Page 40 of To Have and to Hoax
“But I can’t say for certain that Ishallbe perfectly well.”
James was dimly aware that Jeremy and Lady Fitzwilliam were watching this exchange with great interest, their heads bobbing back and forth as though they were spectators at a duel.
“Well then, let us choose to be optimistic.” He gave her a thin smile.
“Funny,” Violet said, “I’ve never known optimism to be a trait that you possessed in great abundance.”
“Meaning you should be doubly glad that I am attempting to turn over a new leaf.” He inched his mount closer to her as they spoke, and they were now in such proximity that he could have reached out and knocked his knee against hers. He’d meant only to intimidate her, but he realized belatedly that this might have been a mistake—this close, he could smell her skin, could practically feel the warmth radiating from her. Her cheeks were flushed—whether from anger or the exercise of their ride, he wasn’t certain—and she looked so much the picture of health that he had to fight back the urge to laugh. She looked . . .
Radiant.
Yes, radiant. Her hair curled around her face, and her eyes sparked in that familiar way they did whenever he was arguing with her.
And in that moment, he wanted to kiss her so desperately that he nearly forgot that they were in the middle of Hyde Park, with Jeremy and Lady Fitzwilliam watching from a few paces away. His eyes caught hers and held, and the color of her cheeks deepened further under the intensity of his gaze. She bit her lip—he’d nearly forgotten that old habit of hers—but did not break their eye contact.
And James found that he was incapable of doing so as well.
She was infuriating, and he was still determined to best her at whatever this game was that they were playing—but he also wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life.
Still. After five years. And there was no point in lying to himself about this fact any longer.
He wanted her, and he did not know how to have her. Christ, what a mess.
It was impossible to say how long this stalemate would have continued had Lady Fitzwilliam not broken the silence.
“I am certain that I wouldn’t wish to impose if Lady James is feeling unwell.”
“Lady James was just telling me this morning how improved she is,” James said smoothly, wrenching his gaze away from his wife with great difficulty to refocus on Lady Fitzwilliam. Violet elbowed him in the ribs, which he ignored. “But regardless, Soph—Lady Fitzwilliam,” he amended hastily, as though he hadn’t intended to nearly address her by her Christian name, “my offer stands—please do call upon us if you should need any assistance of any sort.” He urged his horse closer to Lady Fitzwilliam’s, reaching up to take her hand in his own.
“Audley,” Jeremy said, and James nearly laughed out loud at the strangled note in his voice. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Never better, I assure you,” James said cheerfully, allowing his thumb to stroke rather intimately across Lady Fitzwilliam’s palm before he released her hand. He would have felt like a cad had she not continued to regard him with that questioning, suspicious look of hers—the one that told him she was not at all fooled by his rather blatant attempts at seduction. “I don’t seem to have picked up Violet’s little malady, much to my relief.”
Next to him, Violet coughed. Unlike the noises she had been emitting of late, which James thought seemed carefully calibrated to achieve the perfect mix of frailty and feminine delicacy to play upon his sympathies, this was a violent cough indeed. More of a hack, really.
“Feeling all right?” he asked mildly once she had subsided.
“I was feeling considerably better five minutes ago,” she said with a bland smile.
“Must be all the fresh air,” James said wisely. “It might be a bit much for your fragile lungs.”
“In that case, my lord, I should be exceedingly grateful if you were to escort me home.”
“But of course,” he said gallantly. He turned back to Lady Fitzwilliam and Jeremy, who were both regarding him as they would a madman. An affable madman, perhaps, but still a madman.
“Jeremy, Lady Fitzwilliam,” he said, nodding to each in turn. “I’m afraid we must take our leave.” He reached for Lady Fitzwilliam’s hand once more, and she gave him a startled look as he bent down to press a quick kiss to the hand in question. “Lady Fitzwilliam,” he murmured in intimate tones—intimate tones still loud enough to carry, “it has truly been a pleasure. One I look forward to repeating very soon.” And with a cheeky grin, he turned his horse and took a few quick steps back to Violet’s side. “Shall we?”
She did nothing but nod tightly—and proceeded to ignore him for the entire ride back to Curzon Street. She also, James noticed, failed to cough once.
Nine
“Have you quite lost your mind?” Jeremy demanded.
It was later the same evening, and Jeremy and James were seated in Jeremy’s study—Jeremy at his desk, James lounging across from him in an armchair, brandy in hand. In truth, the study at Willingham House was not a room Jeremy frequented, and James was nearly certain that he had elected to receive him here as a show of authority. It would have been a more effective display if Jeremy had not looked so uncomfortable in the seat his father and brother had once occupied.
“Perhaps,” James said, tilting the glass in his hand so that the liquid within caught the last rays of summer evening light streaming in through the windows. “I assume you are referring to our meeting in Hyde Park?”
“Of course I bloody am!” Jeremy exploded. Jeremy was mild-tempered in the extreme—he was rather famous for it, in truth. The trait had served him well—it was impossible that one could sleep with as many men’s wives as Jeremy had without making some enemies, and James was certain that Jeremy’s famous charm and good cheer were the only reason he hadn’t yet been smothered in his bed.
