Page 104 of Better Love Next Time
Althea had calmed to a proper simmer as Sam trudged up the bank. A moonless night had settled over them.
“Thank you, Sam,” Kitty said and then shifted toward Althea, relieving her of the pistols. “And Althea. All of you, thank you. I stand by my promises, and Mr. St. Clair will support them. You have much to ponder. If you leave our yard, I wish you well. Good night.”
She drew Sam aside and relayed her wish that Mr. St. Clair be kept unaware of Mr. Lovett’s visit. “They are patent lies, Sam.”
“Aye, ma’am. Your husband’s devoted to you.”
“Er, yes. And my husband would surely wish to challenge Mr. Lovett and Childers if he were to know, wouldn’t he?” Sam scowled an affirmative. “Acknowledging Lovett’s lies would give them weight. Yes, Mr. Lovett will never be spoken of again. He will be forgotten. Please convey this to your men.”
In the office, Kitty returned the silver-inlaid flintlocks to their box and watched the men from the window debating their course.
“I could have done murder,” Althea said, collecting her sewing. “Please do not mention my anger to the vicar, if you will.”
“Never.” Kitty bit her lip, a small laugh escaping at the image of God-fearing Miss Dixley brandishing Julian’s dueling pistols.
It was to be their first night at the Pierpoints’ lodge. Vicar Carleton would arrive soon. The day had started with promise, but wasn’t that how tragedies revealed themselves, arriving upon the waves of joy? Just like the day the earl had ordered her killed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Present Day
St. Clair Shipyard
From where Kittyworked her figures on the Christmas reward, she heard the smart cadence of carriage horses and hurried to the window overlooking the road intersecting the Beach promenade.
Eleven days after she had lost eleven men, Julian stepped down from a black coach with four matching greys and a new suit of forest green that covered his honed body like a second skin. She smoothed her hands over her black bodice and rigid stays, mindful of her heart pattering in her throat.
His cocked hat wedged at his right side, Julian straightened his coat facing and cuffs and regarded the door before him. She watched as his mouth fell into a grim slant. Then his entire expression flattened.
He inhaled, a fortifying breath, the effort visible in his broad shoulders. He squinted into the autumn sun, and her knees weakened.
She knew the source of the quick cant of his head. Determination. He was unhappy to be here.
He strode into the building where she waited. And all her doubts she had on Mr. Lovett’s account of her husband and the adventuress in Vauxhall and St. James Park were shattered the moment he walked through the office door. He had left Southampton five weeks before with few words and an unflinching goodbye. Now it was as if he had forced the very sun inside him.
Julian’s eager strides covered the room to where she stood frozen at the window. “Kitty, it is good to see you again,” he said, his voice as warm and light as she was cold and heavy. He smiled, as broad as the gash in her heart, laid open by the faint scent of perfume on his coat, something sensual and sweet. The adventuress had a scent.
Had she once thought to know he had been with another would be a relief? Had she believed that once Julian had replaced her she was going to feelbetter? She might retch on his new gentleman’s boots and die. Just die.
And if he had been so indiscreet as to fornicate with an adventuress in a secluded walk and a public park and not care to rid his clothes of the woman’s perfume, then of course his losses at the tables were true.True!
She hated herself for defending him, for loving him, for thinking she might die. But there was nothing to do for it. She had pushed him into the arms of another woman. She could not let on her regret or how deep her folly had cut. She would be amicable, cheerful even, and as soon as possible, ascertain how much he had thrown away on gaming.
He had sent her another letter.Urgent business has detained me, he had written. She knew what urgency had detained him.
Her mouth refused to smile. Her hands clasped his and squeezed in an imitation of happiness. “Julian, how well and rested you appear. I trust your journey was uneventful?”
His dark eyes, which could still melt her heart, sparkled. “Uneventful as a puritan in a bawdy house. And you…” He stepped back, holding her arms wide. “You are the same. Lovely.”
She was not the same. In mere minutes, she had become something altogether false. “Are you hungry?” came her awkward reply.
“Famished.”
When had Julian ever used the word famished, or lovely for that matter? Who was the woman who had put those words in his mouth? Was he in love with the woman? How much of their money had he lost? She could not chastise him when she reckoned the sum. No good would come of abusing him like his father always had.
“How is your family?” she asked, withdrawing her cold hands from his, and his hands, she noted, left hers faster. He was nervous, wasn’t he?
“Oliver is recovering,” he said.
