him.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “I never heard about that.”

  “It’s not the sort of thing he would have written you about. Especially as he recovered. Rather quickly in fact,” he added wryly. �
��I now suspect his illness was nothing more than a ploy to shock me into accepting my responsibilities. And it worked.”

  “I’m beginning to think Richard was a bit more cunning than I had ever suspected. But then he was always determined to do what he thought was best.” She broke off a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth. There was nothing like good English cheddar. She savored the sharp flavor and a tiny moan of satisfaction escaped from her lips.

  James’s gaze slipped to her mouth and she froze. He cleared his throat. “So did you enjoy our first foray into society?”

  “More than I expected to, really.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I was hesitant about it. It’s not as if I haven’t attended social events during my visits.”

  “Does this mean we can stop our early morning rides in the park?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said primly. “It’s a refreshing way to start the day. I thought you were beginning to enjoy it.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I suppose I am.” He paused. “I suspected your reentry into London society might have been difficult for you.”

  “The Explorers Club ball was scarcely society, but yes, I will admit I was a bit apprehensive.”

  “I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

  “You didn’t. Uncle Richard did.”

  “Not really.” He shook his head. “The root of it all is my actions. I put you at the center of scandal. I changed the course of your life.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been entirely bad,” she admitted. “It was not the life I expected but there’s a great deal to be said for being an independent woman traveling the world. It’s been a remarkable adventure.”

  “You don’t hate me for it?” The question lingered in his eyes.

  “No, I don’t.” It was on the tip of her tongue to admit she was rather grateful to him, but she bit back the words and changed the subject. She nodded at the book. “So you plan to read books I like in an effort to have something to talk about?”

  He nodded. “By my estimate, over the next three years, I can read thirty to sixty books.”

  “That’s a lot of conversation.” She reached for a slice of bread.

  “I’ve never been prone to reading.” He pushed the crock of butter within her reach. “And these days my reading is limited to the Times, financial reports, investment prospectuses, bills of lading, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, we shall make an educated man out of you yet.”

  “I am an educated man. At least I did attend school. Cambridge actually. And I did graduate.” He grimaced. “Far closer to the bottom of my class than the top, I’m afraid.”

  She gasped with feigned surprise. “No.”

  “I did not pay as much attention as one would have hoped.” He smiled with obvious chagrin. “So tell me, what do you think of Miss Bennet?”

  “We’re to begin our discussions now?”

  “Why not?”

  “Very well.” She thought for a moment. “Elizabeth Bennet was strong and independent and stood up for herself when it would have been far easier to do what was expected of her. And she had a father who wished her to be happy regardless of the consequences.”

  “And does your father wish you to be happy?”

  “Honestly, James, I have no idea.” She spread more butter than was perhaps necessary on her bread. “I don’t know my father well. He was not particularly interested in his children. No doubt because he had daughters rather than sons.” She took a bite of bread. “And your father? Did he wish you to be happy?”

  “My parents died in a boating accident when I was nine but I would imagine that he did. I have nothing but the fondest memories of both my mother and father.” He smiled wistfully. “But that was a long time ago. Richard was as much father as uncle to me after I came to live with him and yes, I think he did wish for me to be happy.” His gaze met hers. “He believed my happiness rested with you.”

  For a long moment their gazes locked. Questions unasked and unanswered lingered in his blue eyes. Questions and determination. She drew a deep breath and turned her attention back to her bread, adopting a lighter tone. “And what do you plan on reading next?”

  “I don’t know. What would you suggest?”

  “I’m not sure how to follow Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps something not quite as romantic.”

  “I like a certain amount of romance,” he said in an offhand manner. “The unexpected thrill of the brush of a hand. The pounding of your heart at the whiff of a scent that you know to be hers and hers alone. The moment when your eyes meet hers and awareness arcs between you. On a dance floor or across a crowded room or over a plate of cold chicken.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him. Something fluttered deep inside her. “Indeed.” She cleared her throat and pushed back from the table, rising to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me. I think I can sleep now.”

  He smiled, a knowing, satisfied sort of smile. “Sleep well, Violet.”

  “Good night, James.” She nodded and hurriedly took her leave. She was nearly at her door when she realized she hadn’t merely left—she had fled. Like a nervous doe. She wasn’t nervous of course. She was simply...what? Confused? Intrigued? By this man—this husband—who seemed intent on doing whatever was needed to endear himself to her.

  Was she supposed to forgive that he didn’t want her? That he wouldn’t be trying to work his way into her affections at all if Richard hadn’t forced him into this position? If his inheritance wasn’t at stake?

  No, regardless of how much he had changed, she was not about to let James into her heart. It would be a mistake far greater than any of his because she knew better. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was right about this.

  The idea that she would fall for him again was ridiculous when one thought about it. She was a woman of the world now. And women of the world did not lose their heads to charming men simply because they knew the perfect thing to say, and had the perfect smile, and made a woman feel as if she were the most perfect creature in the world.

  A woman of the world could certainly handle a man like James Branham without losing her head. Or her heart.

  She was wrong about one thing, though.

  She didn’t sleep a wink.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WAS THAT YOU-KNOW-WHO I saw you dancing with last night?” Cleo asked in a low tone the moment Violet stepped into the breakfast room. She had slept far later than she usually did, but then it had been a long night filled with annoying thoughts of her husband, his bed creaking in the next room.

  “You needn’t keep referring to Viscount Welles as you-know-who,” Violet said, filling her plate from the still warm offerings on the sideboard.

  “I’m trying to be discreet,” Cleo said. “One never knows who might be listening. Although Lord Ellsworth left some time ago. Oh, and he mentioned he knew of an agency that assisted in finding flats to let. I ignored him.” She paused. “Have you told Lord Welles—”

  “No, but I will. He said he would call on me today.” Odd but thoughts of Duncan’s imminent arrival had all but vanished from her head.

  Violet really should have done something about Duncan before now. She’d been the worst sort of coward. She’d realized that when she’d danced with him last night, and realized as well she hadn’t been nearly as clear about her feelings as she thought she had.

  “Are you going to tell him about the will?”

  “We’ve agreed to limit the number of people who know about the will. I can’t even imagine the amount of gossip if the stipulations were to become common knowledge.” She shivered. “But I do trust Duncan and I see no other way to explain the...situation.”

  “The situation being that you and your husband are living under the same roof and appearing to all the world as a happily reunited couple?”

  “Yes,” Violet said weakly, “
that would be the one.”

  “Humph.”

  “You really don’t think I’m doing the right thing, do you?”

  “I think you’re risking losing a man who wants to offer you a future for reasons that quite frankly evade me.”

  “I told you I—”

  “Yes, yes, you feel grateful to his lordship.” Cleo collected the papers she’d been perusing and stood. “I don’t understand it, nor do I think it’s a good idea, but all that matters is that you do.”

  “Duncan is a reasonable man, I’m certain he’ll understand.”

  “Oh, yes, reasonable men always understand when a woman they had hoped to eventually marry decides to spend three years with another man.”

  “With my husband,” Violet said firmly. “And I never agreed to anything with Duncan.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Of course not. I was not free to do so. Admittedly, we have discussed what might happen if I were free but we never actually said what would happen.”

  “Semantics, my dear friend.” Cleo cast her a pitying look. “Regardless of what you might actually have said, men hear what they want to hear. Viscount Welles included. I do regret that I will not be present to witness this but I have a flat to view. With Mr. Davies.” She grinned. “He knows of a flat in a respectable neighborhood and he arranged for me to see it.”

  Violet’s brow rose. “Did he?”

  “I mentioned to him last night that I was seeking a new residence and a note arrived first thing this morning regarding an available flat.” Cleo shrugged. “It was very thoughtful of him.”

  “Very thoughtful.” Violet studied her friend. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “He’s intelligent and witty and quite nice. As well as charming and dashing and handsome. All that blond hair that always looks the tiniest bit disheveled. And he has the deepest brown eyes I have ever seen, as if they held all sort of wonderfully wicked secrets. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t like him.”