Page 403 of From Rakes to Riches

“Was whatever you’re referencing a recent event?”

He frowned. “She wrote it in our journal, so no.”

“This girl who can confront your father—and yes, your servants told me she visited with him today—is not a girl any longer, but a woman. She could handle herself, if given the opportunity. But I think you also have memories you don’t wish to confront, and going out into society will make things uncomfortable foryou.”

David rose to his feet, ostensibly to refill their glasses, but a lurking part of him wanted Simon to leave. His friend was as inquisitive as a physician. “More brandy?”

“Of course.” When David was leaning over him to pour, Simon said, “No one will remember Colette.”

David stiffened, then turned his back to set down the decanter. “I don’t wish to discuss her.”

“Or your father, obviously. She was his mistress, David, not his wife. No one will even remember that she lived here.”

David remembered well enough for everyone. “Simon, don’t be naive. It was only a few years ago. Hell, two families refused me their daughters in marriage because of my father’s scandalous conduct.”

Simon stared at him. “You never told me that.”

“It was hardly something to brag about,” he said dryly.

“Good God, you’re a future earl! That alone should guarantee you the ability to marry whomever you wanted.”

“But it didn’t. Victoria is not the only one to benefit from this marriage.”

“David, we both know any number of women who would have married you. You can’t be telling yourself that Victoria was the only one.”

“Of course not.” David frowned and considered his glass, knowing that what Simon said was true. He’d been dwelling on his frustration at being refused, when he damn well knew there might be other ladies of theton, perhaps of a lower nobility, who wouldn’t care about his father’s indiscretions. David hadn’t gone any further in his search for a wife, only continued to nurse his anger. Then he’d focused on Victoria and marrying her had seemed the perfect solution.

“I will consider your advice about my wife’s daily schedule,” David said.

Simon shook his head. “Only consider?”

When they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, David silently watched Simon attempting to persuade Victoria to sing for them. She looked embarrassed to perform in front of an audience, and no one pushed the idea further. Couldn’t Simon see how difficult society women would be on Victoria?

And she had visited his father today? Why would anyone willingly do that?

For once he found himself impatient for Simon to leave, something he’d never felt before. He couldn’t place his motivations until he realized he was watching Victoria more than talking to his friend. Good God, was he anxious to be upstairs with his wife? This was another night he would not have a husband’s satisfaction, yet it strangely did not affect his desire to be alone with her.

Simon eventually took the unspoken hint and left, not bothering to hide his smile. Victoria escorted her mother into the hall, leaving David alone. He stepped out of the drawing room and watched them ascend the stairs. Victoria’s bottom swayed enticingly beneath her skirt. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and David didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t watching her. She quickly looked away.

When Lord Thurloweventually arrived in Victoria’s room, dressed in his usual trousers and dressing gown, she noticed that this time, besides lacking a shirt, he also lacked shoes. His bare feet seemed strangely intimate. Or was it that she was remembering how he’d looked at her last night, when he’d removed her dressing gown? He’d been so quiet, so intent—until they’d been disturbed.

What would he do to her tonight? And what would her own expression reveal? She had already sensed that emotions were not something he wanted to deal with. He was a businessman at heart, after all. Some people’s eyes revealed things about them, but Lord Thurlow’s were like frosted windows in the winter, hiding what was inside. She had written her feelings down, hoping that would help, but for once her journal wasn’ta comfort. She stood before him, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.

Her husband inclined his head. “I hear that you visited my father today.”

“Yes, my lord. Since we live in the same house, it would feel awkward not to know him better.”

“And how did you find him?”

“Very sad.”

“ ‘Sad’ is not a word my father would want associated with him,” he said.

To her surprise, he began to walk slowly around the room, looking at the little things she’d brought from home—the fan her father had brought her from France, the sheet music she’d left on her desk. Thank goodness she’d put her journals in the desk drawer! Although she could not imagine him to be the kind of man who would insist on reading her private thoughts.

But of course, she’d once let him read everything she’d written.

“Well, the earl must be sad, my lord, because he did not want flowers, andeveryonelikes flowers.”

---