Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (4 page)

“You sound cynical,” she said on the smallest of laughs.

“I beg your pardon, madame.”

Her laugh proved she had a share of cynicism herself.

“Beg my pardon all you wish, sir, but admit that I am right and that cynicism is the easiest way to end a discussion you would as soon avoid.”

“Yes. Yes, it is” was all Meryon would allow.

He could end the discussion one more way. It would guarantee that neither one of them would remember what they had been discussing.

He could kiss her.

K
ISS HER?
Meryon decided that insane idea came from his roiling sensibilities, plus the absence of a woman in his bed these last months.

She permitted the silence for a minute more, oblivious to his thoughts. The ambience of two burdened souls settled around them again.

“How long were you married?” She asked the question so suddenly that, if he had not been watching her, he would have jumped.

“Rowena died a month after our eleventh anniversary.”

“Edward and I were married for nine years—seven of which were truly happy. The other two were miserable. The war kept us apart for a year. He thought I had gone home, and I feared he would find a lover he preferred to his wife. It took us another year to reestablish the trust which is at the heart of a good marriage.”

“Rowena and I always trusted each other.” He never doubted that. Meryon thought of his mistress. He’d paid Eliza to fill a need, trust hardly a factor. At least not in the way this woman meant.

“What did you like the best about your wife?”

He smiled. “Her enthusiasm. The way she looked at me as though I knew everything.”
The way she willingly risked her life to make sure the Meryon dukedom would go to my son
. He kept that one to himself. It led straight down the endless road of guilt.

“Is that all?”

“I think it’s quite enough to have someone build their world around you.”
Too much
.

But he thought a moment and went on. “The way she loved her dog. The animal irritated me no end in those days. Now I talk to the dog because she looks so lonely.” He sat back and closed his eyes.

“Does her dog answer you?” A smile came with the question and he answered in the same silly spirit so that she would keep smiling.

“Sometimes she does, in her own doglike way, and the amazing thing is that she always says exactly what I want to hear.”

“Which is the wonder of pets, is it not?”

Her smile mesmerized him, drew him closer. She tilted her head and nodded a little. With a short, sharp sigh, she went on.

“I loved Edward but he was hardly perfect. He annoyed me, too. His striving for perfection, a perfection that only he could hear. The way he would roam through
the house shouting for his valet when we had servants who would have been happy to find the man. I hated the way he would express his dislike of a dish even when he was the guest at a dinner party. Still, we would embrace those petty annoyances in a moment to have them back with us, would we not?”

“Yes,” he said and for a minute he could feel Rowena beside him. “If she were still alive, I would do better, try to make her happier.” Had he said that aloud? This woman’s honesty compelled him to speak the truth. Or had she cast a spell over him?

“Oh, yes. I know exactly what you mean. If I had Edward back, I like to think I could be always what he needed, never, never lose my temper, never complain.”

“To talk of what we wish we had done is a sure road to madness. I am so sorry I cannot ease your heartache.”

“Please, sir,” she begged through fresh tears, leaning across the small space that separated them. The tears trickled down her cheeks, but she was not embarrassed by them anymore. “Tell me that someday this pain will end. That something will heal my heart.”

Meryon leaned closer and in a motion that felt as natural as it did right, he raised a hand to cradle her neck and kissed her. Pressed his lips to the bowed pink perfection of hers, tasted the tears in the corners of her mouth, felt the sweetness of her, the warmth of her skin under his fingers, the pulse at her throat. He felt the passion there, buried beneath the anguish. He wanted to feel that passion in more than a kiss, for longer than a moment.
But the instant the kiss became more than comfort, he drew back.

His eyes had grown used to the dark and he could see more of her, as if another of a dozen veils had been lifted. Her full mouth with a pronounced dip in her upper lip, a strong, straight nose. Her brows dark arched wings.

“Thank you.” She said the words but he heard more.
Do you really think that was enough?

Not enough, the kiss made him realize that this accidental rendezvous had gone too far. How incredibly stupid it was to kiss a complete stranger.

“So we will each struggle in our own way and find comfort where we can,” she added softly.

Should he consider that as an invitation? Meryon wondered. He could not see her expression; she was staring at her hands again.

“What we had is so rare, given and earned by so few. At least my Edward and your Rowena knew how much we loved them.”

Her words shattered the camaraderie. Did Rowena know she was loved? He could not ever remember saying the words “I love you” to her. Not until she closed her eyes for the last time. She had smiled. Surely she had heard him. Please, please God, she had.

Meryon stood up. “Good evening, madame. My apologies for the kiss. It is proof that we have been together too long and are begging to be discovered.”

“Stop. Wait.” She followed him to the door. “What did I say?”

“It was nothing you said.” The lie came easily. “I prefer no reminders of what I have lost.”

“But you must remember,” she insisted.

“No, I do not. I bid you good evening.” Meryon bowed and left the room.

E
LENA
V
ERANO WENT
back to the settee and sat with a graceless thump, her fingers pressed to her lips. He
must
have taken offense at something, but she could not imagine what. They had seemed so
simpatico
. When he spoke, he gave voice to her very thoughts.

That most tender of kisses had proved to her that her heart would heal, the pain would fade, if only because his one kiss had not been enough, not nearly enough. But then the best of kisses always left one wanting more.

Elena stood and circled the room, pausing at a window that looked out onto the street. It was quiet, except for the coachmen talking in clusters.

Waiting, waiting. That was how she had felt since she came to England. She had been waiting for her world to right itself, to move forward with a new sense of purpose. Now, she thought, this meeting might be the beginning of that change.

He had a bearing that spoke of wealth and privilege, like that of her brother when she last saw him. Her shadowed companion was naturally solemn. Even though she could not see his eyes, if eyes were the mirror of the soul, then she knew his would be filled with unhappiness. His continued mourning made that an easy guess.

With a deep breath, she calmed herself and began the series of exercises of both mind and voice that would make this first appearance in England a pleasure rather than a torture. She had yet to decide exactly what to sing of the songs she had practiced.

There was a tap at the door and for the barest of seconds Elena thought he had come back. But he would not knock.

“Elena?”

She knew that voice. “Yes, William. Come in.”

Viscount William Bendasbrook entered the room, bringing with him a burst of sound from the party and his own exhausting energy. At something less than five feet tall he somehow managed to carry the air of a man to be reckoned with.

He made no comment about the dark, but stood beside her.

“I knew when you asked for an empty room that you wanted to be alone for a while. Then it occurred to me that you might need some cheering up. Besides, it’s almost time for you to sing.”

“No. I have at least another twenty minutes. I will prepare my voice and then join you.”

He ignored the hint to leave. “So now we are alone together. Are you worried about your reputation? Shall I light a candle at least?” He found a flint and lit a candle on the mantel.

“As if one lit candle would make a difference to The Gossips.” She moved back to the settee. “You are a rogue, William, but I will risk it.”

“We could tell the truth, Elena.” William sat beside her.

“That you are my nephew?” She shook her head. “If I admit that, it will open up old pain that is better forgotten.” It would hardly be moving her life forward to claim a familial attachment that neither side wanted to acknowledge.

“Do you really think that no one will guess that the Duke of Bendas is your father?”

“How could they? I was fourteen when I was sent away from home, all arms and legs and stick thin, nothing like I look today. Not even the servants would know me.”

William conceded the point with a slight nod.

“I had never been away from home, so who would recognize me? Even my name is different. Who would connect Signora Elena Verano with Lady Ellen Bendasbrook?” She turned to him with a sudden thought.

“I can prove it. Tell me, what is Rogers doing here? Does he move among the ton now? Mrs. Harbison introduced me to him. And, William, he did not recognize me.”

“He is allowed because he is the duke’s assistant. More than a secretary. Rogers accompanies him everywhere these days, or goes ahead of him to make sure they are prepared for his presence.”

“Oh, I see, like a lady’s companion.”

William laughed.

Then a more disturbing thought occurred to her. “Does that mean the duke will be here this evening? I thought he never went out at night anymore.”

“No, no. Do not distress yourself. Rogers told me that there were too many stairs and too big a crowd. But he attends smaller gatherings. You will have to face him sometime.”

But not tonight, she thought with relief.

“Did you hear me, Elena? You will have to speak to him sometime. He is your father.”

“I have not thought of the Duke of Bendas as my father since the day he made me leave home.”

“I am sorry.” William took her hand, patting it as if apologizing for his insistence. “But at some point you will have to decide if you want to acknowledge the duke or not.”

“Why? Unless he does something untoward, I have no intention of so much as acknowledging his existence.” Elena paused. “William, if he was considering attending tonight, do you think he wants a reunion?”

“Rogers is always nattering on about the duke’s legacy.” William’s expression turned so cautious that Elena was afraid of what he was going to say. “Elena, what could it hurt to allow a reconciliation?”

“I will not allow myself to be dictated to by him, by any man, ever again. He did his best to destroy my life. He told me that I would end up in a whorehouse. I was fourteen years old, William.” She was on the verge of shouting and with a heroic effort she modulated her voice. “I was terrified.” Her eyes filled with tears. “If it were not for my godmother I might well have ended up exactly as he predicted. All because I would not sing the song he wished to hear.”

“He has not changed.”

“Then there is no point in even discussing a reconciliation.”

William appeared to study the pattern in the upholstery as he debated his next words. “Elena, I must ask you something.” Still he hesitated. When Elena was about to snap at him, he began.

“There have been a number of rumors circulating of late. Rumors about the Duke of Bendas. One is that he killed an innocent bystander in a duel. Another that he is no longer sane and should not be handling the estate. That he has attempted to acquire land in an illegal manner.” William raised his hand, interrupting himself. “That last I know is true, but very few know the whole story.”

“I do not really care what stories are abroad.” Elena would have covered her ears if it would not have looked so childish. “I have always thought him mad. What else can you think of a man who believes anything is justified when he feels insulted, or if it will add wealth to the name? What does it have to do with me?”

“Do you know who started these stories?” He spoke quickly and seemed to regret the words as soon as they were said.

“No!” Amazement robbed her of speech for a moment. “I told you I want nothing to do with him.” She stood up, all feeling of amiability gone. “William, how could you even think I would be involved in something like that?”

“I’m a Bendasbrook. Machiavelli is required reading.” When she showed no appreciation for his attempt at
humor, William went on. “The rumors started directly after you arrived in London, Elena.”

“You know me.” Elena wished he had thought longer before accusing her. “You know me better than any other relative and better than most people. How could you think that?”

William stood on the cushion of the settee, which enabled him to look her in the eye. “I know you have a temper, but are much more likely to throw something or slap someone than plot out a more diabolical retribution.”