Page 8 of A Rogue's Downfall
“And eggs, too,” he said. “How did you know? Has someone been telling on me? Cook fed me in thekitchen. At least twelve rashers of bacon and threeeggs and four slices of toast. It was indecent.”
“Cook fed you in the kitchen?” Her eyes widened. “She is a dragon. A benevolent dragon perhaps, buta dragon nonetheless. I do not know where she foundthis very large glass, but she fills it to the brim withmilk three times a day, and if I do not drain it quitedry, she wants to know the reason when I go downnext morning. I quake in my slippers. Sometimes Ialmost expect her to swat me with her wooden spoon.”
“She slapped me this morning,” he said, “when I stole a rasher of bacon and ate it with my fingers. Iwould not be able to count all the slaps I have hadfrom Cook in my twenty-eight years.”
She looked at him, startled again, and then laughed. He laughed, too.
“Imagine the humiliation,” he said, “of being the Earl of Reardon and being rapped over the knucklesby one’s own cook for eating one’s own food.”
She laughed again. It sounded almost like a giggle. “Was that when you found out about Sally andRoger?” she asked.
“She did not admit to the charge,” he said. “But if there is a brighter color than scarlet, her cheeks wereit.”
“I wonder,” she said, “if it will prove true for her. The superstition, I mean.”
“I wonder,” he said, watching her face, afraid that he was making an idiot of himself again, “if it willprove true for us. No, don’t say the obvious. Play thegame with me for today. Will you, Amy?”
“What game?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“The game of innocence,” he said. “The game of romance. Is it impossible? With me is it impossible?”
“With you?” she said. “Romance?”
“Can you pretend?” he asked. “Apart from the fact there there is my s—, that there is James, can youpretend that we are innocents and even strangersabout to embark on a day of romance? We are nearlystrangers, after all.”
“Just for today?” She picked up her rose again and twirled it slowly by the stem. “And what about tomorrow?” But she answered her own question before hecould. “Tomorrow does not matter. As a girl I alwaysdreamed of having a beau for Valentine’s Day. I neverhad one. And never a Valentine’s party. The year before last, I was not allowed to go to the one in Londonthat everyone else was attending because I had notyet been presented. Last year, Mama and Papa wereobliged to go to a concert and did not think it important to find me some other chaperon so that Icould go. So I persuaded Duncan to take me to themasquerade at the opera house. I thought the veryfact that it was forbidden would make it wonderfullyromantic.” Her eyes remained on the rose.
He could just imagine the young, innocent, naive girl, she had been thinking to enjoy some forbiddenbut innocent pleasure to hug to herself in memory.The one valentine entertainment that she had attended in her life. He might have given her that pleasure without ruining her. Had he not drunk so muchhimself, perhaps he would have done so. He had beenin love with her for a long time before that evening,after all. Perhaps he might have started a courtshippleasing to both of them. Despite his reputation, perhaps she would have accepted him as a suitor if hehad treated her as a valentine last year instead of asa whore.
“This year,” he said, “you have a beau. Will you accept me as such today and let tomorrow take careof itself?”
She raised her eyes to his. “Why?” she asked. “Is it because you feel guilty? Do you?”
He did not want these questions. He wanted his day of fantasy. He was greedy for it. “Yes or no?” he said,hearing with dismay that his tone was quite curt.
She considered him in silence for a while. “Yes,” she said at last. “For today only. Tomorrow, life canreturn to normal.”
The words chilled him. “When is James going to need you again?” he asked. “For how long can we ride?”
“For well over an hour,” she said. “Two probably.”
“Let’s not delay then,” he said, getting to his feet and drawing back her chair. She had eaten only halfa slice of toast, he noticed, though she had avertedCook’s wrath by drinking the milk to the last drop.He did what he had resisted doing the evening before.He kissed the back of her neck before she turned. Shehunched her shoulders slightly, but made no comment.She turned back to the table as she was about to moveaway and picked up her rose.
“I’ll fetch my hat,” she said.
He watched her lift the bud to her nose as she left the room.
She led the way from the stables and took her usual route without really thinking about it. She rode alongthe mile of back lawn to the trees, through the treesto the meadow, and along the meadow. Then she followed the line of the trees to the lake, which couldnot be seen through the denser trees that grew aboutit, to circle back around the lake and the house atsome distance, until the latter came into sight againwhen she had more than a mile of front lawn to canteracross to reach it. James prevented her from evergoing much farther from home, though he did notnurse quite as often now as he had done at first. Shehad always refused to have a wet nurse.
Her husband looked quite splendid on horseback. But of course she had known that. She had used towatch him with covert admiration in Hyde Park, whenhe had not known of her existence. She wonderedsuddenly how he had known who she was so that hecould call on Papa the next morning. Even though hehad removed her mask and seen her face, it must havebeen a stranger’s face to him. How had he known thatshe was a lady and not a doxy—was that the rightword?—like the other women at the opera house?
“There is a meadow on the other side of the trees,” she said as they slowed their horses and moved carefully to avoid branches and twigs. “I like to gallopacross it.”
“The meadow has not been moved to another location then?” he said, making her feel thoroughly foolish. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this was his home, that he had grown up here. “It was the oneplace where galloping was strictly forbidden. It is afavorite burrowing place for the local rabbits, apparently. The only time I disobeyed, I was given a heartywalloping—by Davies, my father’s head groom as he isnow mine. I have been much abused by my servants.”
“The groom. The cook,” she said. “Did your father never object?”
“I never reported them, and they never reported me,” he said. “Shall we dismount and lead the horsesdown to the lake? I believe we were all agreed thatmy parents would not have been much interested anyway. And so I pestered the servants, and they disciplined me and spoiled me and loved me, I do believe.Many of them are still with me. I think of them almostas family.”
