Page 49 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
He said coldly, ‘If you thought to enlist Miss Warenne’s aid to recover the statue, then you are mistaken.’
‘Am I?’ Matt was surprised. The statue was the last thing on his mind.
‘You are. The decision will be mine and mine alone.’
‘I beg to differ. The decision will lie with the courts,’ Matt repeated what the lawyers had told him. ‘Good title to the statue remains with Bellemonte and does not pass to you, even if you were the unwitting purchaser of a stolen item.’
The Viscount said nothing. He continued to stare out over the gardens, washed in shades of blue-grey moonlight. Matt waited and at length Whilton turned back and laughed softly.
‘This is no subject for a ball, is it? We should discuss this another day. We agreed I would give you an answer by the end of the month, but perhaps you would like to hear it a little sooner.’
‘If you have made a decision, you can tell me now.’
‘Ah, such plain speaking, it will not do,’ murmured the Viscount. ‘Join me for dinner tomorrow.’
Matt made no attempt to hide his impatience. ‘Is that really necessary? I should have thought you were wishing me at Jericho.’
‘Ah, but I like to observe the proprieties, Mr Talacre.’
In the moonlight, Matt saw the Viscount smile. He had no desire to dine with Lord Whilton, but if it meant he could bring an end to the matter a little quicker, then what had he to lose?
‘Very well, if that is what you wish.’
‘I do wish it. We dine early,’ said the Viscount. ‘Country hours.’ He gave a little bow. ‘Until tomorrow, Mr Talacre.’
With that he sauntered off, leaving Matt to wonder just what the devil that had been about.
The look Whilton had given him in the ballroom suggested he would like to run him through and Matt did not trust this sudden display of urbanity. The manwas up to no good: he would be wise to be on his guard tomorrow night.
For propriety’s sake, Matt stood up for a couple more dances, but when he learned that Flora and the Farnleighs had already left he decided that he, too, had stayed long enough. He called for his horse and was soon on his way back to the Red Lion.
The evening had given him much to think about. The Viscount’s invitation to dine had surprised him, but although recovering the statue was important, he could not stop his thoughts straying to Flora. Talking with her, dancing with her this evening had proved to him how much he wanted her, not only in his bed, but by his side.
A wife, a friend. For ever.
It was strange, unsettling. Matt had never felt like this before about any woman. Not even the French widow who had cheated him. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. If this was love, then he was in love with Flora Warenne. But did she lovehim? She was not in love with Lord Whilton, he was certain of that, but she was engaged to the man. Their wedding was only weeks away.
‘Perhaps she is merely amusing herself.’
Even as he voiced the thought, Matt knew it was not true. He looked up at the moon sailing in the cloudless sky. He needed to see Flora. Until he had talked to her, he would take nothing for granted.
* **
When Betty came in with Flora’s hot chocolate the following morning, she also brought with her a note.
‘It’s from Lord Whilton, Miss Flora. Delivered by hand just as I was coming up the stairs!’
Brimming with curiosity, the maid put the hot chocolate on the table beside the bed and held out the folded paper. Flora took it and placed it on the covers before her. Was Quentin still angry with her? Perhaps he had decided to cry off from their engagement.
The flicker of hope she felt at that thought was telling. She had spent a restless night, going over and over the same argument. It was not just that she did not love the Viscount, she did not even like him very much. The little things that had annoyed her over the past two years had coalesced to become an insurmountable problem. He was vain, arrogant and selfish. It was clear to her now that she had known this for a long time, but had chosen to ignore it.
Until last night, when she had danced with Matt Talacre and observed the Viscount’s reaction. If he had been consumed with a lover’s jealousy she might perhaps have forgiven him, but that was not the case. He saw her only as one more possession, much as he regarded the statue of Mars installed in his garden.
As for Matt, perhaps he was like those early suitors, the ones who had courted her assiduously, then drawn back before declaring themselves. But for nowthat was unimportant—she could not even consider the matter while she was betrothed to Lord Whilton.
She glanced again at the letter. Perhaps Quentin, too, had realised they had made a mistake.
‘Thank you, Betty, you may go.’
