Meet the Earl at Midnight (Midnight Meetings) (37 page)

“You mean such as spending the past two weeks working madly on
your
diagrams and illustrations, so that
your
pamphlets are completed in
your
timeline.” Her voice rose in volume, but she kept control. “At the exclusion of my own plans to paint.”

He sighed and linked his arms across his chest. “I see where this is going, and I adore you Lydia—”

“You adore me?” That shocked her.

The horizontal line between his brows showed up. He was cross at the interruption. “Yes, I have some fond affection for you, but while you have a lot of passion, you lack a certain discipline. Whereas I’ve developed both.”

She snorted at that as much from his arrogance as his decided edict about her. He’d given her some thought, and she’d come up lacking. “You wouldn’t know passion if it hit you in the head.”

His eyebrows raised a challenging notch. And when he was arrogant, he didn’t even see it as arrogance. That was the exasperating thing about him.

“I don’t refer to passion in the marital bed,” she sputtered.

But even as she was ready to continue their battle, part of what he’d said rang true in a painful way. A twinge of discomfort made her shift in her seat like a scolded child. She smarted from the fact that hit a truth: she went into great bursts of enthusiasm for her art, and then could be distracted by aiding others with whatever were their pursuits and their needs. There was no discipline and order about her process. Sitting there, she wanted to pour out excuses that he had so many advantages, while she did not. But that didn’t stop some of the female artists she admired greatly. Rosalba Carriera was a lace-maker’s daughter, and that good lady was single-minded in focus.

Edward walked around the desk and planted a kiss on top of her head. He couldn’t be too awfully upset with her. But then why should he? He was getting everything he wanted and more. Right then, the countess breezed through the doorway.

“Greetings, I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

The countess had graciously made herself scarce the first week after they wed, then returned with reminders of ball-gown fittings and such. Lydia was certain the countess had come to check on their progress, and in particular,
her
progress at keeping Edward in England. Lady Elizabeth would be disappointed.

Benumbed, she moved to the study’s seating area with Edward and the countess. They chattered on about something, but Lydia couldn’t say what. Her mind turned over and over again Edward’s stinging pronouncement. The arrival of Miss Lumley and Rogers with a tea tray gave her mind some reprieve. Lydia looked at Lady Elizabeth and motioned to the tray in a halfhearted fashion.

“Would you mind doing the honors? I’m a bit peaked.” She set another pillow behind her to help prop up her flagging body.

“My…so soon? To be
enceinte
?” Lady Elizabeth’s face perked up, and she glanced back and forth between Lydia and Edward. “Of course, how silly of me, but one can only hope.”

She picked up the teapot and began to pour, in her element with them both. Lydia declined tea but listened to Edward praise her work on the illustrations and diagrams. His topaz eyes glinted at her from his great chair.

He tipped his head toward the desk. “Because of Lydia’s excellent work, I was able to focus entirely on the research and improve my first draft. And all the work was done in less than half the time.” He raised his cup in salute to her. “We make quite a team.”

The countess sipped from her cup with watchful eyes. “Then you will work together in the future?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

They spoke over each other, with Edward giving the surprising affirmation.

Lydia folded her hands in her lap and explained, “That is, I need to concentrate on my painting.” Her chin tilted at a stubborn angle. “Become more disciplined and the like. And, of course, Edward still plans to leave on his expedition in June.”

“What?” Lady Elizabeth’s cup rattled on the saucer, and she set the dish on the table. “Your wife could be breeding at this very moment. I had hoped you came to your senses and changed your mind over that.”

Edward set his cup down and dug his elbows into the plush leather arms of his chair. His steepled fingers tapped as he appeared to consider how to respond. The way he looked at Lydia and his mother, she was sure he was trying to add up the changes between Lydia and the countess, the sudden shift a few weeks ago. Had he guessed they’d become allies? Lydia brushed an imaginary speck from her lap, finding her red-and-white-striped skirt of great interest.

“The two of you haven’t cooked up something, have you?” he asked.

“Cooked up something?” the countess sputtered. “You make it sound as if there’s a conspiracy behind every shadow.”

At the same moment, Rogers knocked on the door, and when he entered, he bore a silver salver held out perfectly level. The countess had busied herself getting everyone and everything in excellent working order at Greenwich Park. Rogers bent near Edward, from the waist, and held the position until Edward removed not one, but two missives from the platter.

“The king.” Edward proclaimed the sender of the first letter, but when he picked up the other, his eyes opened wider. “And Blevins.”

He set them in his lap, but the countess tapped her chair’s arm. “Come, come. You must open them. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

He broke the seal, and Lydia cringed. Today was the day of reckoning. She couldn’t take back what was already done, so she folded her hands and watched and waited. Edward’s face was a study in concentration as he read the letter, unaffected by the fact that he corresponded with his sovereign. The way his eyes flared over one part of the page, this letter was not about books, but was the expected and hoped for response…a consequence of her gamble.

Edward let the letter drop to his lap, and he flicked a glance her way. Her cheeks grew hotter under that quick attention. What would he do in anger? Would he yell? Drop to his knees and kiss her hand with thanks? The latter was a silly hope.

Then, he opened the second missive from Lord Blevins. The damaged plane of his face faced her, and as he perused the letter, his muscles ticked under the scars. Edward’s mouth went into a flat line, and his eyes locked on her.

“Do tell. Don’t keep us in suspense,” said the countess, scooting to the edge of her seat. “What did the king say?”

Edward kept his dark stare on Lydia, not facing his mother. “The king says he’s delighted to attend my lecture on the healing properties of the
Agathosma
betulina.
A lecture that I’m apparently giving at the end of June to the Royal Society
.
” Edward’s voice went soft. “Which is an impossibility, since I’ll be a fortnight into my expedition by then.”

Lydia set a calming hand to her waist and took a deep breath. “I can explain.”

“Yes, please do, because I find it astonishing how the king and Lord Blevins have already read my pamphlet, when the finished product sits on my desk. Completed today.” His voice stayed quiet, but there was a threatening hardness growing.

“What are you talking about?” the countess demanded.

Lydia took a deep breath, keeping her focus on Edward. “The illustrations…I burned some and sent copies to the king and Lord Blevins with the treatise I’d already copied. I wanted to slow down your progress.” She paused and took a gulp of air. “And I sent a letter and signed your name.”

“So we can add forgery to your list of crimes,” he snapped.

She winced, rubbing damp palms across her lap. “I made sure to send a copy to the king and to Lord Blevins…to ensure that his lordship doesn’t steal your work. And as to the lecture, I left the date open.” She chewed her lip and flinched. “Apparently the king or Lord Blevins decided on the date.”

“How very thoughtful of you to make plans for me,” he said, his sarcasm growing. “But Blevins stealing my latest work is not a concern of mine, since he’s never been to West Africa, nor does he possess the Agathosma tree, a detail your overworked, deceitful mind failed to consider.” He stood up, and a menacing scowl crossed his features. “But neither did you consider that I want nothing to do with Blevins.”

“Edward…” Lady Elizabeth fretted from her seat. “Let’s all take a calming moment—”

“No.” He went to the fireplace and paced the area like a caged animal, but the way he glared at Lydia, he wasn’t done with her.

Something in her snapped. She flung her hands in the air and tilted forward on the settee, perilously close to falling off. “What are you afraid of? Don’t you think it’s time to forgive Blevins his error?”

“
Afraid?
” His face screwed up in distaste. “This has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with you meddling in my affairs.” He clamped his arms across his chest. “Forgive Blevins?” He snorted. “I’d rather kiss a pig’s arse.”

“Edward, please,” the countess interjected into the fray.

Edward tipped his chin at the countess. “Are you in on this?”

Flustered, Lady Elizabeth went saucer-eyed, but despite her ruffled feathers, she maintained composure. “No.”

His presence was overpowering. Lydia had to get equilibrium and diminish the anger that washed out from him, at least explain her intentions. “I thought I was doing the right thing, helping you to get back into Society, your science…” she finished lamely, her words wilting under the heat of his glare.

“You warm my bed, and now you think you know me?”

Lydia jumped up, scalded by his words. “Do
not
demean our time together. And I
do
know you.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to add
I
love
you
, but she held back. He would likely think she was showing emotional histrionics, and this tense situation wasn’t how she wanted those beautiful words to come.

He groaned a sound of frustration as he looked up at the ceiling. “Of all the women in England…I find the meddling, quarrelsome one.”

His chest moved under his shirt with labored breathing. He was angry, a controlled kind that frightened her, because he’d do or say something that would be utterly final. And he did. Edward stretched his arm and pointed to the door.

“Get out.”

Of
the
room? The house? England?

His harsh face went blank, not giving her anger or hope. The biggest, blackest pit swallowed her up right then, even though she was still standing. Lydia’s body jerked from sharp pain, a tearing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to curl up on the floor like a small child and cry her eyes out.

This time the countess, however, intervened and kindly guided her toward the door. What was done was done, a risk she’d taken and lost. At the door, Lydia turned around, as surprised that no tears flowed as at the revelation that came to her with startling clarity.

“You asked me once why I never married.” With her hands at her sides, she stood tall, but her voice wavered and cracked. “I feared I’d turn out like my mother. Freedom to paint meant everything to me. I swore I’d never let my art run second-best to any man.” A bitter laugh bubbled up from her. “It appears that’s what I’ve done.”

The countess tugged Lydia along with gentle hands and shut the door. From within the sanctum, a loud roar resounded as dishes smashed and crashed.

Twenty-four

Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be.

Be one.

—Marcus Aurelius

“You don’t have to go.” Jonas’s voice pulled him out of a mental fog. “You’re not the type…the kind with a bad itch for adventure.”

Edward balanced his empty glass on his knee, making a game of how long he could keep the glass level. The odd midnight game epitomized the kind of empty pursuits that had filled the last month. The crystal wobbled, but he saved it from a crash, letting the glass fall into his palm.

“Adventure?” He poured more scotch into his glass and repeated the word, as if that were a profound question. “That’s not the issue.” Edward sipped from his glass and let the peat-smoked liquid pour into him before looking through bleary eyes at his friend. “No, the problem here is that I can’t be in two places at the same time, on a ship exploring exotic flora, or in England exploring my wife…my lovely,
errant
wife.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Damn right, she did.” He glared, but the effect was useless. He was as weak as a kitten, too worn out and worked over.

“And it’s time to forgive and move on.” Jonas linked his hands together across his midsection as he had so many other nights, sitting in that chair and giving the occasional comment, but listening, yes, mostly listening.

Tonight, however, was to be different. Jonas looked different. Could be the black hair growing from his head. That had to mean something, but Edward, neck deep in his own muddle, was too overwhelmed to ask. Jonas was not content to be a giant ear tonight. He observed Edward like one might read numbers on an instrument.

“Going out to sea won’t bring them back,” Jonas’s deep voice rumbled.

His
father
and
brother.

Edward’s fingers pinched the glass. That bitter truth bit through his haze. A bubble of emotion, of all things, wanted to gurgle up his chest and erupt. He tamped it down, kept it barely in check.

“I know,” he said with another kind of sadness. “I miss them. Life would’ve been so different if…”

He couldn’t finish. He was tired of emotions, exhausted of them. He’d had a month of the worst kind of feelings. Lydia had been a glimmer of the best kind, new and different when she was here. She excited him in ways no woman had ever been able to do—in mind and body. That she’d hardly read any books in her life didn’t matter. She reached inside him and touched places he had hidden away—the good and bad parts. His friend was not content to let things be either.

“I can only think your father and brother would’ve liked her.” Jonas tipped his head at Edward. “Would want you to stay and tend her.”