Page 63 of Romanced By the Orc

“An apology is in order. Come to think of it, I should have asked your permission prior to the conversation.”

“Why ever would you do that? She has a mind of her own, does she not?”

“She is a clever girl, no doubt. And I think she shall be of help. A great help indeed.”

His thoughts trailed back to her premature return from her call on Iris. It was odd of her to ask so abruptly whether Prinny knew the Phantom’s identity. That timing was no coincidence.

What was it Mother had said to him, the same day he had proposed to Diana no less?What one wishes and what is best are two different matters entirely.

The intimacy they’d shared, not only the physical connection but the emotional bond, had been for naught. She viewed this as a practical arrangement, not a true partnership. She saw him not as a worthy husband but a simpering coxcomb.

And he would never be able to convince her otherwise. For he could never tell Diana Stewart that her own husband was the Benevolent Phantom.

Izzie’s thoughtful words gave Diana some measure of hope. If anyone could forgive her past missteps, surely it was Albie. So, that evening, Diana pretended to be engrossed in her worn copy ofEmma. While the story provided a much-needed respite from her troubles, she stole occasional glances at her husband.

He had joined her with his usual glass of port, reading the paper with one long leg over his knee. For all that he might beg off discussing politics in public, he was an avid subscriber toThe Evening Mailand a handful of other publications.

Under ordinary circumstances, she enjoyed this cozy time together. But now she understood what people meant when they spoke of butterflies in one’s stomach. Hers were flopping from side to side, feeding on her anxiety.

Before she dared hint at her dilemma, she led with a less fraught topic. “I look forward to tomorrow night, husband. Do you enjoy Beethoven? Are such composers beloved in the Hidden Realm as they are elsewhere?”

“Why, I suppose Dunc is familiar with that lot,” he said with the posh affectation usually reserved for company. “But I can’t say I ever acquired a taste for it. Give me a quadrille from an Orcan composer any day. A tune a fellow can dance to, I should say.”

“You are teasing me. Come now. I query in earnest.”

“I answered in the same spirit, my most esteemed wife. Surely you realize I am your servant and would never sink so low as to make light of a question you posed. That is far from a husbandly thing to do. I am only trying to recall a piece of Orcan music I wished to share with you.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I daresay I’ve always had trouble holding a thought in my head for more than a minute at a time.”

“You are far cleverer than that, and you know it,” Diana said. “You can speak freely.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“I’ve neither the ability nor the desire to command you.” He had returned to the pretense of the London dandy when she much preferred the company of the man he showed himself to truly be. In flashes, if nothing else. The man she was growing to love. “I only wish for you to express your thoughts plainly.”

As soon as he lowered the thin sheets ofTheMail, she knew something was wrong. And not because he looked troubled. To the contrary, he seemed decidedly untroubled.

The husband she found so mesmerizing had vanished. If asked, she couldn’t have explained quite how. A change in his posture, a slight slump in his shoulders. But more so, a loosening of his facial muscles and, most distressingly, a blank look that deprived his eyes of their fire. As though his very soul was draining from those otherwise extraordinary amber eyes.

“You cannot imagine I have thoughts worth hearing, madam. If one occurs to me, you shall be the first to know, of course.”

“Stop it!” she cried. “Albie! What is wrong? Why are you speaking to me in this manner?”

“With politeness? With respect?”

“You understand perfectly well what I mean.”

“Might you do me the honor of explaining?”

“You are cordial but aloof,” Diana said crisply, for if she showed the true heartbreak behind her words, she would lose her composure entirely. “You treat me with the same polite disregard as everyone else in theton. It is not appropriate. I am your wife.”

For a moment, she saw the now-familiar spark of passion in his eye. Their relationship had developed with none of the awkwardness she’d once feared, namely that she couldn’t allow physical intimacy for fear it would ruin their friendship. Diana understood the value of a good friend because so many of hers had fled over the incident with Nigel Halman.

Before this fantasy could completely take root, his bearing dissolved once more into the mask he wore in public. His eyes lost their fire and instead took on that terrible disinterest. Over the past weeks, she had seen the real Albion, the honest and pure gentleman who loved his family and painting. Had the man she thought she might love ever existed at all? Was he a mere illusion, crafted by her mind to enhance their physical connection?

“I am sorry you are distraught,” he said briskly. “I hope you shall have a good night’s rest and see matters in a better light at daybreak.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

London’s entire population crammed into the opera house for the evening’s production. At least it seemed this way to Albion. Indeed, Beethoven’sFideliosuited these turbulent times, given the plot involved the heroine’s attempts to rescue her husband from imprisonment and certain death due only to his political beliefs.

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