Indiscreet

by Mary Balogh

  “Then you were doubly fortunate,” her father said, “or he was doubly the fool, whichever way one cares to look at it.”

  She looked into his eyes, but he was looking off to the side somewhere. “Doubly?” she said.

  “It was Copley who caused the ending of his betrothal a few years ago,” he said. “Eckert’s daughter. Copley did not marry her, but she broke off the betrothal all right. She is the fortunate one too. She disappeared for a while, but she came back and brazened it out. Of course, with her there was no bastard child.”

  Pain knifed at her. Bruce a bastard child. But there was other pain too. Rex had been betrothed to someone else? She had broken it off? Because of Sir Howard Copley? What a bizarre twist of fate. How must he have felt when she told him her story at Stratton? Had he loved the other woman? Did he still love her? The questions and the possible answers crowded at her even as she smiled and danced.

  She came back. Catherine heard the echo of her father’s words. “Is she here tonight?” she asked.

  “Over there.” He nodded his head to the sidelines. “Small. With auburn hair.”

  Miss Eckert. Vividly, exquisitely beautiful. She was looking back at Catherine and their eyes met for a moment until Miss Eckert looked away. But even in that moment and from some distance, the expression in her eyes had been readable. There was sorrow there, perhaps reproach. Not hatred. It was a look that told Catherine quite clearly that the other woman still loved Rex. Or perhaps the turmoil of the moment was making her read into a mere glance what she thought might very probably be there.

  What had happened between Miss Eckert and Sir Howard? And why had Rex not defended her? Or forgiven her?

  Perhaps Miss Eckert had not wanted forgiveness.

  Rex, Catherine saw, was waltzing with Elsie and apparently giving her his full attention. How did he feel about being in the same room with his former fiancée? Had he loved her? Did he love her? The questions were beginning to repeat themselves.

  She knew, of course, that he had never loved her. He had never made any pretense of any feeling stronger than lust. He had married her because he had compromised her. But it was one thing to know those facts and accept them; it was quite another to know that he had once been betrothed to someone else and that he might possibly still love her.

  And then the waltz was over and she was with him again, her hand on his sleeve, while they conversed with the larger group and waited for the quadrille that the Earl of Haverford had reserved with her. The supper waltz came after that.

  Her husband disappeared from the ballroom, she noticed, after Lord Haverford had led her into the set. Lord Pelham and Mr. Gascoigne went with Rex. She supposed he thought her safe enough with his friend. The earl was even taller and broader than Rex. Any man would think twice about tangling with him, she thought—and any woman too. Catherine had the impression that his smiling gray eyes could turn to steel in an instant. It was not difficult to believe that for many years he had been a cavalry officer.

  And yet he was gorgeously handsome. She had wondered at Bodley why she had felt no attraction to either Lord Pelham or Mr. Gascoigne though they were as good-looking as Rex and certainly more charming than he. She wondered now if she would have felt attraction to Lord Haverford if he had been there with his friends. But she knew the answer. Six years ago she would have been happy enough to set her cap at the Earl of Haverford if he had given her any encouragement at all. Now she could see his good looks and his charm only dispassionately. No one attracted her but Rex.

  “Perhaps,” she said rather ruefully, “you would have preferred to go with your friends, my lord.”

  His smile deepened. “What?” he said. “When I can have the bride to myself for half an hour? Not a chance, ma’am.”

  She laughed. “It did sound as if I had thrown down the hook for a compliment,” she said. “It was unintentional, but thank you anyway. You must have so many stories to tell, the four of you. We must have you all to dinner one evening and hear some of them.”

  “A few of them are even suitable for female ears,” he said, laughing with her. “Doubtless, though, Rex would veto even some of those. But certainly there are enough to fill an evening if you would not be bored. I accept the invitation.”

  The music began then and there was no further opportunity for conversation. Rex and his friends did not return to the ballroom until the closing measures of the set.

  Just in time for the supper waltz.

  Oh, yes, Catherine thought again, she was feeling exhilarated. Let tomorrow look after itself.

  • • •

  HE was in the card room. He had gone there straight from the ballroom and had remained there ever since. Mr. Gascoigne and Lord Pelham and the Earl of Haverford had checked there alternately every ten minutes or so and reported back.

  It was likely he would remain there until the end of the ball. But there was no point in taking chances and even less point in delay. There was no great danger of public scandal in the middle of a ball. By some stroke of good fortune cards were being played in two anterooms. All the lady players and a few older gentlemen were in one. There were only men in the other. Men could be relied upon to be closemouthed when necessity and good breeding dictated it.

  The earl was the one elected to stay in the ballroom to keep an eye on Catherine. Opportunely he had already reserved the set before the supper waltz with her. Not that much of a guard was needed. There would be no unpleasantness now at this stage of the evening. Anyway, her father and brother were with her as well as Sir Clayton Baird—and even Lady Baird could be formidable in a pinch. But they were all agreed that one of them should stay just in case. Lord Haverford could always be relied upon to freeze the blossoms off a spring branch with a single glance if the need arose.

  The other three went to the card room together. There were not as many gentlemen in there as one might expect to see if it had been a club room on a normal evening. Most of them had doubtless been persuaded by their womenfolk to do their duty in the ballroom.

  Sir Howard Copley was seated at one of the tables with three other players. From the pile of notes and papers at his elbow it appeared that luck was with him tonight. They ranged themselves around the table, the three of them, Mr. Gascoigne and Lord Pelham just far enough on either side of his shoulders that they were within his line of vision, Viscount Rawleigh directly opposite him. They stood in silence, staring at him. They took no notice of any of the other players or of the game in progress. They stared at his face, Mr. Gascoigne and Lord Pelham at his opposite profiles, the viscount at his full face.

  He became aware of them only gradually. He darted a few sideways glances and a few straight ahead, each a little more uneasy than the one before. He said nothing and continued playing, but it became quickly apparent that he had lost his concentration. He lost the hand. He licked his lips and took a giant swallow from his glass. He lost the next hand too.

  It was amazing how quickly a message could travel without a single word having been spoken, Lord Rawleigh thought without shifting his fixed gaze from Copley’s face. Even in this remote anteroom, of course, news would have arrived that Catherine was at the ball and that she was his wife. And memory would serve well enough to remind everyone that Copley had been the one who had ruined her. The significance of this spectacle would not be lost on anyone.

  A curious silence descended on the room. Curious because the room had been silent even when the three of them had first entered. A card room was not usually characterized by noise. But this silence was tense and expectant. With his peripheral vision Lord Rawleigh could see that play at the next table had been suspended.

  Sir Howard Copley tossed down his cards when he lost the second hand and glared up at the viscount.

  “What do you want?” he snapped.

  Lord Rawleigh did not answer. He let the silence stretch.

  “What the hell
are you staring at me for?” Copley’s hand reached out for his glass and knocked it over. A brown stain spread and soaked into the tablecloth. No one made a move to mop up.

  Copley jerked to his feet, pushing back his chair with the backs of his knees. “Stop it this instant,” he said. “And you two.” He half glanced at Lord Pelham and Mr. Gascoigne. “Get out of here if you know what is good for you.”

  Lord Rawleigh stared. His friends stood. Sir Howard Copley dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow with it.

  “I suppose,” he said, putting the handkerchief away, pulling himself together with a visible effort, and sneering, “you discovered that you had a less than pure bride on your wedding night, Rawleigh. And I suppose she forgot to mention the fact in advance. Don’t blame me. I was not plump enough in the pockets for her taste. She had her pleasure of me and then poked her nose in the air as if she were a duchess instead of a whore.”

  There was a sigh of something in the room. It was not sound as much as a collective expelling of air, an awareness that some crisis point had been reached and that there was only one possible outcome.

  Viscount Rawleigh felt again the cold elation he had felt earlier in the ballroom. He strolled slowly around the table. Nat stepped back to let him pass.

  “I did not bring gloves with me, Copley,” the viscount said, breaking the silence at last. “My bare hand will have to suffice.” He whipped the back of it across Copley’s face, snapping his head to one side. “Name your weapons and the time and place. Your second can call on Lord Pelham tomorrow morning to discuss the details.”

  He turned to leave the room, his friends behind him. Everyone else stood aside to let them pass. No one voiced any objection to the breaking of a law that was about to happen. No one would. No one would spread the word except perhaps to other gentlemen. It was doubtful that any woman would hear of it. This was gentlemen’s business after all.

  “Rawleigh.” Sir Howard’s voice stopped the viscount for a mere moment, though he did not turn to look back. “It will be pistols, with which I have a certain skill and have had some success. It will be as much a pleasure to kill you as it was to deflower your wife—and your betrothed.”

  “Shame!” several voices said at last.

  Viscount Rawleigh and his two friends returned to the ballroom, where by chance the quadrille was coming to an end. They had timed their business well.

  • • •

  IT took a while after he had loved her to recover breath and energy enough to speak. She could easily have slipped into sleep as she usually did, but she did not want to sleep just yet. She suspected that such moments could be precious to the marriage they must somehow build into something meaningful. At such moments there was a tenderness between them that had been aroused by their physical union but which was not entirely physical in itself.

  “Rex?” She cuddled her head more comfortably against his shoulder and spread her hand over his chest. It was warm and still damp from their lovemaking.

  “Mm?” He rubbed his face against the top of her head. “Am I slipping? Have I not put you to sleep tonight?”

  “I have realized,” she said, “that sleeping immediately after robs me of some pleasure.”

  He chuckled. “You learn fast,” he said. “Incidentally, I have noticed that before.”

  She liked it when they talked teasingly to each other. There were all sorts of possibilities for healing and for the growth of friendship and affection when two people could tease each other.

  “You did not mind my inviting your friends to dinner tomorrow?” she asked. “I should have consulted you first, but I made the suggestion to Lord Haverford when I was dancing with him, and somehow the idea blossomed.”

  “I would have done so myself,” he said, “but I would have felt obliged to invite an equal number of ladies—it seems that I have something in common with Clarissa, perish the thought. I would not have wanted to bore you with all male guests and all male conversation.”

  “But I want to know about your friends,” she said, “and your experiences with them. Not that I want to pry into any secrets or worm my way into a friendship that is precious among the four of you. I just want to know you better, Rex. I want to know about your childhood too and your life with Claude and Daphne. I want to know more of what it is like to be a twin.”

  “Claude is not happy,” he said.

  “He always seemed contented enough,” she said.

  “I mean recently,” he said. “I have not heard from him since we left Bodley, yet I know that about him, you see. It is part of being a twin.”

  She thought about it for a moment. “And what does he know about you recently?” she asked. She was sorry, then, because he hesitated in his answer. She did not want him to lie to make her feel better. But she did not want the truth—not now, at this moment.

  “He saw me sullen and rather bitter,” he said quietly. “I believe he will know that my mood has changed. That I am content.”

  Content. He might have used a far worse word. She consoled herself with that fact.

  “Catherine.” He lifted her chin and kissed her softly before lifting his head away again. “I must learn to know you too. For so long you were a total stranger to me, a mystery. I want to know about Harry—he is a fine young man. And about Lady Withersford. About all the people who were important to you. I want to know who Lady Catherine Winsmore was. But not tonight. Can it wait until tomorrow? You have worn me out, I am afraid. You are an energetic lover.”

  The description pleased her. And she was tired too—within a hairbreadth of sleep. But she could not leave it at that. There was warmth between them because they had loved and because they had taken steps to reach out to each other in ways other than merely the physical. But she could not leave it at that.

  “Tell me about Miss Eckert,” she said, her face pressed to his shoulder.

  He sighed after a short silence, during which she braced herself for his anger. “Yes,” he said. “Someone was bound to tell you. I should have done so myself before now. I am sorry, Catherine. We met during the year between the Peninsula and Waterloo, and were betrothed within a month of meeting. Then I went off to Belgium with the armies and she wrote me there breaking off the engagement. She did not marry the—the man who came between us, but we did not revive our relationship. It was destroyed.”

  “Sir Howard Copley,” she said.

  “Yes.” The muscles of the arm holding her bunched before relaxing again.

  “Did he— What happened exactly?” she asked.

  “I am not sure,” he said. “My guess is that he thought her fortune larger than it actually was and discovered the truth before it was too late. At the time I thought that she had merely been dazzled by good looks and charm during my absence.”

  “And now you are not so sure?” she asked him.

  “I knew of him as a wastrel and a rake,” he said. “I had heard of his sullying the reputations of other women. I believe your name was even mentioned. But even so I never—until very recently—suspected that perhaps there was more to it than what Horatia said in her letter to me. She said she was in love with him.”

  “You think she was not?” she asked him. “You think perhaps she felt obliged to break off the betrothal and gave a reason you would be most likely to accept without question?” She could feel Horatia Eckert’s pain as if it were her own.

  He swallowed. “I pray I am wrong,” he said. “I would have nothing to do with her when I returned to England.”

  “As she had planned,” she said.

  “Yes, but— Ah, it does not matter,” he said.

  She felt deep sorrow for Miss Eckert and pain for herself. She asked the question she ought not to ask.

  “Do you still love her?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said quite firmly. “No, Catherine. I feel sorry for
her, but pity is not love. And I feel guilty that I was not as perceptive as I might have been in seeing through what was very possibly a lie. I was too caught up in my own pain and humiliation. But I do not love her. She was there tonight, as I suppose you were aware. I could see her only with pity.”

  She could not help the elation she felt, though she remembered Miss Eckert’s eyes.

  “She still loves you,” she said.

  She felt him draw breath to answer, though he said nothing.

  “Forgive my questioning you,” she said. “I had to know.”

  “Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “I feel sorry for her, Catherine, but she must make her own future. My future is in my arms here and I have the feeling that it is going to consume all my energy. Not just physical energy, you understand.”

  Yes, she did. They were precious words. Words of hope and commitment. Just a month ago, when she had married him, she had not expected any more than the protection of his name. She had not expected commitment.

  “I am just glad of one thing,” she said. “I am glad he is not in town this year—Sir Howard Copley, I mean. I feared he might be. I hope he never comes back. I hope I never have to see him again.”

  His arm tightened again. “You have nothing to fear from him, Catherine,” he said. “You have me to protect you now. I will protect what is my own with my life if necessary.”

  That was part of what she was afraid of. Coming face-to-face with Sir Howard would be dreadful indeed for her. But what would happen if Rex ever met him, knowing what he now did, both about her and about Miss Eckert? There would quite possibly be a challenge and a duel.

  And perhaps Rex would not be the one to walk away from it.

  She shivered.

  “I really must be slipping,” her husband said. “Are you cold? Or is it just the mention of his name? Either way, I had better think of a way of warming you up, had I not?”

  He turned her and came on top of her and thrust inside her without foreplay, something he had not done before. He was learning her needs, she thought. His weight and the hard fullness of him inside her were wonderfully comforting. And the knowledge that he would bring her to passion again made her put aside dark thoughts.