A Gentleman's Honor

SIXTEEN

IN THE DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN, ALICIA STIRRED.

Awareness slunk into her brain. Her body still thrummed; her hair was a wild tangle, a fine net ensaring them, wrapped about the muscled arm lying protectively about her. Eyes closed, she lay still, safe, secure, warm. Freed by the night, by the silence, her thoughts crept from the corners of her mind, dwelling on the strange twist her life had taken—the deception she’d never intended to practice, not on so many, not to this degree.

The role of her own making now haunted her.

Not in her wildest dreams had she expected to rise to such social prominence, never imagined calling so many of the powerful friend. Yet in her and her family’s time of need, they’d come to her aid—how could she now draw back from them, from the protection they’d so generously offered?

Thanks to A. C. and his latest attempt to cast all suspicion on her, she couldn’t even slip away, fade from the scene. She had to remain, head high, and face down his rumors, at least for the next weeks.

Had to continue to pretend she was the widow she was not, while parading through the haut ton, the subject of the latest on-dit, the central character in the most amazing, attention-getting story.

The idea that someone from her little part of the country might, like Ruskin, pop up and recognize her had assumed the status of a nightmare. No amount of reasoning, of reiterating that there truly were few families of standing near Little Compton, and none who had known her, did anything to lessen its effect; like a dark, louring cloud it hovered, threatening, not breaking but always there, swelling in the back of her mind.

What if the cloud burst and the truth came raining down?

Her heart contracted; she dragged in a breath, conscious of the vise closing about her chest.

Tony had so publicly nailed his flag to her mast, had so openly committed himself to her cause, and brought with him so many of his aristocratic connections…if the ton ever learned the truth of her widowhood, how would that reflect on him?

Badly. Very badly. She’d now gone about in society enough to know. Such a revelation would make her an outcast, but it would make him a laughingstock. Or worse, it would cast him as one who had knowingly deceived the entire ton.

They would never forgive him.

And no matter any protestations to the contrary, deep down, in his heart, he would never—could never— forgive her. By making him a party to her deception, she would have ripped from him and put forever beyond his reach the position to which he’d been born, the position she suspected he never even questioned, it was so much a part of him.

She wanted to twist and turn, but with him breathing softly, deeply, beside her, she forced herself to lie still beneath the heavy arm he’d slung across her waist. Dawn was sliding over the rooftops when she finally accepted that she could do nothing to change things—all she could do was move heaven and earth to ensure that no one ever learned her true state.

She glanced at his face on the pillow beside hers. His dark lashes lay, black crescents over his cheekbones; in sleep, his face retained the harsh lines, the austere angularity of nose and jaw. In her mind, she heard his voice dispassionately reciting, describing what the last ten years of his life had been, how they’d been spent, and where; he’d avoided stating in what danger, but she was not so innocent she couldn’t read between his lines. When his mask was off, as now, the evidence of that decade still remained, etched in the lines of his face.

Last night—early this morning—he’d needed her. Wanted her. Taken all she’d given, and yet needed more, a more she’d found it possible to give.

His satisfaction was hers, deep, powerful, and complete. She had never imagined such a connection, that a man such as he would have a need like that, and that she would be able so completely to fulfill it.

Her joy in that discovery was profound.

Lifting a hand, she gently brushed back the heavy lock of black hair that lay rakishly across his brow. He didn’t wake, but stirred. His hand flexed, lightly gripping her side before easing as, reassured, he sank once more into slumber.

For long moments, she looked, silently wondered.

Faced incontrovertible fact.

He now meant more to her, at a deeper, more intensely emotional level, than all else in her life.

Tony left Waverton Street before the sunshine hit the cobbles. The tide of satisfaction that had swept him last night had receded, revealing, to him all too forcefully, the vulnerability beneath.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose her; he couldn’t even readily stomach the fact she was at risk. Therefore…

Over breakfast that morning, as always efficiently served by Hungerford who, despite knowing full well Tony hadn’t slept in his own bed for the past week and more, remained remarkably cheerful, he made his plans. Those included Hungerford, but his first act was to repair to his study and pen two summonses. The first, to Geoffrey Manningham, took no more than a few minutes; he dispatched it via a footman, then settled to write the second, a communication requiring far more thought.

He was still engaged in searching for the right approach, the right phrases, when Geoffrey arrived. Waving him to the pair of armchairs before the hearth, he joined him.

“News?” Geoffrey asked as he sat.

“No.” Sinking into the other chair, Tony smiled, all teeth. “Plans.”

Geoffrey grinned, equally ferally, back. “You perceive me all ears.”

Tony outlined the basics of what he intended.

Geoffrey concurred. “If you can get everything into place, including your beloved, that would unquestionably be the wisest course.” He met Tony’s gaze. “So what do you want me to do? I presume there’s something.”

“I want you to remove Adriana for the afternoon—or the day, if you prefer.”

Geoffrey widened his eyes. “That all?”

Tony nodded. “Do that, and I’ll manage the rest.”

Just how he would do that last…they sat for ten minutes debating various options, then Geoffrey took himself off to accomplish his assigned task.

Tony remained before the fire for a few minutes more, then, struck by inspiration, returned to his desk and completed his second summons, disguised as a letter to his cousin Miranda, inviting her and her two daughters, Margaret and Constance, to visit him in London, to act as chaperone while the lady he intended to make his viscountess spent a week or so under his roof.

If he knew anything of Miranda, that last would ensure her appearance as soon as he could wish—namely, tomorrow.

The letter dispatched in the care of a groom, he rang for Hungerford.

Dealing with his butler was bliss; Hungerford never questioned, never made difficulties, but could be counted on to ensure that, even if difficulties did arise and his orders no longer fitted the situation, that his intent would be accomplished.

Telling Hungerford that he proposed protecting his intended bride from social and even possibly physical attack by installing her under this roof, within the purlieu of Hungerford’s overall care, was all it took to get everything in Upper Brook Street ready.

He had little notion of what arrangements would be required to prepare the house to receive not only the widowed Miranda and her daughters, ten and twelve years old, but his prospective bride, her family, and her household, but he was sure his staff under Hungerford’s direction would meet the challenge.

Beaming, clearly delighted with his orders, Hungerford retreated. Tony considered the clock; it was not yet noon.

He debated the wisdom of his next act at some length; eventually, he rose, and headed for Hendon House.

At two o’clock, he paused beside Collier, leaning on his street sweeper’s broom at the corner of Waverton Street.

The big man nodded in greeting. “Just missed her, you have. She returned from some luncheon, then immediately headed off with the three lads and their tutor to the park. Kites today, if you’ve a mind to join them.”

“And Miss Pevensey?”

“Lord Manningham called ’bout eleven and took her up in his curricle. They haven’t returned.”

Tony nodded. “I’m going to talk to the staff, then perhaps I’ll fly a kite.” He paused, then added, “I plan to move Mrs. Carrington and her household to Upper Brook Street, but I’ll want you and the others to keep up your watch here. I’ll leave Scully and one other in residence, to keep all possibilities covered.”

Collier nodded. “When will this move happen?”

Today if Tony had his way. Realistically…“At the earliest tomorrow, late in the day.”

Leaving Collier, Tony strode on; reaching Alicia’s house, he went quickly up the steps. Maggs answered the door.

Tony frowned; Maggs forestalled him. “Scully’s with ’em. No need to fret.”

His frown darkening at the thought that he was that transparent, he crossed the threshold. “I want to speak with the staff—all of you who are here. It might be best if I came down to the kitchens.”

From beneath the wide branches of one of the trees in Green Park, Alicia watched, a smile on her lips, as Scully and Jenkins wrestled with the second of the two kites they’d brought out.

The first kite, under Harry’s narrow-eyed guidance, was soaring over the treetops. David was watching Scully and Jenkins, a pitying look in his face; Matthew’s eyes were glued to the blue-and-white kite swooping and swirling above the trees.

“There you are.”

She turned at the words, knowing before she met Tony’s eyes that it was he. “As always.”

Smiling, she gave him her hand; his eyes locking on hers, he raised it to his lips and pressed kisses first to her fingers, then to her palm. Retaining possession, he lowered his hand, fingers sliding about hers, and looked out at the scene in the clearing before them.

“I wonder…” He glanced at her, raised a brow.

“Should I rescue Jenkins and Scully from sinking without trace in your brothers’ estimation?”

She grinned; leaning back against the tree trunk, she gestured. “By all means. I’ll watch and judge your prowess.”

Over numerous afternoons, he’d taught the boys the tricks of keeping their kites aloft. He’d transparently enjoyed the moments; something inside her had rejoiced to see him caught again in what must have been a boyhood pleasure.

“Hmm.” Studying the kite flyers, he hesitated; she got the impression he was steeling himself to resist the lure of the kites and do something else, something he was reluctant to do.

A moment passed, then he looked at her. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you.”

She widened her eyes, inviting him to continue.

Still he hesitated; his eyes searched hers—abruptly she realized he was metaphorically girding his loins.

“I want you to move house.”

She frowned at him. “Move? But why? Waverton Street suits us—”

“For safety reasons. Precautions.” He trapped her gaze.

“I don’t want you or your household subjected to any repeat of yesterday.”

She had no wish to argue that; no one had enjoyed the experience. But… she let her frown grow. “How will a different house avoid…” The intentness in his black eyes registered. Her lips parted; she stared, then baldly asked, “To which house do you wish us to move?”

His lips thinned. “Mine.”

“No.”

“Before you say that, just consider—living under my roof you’ll have the protection not just of my title, my status, but also of all those allied with me and my family.” His eyes pinned her. “So will your sister and brothers.”

Folding her arms, she narrowed her eyes back. “For the moment, let’s leave Adriana and the boys out of this discussion—it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re always quick to drag them into the fray.”

He scowled at her. “They’re part of it—they’re part of you.”

“Perhaps. Be that as it may, you can’t seriously think—”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Hear me out. If it’s the proprieties that are exercising you, my cousin and her two young daughters—they’re ten and twelve—will be arriving tomorrow. With Miranda in residence, there’s no reason—social, logical, or otherwise—that you and your household cannot stay at Torrington House. It’s a mansion—there’s more than enough room.”

“But…” She stared at him. The words: I’m your mistress, for heaven’s sake! burned her tongue. Compressing her lips, she fixed him with a strait look, and primly asked, “What will your staff think?”

What she meant was: what will the entire ton think. To be his mistress was one thing; the ton turned a blind eye to affairs between gentlemen such as he and fashionable widows. However, to be his mistress and live openly under his roof was, she was fairly certain, going that one step too far.

His expression had turned bewildered. “My staff?”

“Your servants. Those who would have to adjust to and cope with the invasion.”

“As it happens, they’re delighted at the prospect.” His frown returned. “I can’t imagine why you’d think otherwise. My butler’s going around with a smile threatening to crack his face, and the staff are buzzing about, getting rooms ready.”

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. If his butler thought her living in the Upper Brook Street mansion was acceptable… she’d always understood tonnish butlers to be second only to the grandes dames in upholding the mores of the ton.

Tony sighed. “I know we haven’t properly discussed it, but there isn’t time. Just because we’ve trumped A. C.’s last three tricks doesn’t mean he won’t try again.” His expression resolute, he met her eyes. “That he’s tried three times to implicate you suggests he’s fixated on the idea of using you to cover his tracks. I’m sure he’ll try again.”

An inkling of why he was so set on moving her into his house, having her, at least for the present, under his roof, reached her. She hesitated.

He sensed it. Shifting closer, he pressed his point. “There’s a huge schoolroom with bedrooms attached, and rooms for Jenkins and Fitchett nearby. There’s a back garden the boys can play in when they’re not having their lessons—and the staff truly are looking forward to having boys running up and down the stairs again.”

Despite all, that last made her smile.

He squeezed her hand, raised it to his chest. “You and the boys and Adriana will be comfortable and safe at Torrington House. You’ll be happy there.”

And he’d be happy if she was there, too—that didn’t need saying, it was there in his eyes.

“Please.” The word was soft. “Come and live with me.”

Her heart turned over; her resolution wavered.

“There’s no reason at all you can’t—no hurdle we can’t overcome.”

Lost in his eyes, she pressed her lips tight.

Felt a tug on her gown. She looked down.

Matthew stood beside them; neither of them had noticed his approach. Face alight, he stared first at one, then the other, then breathlessly asked, “Are we really going to live at Tony’s house?”

By the time they got back to Waverton Street, Alicia had a headache. A frown had taken up permanent residence on her face; she couldn’t seem to lose it.

She was seriously annoyed, not specifically but generally—she couldn’t blame Tony for involving her brothers, but involved they now were, and determined to convince her of the huge benefits of removing with all speed to Torrington House.

If Tony was ruthless, they were relentless. She went up the steps, shooing them before her, feeling almost battered.

Despite their arguments, she felt very sure she needed to think long and hard about this latest proposition. She needed to investigate, and make sure that her presence in his house wouldn’t harm his standing.

Nor make her own any more perilous.

“Off to wash your hands. No tea until you do.”

It was blackberry jam day again, so they rushed off without argument.

With a short sigh, she swung to face Tony.

He was watching her closely. “Come and sit down.”

She let him steer her to the parlor. Scully and Jenkins disappeared. Sinking onto the chaise, she fixed Tony with a darkling glance. “I haven’t agreed.”

He inclined his head and, wisely, made no reply.

Tea should have soothed her temper. Unfortunately, her brothers were not so perspicacious as Tony; although clever enough not to directly argue their case, their artful comments, tossed entirely among themselves, on the possibilities they imagined might accrue should they go to live in Upper Brook Street—possibilities like having suitable banisters to slide down, possibilities they innocently requested advice on from Tony—filled the minutes.

She kept her lips shut and refused to be drawn.

Then she heard the front door open, and Adriana’s and Geoffrey’s voices. She turned as they came in.

Adriana’s face glowed. “We had a lovely drive around Kew. The gardens were well worth the visit.”

Alicia sat forward and reached for the spare teacups, wondering how to broach the subject of Tony’s proposed move, preferably in a way that would ensure her sister’s cooperation in holding back what had started to feel like an inexorable tide.

Adriana tossed her bonnet onto the window seat, took the cup of tea Alicia had poured to Geoffrey, sitting in the second armchair, then sat beside Alicia on the chaise. Taking the cup she handed her, Adriana’s gaze went to Geoffrey; he was being served crumpets and jam by Harry and Matthew.

Following her gaze, Alicia watched, noted. Despite their love of crumpets, the boys had readily shared; they’d accepted Geoffrey, not perhaps in the same unquestioning way they’d accepted Tony, yet they clearly counted him one of their small circle and trusted him.

Smiling, Adriana turned to her. “Geoffrey told me about Tony’s suggestion that we move to Upper Brook Street.” She sipped, then met Alicia’s eyes. “It sounds an excellent idea…” Her voice trailed away; seeing Alicia’s reaction, she blinked. “Isn’t it?”

Alicia looked at Tony. He returned her regard steadily, giving not an inch. She glanced at Geoffrey, but he was— quite deliberately she was sure—chatting with her brothers about the merits of blackberry jam.

Slowly, she drew breath, then met Adriana’s gaze. “I don’t know.” The unvarnished truth.

“Well—”

Adriana tried to persuade her all over again; her arguments echoed Tony’s, yet were sufficiently different to assure Alicia he hadn’t been so foolish as to plot with her sister against her.

He knew the thought crossed her mind; when, recognizing her suspicion was misplaced, she glanced at him, he searched her eyes, then faintly raised a brow. Raising his cup, he calmly sipped. And left her fighting a rear-guard action against everyone else in the room.

Her brothers didn’t press her directly; instead, they supported and elaborated on Adriana’s themes. And then Geoffrey, more quietly but also more seriously and with considerably more weight, threw his support behind Adriana and Tony.

Looking into Geoffrey’s steady brown gaze, Alicia felt her resistance waver. She could see why Geoffrey wanted Adriana and the rest of them under Tony’s roof. Glancing at Tony, she knew the same reason was a significant part of his motivation, too. Was she being irrational in refusing to agree?

She needed reassurance, but not the sort anyone present could give—

The doorbell pealed. She glanced at the clock; time had flown. Hearing feminine voices in the hall, she rose. She tugged the bellpull to summon Jenkins, and instructed her brothers they could finish the crumpets before returning to their lessons.

Turning, she headed for the door, Adriana behind her. Tony and Geoffrey followed.

“Ah—there you are, Alicia!” In the hall, Kit Hendon beamed at her.

Beside her, Leonora Wemyss smiled. “I hope we haven’t called at an inopportune moment, but there’s a gathering at Lady Mott’s that it would be wise to attend, and we wanted to coordinate which events we’ll go to tonight.”

Alicia smiled, touched hands, waited while they greeted the others, then ushered both ladies into the drawing room. As they all sat, disposing themselves on the chaise and the chairs, she realized that neither Kit nor Leonora had evinced the slightest surprise at discovering Tony and Geoffrey present.

The middle of the afternoon was not a common time for gentlemen to call.

Leonora plunged immediately into a discussion of the most promising events planned for that evening. “I think Lady Humphries’ rout, then the Canthorpes’ ball and the Hemmingses’, too. What do you think?”

They tossed around the possiblities, eventually replacing the Hemmingses’ ball with the Athelstans’. “Much better connected,” Tony said, his eyes capturing Alicia’s, “and that helps at the end of a long night.”

“Yes.” Leonora nodded, gaze distant as if reviewing a mental list. “That should do it.” She glanced at Alicia. “A very good night’s work.”

“Now,” Kit said, sitting forward, “the reason we think visiting Lady Mott’s in the next hour would be wise is that her gatherings invariably attract all the busiest bodies in town. They’re of the older, more crotchety crew, and while our story will doubtless have reached some of them, there are others who are highly active but only during the day.”

“If we concentrate our activities solely on the evening events, we’ll miss them,” Leonora put in. “Not only would that leave an avenue open for A. C. to exploit, but those old ladies themselves won’t thank us—they hate to be behindhand with gossip.”

The observation made them all grin.

Alicia glanced down at her lilac gown; she’d worn it to luncheon at Lady Candlewick’s, but courtesy of her sojourn in the park, grass stains now adorned the hem. “I’ll have to change my gown.”

“So will I.” Adriana waved at her carriage dress, quite unsuitable attire for an afternoon call on Lady Mott and company.

“No matter.” Sitting back, Kit waved. “Leonora and I will wait.”

Alicia looked at Tony and Geoffrey. The opportunity to talk privately to Kit and Leonora, to sound them out over Tony’s suggestion, was a godsend—but she didn’t want to leave Tony alone with them in case he wooed them to his cause before she’d a chance to assess their true reactions.

As if bowing to her wishes, he uncrossed his long legs and stood. With a glance, he roused Geoffrey, then turned to her. “We’ll leave you. I’ll call for you at eight, if that’s suitable?”

She rose to see them out. “Yes, of course.”

He and Geoffrey farewelled Kit and Leonora. Adriana also rose and accompanied them into the hall. Maggs stood ready to open the door.

Alicia gave Tony her hand. He held it, looked into her eyes; reading them, his lips tightened. “You will consider my suggestion, won’t you?”

“Yes.” She held his gaze. “But I don’t know that I’ll agree.”

The urge to argue welled strong; she could see it in his eyes, feel it in the clasp of his fingers about hers. But he quelled it. Suavely inclined his head.

Releasing her hand, he nodded to Adriana. With Geoffrey following, he went out of the door and down the steps into the street.

Alicia let out the breath she’d been holding and turned.

Saw Adriana’s lips open and held up a hand. “Not now. We need to get changed—we can’t keep Kit and Leonora waiting.”

Adriana, every bit as stubborn as she, pressed her lips tight, but acquiesced. They went quickly up the stairs side by side. Alicia turned into her room—and then hurried like a fiend, selecting a pale green gown of the finest twill and struggling into it, then expertly tweaking and resetting her coiled hair.

She was ready long before Adriana; quickly, shoes pattering, she hurried back down to the drawing room.

Regardless of the fact she’d only made their acquaintance yesterday, with Kit and Leonora she’d felt an instant rapport. Indeed, they had only met on her front step, yet the directness, the ready understanding on which friendship and trust were based, were already there between them. She could ask them about Tony’s suggestion; they were two of the very few people whose opinion on such an issue she would trust.

Kit was describing one of her eldest son’s antics; she smiled as Alicia rejoined them, and quickly brought the story to a close.

Sinking onto the chaise, Alicia clasped her hands in her lap. Both Kit and Leonora looked at her; she drew breath and stated, “In light of the difficulties A. C. seems intent on causing, Torrington has asked me to consider moving this household to Upper Brook Street. To his house.”

Leonora opened her eyes wide.

Kit frowned, tapped her fingers on the chair arm. “Who else is resident there?”

“A widowed cousin and her two young daughters—ten and twelve—are expected tomorrow.”

Leonora’s face cleared; she glanced at Kit. “It would certainly be—” She looked at Alicia and grimaced. “I was going to say an improvement, but by that I mean that while this address is perfectly respectable, Upper Brook Street would place you in the heart of the ton. It would be a statement in itself.”

“Indeed,” Kit agreed. “And given we suspect A. C. knows the ropes quite well, it’s a statement he’ll understand.” She shifted, her bluey violet eyes studying Alicia.

“I know Torrington House—Jack and Tony are old friends. It’s a huge mansion, and currently only Tony lives there—you can imagine him rattling around like a pea in a cauldron. And it’s fully staffed—he’s never been able to bring himself to let anyone go, even though there’s really no call for three parlormaids when there’s only a bachelor to cater for. From what I’ve seen of his butler, Hungerford, he’ll be in alt at the prospect of having a houseful of people to organize for again.”

“It sounds like an excellent suggestion.” Leonora looked at Alicia. “And it certainly sounds as if your household—boys and all—will fit.”

Alicia studied their faces. There was not the slightest hint that either saw anything in any way remotely socially unacceptable in the notion of her living at Torrington House. In the end, she put her question directly. “You don’t think it will be seen as scandalous—my living there?”

Leonora opened her eyes wide, clearly surprised by the question. “With his cousin in residence, I really can’t see why anyone would disapprove.”

She glanced at Kit, who nodded in agreement.

They both looked at Alicia. She summoned a smile. “I see. Thank you.”

Adriana came in, a stunning breath of fresh air in a frilled gown of white muslin sprigged with blue. “Ready?”

The three ladies seated smiled and rose. Linking arms, they headed for Lady Mott’s.

How he managed to keep his tongue between his teeth Tony didn’t know, but he held his peace on the subject of the move for the entire evening.

Kit helped. She swanned up to him in Lady Humphries’ ballroom and claimed his arm for a waltz. Alicia laughed and waved them away, remaining chatting with a group of others, all sufficiently harmless. Reluctantly, he let Kit lead him to the floor.

“Mission accomplished,” she informed him the instant they were safely revolving. “And I was superbly subtle, I’ll have you know. I didn’t even have to mention it—she asked, and Leonora and I reassured her. We told her it was an excellent idea.”

She smiled at him. “So next time Jack’s being difficult about something, remember—you owe me.”

He humphed and whirled her about, and forbore to mention that if Jack was being difficult about something, he’d almost certainly agree with him. “How did she take it?” he asked when they were once more precessing sedately up the room.

Kit frowned. “I’m not sure, but the impression I got was that her resistance stemmed primarily from a concern that in accepting your invitation she’d be committing some sort of social solecism.” She looked up at him. “She’s more or less on her own, with no older lady to guide her. For what it’s worth, I don’t think her resistance is all that entrenched.”

“Good.”

They spoke no more of it; at the end of the dance, he returned Kit to Jack’s side.

Jack sent a significant glance his way. “I’ll be dropping by that other venue later. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow if I learn anything to the point.”

He’d lowered his voice, directed his words specifically to Tony, yet Kit caught not only the words, but their sub-text. “What point? What other venue?”

Jack looked into her narrowing eyes. “Just a little business matter.”

“Oh? Whose business?” Kit sweetly inquired.

“A. C.’s?”

“Sssh!” Jack glanced around, but there was no one close enough to hear.

Kit saw her advantage and pressed it, drilling one finger into Jack’s chest. “If you imagine you’re going out skulking tonight alone, then you’ll need to promise to inform not just Tony but all of us of anything you discover.”

Curling his hand around hers, Jack scowled at her. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

Kit opened her eyes wide. “When you deign to tell us? Thank you, but no—I much prefer to set a time and place for your revelations.”

Tony nearly choked; he was privy to the story of what had happened in the early days of their marriage, when Jack had refused to tell Kit what he was involved in. Clearly, Kit had not forgotten. From the look on Jack’s face, one of chagrin and uneasy uncertainty, he hadn’t either.

When Jack glanced at him, Kit cut in, “And you needn’t look to Tony for support.” She fixed her violet eyes on him. “He already owes Leonora and me a favor. A very telltale favor.”

In her eyes, he read a threat of doom should he fail to capitulate. He sighed and glanced at Jack. “I was going to suggest the club, but let’s make it my library. What time?”

Jack humphed. “I’ll send word first thing in the morning, once I know what I’ve managed to find.”

Kit beamed at them both. “See? It doesn’t hurt.”

Jack snorted. Tony fought down a grin. He chatted for a while, then headed back up the ballroom to Alicia, still safe within Adriana’s circle.

Which circle was growing less and less intent as more of those aspiring to Adriana’s attention vis à vis claiming her hand took note of the glances she shared with Geoffrey, and sloped off to pay court to someone else. One gentleman who remained apparently oblivious of the clear firming of Adriana’s intention was Sir Freddie Caudel.

As he drew near, Tony wondered if Sir Freddie was biding his time, perhaps thinking to give Adriana more experience of the ton before making his offer, or if he was instead merely using her as a convenient and unthreatening excuse to avoid all other possible candidates. If the man hadn’t spoken yet…but then, he himself and Geoffrey were of a more direct generation.

Sir Freddie had been conversing with Alicia. He saw Tony approaching, smiled benignly, and excused himself as Tony joined her.

She turned to him, raised a brow. Wariness showed behind the green of her eyes; with an easy smile, he claimed her hand, set it on his sleeve, and inquired if she’d like to stroll.

She agreed, and they did. Because of the many eyes fixed on them courtesy of the story on so many lips, it was impossible to slip away. Resigned, he reminded himself of the true purpose behind their evening’s endeavors and conducted her to chat with the next fashionable lady waiting to have her say.

They caught up with his godmother in the Athelstans’ ballroom. Dispatched to fetch refreshments, he left Alicia seated on the chaise beside Lady Amery and shouldered his way into the crowd.

Alicia watched him go, then drew breath and turned to Lady Amery. “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, ma’am, but I need advice, and as the person most nearly concerned is Torrington…”

She and Lady Amery were alone on the small chaise; there was no one else close enough to hear—and she might never have another such opportunity to ask the one person in London who held Tony’s welfare closest to her heart.

Lady Amery had turned to her; now she smiled radiantly. Reaching for Alicia’s hands, she clasped them in hers. “My dear, I’d be delighted to help in any way I can.”

Alicia steeled herself to see that sentiment change in the next minutes. Lifting her head, she confessed, “Torrington has asked that I and my household move into his house in Upper Brook Street—his widowed cousin and her daughters will be staying there, too.”

Lady Amery’s gaze grew distant as she considered, then she refocused on Alicia’s face. “Bon. Yes, I can see that that would be much more comfortable, especially for him, what with this latest brouhaha.” Her eyes twinkled, then, reading Alicia’s troubled expression, she grew serious. “But you do not wish this? Would it be difficult to move to Upper Brook Street?”

Alicia stared into her ladyship’s transparently sincere eyes. Blinked. “No…that is…” She dragged in a breath. “I just don’t want to do anything to give the gossips food for slander—I don’t want inadvertently to do anything to damage his name or his standing.”

Lady Amery’s concerned expression dissolved into smiles. She patted Alicia’s hand. “It is very right that you think of such things—such sentiments do you credit—but I assure you in this case, there is nothing to concern you. The ton understands such matters—oui, vraiment.” She nodded encouragingly. “There will be no adverse repercussions to your moving to Upper Brook Street in such circumstances.”

The assurance with which she made the statement put the matter beyond argument.

Her expression easing, the weight on her shoulders lightening, Alicia smiled and let herself accept it. Despite her worries, her reservations, everyone—absolutely everyone—insisted Tony’s suggestion was not only sound, but an outcome to be desired.

Despite that… she said nothing when he returned bearing glasses of champagne. Lady Amery claimed his attention and chatted animatedly about shared acquaintances, to Alicia’s relief making no allusion to their discussion or her advice.

Finally, the long evening drew to a close, and they headed home. Geoffrey held to his new habit and accompanied them to their door; Tony, as usual, stayed with them beyond it.

In her bedchamber, they undressed—in silence. She felt herself tensing, waiting for him to ask her again, to press his case… instead, he said nothing. She climbed into the big bed; he pinched out the candle, and joined her beneath the covers.

He reached for her, drew her to him, then hesitated. In the dimness, he looked at her face. “You’re still considering?”

There was no hint of a frown, of irritation or impatience in his voice; he simply wanted to know.

“Yes.” She held his gaze. “But I haven’t yet made up my mind.”

She felt him sigh, then he tightened his hold on her, lowered his head. “We can discuss it in the morning.”

When she awoke the next morning, however, he’d already left her bed. She lay staring at the canopy as minutes, then half an hour ticked by, then she sighed and rose.

Washed, gowned, her hair severely coiled, she headed downstairs.

Pausing in the doorway of the dining parlor, she studied the back of Tony’s broad shoulders; she wasn’t surprised to find him there, in the chair at the end of the table.

Her brothers saw her and turned; Tony glanced around and rose as she entered. Going past him, she waved him back to his seat, exchanged greetings with her brothers and Adriana—then, to Adriana’s amusement, remembered to bid their guest a good morning, too.

He returned it with aplomb, recommending the kedgeree. She poured herself a cup of tea, then rose and crossed to the sideboard. She made her selections, all the while conscious of her brothers’ whispers, of the anticipation welling, notch by notch, around the table.

Calmly, she returned to her chair, set down her plate, then sat, thanking Maggs, who held the chair for her.

That done, she picked up her fork—and looked around the table.

At four pairs of expectant eyes. And one black gaze she couldn’t read.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled. “All right. We’ll move to Torrington House.”

Her brothers cheered; Adriana beamed.

She looked down at her plate, poked at the pile of kedgeree on it. “But only when Lord Torrington’s cousin is ready to receive us.”

The cheering didn’t abate, instead it broke up into excited speculation, mixed with whispered plans. She glanced at her brothers, then looked at Tony.

Raised a brow.

Tony knew better than to allow his satisfaction, let alone its depth, to show; looking down the table, holding Alicia’s gaze, he inclined his head. “I’ll send word when Miranda is recovered from her journey and ready to meet you.”

Knowing Miranda, he predicted that would be about ten minutes after she arrived.