Page 39 of The Lover's Eye
She had also not been wearing a ring.
The sight gave him more hope than was logical.He decided then to rectify the matter.They would undoubtedly think him a fool, showing up at Shoremoss’s doors the very same day he’d professed to be busy, but oh, what the devil.People thought worse things of him all the time.
He jumped from the saddle before Theseus had entirely halted, handing his reins to a waiting groom.The doors of Cambo House opened to him, and Giles jogged through them, tossing his hat aside.
“Finch, I need the carriage readied.And my finest evening coat—you know the one.”
The old butler’s expression did not alter, but Giles felt his black gaze bearing into his back as he ascended the stairs.He was in a mood similar to the one that had seized him all those weeks ago and sent him rushing to Cumberland on his useless errand.Now he wondered if that business might have gone differently, had Lord Ridgeway allowed him to see Isobel.Would she have turned him away?
As Giles tore off his mud-specked riding clothes, he wished he hadn’t given up so easily that day.That he hadn’t let that damned necklace get in his head or let Lord Ridgeway’s searing gaze unravel his confidence.He felt now that he had taken the easy way out.After all, it was always simpler going to believe the worst about himself, to assume that even the few people who cared for him might one day see all of him and walk away.
“Is there a special occasion, my lord?”Giles’s valet held up the coat of black superfine for inspection.
“Not especially.”He hoped his nerves did not show in his features.
It took some maneuvering, but with several insistent tugs from his valet, Giles got the coat settled over the breadth of his shoulders.It had been a good long while since he had worn it, and he seemed to have grown slightly.
“Pardon me for sayin’ so, sir, but it’s a shame.”
Giles was peering into the looking glass, smoothing his freshly washed hair with a comb and the side of his hand.“What?”
“It’s a shame you don’t have a special occasion, my lord,” the valet said, his smile glowing with approval.“That coat looks as if it were stitched right onto you.”
For Giles’s part, he thought it looked a touch too snug—he certainly felt that it was, when he moved in any way that required his shoulders—but he was too distracted to care.He climbed into his carriage, his mind spinning anxiously during the miles that took him to Shoremoss Hall.
Mercifully, the footman informed him Pemberton was at home, and led him into the marquess’s study.
“What the devil brings you here?”Pemberton asked, only slightly looking up from his supine position on the leather sofa.He had a half empty glass of brandy balancing on his chest and wore nothing but a pair of soiled trousers and his shirtsleeves.
Most men would never receive callers like this.As Giles drew nearer, he smelled the stench of brine and fish, and realized the meager clothes bore little splatters of blood.Statement corrected: most gentlemen would never find themselves in such a state in the first place.
“I have a rather strange question to put to you,” Giles said, taking a seat across from him.
Pemberton seemed to realize the astounding contrast in their dress then, and lifted a brow as he looked Giles up and down.“Are you in your best evening clothes?At”—he craned his neck to find the clock, and sloshed a bit of brandy on himself—“five in the afternoon?”
“I am.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
Giles tapped his toe on the carpet.“I saw your wife in the village today.She mentioned something about having me for dinner, but I rather rudely declined.”A few moments of silence passed, forcing him to add, “Miss Ridgeway was with her.”
“Ah,” Pemberton mused, drawing out the syllable.“And you realized she was not betrothed.Are you asking for a place at my table tonight?”
“I would greatly appreciate one.”
A little soprano laugh, so unlike what one would expect from the insipid hulk of a man, escaped Pemberton’s lips.He sat up and downed the contents of his glass.“I’d let you see her right now, if she weren’t holed up somewhere with her head in a damn book.I’m afraid you’ll be rather bored for the next couple of hours.”
Pemberton rose from the sofa and stretched.A thoughtful look came over his face.“By God, the two of you would make some more of a match, wouldn’t you?You’d never leave your bedchambers.”
Giles knew the statement had not been meant likethat, hadn’t even been intended as a compliment, but warmth surged in his cheeks all the same.He couldn’t stop himself from hearing the phrase’s alternate meaning, relishing the implication that a marriage between him and Isobel would be tireless and passionate.One step at a time, you wolfish bastard, he chastised himself.
“About that,” Giles said, “what of her betrothal?What happened?”
“We’ll discuss it over port.Nasty business.I’m sick of hearing of it.”Pemberton was heading for the door, but paused for a final question.“Say, didn’t I tell you you were fortunate not to have gotten entangled with her?”
“I recall you saying something of the sort,” Giles said flatly.
Pemberton shrugged.“Oh, what’s the use.Us men desire what we desire, hm?Dinner is served at seven.Make yourself at ease, and oh—I daresay it’s your lucky day.Cook’s serving panfish.Myfresh halibut, to be exact.”
