Part 11 (1/2)

And far too clever to dally with a man like Radington. How could he have been so stupid? Beryl was absolutely right. Evie would never have an affair with a man of Radington's reputation. She would choose better than that.

Not that she had chosen. Not that she was doing anything untoward at all. Not that this wasn't entirely in his own imagination fueled by nothing save a certain preoccupation in her manner. He was making something out of nothing. He knew it and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself. He should stop this nonsense right now. Doubt fueled by jealousy and the fear of losing what he cherished most was far too powerful to overcome with mere reason. Still, hadn't he made enough of a fool out of himself already?

Apparently not. It was past time to get to the bottom of this.

He stalked into his house, barely pausing to hand his hat and coat to Stewart, the butler. ”Is Lady Waterston at home?”

The servant shook his head. ”No, my lord. I believe I heard something mentioned about afternoon tea but I-”

”Hah.” Adrian glared at the poor man. ”From now on there shall be no going out for afternoon tea.”

”Yes, my lord.” Stewart stared.

”We have perfectly good tea right here.”

”Indeed we do, my lord,” the butler said quickly. ”And as Miss DeRochette did not accompany Lady Waterston, I a.s.sume tea was not involved after all.”

”Excellent,” he snapped and headed toward Evie's parlor. ”Is Miss DeRochette in Lady Waterston's parlor?”

”Yes, my lord,” Stewart called after him. No doubt the man was even now resisting the urge to follow to discover what had put his lords.h.i.+p in such a rare, foul mood.

He flung open the door to Evie's private parlor. Miss DeRochette jumped up from her seat behind the ladies' desk that was her domain in the house. ”Where is she, Miss DeRochette?”

Her eyes widened. ”My lord?”

”My wife. Where is my wife?”

She stared. ”She had some calls to make, my lord. And she was going to stop at the milliner's and select some fabric, and stop at a bookseller's-”

A lesser man might have shown some outward expression of the realization that struck him with the force of a bullet.

”A bookseller's?” he said slowly. ”Hatchard's?”

He should have seen it from the beginning. Love certainly did muck up a rational man's mind.

”No, sir.” She shook her head. ”Fenwick and Sons.”

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he was indeed an idiot.

Part Two.

Deception.

The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.

-Oscar Wilde.

Chapter 9.

”You simply must take your husband in hand.”

”I what?” Evelyn stared in confusion and a fair amount of disbelief.

She had not yet recovered from the shock of Lady Dunwell calling on her. The woman had swept into Evelyn's parlor with the single-minded determination of a hound with the scent of fox in his nose. Evelyn couldn't recall the last time she had been at a loss for words, but Lady Dunwell's presence had done just that. Had Lady Dunwell accused her of searching her library or suspecting Lord Dunwell of nefarious acts, Evelyn could have responded with an appropriate comment. That she was at least somewhat prepared for. But as relieved as she was that Lady Dunwell's visit had nothing to do with Evelyn's a.s.signment, this demand of the woman's left her unable to do little more than stare.

Lady Dunwell rolled her gaze toward the ceiling in exasperation. ”I said you must do something about your husband.” She sank dramatically into one of two matching blue brocade ladies' chairs. ”He is not in his right mind.”

”I beg your pardon,” Evelyn said indignantly and sat on the edge of the peach-colored sofa, which nicely matched the chairs in style. ”My husband is not mad. Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

”Perhaps out of his mind is an exaggeration on my part.” Lady Dunwell heaved a theatrical sigh. ”Do forgive me but surely you can understand my concern.”

”No, I can't.” Evelyn drew her brows together. ”I understand neither your concern nor why you're here. Why are you here?”

Lady Dunwell narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ”He didn't tell you?”

”Tell me what?”

”No, I suppose he wouldn't. The embarra.s.sment, no doubt. Men like Lord Waterston do so hate to admit when they're wrong. Still, I did have the impression that you were one of those annoying couples who share things that are probably best not shared.”

”We are.” Evelyn glared. ”And what was he wrong about?”

Lady Dunwell considered her for a moment. ”May I be completely candid?”

”Can you be?” Evelyn said in a tone harder than she had intended.

”Oh my.” It was Lady Dunwell's turn to stare. ”You're a bit sharper than I had expected. I had always thought you were fairly docile.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. ”Appearances can be deceiving.”

”So it would seem. I might have misjudged you.” She studied Evelyn curiously. ”Oh, certainly you had something of a reputation before your marriage, but it was never especially scandalous or interesting. And since your marriage, you have been the epitome of propriety.”

”Thank you.”

”It was not intended as a compliment.”

”Yes, I know.” Evelyn adopted her most pleasant smile.

Lady Dunwell's eyes widened and then a touch of what might have been an admiring smile curved the corners of her lips. She drew a deep breath. ”Do I have your word you will keep this entirely between us? Except for Adrian, of course. You will want to speak to him. But will you a.s.sure me this will go no farther?”

”Yes, I suppose.” What on earth did the woman want?

”Then that will have to do.” Lady Dunwell paused to pull her thoughts together. ”Yesterday afternoon, I was, oh, shall we say, having tea, privately, with a friend at the Langham, when your husband burst in upon us.”

Evelyn drew her brows together. ”Why would he interrupt your tea?”