“I would rather stay in bed, but as there was nothing to keep me there—” he bit back a grin “—and you were most insistent, here I am. I see you’re as good a horsewoman as you always were.”
“How on earth can you say that?” She slanted a glance at him. “I don’t recall us ever riding together.”
“Someone must have mentioned it to me.”
“Marie, no doubt. Although I daresay it wasn’t a compliment,” she said coolly. “She was never particularly impressed by anything that wasn’t involved with clothes or parties or social position.”
He was hard-pressed to deny it. Indeed, even at the time he had realized Marie’s shallow, self-involved nature was not something he wished to be trapped with for the rest of his life. “That friendship always struck me as odd. You and she had nothing in common.”
“Our mothers were friends and insisted we be friends, as well.” She shrugged. “Marie liked having me around. I was no threat to her.”
He chuckled. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Then your memory is faulty.”
“A possibility perhaps.” He paused. “I remember you as being very quiet and reserved. It did strike me then that you preferred being in the background.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” She fell silent for a moment. “It was easier to keep my mouth shut, keep my opinions to myself, rather than run the risk of being chastised or worse—ostracized.”
“You were quite well-read and knowledgeable.”
Her expression tightened. “Not something encouraged in a girl.”
“And you were very easy to talk to.”
“About nothing of substance if I recall.”
“I rarely talked about anything of substance in those days.” He chuckled. “But I remember you and I talking a great deal about any number of subjects.”
“No, James. You talked, you charmed, you flirted outrageously and I listened attentively and nodded in agreement, whether I agreed or not.” She shook her head. “We might have thought we knew each other then, but we were mistaken.”
“And yet I thought we did.” Even so, it was not an attractive picture, at least from her perspective. “We danced quite a lot, as well. You were an excellent dancer.”
“Thank you. I had excellent teachers. My mother made sure of it.” She fell silent for a moment. “Do you ever regret not marrying her?”
“Marie? I regret the manner in which it ended,” he said simply. “But not marrying Marie was the second smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Only the second?” Her brow rose. “And what was the first?”
“Marrying you.”
She reined her horse to a stop and glared at him. “Good Lord, James. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”
“I’m being honest with you.”
“Is this part of you making amends for your mistakes?”
“Not entirely. It has more to do with accepting my responsibilities. Facing the future.” He met her gaze directly. “And understanding what I want in life.”
“And do you know what you want?” Challenge sounded in her voice and shone in her eyes.
He stared at her for a long moment. “It’s taken me six years but yes, I do.”
“Utter nonsense.” She scoffed and urged her horse to a brisk trot.
He directed his mount to keep pace with hers for a time when she spurred her horse to a canter. But when she took off at a gallop, he slowed, mesmerized by her, the very vision of freedom and independence. He couldn’t imagine having to sit sideways on a horse but had to admit the grace and beauty of woman and horse moving as one was striking. This was a woman to admire. Hadn’t Uncle Richard been telling him that for years? His stomach tightened. And she was his. Legally, anyway.
They scarcely spoke on their return to the house. He slid off his horse the moment they reached the front walk and turned to help her before she could protest.
“Mine is not the memory that’s faulty.” He kept his hands on her waist and gazed into her eyes. “You did far more than simply listen and nod. You told me you loved the writings of Jane Austen because the heroines in her stories were strong and defiant. You think Lord Byron’s words are the most romantic ever written. You like Charles Dickens and while you agree with him regarding social reforms, you do not like being preached to in the guise of entertainment.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and he continued before she could say a word.
“You enjoy the works of Gilbert and Sullivan but aren’t fond of serious opera. You believe women should and will someday be allowed to vote and you think chocolate is a gift of the gods.” He nodded sharply. “You didn’t just listen and nod, Violet. And I didn’t just talk and flirt, although I admit I did a great deal of that. But I listened, too.” His gaze bored into hers. “Whether we like it or not, Uncle Richard gave the two of us a second chance. I, for one, intend to take it.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”
“No, I don’t. I have made some terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes.”
“And now you intend to atone for them?”
“Indeed I do.” He released her and started up the front steps. “I’m going to change, then I’ll be down for breakfast.”
“When do you plan to start on this path to atonement?” she called after him.
“I already have.” A distinct sense of satisfaction washed through him. He would win her affections if it was the last thing he ever did. Admittedly, he had no idea how at the moment.
He hadn’t courted a woman since Marie and to call that a courtship at all was being generous. Marie had practically fallen into his arms with no more effort on his part beyond his usual flirtatious nature and the fact he had wealth and was heir to a respectable title. It took very little to win Marie’s heart and in hindsight he realized he never had. Marie wanted what he was, not who he was.
Violet would be far more difficult. And entirely worth it.
The man he was six years ago was not up to the task. The man he was today refused to fail. Not at this.
He had laid down a gauntlet of sorts. Whether or not she picked it up remained to be seen.
And in many ways, the game had just begun.
THE DOOR TO the library swung open with far more force than was necessary. The tiniest sense of triumph trickled through him.
Violet stood in the doorway. “We need to talk.”
James leaned back in the chair behind Uncle Richard’s desk and considered her. “You didn’t particularly wish to talk at breakfast this morning after our ride. And while you and Mrs. Ryland talked a great deal at dinner, you did not think it necessary to include me in your conversation.”
“That might have been rude of me.”
His brow rose. “Might have been?”
“I am not usually rude. My apologies.”
“Accepted.” He stood and circled the desk. “Brandy?”
“Dear Lord, yes.”
He chuckled, poured her a glass then crossed the room and handed it to her. His fingers brushed against hers and she sucked in a quick breath.
“Thank you.” She moved away from him and took a bracing sip.
“Would you like to sit down?” He nodded at the chair in front of the fireplace.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She huffed and glared at him. “Why did you say that today?”
“I said any number of things today.” He returned to the desk and picked up his brandy.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let’s start with your terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes.”
He grinned. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“This is not amusing,” she said sharply.
“Come now, you have to admit, it is a little amusing. Two people who married to avoid scandal then lived separate lives now forced to live togethe
r for three years and appear to the world as a happy couple? All while avoiding yet another scandal?” He sipped his drink. “It has all the markings of a Shakespearean comedy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but the tiniest glint of amusement shone in her eyes.
“You’re the one who said it was a poorly written French farce.”
“You may have a point, but it’s of no importance. Now, we’re discussing your terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes. Which would you like to talk about first?”
“Where should I start?”
“Oh, why don’t you choose?”
“You have no intention of making anything easy for me, do you?”
“No.” She smirked. “I do not.”
“Very well then.” He sifted through his long list of errors in judgment. “It was a mistake to go our separate ways, not to attempt a real marriage with you.”
“I can agree with that.”
“However.” He paused. “We would have both been miserable. I was young and stupid and arrogant. I would have made a horrible husband.”
She snorted. “Go on.”
“I would have broken your heart.” He shrugged. “The only thing I did right was to admit I wasn’t ready for marriage.”
Violet studied him for a long moment. “Possibly.”
“My next mistake was agreeing never to see you again.”
“That was my edict.”
“And I abided by it.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have. At least not as long as I did.”
“At any point in the last six years, you could have asked me to come home.”
“Yet another mistake. You may add it to the list.”
“I will.” She was softening, not overtly, but he could see it in her eyes. “Is there more?”
“Undoubtedly.” He grimaced. “But nothing else comes to mind at the moment.” James raised his glass to her. “I shall let you know when something else occurs to me.”
Suspicion shone in her eyes. “You also said you intend to take the second chance Uncle Richard has given you.”
“Given us.”
“Given us.” Reluctance sounded in her voice. “What did you mean?”
“I mean, my dear Lady Ellsworth, I have three years to prove to you that I am not the man I used to be.” He stepped toward her. She stepped back. “Three years to change your mind about me.”
“Change my mind?”
“It’s obvious you don’t like me.” Again he took a step toward her. Again she took a step back, the look in her eye wary. How very interesting.
“I don’t dislike you.”
“You liked me once.” He stepped closer. She moved back, her eyes widening when her delightful derriere hit the desk.
“As nothing more than a friend.”
He swirled his brandy in his glass and gazed into her eyes. “You said you don’t want to be my friend.”
She sidestepped him and made her escape. “No, I said I didn’t think I could be your friend.”
“Why not?”
“We haven’t seen each other in six years. I daresay we really have nothing in common—”
“Except for marriage.”
“Yes, well, there is that. But this whole idea of a second chance...” She threw back the rest of her drink and shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps we could be friends at that.”
He thought for a moment. “I’m afraid friendship is no longer possible.”
“What?”
“I want more.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I want my wife,” he said simply.
“You mean me?”
“You’re the only wife I have.” He moved to the brandy decanter, then returned. She held out her empty glass. “And the only one I want.” He filled her glass, set down the decanter and moved toward her again.
“Wait.” She held out her hand to stop him. “You want me as your wife and everything that entails?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Including the more...intimate aspects of marriage?”
He grinned. “I certainly wouldn’t rule that out.”
“I see. That is interesting.” She eyed him thoughtfully, the most intriguing look on her face.
He wasn’t sure if that look was good or bad but it did seem the air—the balance—in the room shifted slightly.
“You’re right, James, friendship will probably not do for either of us.” She smiled. “But this wife idea does have merit.”
“It does?” Caution edged his voice. What was she up to?
“I will certainly give it due consideration.” She thought for a moment. “In spite of your innate instincts, this is not something we can leap into all at once.”
“Probably not,” he said slowly.
“So I will abide by the terms of the will with a great deal of enthusiasm. And perhaps at the end of three years, I might indeed embrace the intimate parts of marriage. When it becomes my choice, without the threat of losing your inheritance hanging over us.” She leaned toward him and smiled sweetly. “When I decide.”
She turned and started toward the door. “And until then, I shall be the best Lady Ellsworth the world has ever seen. You wanted a wife and a wife you shall have.” She glanced back at him. “You did mean it about a free hand, didn’t you?”
“You are Lady Ellsworth.”
“Excellent. Good night, James.” She paused. “Sleep well.” The door shut behind her.
What on earth had just happened? He’d had the upper hand, but somehow she’d wrested control. But she’d also admitted she didn’t dislike him, which left the door open for something more in the future.
He grinned.
And for now, that would do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SHE’S DRIVING ME INSANE. Stark raving mad.” James signaled to the server for another whiskey. He and Marcus sat in their favorite chairs in their favorite section of Prichard’s, their favorite gentlemen’s club. A club not so conservative in nature as Uncle Richard’s preferred club, with membership generally younger. Still, it was respectable, venerable and had been in existence since before Victoria was crowned. It was a male sanctuary and today, exactly what James needed.
“You don’t look insane,” Marcus said.
“Look closer,” James muttered.
“Now that you mention it, you do look a bit mad.” Marcus aimed a pointed figure at his friend. “Right there. Around the eyes. There’s a definite hint of madness.” He considered his friend curiously. “Not going well with the lovely Lady Ellsworth?”
“It’s not going badly, I suppose,” James admitted grudgingly. “But I wouldn’t say it was going well, either.” He paused. “Or perhaps it’s going too well.”
“Apparently, I was wrong.” Marcus grinned. “You are mad.”
James leaned forward in his chair. “She said she intends to be the best Lady Ellsworth imaginable. I’m not entirely sure what that means but I think her intention is to drive me—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Marcus waved the comment away. “Why on earth would she do that?”
“Revenge,” James said darkly.
“Might I point out she did agree to your uncle’s stipulations. She didn’t have to.”
“She does have as much to lose as I do.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “I ran across a notation in your uncle’s file the other day that I intend to look into.”
“A notation about what?”
“I don’t know yet so I don’t want to say anything more at the moment.”
James frowned. “You do love being at once vague and suggestive.”
“Indeed I do. It’s a gift.” Marcus grinned. “So how exactly is she driving you mad?”
&n
bsp; “The woman has completely taken over my life. And my home. She says the house has been the purview of bachelors for far too long and needs refurbishing. It’s now been invaded by an army of tradesmen armed with paint and wallpaper and fabric. The library is the only place still safe. Still mine.”
“Well, she is Lady Ellsworth.” Marcus paused. “And she might have a point.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the house,” James said firmly. “Beyond that, she is unwaveringly polite, chipper, cheery and a smile never fades from her face. But not one of those sweet and pleasant the-world-is-a-wonderful-place sort of smiles, but rather an I’m-biding-my-time smile or a just-you-wait smile.” He aimed his glass at his friend. “That smile does not bode well.”
Marcus chuckled. “Scared, are we?”
“Not for a minute. Oh, I am treading with caution but—” James smiled reluctantly “—I have to admit, I’m rather enjoying this game we’re playing.”
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Marcus paused. “I thought you were going to employ the more charming aspects of your nature to work your way into her affections.”
“I am being charming. I am being as bloody charming as any man can possibly be.” He accepted a new glass of whiskey from the waiter and took a much needed sip. “She barely says more than what’s necessary. Unless we are appearing together publicly, I rarely see her.” His jaw tightened. “Even when she joins me for breakfast or dinner that watchdog of hers is almost always present.”
“Ah, the delightful Mrs. Ryland.”
James scoffed.
“You don’t find her delightful? With all that blond hair and those enchanting blue eyes?”
“I tend not to appreciate women who despise me,” James said dryly.
“I see your point.” Marcus chuckled. “She doesn’t despise me.”
“Then you should marry her and get her out of my way.” James straightened in his chair. “That’s an excellent idea.”
“For you perhaps.” Marcus snorted. “I’m not going to marry a woman just to make your life easier.”
“You did say she was delightful.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 10
