Page 5 of My Lord Rogue
“I’m content. I still don’t believe I’ll ever be as happy as I was before Charles took ill.”
Smiling softly, Verity said, “I remember feeling that way. And look at me now. St. Ervan is nothing like my Levi was, so I’m not the same person I was with him. But I am happy, and so grateful St. Ervan had his way with me.” She laughed boldly.
Seeing the emotions on Verity’s face, Theo sighed. She would love to feel any of the feelings she saw, love, happiness, and a hint of satisfaction like she’d felt after she and Charles had made love. She envied her friend. Yet, to experience those bits of life again meant she needed to let go of Charles’ memory, and she just couldn’t do that.
Remembering her ploy, she forced herself to look chipper. “Perhaps I’ll feel that soon with my dear Teddy.”
“Ah, yes, Baron Teddington. I believe St. Ervan knows him. If you’d written me sooner about him, I could have invited him.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”
How well did St. Ervan know the man? Theo needed to speak as vaguely as possible about her supposed beau to avoid being caught in a lie.
Verity’s gaze grew distracted, already spinning plans. “We must write to him at once. Invite him to stay. I shall make it my mission to ensure he cannot resist the trip.”
Theo’s stomach lurched. “Please, Verity, I would be mortified if you did. I prefer to meet with him in more private circumstances.”
“Nonsense! When he sees how other men are lusting after you, he’ll stake his claim. Leave it to me.” She gave Theo a lookequal parts affection and mischief. “I cannot believe you have kept this from me for so long.”
Theo clenched her hands. She could see the trap lying in wait, the baron either writing back to say he knew no such person as Lady Pattishall. Or worse, he’d come here and say it to her face.
“Truly, there is nothing official between us,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yet,” Verity corrected. She rose, smoothing the folds of her gown. “Sleep well, my darling. Tomorrow will be… interesting.”
When Verity had gone, the silence in the room surrounded Theo. She moved to the window, parting the curtains to gaze out at the moonlit parkland. Somewhere below, laughter rolled across the lawns, voices rising and falling in a rhythm as old as the stones of the house.
She pressed the locket between her fingers, feeling the chill of the metal and the warmth of memory. The false Baron Teddington loomed in her imagination, as real to her now as the men she’d just met—and, in some ways, far less terrifying.
A distant footfall sounded in the corridor. Theo snuffed the candle, undressed with shaking hands, and slipped into bed, where she lay awake for a long time, counting the heartbeats that separated her from discovery.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning unfurled itself slowly, reluctant to dissipate the thick residue of last night’s revelations. A heavy English mist pressed itself against the diamond-pane windows, muting the lawns and hedges to pale watercolor washes. Even the servants, so brisk the evening before, moved through the halls with a hush, as if the house itself conspired to keep its secrets until the sun broke through.
In the dining room, Theo sat at the end of the long table, picking at her food. Her appetite, never robust, had evaporated completely. She toyed with a poached egg until it collapsed, pale yolk leaking like a wound across her plate. Her mind still circled last night’s introduction to the other guests, and how every man in the room had measured her with glances, some calculating, some hungry, but all intrusive. Even in her blue silk, even with the pearls—Charles’s favorite—she had felt as fragile and transparent as spun sugar.
At the opposite end of the table, Verity presided over her own tea, stacking correspondence in a little fortress against the world. She wore a morning gown the color of faded violets, her dark hair tousled with intentional carelessness. Now and thenshe looked up, as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it.
Theo pressed her napkin to her lips, trying to steady her breathing. Her fingers trembled. She sipped her tea, the heat an unpleasant rasp against her tongue.
Finally, Verity cleared her throat. “You seem rather pale this morning. Were you kept awake by the captain’s tales of Turkish pirates?”
Theo managed a small smile. “Only by the quantity of brandy he consumed while telling them.”
Verity laughed—a throaty, delighted sound. “Yes, he does drink with the abandon of a man who expects to drown at any moment. But let’s not start the day so bleakly. I have a tonic that will revive you.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Something stronger than tea?”
“Much stronger. I have a surprise for you.” Verity pushed away from the table, all at once lively with purpose. “Come, I will show you.”
Theo barely had time to set down her cup before Verity was at her elbow, propelling her out of the breakfast room and down the main corridor. The air was chill, the marble floor cold even through the soles of her shoes.
Verity’s grip was unyielding, her excitement barely contained. “You remember I mentioned a guest who might join us?” she asked, leading Theo past an arrangement of flowers from the greenhouse.
Theo nodded, her throat too tight for speech. There were so many guests, so many names—she could not recall half of them from the flurry of introductions the night before.
Verity steered her toward a tall set of doors flanked by palms, which Theo remembered as St. Ervan’s study. “He arrived only moments ago. From the Continent, directly. I dare say his boots are still dusted with French road.”