Page 38 of To Have and to Hoax
He inhaled deeply. “I apologize that you were alarmed by Penvale’s note,” he said after a moment. “And I apologize for my words at the Blue Dove. I may have spoken . . . hastily.”
Violet turned her head to look at him suspiciously, as though she suspected some sort of trap.
James exhaled in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, I’m trying to apologize and the best you can do is blink at me like an owl?”
The corner of Violet’s mouth twitched. “How flattering.”
“A very attractive owl, of course.”
Violet arched a brow. “Indeed?”
“Yes,” James said, by now quite certain that continued speaking on his part would only lead to more trouble, and yet somehow unable to stop. “A very fine specimen—”
“Specimen?”
“—of owlishness—”
“Owlishness?”
“The best sort of owl, really.” He managed to force his mouth shut, just barely resisting the temptation to clap a hand over it for good measure. He hadsomedignity left, after all.
“I can’t believe you managed to convince me to marry you,” Violet said after a moment’s silence.
Just like that, the lightness of the moment vanished. “I seem to recall the situation being quite neatly managed,” he said shortly.
Violet’s face, which had been if not quite smiling then definitely amused, suddenly turned serious. “I know what you think you recall,” she said, her gaze never leaving his. “And I know that you will never consider, for one second, that you might not have been the only one neatly managed that day.”
James opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated a moment, suddenly uncertain. He had nursed his anger on this issue for so long that he tended to reach for it instinctively; however, there was nothing in Violet’s expression at the moment except sorrow, and it gave him pause. He searched for words, not entirely certain what he planned to say, but before he could speak, she let out a faint cough. A swell of anger rose within him, his doubts vanishing. Hadn’t he just apologized for the bloody horse accident and his behavior following it? Did she still mean to continue with this ridiculous ruse?
It was infuriating, truly. And, furthermore, it was the perfect example of why he could not trust her. Did she realize that, he wondered? Did she see how perfectly she was proving him right?
Before he could make any sort of reply, he heard his name being called. Jeremy approached on horseback. And riding next to him was—James squinted, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew—
Oh, Christ. It was Sophie Wexham.
Although he supposed that she wasn’t, in fact, Sophie Wexham anymore. She was Lady Fitzwilliam Bridewell. She was also a widow, and this was her first Season out of mourning.
A fact of which Jeremy had wasted no time in taking advantage.
James wasn’t entirely certain how long they’d been carrying on together—a couple of months, he thought. In truth, he found it an odd match. The Sophie Wexham that he and West had known did not seem the type who would find Jeremy’s brand of cheeky charm all that appealing.
But of course James hadn’t spoken to her—other than to offer a bland pleasantry at a ball or musicale—in years. He had no idea how she had changed since her marriage or widowhood.
He wondered if she was still in love with his brother. For both their sakes, he rather hoped not.
As Jeremy and Lady Fitzwilliam drew closer, James and Violet reined in their mounts. “Is that—” Violet murmured under her breath.
“Indeed,” James replied, equally quiet.
“Rather brazen of them to be out together on Rotten Row, isn’t it?”
“They’re on horseback, not in a closed carriage,” James pointed out. Violet didn’t even dignify this with a response, merely giving him a dubious look.
“Audley! Lady James!” Jeremy called as he drew up beside them. “How . . . unexpected.” His tone was mild, but James could practically see the waves of curiosity rolling off him. James couldn’t entirely blame him—to see himself and Violet out on what was, to all appearances, a cordial afternoon ride was highly unusual these days.
“Jeremy,” James said. “Lady Fitzwilliam.”
Lady Fitzwilliam was still every inch as beautiful as she’d been when James had first met her, at some London ball or another. She had golden curls and brown eyes and some of the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. Sitting easily atop her mount next to Jeremy, the sunlight streaming behind her, she looked glorious—and James gave hearty thanks that his brother was not there to see her. It would have been rather too much for West to bear, James suspected.
