Lady in Red (40 page)

What
did
he feel for her? Was it love, this warm gentle glow that made him smile at odd moments? Surely he’d never felt this way before, but… he’d never been married before either. What if, instead of love, it was merely an appreciation for companionship, for the delight of her company?

Until he was certain, he would not utter the words aloud. He could not.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Come in,” he said quickly, interrupting Donaldson with something like relief.

The door opened and Honoria entered. Marcus’s heart quickened and he stood, Donaldson following suit.

“My lord. Mr. Donaldson.” She came to stand in front of the desk, giving them each a friendly nod. The sun glinted across her hair, warming the chestnut curls and brightening her lock of white. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”

“Oh no,” Mr. Donaldson said, replacing some papers into his leather satchel and sending Marcus a rather dry look. “I was merely informing his lordship of a border problem and he was politely dreaming about other things.”

Marcus winced. “I apologize if I did not appear to be listening—”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Donaldson collected his papers and satchel, a smile on his round face. “You have other matters to attend to, which is as it should be. I shall return in the morning when you have more time.”

Blast it, Marcus thought, he had time now. He was just…

He slanted a glance at Honoria and then wished he hadn’t. She was dressed in green today, a pale mint color that made her hazel eyes seem all the more vivid. The silk gown was perfect for her softly rounded form, flowing over the curve of her hip and the long, smooth expanse of her thighs—

Good God, in a moment he’d be writing a sonnet to her toes. He was distracted, that’s what he was. Completely distracted.

He waited until the door closed behind Donaldson before he asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A faint color touched her cheeks. “I am sorry for intruding. I didn’t mean for Mr. Donaldson to leave.”

“He didn’t leave because you arrived; he left because I was busy thinking of something other than what he was saying. I’m afraid I haven’t been very attentive today.” He returned to his chair, his gaze flickering over her. She looked fresh and delectable in her gown, but he knew that she would look even more delectable out of it. His body stirred instantly and he frowned. Damn, but he hated this odd state of affairs. A surge of irritation sliced through him and he flashed a disgruntled glance at the cause of his discomfort. “Did you want something?”

She lifted her brows at his tone. “Yes, I do.”

“Then say what it is. I’ve work to do.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but whenever they were together, he felt as if he was missing something.

“Marcus, I was just speaking to Lord Melton.”

“Melton?” Marcus hadn't thought of Melton in over a week, though the young cub had tried to corner him on any number of instances. “When did you talk to him?”

“Just now. He came to see you, but Jeffries told him you were out, so I spoke to him instead.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“No, but he seemed so upset, and Cassandra—” Honoria closed her lips. “I thought someone should talk to him.”

“That should have been me.”

“Yes, but he…” She paused and a faint smile touched her lips. “You should hear what he has to say. I think it might surprise you.”

Unknowingly, Marcus’s hand clenched about the pen. What the hell was that look? She appeared amused, almost tender. A flash of feeling he’d never before experienced exploded hotly in his chest. Before he even knew what he was about, he snapped, “To hell with Melton. Honoria, you have no authority where my business is concerned. You are to limit yourself to the house and nothing more.”

“You—You—” Fury, mingled with hurt, flashed in her eyes.

Bloody hell, he sounded like the biggest ass on earth. What the hell was wrong with him? “No, no!” He threw down the pen and rubbed his temples. “Honoria, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I just—”

“There is no need, my lord. I. understand you perfectly.” Shards of ice could not have been colder or more pointed. “I shall endeavor to keep my onerous presence to a minimum.”

“Honoria, I just—for a moment, I thought you and Melton—”

She stiffened, her eyes widening. “Melton and I what? We what? We spoke, Marcus. That is all. About his obligation to you.”

Marcus stood. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Lord Melton is in the garden with Portia and Cassandra. If you have nothing more to do than mull such empty thoughts, perhaps you will find the time to meet with Lord Melton.” With that, Honoria turned on her heel and swept toward the door.

Marcus was around the desk in a flash. He caught her just as she reached for the door. “Honoria!” He held her by both arms and turned her to face him. “I’m sorry, I—”

She broke free, her eyes flashing angrily, tears welling even as she stood before him. “I don’t want you to be sorry.

I’m already sorry enough for both of us. Sorry I married you. That was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.“

He released her. He never meant to make her cry. Never meant to make her sad or angry. Feeling like the world’s largest heel, he watched her turn and leave.

Marcus left the house almost immediately. He made his way to White’s and sat in a corner, drinking port and trying to dull the strange emptiness that filled his chest. After an hour, slightly tipsy, but still feeling uncertain and pained, he left and made his way to Anthony’s house.

He was greeted by the butler and then escorted into the red salon. There, he waited.

After several minutes the door opened.

Marcus turned to speak, but stopped. It was not Anthony standing in the door, but his wife, Anna. Almost as tall as Marcus, red-haired and elegant with a Roman nose, she looked at him through gray eyes that usually sparkled with humor. Usually. Today, they sparkled with indignation. Marcus swallowed a sigh. “You’ve talked to Honoria.”

“Yes I have. I stopped by to see if the dressmaker had brought the gown we ordered and I found her crying.”

Marcus rubbed his temples. She was crying. Good God, what had he done?

Anna’s mouth thinned. “Well, Treymount? What have you to say to your hateful behavior?”

“I apologized.”

“Yes, but you did nothing to correct things. An apology without true remorse is not worth a farthing.”

“Damn it, Anna! I said I was sorry, and I am. What else am I to do?”

“I don’t know. All I do know is that your little spat is the reason your wife was crying.” Anna’s gaze grew even more accusing. “What have you said to that woman that she could be so heartbroken?”

“Anna, is Anthony here? I came to speak to—”

“He’s at White’s.”

“But I was there and—”

“He just left, looking for you. I daresay he’s just arrived.”

Marcus bowed. “Thank you. I am sorry to be abrupt but—”

Anna grasped his sleeve, her clear gray eyes meeting his. “Marcus, whatever you’ve done, set it to rights. She is worth too much to be hurt.”

He paused, placing his hand over Anna’s. “I know. I just need—I have to figure out a few things first. As soon as I do, I will speak with her and solve this problem.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Anna looked steadfastly into his eyes. Suddenly, her usual smile lit her eyes to silver. “Why Marcus, you—I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?”

She laughed and released his arm. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Go and find my husband and see if he can’t knock some sense into you.”

“I shall do just that.” He turned toward the door. Just as he reached it, Anna called after him.

“Marcus? In case you are wondering, the gown Honoria has chosen for the ball is red.”

He frowned. “And?”

Anna shrugged. “Nothing. Just in case you were wondering. That’s all.”

Marcus shook his head. Women and their mysterious warnings. His sister, Sara, used to do the same thing. Sighing, he nodded once to Anna and then left.

Marcus found Anthony sitting in one of a pair of chairs before a neat fireplace, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting on a stool, a cigar in one hand, a glass of port in the other. “There you are.”

Anthony raised his brows. “Obviously.”

Marcus scowled and took the chair. “I have been looking for you. Anna said you’d be here.”

“And now you have found me.” Anthony took a slow puff of the cigar, eyeing Marcus all the while. “Well?”

Marcus rammed his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs out before him. “What?”

“I was sent here on a mission, and if you’ve already seen my rather opinionated wife, you know what it is.” Anthony set down the glass of port. “Marcus, what happened between you and Honoria?”

“Nothing,” he growled.

“Whatever happened, you’re as grouchy an old bear. It’s a pity, because Chase and I were both talking just yesterday about how much more pleasant you were now that you had Honoria in your life.”

That was probably true. Before she’d burdened him with an admission of her feelings—he could still see her now, could still feel the weight of her crestfallen expression when he hadn’t answered her. Good God, why did he feel so
bad?

“Damn it, Marcus. If you aren’t going to talk, at least stop sighing all over the place.”

“Was I sighing? I didn’t mean to. I’m just—” He shook his head.

Real concern flickered over Anthony’s face. “Marcus, marriage is not an easy thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Although… he’d rather enjoyed being married to Honoria at one time. They had passion—and an astounding amount at that. More than he’d ever had with anyone else. And his life was certainly pleasanter with her and her family about.

He thought of the little scene between George and Chef Antoine. There was never a boring day with the Baker-Sneeds, a fact he was just now beginning to appreciate.

Honoria had also moved almost effortlessly into Trey-mount House and things had never been better run. He’d already noticed some improvements to his comfort that had left him feeling almost cosseted. But… she loved him. His own wife loved him. He couldn’t seem to get his mind around that fact. He caught Anthony’s gaze and shifted in his chair. “I am a bit overwhelmed.”

“I see,” Anthony said, pouring a generous amount of port into his own glass. “The siblings?”

“No, no. They are fine. A pleasure, actually.”

Anthony grinned. “I take it then that none of them are as opinionated as your Honoria.”

“More so, except perhaps Cassandra.” Marcus leaned his head back against the chair back. “They are a lively group. Juliet is horse-mad and will not leave Demon be. What’s odd is that the blasted horse actually likes her and is as docile as a flower around her. Then there’s Olivia, who has an amazing propensity to just blurt out what she thinks, will you nil you. And Portia who is, I think, destined for the stage.”

“They sound delightful.”

“They are. Except yesterday when Olivia said my wonderful Flemish tapestry had less to offer than—oh, what did she say?” His frown cleared. “Ah, yes! She said it had less to offer than ‘a square-masted rig in flat waters.” Whatever that means, though I’m fairly certain it was an insult.“

Anthony shook his head. “She is just as bad as Chase and Brandon. Neither of them concerns themselves with the arts. By the way, how is the boy doing?”

“George, the terror of Treymount? He and that damned frog find more things to get into. Just this morning I went to put on my favorite riding boots and they were gone. Seems he’d decided they’d make a good house for his frog and so he just took them. And when I taxed him on it, he pointed out that he’d left a shilling to pay for them.”

“And had he?”

“Well… yes. I just hadn’t seen it because I was looking for my boots and not a coin.”

“How old is this little fellow?”

“About seven.”

“That’s pretty decent of him then, to pay so much.”

Marcus dropped his chin to his neckcloth. “Anthony, Honoria and I had a conversation…”

“So? I hope you have many.”

“No, no. We were talking, and to my surprise, she told me that—” His tongue tangled about the words and he fell silent.

“She told you what?”

“That she loved me.”

Anthony’s eyes widened and then he broke into laughter, so loud and long that eyes began turning in their direction.

“Enough,” Marcus growled, feeling like the biggest fool to walk the earth. Dammit, what was wrong with Anthony?

“Good God, Marcus. She tells you that she loves you and you look at me as if you’ve just been stabbed with a knife. Why is that? I don’t see—” Anthony’s smile faded. “Bloody hell, Marcus. What did you tell her when she admitted she loved you?”

Marcus didn’t move.

“Marcus?” Concern darkened Anthony’s his brown eyes. He leaned forward. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing.”