Read Season for Surrender Online
Authors: Theresa Romain
Season for Surrender (29 page)
For his part, he would drink a brewed tea the precise shade of brandy.
It was easier to enter into the spirit of a raucous affair when one was half-soused all the time. But he
wasn't
in the spirit of it, and so it was easier to pretend with a clear head.
wasn't
in the spirit of it, and so it was easier to pretend with a clear head.
He poured himself some of the false brandy and stashed the bottle in the window seat. From here, he could scan the whole room. This odd conglomeration of proper and bawdy guests were ringing in the New Year as his guests always hadâtoasting one another's every word, ripping down mistletoe to kiss one another. Squealing and falling across each other's laps.
It seemed that when the year came to an end, the polite world was just as ready to drench itself in drink and flirtation as were the more dissipated members of society. Even the cautious Lady Alleyneham had relaxed for this occasion, downing flute after flute of champagne, allowing her daughters to drape themselves on various gentlemen.
And why not? Everyone was drinking, everyone was joyful. It was all in good fun. It was a New Year and a new beginning.
It was the house party he'd have had if Louisa had never been there at all.
Atop the poor beleaguered Chippendale chair, Mrs. Protheroe had tugged up her skirt and tugged down her garter as she continued the song. Things would only get worse from this point. Or better. It was all in how one chose to look at it.
He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes.
While his guests slept off the effects of their celebration the following morning, Xavier began the year at the polished mahogany desk in his study.
He had a few resolutions for the year, and there was no reason why he couldn't begin them today.
First, he would master the account books. Second, he'd speak to his steward about them. He was determined to understand every detail of how, precisely, his earldom stayed in funds.
Chatterton was sure to talk his ear off. Both ears. It would be a painful experience.
Xavier cast a longing look at the decanter on his study's sideboard.
No
. He rubbed a hand over his chin. It was clean-shaven. He was not bleary-eyed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun on New Year's Day. It was . . . novel.
. He rubbed a hand over his chin. It was clean-shaven. He was not bleary-eyed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun on New Year's Day. It was . . . novel.
No one else would know he had awoken. But
he
knew it. And that seemed like the essential beginning. When he was alone, he didn't have to pretend. When he was alone, he could admit the truth: that he cared about a number of things he never had before.
he
knew it. And that seemed like the essential beginning. When he was alone, he didn't have to pretend. When he was alone, he could admit the truth: that he cared about a number of things he never had before.
He cared about the half-curious, half-resentful glares his tenants had shot him at church. He cared about the account books that held the details of his earldom. He cared about that encoded ledger that had fired Lockwood with imagination, venom, and vengeance.
He cared, too, that all the best bits of himself had been as carefully catalogued as a shelf of incunables, exotic and originalâand that he'd trundled his cataloguer away several days before, with only a sentence of explanation to reveal his heart to her.
A heart he'd once claimed he didn't possess.
How he wished he could pretend none of this was true, after all. It had been so much easier being Lord Xavier, though he'd been a fake of a rake, nothing but a shell.
The carved back of the seraglio chair pushed at him, and he realized he had slumped. No. There would be no slumping this morning. He had sent Louisa away for her own good, and his skeleton could no more abdicate its duty now than the rest of him could. Body and soul, he must go on as though he was perfectly fine.
He straightened his back; shuffled through his papers for a blank sheet; drew inkwell and quill toward himself.
Onward. Third resolution: he would find out the truth about that encoded history Lockwood was so enamored with. Xavier's butler, Wheeling, had served the earldom for decades. A few questions in Wheeling's ear would be an excellent place to begin.
And finally, Xavier resolved to pluck out Lockwood's claws. Family was family, but honor was honor, and
tit
was the correct response to
tat
. Lockwood could not be permitted to victimize the innocent for his amusement.
tit
was the correct response to
tat
. Lockwood could not be permitted to victimize the innocent for his amusement.
A smile crept across his face. Signora Frittarelli had been most illuminating on the subject of rumor, scandal, and the betting book at White's. Spending time in a royal duke's bed apparently allowed her access to many secrets.
Lockwood had much to hide, and more to lose than Xavier had ever suspected.
A cramp was developing between his shoulder blades, and he rose from the fussy, cushiony, undeniably too-small seraglio chair he'd been using as a substitute for the horrible Norman throne. Clasping his hands behind his back, he rolled his shoulders. Tension popped and released down the length of his spine.
One more resolution. He'd get a chair he liked for his study.
Chapter 26
Containing a Most Unexpected Guest
The two weeks had passed; Xavier had long since lost the wager to Lockwood. But the marquess hadn't found the triumph he'd expected, and Xavier hadn't found the shame.
He had decided to extend the house party a few more days, through Twelfth Night. A certain young lady had once reminded him that Christmas didn't end until then. And he couldn't yet let go of Christmas and all the gifts it had brought, even though he had already let go of Louisa.
After her departure, he'd had the library restored to order. On seeing the clean carpet, the well-ordered shelves in all their
potential
, he regretted the step.
potential
, he regretted the step.
The days since New Year's had passed in a shallow riot of teasing and flirtation among his guests. He and
la signora
had slipped away each day, all the better to convince the others that neither of them was pining for an unsuitable person. The deception probably wasn't necessary, though. His guests had ceased to look to him for their amusements; the planned activities of the first week had given way to a languid hedonism. Innocent for some; decidedly the opposite for others.
la signora
had slipped away each day, all the better to convince the others that neither of them was pining for an unsuitable person. The deception probably wasn't necessary, though. His guests had ceased to look to him for their amusements; the planned activities of the first week had given way to a languid hedonism. Innocent for some; decidedly the opposite for others.
It was all the same to him. Xavier had learned to expect positively everything at his house parties. They involved all manner of ridiculous misbehavior, yet he never blanched. After the gossip and pretense of New Year's Eve, when he'd faced his heart, then denied it, Xavier thought he was immune to anything his guestsâor heâmight do.
But when, on the evening of January the fourth, 1819, Wheeling announced to the party in the drawing room the return of Lady Irving . . .
Xavier felt a bit light in the head. Just a bit. And his hand shook as he laid down his hand of whist.
Well. Anyone would shake when faced with Lady Irving's gimlet eye. Especially when that eye was framed by a scarlet turban with peach-dyed plumes and a sun-yellow gown of painted silk.
Xavier excused himself from the card table, at which he was partnering Signora Frittarelli. With a wave of his hand, he caught Lockwood's attention. The marquess sauntered over with a leer to take his place and, no doubt, pocket the pile of silver Xavier had amassed over the last hour of play.
Never mind that game; what game was Louisa's aunt playing? Xavier crossed the room toward her, bowed over the countess's hand, and escorted her to a chair near the fireplace. “Lady Irving. You do me too much honor.”
“I certainly do.” She settled into the chair, then nodded at the facing chair in which Mrs. Tindall dozed, mouth agape. “The party's hostess is keeping a close watch on things, as usual?”
“As you see.” He strained to hear any click of the door behind him; hoped to catch the breeze of a door opening to admit the countess's niece.
“Pay attention, you young rogue.” The countess looked stern, and Xavier dragged his awareness away from the doorway, back to the stubborn oval face of the middle-aged woman seated before him. Who looked as though she'd like to take a hammer and tongs to him.
“I assure you, you have my full attention.”
She sighed. “No, I don't. What you want to know is: yes. Louisa returned with me. She's been shown to her bedchamber. And youâdon't even
think
of trying to see her there.”
think
of trying to see her there.”
She was older than he, and she was annoyed. Therefore he would refrain from pointing out that, as this was his house, he could visit any room he wished.
Also, she had snapped a hand around his wrist and was physically preventing him from leaving.
“Please release my wrist, dear lady. You are wounding my dignity.” Expression Number Two: Haughty Certainty.
She drummed a slippered foot on a footstool. “Sit down, Xavier, if you can pull that poker out of your arse long enough to bend at the middle.”
“How repugnant.” He sat at the edge of the footstool. “You seem to have something to impart to me. Are you ready to tell it, or shall I steel myself for more personal insults first?”
Every word was a mine, charged and dangerous. He had to get this exchange exactly rightâto show Lady Irving that he welcomed her, but he wouldn't be trampled. And that he was worthy of her return. Of Louisa's attention. And forgiveness?
He was still reeling.
There was no hope of getting it right. In desperation, he dragged his hand through his hair, catching the gesture too late. He batted at his head, trying to press his spiky hair back into place and save his dignity.
Unaccountably, the countess's mouth softened. “No need for more insults. We've returned because you have some explaining to do. Explaining that can't be done in a letter.”
Her eyes were as clear as amber, and as hard. But not unforgiving, if he was reading them correctly.
He dropped his Numbered Expression. “You are right. I need to speak with Louisa.”
She shook her head slowly. The plumes on her turban bobbed with every tiny movement. “Not yet. You'll speak with me first.”
Xavier shot a glance over his shoulder. The drawing room door remained shut, and Mrs. Tindall was still asleep. “Am I to be drawn and quartered, or merely guillotined?”
Lady Irving's mouth pulled tight. “I'm still deciding that.”
She steepled her hands, tapping her forefingers against her chin. “I thought you a master of society when we arrived, you know. Deliberate in your every action. Sure of everything you did, and sure of its effect.”
Xavier sensed the shadow of the axe about to fall. “There must be a second part to your remark.”
“Yes. I was wrong about you. You're a young man, and that means you do stupid things.”
Xavier's jaw went slack.
“Don't get all missish, you rapscallion. There's a germ of praise in there. I believe I judged your behavior too harshly. I thought you'd been cruel, but I now believe you were merely stupid.”
When her mouth curved at one side, his foolish silence broke. “You have my thanks for this candid assessment.”
“Thanking me for an insult? That almost makes up for the pain of travel over these abysmal winter roads.”
Her tiny smile grew, then was squelched. “Believe it or not, Xavier, it was your letter to Matheson that saved you. A man without hope of redemption doesn't admit his faults so readily.”
“My letter. To Matheson.”
His hands wanted to drag through his hair again, to grab something he understood. No one was meant to know of his letter of apology but Matheson himself. Apology made a man seem weak in the eyes of strangers.
Yet to those he cared for, an apology could strengthen ties.
Except he
hadn't
apologized to Louisa, and he had a sick, plunging feeling that was no more of a secret from the formidable countess than his letter to Matheson had been.
hadn't
apologized to Louisa, and he had a sick, plunging feeling that was no more of a secret from the formidable countess than his letter to Matheson had been.
“Yes,” she answered. “Your letter. It proved you a human being, not just a fluff-headed, careless rake. But it didn't go far enough. You left someone out of your apology.”
He folded his hands and leaned forward on his elbows. But there was no way to hide from the words battering him like hailstones.
“I said all I was able.” He studied his interlaced fingers with great attention. His nails and cuticles were a bit ragged; he'd been picking at them over the past few days. He relaced his fingers, folding them inward so he wouldn't have to look at the evidence of his own agitation.
“Did you, now. You said all you were able. You did the best you could. An earl who holds the hearts of the polite world must denounce a respectable young lady to her aunt? He must allow rumor to spread about her, so that he canâwhat? What was it all for?”
Xavier focused rigidly on his hands. His knuckles were chapped. Likely from shuffling through papers with his steward for the last few days.
His papers.
His responsibilities
. This gave him the slap he needed to reply.
His responsibilities
. This gave him the slap he needed to reply.
He raised his head, meeting Lady Irving's eyes. “It was for her. I meant well, though I was, as you say, somewhat stupid.”
He unfolded himself so that he sat straight upon the tottery footstool. “You'll find that no scandal has been attached to her name.” A bitter smile bent his mouth. “I can't say the same for myself, but what does one more rumor matter to Lord Xavier's reputation?”
The countess studied him for a long moment, and Xavier recognized her niece's careful deliberation in the set of her jaw, the narrowing of her eyes. The recognition was like a stab, and he turned his head away to catch his breath.
“Do you know,” the countess said, “I've never seen Louisa so calm and quiet as she's been since we left.”
“So she's feeling well, then,” Xavier said dully.
“Not at all, you ninny.” Lady Irving sniffed. “She's always been quiet in crowds, but she's full of spirit around her family. Now she's simplyâoh, it's hard to explain. Simply existing, I suppose.”
He knew that feeling. He looked at the countess for more explanation, his mask fallen.
“You understand, then.” She nodded. “She hasn't been interested in food, or conversation, or books. That's what truly startled me. And when I asked her whether she was worrying over you, she said it had nothing to do with you at all.”
Xavier felt as though stones were being stacked on his chest.
“You look a little green,” commented Lady Irving. “Not been drinking too much, have you?”
“No.”
“Don't look so glum. Surely you understand? She's fretting her heart out over you.”
A stone lifted, but Xavier didn't trust the reprieve. “She said it had nothing to do with me.”
The countess rolled her eyes. “Gadzooks, boy. I thought you knew a thing or two about women. If she didn't care deeply, she'd have admitted that she was ashamed or angry about the way you sent her away. But she
does
care, and so she won't admit anything at all.”
does
care, and so she won't admit anything at all.”
“That makes no sense.” Xavier rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to banish a headache. “Well, maybe it does.”
Hiding one's deepest emotions under a thick layer of unconcernâthe idea was not unfamiliar.
That had always been the trouble since he'd met Louisa. Peeling back the layer of unconcern was incredibly painful, but only without it could he be trusted and known.
And he wanted to be. In the last few days, he'd taken stock of many things. Within Lord Xavier, he was Alex, and he'd never let that go.
“I need to speak with her,” he said again.
The countess shook her head. “Not tonight. You'll see her when she's ready, and not a moment before. No, don't puff up like that. I know perfectly well this is your house, but if you want to prove you've got manners, you'll need to use them. I've got both eyes on you.”
“Then you won't have them on your niece,” Xavier muttered.
“I'll notice well enough if you go near her before she wishes.”
“I won't hurt her,” Xavier said, but he knew that they both saw this for the untruth it was. He already
had
hurt her. And how could he convince her to forgive him? How could he be certain he wouldn't hurt her again, for that matter?
had
hurt her. And how could he convince her to forgive him? How could he be certain he wouldn't hurt her again, for that matter?
He couldn't simply smother her with promises. Promises could be broken, much more easily than a code.
A
code
. That was what he needed. Louisa's puzzle-loving mind would be unable to resist teasing it out. And once she'd invested a little time, she might be willing to give him more.
code
. That was what he needed. Louisa's puzzle-loving mind would be unable to resist teasing it out. And once she'd invested a little time, she might be willing to give him more.
“I have an idea,” he said to Lady Irving.
“That makes one of us,” she said. “Good luck, you young rapscallion. If you hurt her again, I'll have your manhood.”
“You are as charming as ever,” he commented.
“That makes one of us,” she repeated. Rising from her chair, she swanned across the drawing room to inveigle her way into a rubber of whist.
This left Xavier behind; alone.
But unlike the last timeâwhen he'd watched Lockwood march up the steps of the ruined cellar at Finchley, taking Xavier's self-possession with himâhe now had an idea of how to change the situation for the better. And it depended on Louisa not reacting in the common way.
That, he thought, he could rely on.
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