One Indulgence (16 page)

“You cannot marry Anne.”

Henry groaned in frustration. When he raised his eyes, they were glistening and wide with pleading. “Damn you! I…I would be a good husband to her. I would never be hard or unkind. She will want for nothing, don’t you see? I am…fond of her. I think we would be friends.”

“Friendship?” Richard shook his head. “It isn’t enough.”

“No!” Henry pointed an accusing finger at him. “You will not hold your sister to some mythical standard that no one else uses just because it sickens you to have me as a brother-in-law. You know half the marriages in the ton are little more than business contracts. She will be happy. I…I swear.”

“I was not talking about Anne. You. It is not enough for you, Henry.” Richard was startled by the huskiness of his voice, the sheer sincerity. He continued. “And you will find that my views on what the ton does are quite unfashionable. I find adultery abhorrent. I won’t see my little sister become one of those bitter society matrons who wonders where her husband spends his nights. Just because she would assume you’re with a woman somewhere won’t make it all right.”

“What?” Henry shook his head vehemently. “No, I told you! It was just one night. Just
once
, so I would have…” His voice hitched in his throat. Finally he managed to say, “I would not be unfaithful to her.”

Richard looked into those blue eyes, so beautiful and bright that they made his stomach flip in longing. Richard
did
want to protect Anne. He did want her to have a happy marriage based on love, or at the very least a genuine attraction, but there was more. He wanted to protect Henry from Anne too, from the cage she represented. He did not stop to think what an unfair comparison that was for his sister.

“How can you be sure that you would stay faithful, when your own brother-in-law would be scheming tirelessly to see that you didn’t?” The words were slow and certain, as if Richard had actually meant to say them, yet they came as a shock even to himself. He knew they were absolutely true.

Henry’s eyes grew wide. His jaw moved, but no words came out. He watched, seemingly paralyzed, as Richard stopped so close in front of him that the tips of their boots almost touched. Richard’s breath grew ragged. Why couldn’t Henry see that he didn’t have to do this? Why was this family duty so important that he would damn himself to a half life?

He’s afraid, that’s all. I used to be afraid too…

“Richard…”

Richard groaned and reached for Henry, his hands finding the lean lines of Henry’s waist under his coat. A sense of triumph surged through Richard, and he leaned in to cover Henry’s lips.

“No!” Henry suddenly came alive. He shoved Richard away from him in a blind panic, causing Richard to stumble and fall to the filthy floor. He grunted as pain shot from the elbow on which he landed. The sheer joy of his victory only a moment before made the fall more painful. He looked up and met blue eyes glazed over with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Henry gasped, then fled from the room.

The rickety old door made a crack as it slammed against its hinges. Richard scrambled to his feet but did not pursue. He watched through the filthy windows as Henry climbed into the seat of his phaeton and whipped his horses into motion. As he sped away, Richard caught a glimpse of him wiping furiously at his face with his sleeve.

Chapter Seven

Complications

Henry awoke the next morning to the banging antics of a surly valet and the persistent throbbing of a headache. His valet, a temperamental Scotsman who had served Henry’s father before him, seemed to believe that the immaculate appearance of his employer was his entrée into heaven, for he sulked and glared whenever Henry did not acquiesce to his every fussy application. The fact that Henry had gone to bed last night and left his fine suit in a crumpled mess on the floor explained the banging in the other room. The fact that Henry had been able to find sleep only after consuming two drops of laudanum explained the pounding in his head.

“McLaren!” Henry groaned. “Are you a valet or a carpenter? What are you doing?”

McLaren poked his ginger-topped head into the room and shrugged his burly shoulders. “Wardrobe shelves need rearranging, milord. This morning be as good a time as any.” He disappeared again, his bottom lip jutting out like that of a petulant child and not of a man well into his forties.

Henry rolled over despite knowing that he would now have to get up. He could kill McLaren for pulling him from such a wonderful dream. As he pressed his face into his pillow, he hoped to recapture for a few more seconds of it. The pillow fabric became the soft linen of Richard’s shirt, and the weight of the blanket over his back became Richard’s arm wrapped around him.

What a magnificent dream it had been.

It had not been a mere remembering of the night they shared, as he had enjoyed almost every night for the past week. They had been at Henry’s ancestral estate in Lancaster—in his home, in his room, in
his
bed. As if they belonged there, and there was nothing at all unnatural about it. Fantasy! Nonsense! So ridiculously impossible was the image, Henry was not certain if he should savor the dream as just that or drive it from his thoughts to preserve his sanity. A growing sense of frustration had him dashing the images away. He could not, simply
could not
, be fantasizing about Lord Richard Avery! The man was to be his brother-in-law, for the love of God!

Damn you, Richard, Henry thought furiously, and unfairly. It was hardly Richard’s fault who his family was, and as for Lady Anne, well… Henry was forced to admit that he would be loath to allow any sister of his to marry a man such as himself. But commiseration did not get him far and changed nothing about his problem. He still had to marry. He still had to produce an heir and secure the good future of the earldom. Once he and Anne and were married and settled far in the country, Richard would not figure much in their lives. In fact, once the entire situation was a fait accompli and they were out of London, it was likely that Richard would forget all about him.

Henry snapped the blankets back and sat up. “What time is it, McLaren?”

“Near two o’clock!” McLaren shouted from the dressing room, his lack of a deferential address showing his sour mood.

“Hell!” Henry leaped to his feet. “I have slept for near ten hours? Why did you not wake me?”

“There was no waking ye from that sleep.” McLaren grunted. “Laudanum. Bah! Oughta be outlawed!”

“Perhaps you should run for a seat in the commons and submit a law, Clary,” Henry snapped, using the old nickname the man despised.

McLaren appeared in the door frame, a dark green coat in his hands. “I tell ye, milord, that stuff be devil’s brew prescribed by quack doctors who don’t know their arse from a water well.”

“How bleak my world would be without you to add color to it,” Henry muttered.

“And it gives a man nightmares, to be sure,” McLaren continued, oblivious to Henry’s remark. “Why, ye yourself were moaning and fussing half the morning, like the hounds of hell were after ye. I was almost of a mind to dash some water in your face to save ye.”

Henry cringed while his stomach dropped to the area of his knees. Nightmares, indeed! God, what if he had said something in his sleep?

“You imagine things, Clary. I had no such dream at all.” He pulled on his dressing gown as he passed McLaren into the other room. A hip bath stood waiting and ready, the water steaming pleasantly.

“A man don’t always remember his dream when he wakes,” McLaren pointed out. “Why, my sister tell me of a time when—”

“Never mind that. I am in a rush today,” Henry snapped, then quickly shot his old retainer an apologetic look. He was never short with his servants.

“Aye, milord.” McLaren nodded sagely. “Don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”

Henry sighed but otherwise showed no response. It was entirely expected for servants to know just about everything that happened in the lives of their employers, or at least those things the employers made no effort to hide.

And McLaren was right.

The truth of the matter was that Henry now found himself in a battle, and he had spent much of the previous night giving the unpleasant situation a great deal of thought. Mr. Benjamin Cayson would be coming to take Lady Anne to the park just before five o’clock, and Henry meant to be there when he arrived to collect her. Henry would just happen to come calling at the same time, and Lady Anne would
just happen
to have an opportunity to directly compare the fit, elegant Lord Brenleigh to the plump, dandy-aping Mr. Cayson.

Henry allowed himself only a moment of self-recrimination at his nasty arrogance. He was modest in general, but also realistic. Society considered the Earl of Brenleigh to be quite a catch, and he was relatively certain that Lady Anne held that view too. It would be the most convenient result, since she was the lady his father had chosen for him.

Why
did
you arrange all this, Papa?

He shook the thought away and prepared for his bath while McLaren finished brushing and laying out his clothes, as well as seeing to the evening attire he would wear much later. There was a ball being thrown that evening by the Marchioness of Glennbury, and the little he had learned of it assured him that virtually everyone with a claim to gentility had been invited. The marchioness, it seemed, was not pleased unless her rooms were filled to bursting, and Henry planned to be among the squeeze. He would make certain to secure two dances with Lady Anne to further enforce the perception among the ton that they were as good as betrothed.

A plan was well and good, but his thoughts could not help but turn back to Richard and his firm declarations against any union between Henry and Anne. But what could Richard do? Beyond his recent interference with Mr. Cayson, which Henry was sure would continue, what else could Richard honestly do? Culfrey was Lady Anne’s guardian, and it was his opinion that mattered. What could Richard possibly say to Culfrey that could turn his opinion against Henry, other than the truth, which was unthinkable? Nothing. He was sure of it. Richard had few avenues, and he was already using one of them on the young Mr. Cayson.

Henry bathed, dressed, and ate a quick lunch in thoughtful silence, all while tolerating McLaren’s curious stare. Seeing as how he would not be taking Anne to the park today, he decided to walk the short distance to Grosvenor Square at the appropriate time. It was a bright day, briskly cold, but the trees were still, and the cold did not rush through one’s clothes in a harsh wind. Despite the good weather, Henry felt uncomfortable. He found himself looking all around, his gaze catching every tall, dark-haired man he saw with a sudden apprehension. There was every possibility that Richard could be at Avery House when Henry arrived there. If he was, Henry would just have to keep calm and deal with it.

He could still see the look of surprise and hurt in Richard’s dark eyes after he had pushed him away…

No!

Henry dropped the ornate brass knocker at Avery House and presented his card. A few moments later he was escorted up to the drawing room, where he was announced and ushered into a surprisingly boisterous atmosphere. The duchess was already entertaining several other callers. Two middle-aged women sat on chairs around her, laughing happily over some bit of conversation, while a young woman with light brown hair sat with Lady Anne, their heads close.

“My lord.” The duchess rose regally to her feet. She extended her hand as Henry approached with a bright smile.

“Madam,” Henry said, raising her hand just shy of his lips. “I am grateful to find you at home for me. I feared that you might tell your butler you were not at home to the sloppy likes of me.”

The duchess rolled her eyes delightfully, while the other two ladies exchanged approving smiles. He was immediately released with a playful sort of wave, for it was obvious whose company he had come for. Lady Anne rose to her feet and extended her hand to him, and he was quite relieved to see a genuine smile on her lips.

“My lord,” she said, dropping a small curtsy. “I would like to introduce my very good friend, Emily Cayson. We attended school together for a time.”

Cayson
. Henry made an elegant bow and took her proffered hand. While she did smile and bow her head appropriately, the stiffness of her manner was impossible to overlook. Her smile was strained.

“Good afternoon, Lord Brenleigh,” Miss Cayson said. “I do hope you have not come to escort Anne to the park. I would hate for you to be disappointed.”

I just bet, Henry thought as understanding came to him. It appeared that Richard had recruited another ally in his interference, or Mr. Cayson had done it himself.

“Disappointed?” Henry shrugged. “Not at all, Miss Cayson. I had the pleasure of meeting your brother in the park yesterday, and I think it very generous of Anne to give him some of her time today. Very kind of her.”

Henry could have cringed at his cutting meaning. Miss Cayson, who jutted out her chin in response, clearly understood his dismissive insult. “Not at all
generous
, my lord,” she replied. “Anne often calls on me when Benjamin is at home, and they have been fast friends for years.”

Henry observed Lady Anne giving her friend a bewildered look before she turned to him.

“You will be attending the Glennbury ball this evening, won’t you?”

“I would not miss it,” he assured her. “In fact, I am hopeful that you will reserve a dance for me.”

Anne laughed happily. “I certainly will!”

“Or two?” he added.

“Two, yes,” she said at once. “I…I am allowed to waltz too, even though I have not been approved by the patronesses at Almack’s. Tom—I mean, Culfrey—says they are a bunch of ruthless old tabbies, and he will not allow me to go there.”

Further proof of Culfrey’s arrogant dismissal of society’s inconvenience, Henry thought, but he brushed the observation away.

“Then I will gladly take the dinner waltz.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. Anne made a little gasp, and Henry noted the silence that overtook the room. It was a notable step forward.