The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(31)
Instead they talked about Percy’s life, politics, the weather, and India, though Henderson did not go into detail about the famine. The truth was, Henderson wanted to forget about the suffering for a time. A note had been forwarded to him with his luggage from Lord Berkley, setting up a meeting the following day. He would save his thoughts of India for that meeting; this night was for drinking and laughing with an old friend.
He had said a good night to Percy and was about to walk through the door when Sebastian Turner—one of the men who had been there that fateful night—entered the pub. Henderson recognized him immediately and was tempted to pretend he didn’t see him, but Sebastian, after a double take, greeted him with far more enthusiasm than Henderson felt.
“My God, Henderson. What are you doing in St. Ives? Come sit and catch up.”
The two men sat at the very same table Henderson had just vacated, and after giving the other man a brief accounting of his time in St. Ives, Sebastian sat back and shook his head in wonder. “I cannot believe you are here. How long has it…” His voice trailed off as he realized precisely how long it had been. “Ah, that night.”
Sebastian stared at his tankard of beer for a long moment. “A hellish time, wasn’t it? Tristan is dead, you know. Two years ago. Hunting accident, apparently.”
“No, I didn’t know.” Tristan had been part of their small group, and had been Sebastian’s closest friend. But the five of them—Joseph, Henderson, Tristan, Sebastian, and Gerald—had spent a lot of time together at Oxford, carousing and generally raising hell. Now, two of their group were dead. It was difficult to comprehend. “I’m sorry.”
Sebastian shrugged, but Henderson saw a deep pain in the other man’s eyes before he took a long drink of his beer. “I was wondering,” he said, staring into his beer, “did Joseph ever mention a Mr. Stewart?”
Henderson thought back and couldn’t recall such a conversation. “I don’t believe so, but he may have.”
An odd smile crossed Sebastian’s face. “You would have remembered. Just wondering.”
The conversation turned to other things, their exploits, the women, and they drew more than one patron’s attention with their laughter.
“We’ll get together again before I leave for India, shall we? I’m staying at the Hubbards’—Lady Hubbard insisted—and I dare not be too late.” Henderson stood and shook the other man’s hand. “It was good to see you, Sebastian.”
“Likewise.” He grinned suddenly. “I’m getting married, you know. In November. Do you remember Cecelia Whitemore?”
“Of course. Congratulations. I haven’t gone down that road yet.”
“I am running down that road, Mr. Southwell.”
Henderson let out a chuckle. “So it’s like that, is it?”
His grin widened. “It is.”
Henderson left the pub feeling a bit melancholy. It has been grand seeing Sebastian, even though talking with him brought back painful memories, but it had also been shocking to hear another of his friends had died. Though he was feeling a bit of the effects of alcohol, by the time he reached Tregrennar, he was quite sober—a good thing, too, for the minute he walked in the door he noticed a dim light showing beneath the library door, which could mean only one thing: Alice was waiting for him.
“Hell,” he whispered, staring at the thin bit of light. Just seeing it, knowing she was there curled up in a chair with a book, probably wearing her nightgown and a robe, was enough to make him ache. God, he wanted her.
To subject himself to the torture of being in the same room as Alice, knowing the only thing that separated him from her naked flesh was two thin layers of fabric, was enough to drive him mad. He stood there, hearing only his breath and the soft clicking of a hall clock, and stared at that light, feeling the heavy weight of his arousal. Suddenly the light was doused, and he was caught in the middle of the wide hallway with nowhere to go and certainly not enough time to make his escape before the door opened and…
She appeared before his muddled mind could decide whether he should run or hide, and so he was left standing there stupidly. “Alice.”
She let out a sound. “My goodness, Henderson, I didn’t see you there.”
“I thought not, and I didn’t want to startle you. But it seems I did in any case.” He grinned, even knowing it was too dark for her to see.
“I was going to retire. Are you just getting home?”
“I am. I saw the light and…well…” He bent his head, feeling foolish. “I was trying to decide whether or not I should go in.”
Even in the darkness, he could see her tilt her head. “Was it such a difficult decision?”
“I’m tired and I know how you can talk,” he said, teasing her because he certainly couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t go in because if I did I knew I would do something very foolish. And very wonderful.
“Come on, then. I need to tell you about the last four years and it may take a while.” She turned around and walked back into the library, sure he would follow. And after the smallest hesitation, he did, vowing he would not do what he wanted to do even if it killed him.
He nearly groaned aloud when she lit a small lamp, for her hair was in a thick braid down her back, and she was, indeed, wearing only a nightgown and robe. And why not? She thought of him as a brother. It irked him, to be honest, that she could be so na?ve as to think he didn’t want to ravish her, didn’t realize it took a hellish effort not to go up behind her and draw her against him so she could feel just how aroused he was.