To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(37)

They were silent for a moment.

Then Beatrice said, “There’s a portrait of Lord Hope that hangs in the sitting room of Blanchard House. It’s always been there, ever since I arrived when I was nineteen. I think it must’ve been painted when he was about the age you speak of. He’s so handsome and looks so lighthearted. I used to think he was hiding a mischievous thought when he was painted. I confess I’ve spent hours staring at that painting. It rather fascinated me.” She felt Lady Vale turn and look at her and knew she was blushing. “You must think me a fool.”

“Not at all,” the other lady said gently. “Merely a romantic.”

“But you see, since Lord Hope’s return . . .” She had to pause and swallow because her throat had tightened. “He was captured and held by Indians. Did you know?”

“No, I did not,” the other woman murmured.

Beatrice nodded, taking a deep breath. “I don’t see anything of that young boy in him anymore—the laughing boy in the painting. The things that happened to him in the Colonies were so very terrible that they changed him. He’s grim now. Intent only on regaining his title. It’s as if he’s forgotten what he was before, as if he’s forgotten how to enjoy life.”

Lady Vale sighed. “My husband was in that war as well. He is quite merry on the outside, but inside there are wounds, believe me.”

Beatrice thought about that. “But Lord Vale seems more free somehow. He is happy, isn’t he?”

“I think so.” Lady Vale smiled a secret smile. “But you comprehend that Lord Vale returned from the Colonies nearly seven years ago, while Lord Hope has only now come home. You must allow him time, I think.”

“I suppose so,” Beatrice said doubtfully. It was true that Lord Hope was still adjusting to his return, but would time truly heal him? Would he become more lighthearted, or had his experience seared him so deeply he was changed forever? She thought of something else. “Does Lord Vale truly think Lord Hope betrayed their regiment?”

“What?”

Beatrice turned to look at Lady Vale. The hallway was dim, but the lady’s eyes seemed puzzled. “Lord Hope said that when your husband came to visit him last week, Lord Vale accused him of being the traitor who betrayed their regiment at Spinner’s Falls.”

“Surely not!”

“I do assure you.”

Lady Vale sighed. “Gentlemen sometimes do not seem able to express themselves properly, and I must admit that my husband, though he loves to talk, is not always effective in communicating. He’s never thought Lord Hope could be the traitor.”

“Really?” Relief swept through her.

“Yes,” Lady Vale said with certainty. “But the problem is, if Lord Hope has gotten the notion that my husband distrusts him, it may be rather hard to dispel the thought.”

“Oh, dear,” Beatrice murmured. “Gentlemen can be so boneheaded sometimes, can’t they? What if they can’t work it out?”

The other lady looked grave. “Then I fear it may be the end of their long friendship.”

“And Lord Hope needs a friend very much right now,” Beatrice whispered.

“BEWARE,” REYNAUD GROWLED. “I’ve lived too long away from society. I no longer bother calling out a man who insults me.”

“When have I insulted you?” Vale hissed. “’Twas you who hit me, man!”

They still stood almost in the middle of the damned ballroom, and if they talked too loud, they risked causing a scene. He was already the object of curious scrutiny. If he lost control here, in the midst of his aunt’s ball, it would do irreparable harm to his cause.

Cold sweat slid down his back, but Reynaud still bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “I struck you because you had the damnable gall to accuse me of betraying our regiment.”

“I did not.”

“You most certainly did.”

“I did—” Vale cut himself off to breathe forcefully through his nostrils. “We sound like lads nearly come to blows over sweetmeats.”

“Huh,” Reynaud grunted, looking away. He felt an unaccountable urge to shuffle his feet.

For a moment, both men stood silent, the chatter of the crowd rising around them.

Vale laughed under his breath. “Remember when we stole those strawberry tarts from the cook at my father’s house?”

Reynaud raised an eyebrow. “I do. We were caught and whipped.”

“Which never would’ve happened had you not decided we should hide in the dovecote.”

“Nonsense.” Reynaud’s lips twitched. “It would’ve been a perfect hiding place had you not laughed and scared all the doves, which gave away our position to those outside.”

“At least we gobbled the tarts before they discovered us.” Vale sighed. “I never meant to accuse you, Reynaud.”

Reynaud nodded once, curtly. “What did you mean to say, then?”

“Walk with me.”

Reynaud raised an eyebrow at the order but fell into step with his boyhood friend without protest.

“I hear there was an attempt on your life last week,” Vale said in a low voice.

“Someone shot at me, certainly.” Reynaud frowned. “Miss Corning was in the line of fire.”