Page 31 of A Lord in Want of a Wife (Daring Debutantes #2)

Nineteen months later

G od, she’d changed.

That was Cedric’s first thought as he made his achingly slow progress into Almack’s. He was ill, weak and defeated, but he needed to see Lucy one final time. And so he’d donned clothing that did not fit anymore, spent his last coins getting a hackney and he’d blustered his way inside.

He’d heard the gasps at his entrance. He doubted anyone recognised him.

Honestly, he didn’t even recognise the man in the mirror.

But she did. And as her eyes widened in shock, he looked at her and wondered if she had changed or if his memory of her had grown dim until this moment when the reality of her was so overwhelming.

Strong. Beautiful. Standing tall in a way she’d never done before except when they were together.

He swallowed. During his absence, she’d truly adapted to English society.

And here he was feeling as un-English as it was possible to be.

Future earls are supposed to swagger when they enter a room.

They are meant to have refined clothing and a perfumed scent.

He’d long since lost the knack of a swagger, and his clothing had been stored for the last nineteen months without anyone to care for it.

As for perfume, his scent was that of the ocean and the lye soap he’d used.

But he’d gotten into Almack’s, and so that meant something.

He was still accepted into polite society.

He was supposed to be returning buried in wealth with the words I told you so! on his lips. He’d held on to that thought with the grip of a drowning man.

But as the months wore on, as storms raged against their tiny ship, and as his body ached from constant work, his thoughts had changed to fantasies.

Hot and erotic ones, but also quiet, soothing caresses.

As the return trip had gone on interminably, she became an angel in his thoughts.

He threw all his feelings, both good and bad, at her.

His rage burned her. His pain flowed like a river to her.

And when those were depleted, he sent her his tears and his regrets.

But now that she was here across from him, old patterns kicked in. He bowed to her and requested a dance as if he were again the spoiled peer he’d once been. A man who had never faced starvation, death or even true disease.

She gaped at him. That was no surprise. He was a pale shadow of who he’d once been. But then, he saw her rally. She straightened to her full height and smiled. The expression was tentative, and her shoulders were pulled in from tension, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Then she spoke.

‘L-lord Domac. Welcome back to England. I had no idea you had returned.’

‘Just docked. I barely had time to dress before coming to see you.’

‘You came to Almack’s straightaway?’ He heard the incredulity in her voice.

‘I knew you’d be here.’ Then he held out his hand to lead her into the next dance.

She had already stepped to his side, but then a damned coughing fit gripped him.

He tried to suppress it, but that never worked.

Indeed, it made it worse. All too soon, he was pressing a handkerchief to his mouth and praying he could remain upright.

He was excruciatingly aware of the people who drew back from him in horror.

No one wanted to be exposed to disease. But unlike them, Lucy came closer.

She set a hand on his shoulder, riding out the spasms like a flower atop the waves.

And when he was done, she said something.

He had no idea what. He heard her polite tone more than the words.

And when he looked up, he saw her expression tighten.

Did she fear him? Or fear for him? Hard to tell.

Finally, he sorted through her sounds to remember a word. Lemonade.

‘Lemonade would be welcome,’ he said as he straightened to his full height.

He held out his arm, cursing it for shaking. She set her fingertips on it, then she gently steered him towards the refreshment, pausing only to apologise to Mr. Somebody. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name.

‘I am sorry I shall have to forego our dance,’ she said to the interloper. ‘Lord Domac and I have some mutual interests that I am impatient to discuss.’

Mr. Whomever didn’t take the rejection politely. He grimaced in distaste and then squared his soft shoulders as if for battle. ‘Then I shall escort you to Hyde Park tomorrow,’ he said. ‘As recompense.’

Upstart puppy. She didn’t need to do anything he demanded.

Cedric opened his mouth to say something derisive, only to feel his lungs tighten up again.

Damn it, if he forced words out now, he would cough instead.

He held his tongue, and to his shock, he discovered that Miss Richards did not need him to defend her at all.

‘Goodness,’ she drawled. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever received a ruder invitation. And believe me, I have received many. Sir, you are dismissed.’

The fop openly gaped at her, as did several others who were listening.

Cedric, too, was momentarily stunned. He couldn’t remember Lucy ever speaking so pointedly to anyone.

Good God, it set him back on his heels. This was not the woman he remembered, and the dissonance was jarring.

And yet a moment later, she was grace personified as she allowed him to move them—at his pace—to the refreshment table.

They said nothing. She was likely waiting for him to speak, but he did not trust his throat yet. He refused to descend into another coughing fit, but as usual, his refusal meant nothing.

He began coughing as the footman poured the lemonade.

She gathered their cups and gestured to a pair of chairs. The seats were occupied, but at her harsh look, the ladies jumped to their feet and placed themselves two steps away. Close enough to hear everything.

She sat quickly, still balancing the cups in her hands, then smiled politely as he all but collapsed beside her. It took him a moment to catch his breath. He tried to smile as she passed him his lemonade, but he doubted the expression looked anything like normal.

‘Cedric,’ she said sotto voce. ‘Why have you sought me out? You could have sent me a message. I would have come to the ship.’

‘I will not be there,’ he said with as much strength in his voice as he could manage.

‘I have been gone nearly two years. I must find out how my family fares. And if…’ He swallowed unable to finish the thought.

He needed to know if there was any money left in his estate or if his father had impoverished them all.

If his sisters were dead of starvation while his mother survived on bitterness and her sister’s charity.

And had his young nephew survived? The first years of life were the most precarious.

‘Your parents live much as they had before you left.’

He wasn’t sure if that was for the good or ill. He did not wish for pain to befall them, but they were both miserable people who poisoned everyone around them.

‘My sisters?’ he asked.

‘All well. We visited them for Simon’s first birthday. And your brother-in-law has made a name for himself repairing canals. Your friends sing his praises.’

That was a relief. He remembered that Declan had promised to watch over them, but to hear the truth of it eased his mind.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I will rest easier now.’

She stiffened at his wording. Did she know he believed he was going to die soon? He had seen illness take a quarter of their crew. So far he’d survived, but that was out of sheer stubborn willpower. He’d never felt worse in his entire life.

‘And what of you, my lord?’ she asked.

‘I fare exactly as you see.’ He was sick, impoverished and holding on to his pride by a thread of determination. And wasn’t that a shock? He didn’t think he had any pride left.

Meanwhile, she shifted uncomfortably, twisting to face him more directly. ‘My lord,’ she began, but then hesitated. ‘Cedric,’ she tried again, but he cut her off rather than hear pity in her voice.

‘You mean to ask about our cargo. I shall tell you. Good profit for you and for the Prince—’

‘That is excellent, but—’

‘I haven’t the skill with the account books that you do…

’ He had to pause to take a breath. ‘But even my review tells me you did very well.’ By contrast, his own corner of the hold, the place where she allowed him to choose everything, had done less well.

He’d made sure every inch of profit went to his investors, the Prince being the most important. They would have a solid return.

He, on the other hand, had spent his personal profits along the way. Extra expenses he hadn’t counted on. And other special purchases he didn’t regret. But the end result was not the windfall he’d hoped for.

‘You win,’ he said. ‘My choices did not ever do as well as yours.’

‘What game did I win?’ she returned, her tone losing some of its gentleness. ‘I asked after you, my lord.’

He looked at her, and his head bobbled with dizziness.

He heard the censure in her tone and added it to his list of sins.

He was handling this badly, but damnation, what did she want?

After two years, he hadn’t nearly enough to prove his worth to her father.

Two years! And now he just wanted to lie down and die.

‘Cedric,’ she whispered urgently. ‘You are not well.’

He flashed her a wan smile. ‘Oh, how you flatter me,’ he drawled.

He watched frustration knot her features before smoothing back down. He’d always admired that in her. She was always so calm, but this close to her, he could see every shift of her features. Even when it indicated annoyance.

At least she wasn’t indifferent to him. It would have destroyed him if she’d forgotten him completely.

‘You are such an ass,’ she muttered under her breath.

He would start braying if he could trust his voice.

‘Let me be clear,’ she all but hissed into his ear. ‘I do not care about the cargo. I never measured your worth by your coin.’

She was right. It was he who measured and counted every penny and thought himself a failure if another had more than he did. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

At least he thought he did. Perhaps it was more of a mumble as she ducked her head to look him in the eye. He hadn’t even realised his head had dipped until he faced the floor.

‘You’re sweating with fever.’

Was he?

‘We must get you home.’

‘My home is in Kent.’

She huffed. ‘Well, that’s not going to work.’

Neither was this. Neither was the way they were fighting each other. Which—now that he thought on it—was exactly what the two of them did. They bickered.

He straightened up in his chair. He forced himself to stand as if braced against a stiff wind. She matched him, though she was shorter than he.

‘Miss Richards,’ he said formally, ‘do you not remember our last conversation before my departure?’

Her expression turned wary. ‘I do—’

He didn’t let her finish. ‘You told me to prove myself to you. And so I departed.’

She snorted. ‘Those were not my words. They were yours . You said you would prove yourself to everyone.’

‘And now I am here, standing upon all that I have left, my honour and a sliver of pride. There is c-coin. P-prinny will be pleased. But n-not enough to show your f-father.’ Damn his stuttering tongue. ‘I failed,’ he repeated. ‘And so you are right to discard me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Lord Domac, only you could make a Cheltenham tragedy out of a middling cargo.’

Damnation. How could she see him so clearly and so completely wrong at the same time? He was making a dramatic pronouncement. Of course he was. Because after this, he would slink off to Kent never to be heard from again. ‘At least, give me my exit scene,’ he muttered.

‘Exit? You’ve only just arrived. And, as usual, you are making all the decisions without considering anyone else.’

Was she joking? ‘All I do is think of everyone else,’ he choked out. It was hard because his vision was beginning to swim.

‘Then you are thinking all the wrong things!’ she snapped. No, it wasn’t her voice that snapped. It was her fingers. Snap! Snap! Beneath his nose. ‘Cedric!’

He lifted his gaze to hers. Or he tried. Why was his head so heavy?

‘Fetch the carriage immediately. We’ll take him home.’

Was she talking to him? ‘Kent is a very long way.’

‘Your head is a very long way away.’

‘Wha—?’ He couldn’t finish forming the word. His mother hated that.

He heard her sigh. Then her face dropped to be directly in front of his eyes. Her forehead was crinkled with concern. That made him smile. She cared for him.

‘So enthralling,’ she whispered. ‘Just like when we first met. What is wrong with me that you are so damned mesmerizing?’

‘Such big words,’ he said, hearing the words slur but unable to fix the problem. ‘Where’d you learn them?’

‘From you!’

‘Are you ill?’ he muttered and didn’t know if he was asking her or asking himself.

She rolled her eyes even as she slipped an arm beneath his shoulder. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain everything.’

Would she? He doubted it because nothing made sense these days. The only hope for it was to close his eyes and pray that tomorrow was better. That was how he’d survived at sea.

Wait. No, that was absolutely not how he’d survived.

Every night he’d closed his eyes and envisioned his powerful, righteous return to England. And once there, he’d wallow in his wealth, his rightness and his brilliance. He was the man he sought to be. A man worthy of her.

Oh, bloody hell. That was an impossible dream now, and the act of giving it up utterly destroyed him. He was nothing without that hope. Better to pass out than face that reality.

So he did.