Read Our Wicked Mistake Online
Authors: Emma Wildes
Our Wicked Mistake (28 page)
When the barmaid hurried over, Luke told her crisply, “My friend will need a whiskey. I’m not drinking.”
He waited, knowing the value of making an opponent squirm, until the girl came back with a glass and a bottle. Wise beyond her years or maybe experienced enough at a young age given her profession and the weight of a certain tone of voice in a customer, she left the bottle.
Fitch’s hand wasn’t quite steady as he poured some of the amber liquid into the thick tumbler.
Good. If the man understood his danger, all the better.
“I cannot believe you’d be surprised that I would ever allow you to send Madeline such an inappropriate communication without retaliation.” Luke folded his hands on the table deliberately and watched the other man take a convulsive swallow of his drink, unconcealed enmity in his eyes. “Not only did you insult the lady, but you insulted my sense of honor.”
“You’re mistaken, Altea.” Glass clattered against his lordship’s teeth as he took another gulp of whiskey.
“No, I am not,” Luke informed him, leaning forward just a little. “Don’t continue to annoy me. It’s tempting to call you out as things stand, but that always creates a nasty fuss, and, quite frankly, you aren’t worth the trouble. I can see you thought it would be fine to send off the gift and duck out of town. Maybe you gambled I would never know. After all, it is a bit embarrassing for her to explain. Did you think she wouldn’t tell me?”
Fitch shook his head, whether it was in denial of the whole debacle or an answer, Luke didn’t much care. It was a warm day, but the earl seemed to be sweating perhaps a little more than the weather warranted, drops of perspiration on his pallid brow.
“Lady Brewer is inviolate. Do you understand? That includes her privacy, her person, and her peace of mind. I thought it would be enough to have you see I have an interest in the charm of her company. This journey is a symbol of your failure to recognize the gravity of your actions. I am going to trust that won’t happen again.”
It was clear that Lord Fitch, like most bullies, had not expected to be confronted on his actions. “I’ve no inter est in Lady Brewer,” he finally managed to say weakly. “None at all.”
“Ah . . . at last, exactly what I wanted to hear. If you do show an interest in the future, we won’t have this dis cussion again, but will settle it in a much less civilized manner, man to man. That made clear, there’s one more little matter to clear up before I leave you to your drink. How did you come into possession of the journal?”
“I never—” Fitch stopped in the middle of the denial then, and apparently thought better of it, his shaking hand on his glass. “I
found
it, Altea, damn you.”
found
it, Altea, damn you.”
Years of war made one astute at reading men of all different walks of life, not just infantry soldiers and of ficers, but so called gentlemen, Luke had learned since his return from Spain. “Where?” Luke asked flatly, sens ing Fitch was telling the truth.
“At our club. It was lying on a table. I was one of the first in that day, and there it was. So I picked it up.”
“How long ago?”
Fitch shrugged, but looked relieved that Luke seemed to believe him. “Three months, perhaps.”
Poor Madeline had been putting up with this man’s insinuations for
three
months?
three
months?
“Did it never occur to you to return it to Lady Brewer?” Luke shoved himself to his feet in disgust. “Don’t bother to fumble for an answer, since we both know what it is already.”
He walked out without another word, pausing only to hand the young barmaid a few coins in case the odious Fitch insisted he hadn’t ordered the bottle and refused to pay for it. His purpose accomplished, Luke was headed back to London and it wasn’t at all a short ride.
Someone had left Lord Brewer’s journal in their club—on purpose? By accident? And how the devil had someone gotten hold of it in the first place?
At least Fitch seemed taken care of, but this new problem had surfaced.
Damnation.
The addition to their little party was not all that welcome. Not that Madeline actually disliked Alice, but they’d never managed to be close either, despite the family tie.
“You look well.” Alice sank down onto a velvet-covered seat in the family box, where she was, theoretically, entitled to sit as a member of the May family. With Marta and her husband in the country, Madeline had invited her mother and Aunt Ida to accompany her to the opera, though she hadn’t expected any other arrivals. Alice was the daughter of Colin’s uncle, and also a young widow. “I think it has been too long since we’ve seen each other, Mad.”
Colin’s pet name for her had a different ring when said by anyone else.
Now it’s Madge . . . Luke’s way of annoying me, but I’m getting used to it . . .
Perhaps, Madeline had decided, she even liked it, especially when he said it in a certain deep, throaty tone as he held her close, their bodies moving in sensual communion. . . .
Not the time to think of
that
now.
that
now.
“I’d heard you were traveling,” she said neutrally, watching the other woman’s friendly smile with a touch of wariness. Alice Stewart was a relative by marriage, but there was always a bit of distance between them and she’d never quite understood why.
“A bit, here and there.” Alice acknowledged, inclin ing her head. She was a graceful beauty with dark hair and refined features, about the same age as Madeline. Her husband had died of a sudden illness, much like Co lin, not long after they were married.
“It’s good to have you back in London.” Madeline’s mother said warmly.
“It’s good to be back, though it appears I have missed a bit of excitement. Where is Lord Altea?” There was just a hint of curious humor in Alice’s voice.
“He’s out of town,” Madeline explained calmly, won dering if the twinge of annoyance she felt was because she was so sensitive on the subject. Was Alice judging her? “Though I admit I do not monitor his lordship’s personal calendar. I have no idea where he went.”
“Everyone is deliciously curious.” Her mother waved her fan in a languid movement. “Note the prying stares.”
Oh, Madeline had noticed them. Along with the raised opera glasses pointed her direction. “Maybe it is my gown,” she observed dryly, referring to the new gold, raw silk gown with tiny seed pearls bordering the short sleeves and neckline. It had been delivered just that morning and she was very pleased with it, for the mate rial exactly matched the earrings Luke had given her. “But I confess I can’t see why it would raise eyebrows when my décolletage is demure compared to Gabriella Fontaine’s.”
“Is that the standard against which you wish to be judged?”
Aunt Ida had an astute point. “Not really,” Madeline admitted. “Though she is very beautiful, I suppose.”
“We can certainly judge the full measure of her charms, for her bosom is all but hanging out.” Ida’s dis approving glanced raked the glittering crowd. “No doubt she dressed to make a sensation. Everyone is here. Ex cept Altea, of course.”
Hence the problem, Madeline supposed. This was the first social event she’d attended without him in several weeks. As much attention as they drew together, she was drawing more for appearing alone. “No doubt ev eryone is twittering over whether or not he has already lost interest. Shall I take out an advertisement in the
Times
stating that he is merely out of London for a few days?”
Times
stating that he is merely out of London for a few days?”
“An engagement announcement would be even bet ter,” her mother said pointedly, flicking her fan shut. “Trevor is a darling, but he is only seven years old. A man in the family would be lovely.”
Alice murmured, “That serious, is it?”
It was certainly best to keep speculation like
that
at bay.
that
at bay.
“I am aware of your opinion on the matter, Mother, and you are aware of mine. The viscount and I are friends. Do not pin your hopes on anything more than that com ing of it.” Madeline spoke firmly, but inside she was not nearly as resolute. It was frightening to realize how his brief trip had affected her life. After Colin’s death she’d been alone for years. How could Luke’s absence for a few days have such a powerful impact?
Love, of course. It was exhilarating being in that state again. A sort of pleasure/pain combination quite differ ent from what she had experienced with Colin, but ex citing just the same.
The truth was, she couldn’t wait for Luke to return.
“I do hope this evening is a reminder of what every one is thinking, Madeline.” Her mother’s tone was prim.
“I already had a fair idea what everyone was think ing.” She saw with relief the plush red curtain rising for the next act. “Can we drop the subject, please?”
“I think it is best we do.” Alice said the words with understated amusement, her gaze fixed on the entrance to their private box. She added very softly, “Speak of the devil.”
“Excuse me. I am late, but I see the second half is just starting. May I join you?”
At the sound of the deep voice a thrill shot through her, the drawling tone with just a hint of ironic amuse ment and sensual undertones familiar.
As if I’ve known him my entire life
, Madeline thought, glancing up to see Luke enter their private box, bend over a shocked Ida’s hand first, and then greet her mother in a similar fashion.
As if I’ve known him my entire life
, Madeline thought, glancing up to see Luke enter their private box, bend over a shocked Ida’s hand first, and then greet her mother in a similar fashion.
“Lord Altea . . . of course. Please join us,” her mother said, obviously disconcerted, which was a contradiction, as she’d just been bemoaning his absence.
Or maybe she hadn’t expected the larger than life topic of their conversation to suddenly arrive, as if magi cally summoned from thin air.
“My lord,” Alice said in gracious greeting, inclining her head, her eyes bright.
The music precluded conversation, so Madeline merely smiled as Luke took the seat next to her, but if he had lifted her gloved hand at the moment, even through the satin fabric he would have felt her pulse pounding in her wrist.
The schoolgirl reaction to his sudden presence would have—should have—irritated her, but she was too happy, too aware of his rangy body as he sat in reserved elegance next to her in the seat that had always been Colin’s, as if he belonged there—and, more telling, as if she had invited him.
Which she hadn’t. Not with her mother and aunt in attendance. She’d had no idea Alice would join them, and that made matters even worse. Did he have any idea what he was
doing
? It was difficult enough to deflect all the avid interest in a romance that was merely sexual on his part, by his own declaration, but to come to the opera late and join them in the family box was . . . well, just plain reckless.
doing
? It was difficult enough to deflect all the avid interest in a romance that was merely sexual on his part, by his own declaration, but to come to the opera late and join them in the family box was . . . well, just plain reckless.
Unless his intentions were honorable, which he’d said clearly they were not.
“What have I missed?” he asked, leaning toward her in outrageous proximity, close enough his breath brushed her cheek. “Let me guess. There’s some sort of tragic debacle about to occur onstage.”
“You don’t like Italian drama, remember?” she whispered back, her opera glasses clenched in her fingers.
“I’ve made quite a few exceptions for you lately, my sweet.”
The endearment rendered her speechless, though she quickly reminded herself it was just part of his charm, his easy, superficial charisma a facade.
How many people in attendance had noticed the arrival of Viscount Altea in her private box? Madeline steadfastly kept her gaze on the performers. Very quietly, she murmured, “I hope you count it worth it.”
“I’ve seen an opera or two and survived.”
“Do you often do so with unmarried ladies, their mothers, and matronly aunts?”
“Never, actually.” His profile was clean and arrogantly aristocratic enough to match the half smile on his mouth.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s cryptic enough. And in the meanwhile, you’ve caused a sensation.”
“By attending the opera? However so?”
She adopted her best prim voice, imitating Aunt Ida. “Of course, I mean joining us so publicly.”
“We’ve been together in public quite a few times now.”
“This is different and you know it. My mother and aunt are here.”
“Indeed, they are. Your point?”
“The attempt at innocence does not become you.”
“Darling Madge, what
does
become me?” He was too close for propriety, his voice carrying a slight teasing edge.
does
become me?” He was too close for propriety, his voice carrying a slight teasing edge.
God in heaven, he was wickedly handsome, the heavy promise in his stormy eyes enough to tempt any woman . . . much less one so besotted with him already.
They were whispering, and her mother was clearly trying to hear above the current aria, Ida was scowling in disapproval, and Alice was looking as bland as possible.
Madeline muttered, “What might become you is my glass of tepid champagne over your head if you don’t stop feeding the gossip mill, Altea. Obviously it didn’t work to keep Lord Fitch at bay, and so don’t tell me be ing seeing together here will help my dilemma, because he still—”
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