In the Arms of a Marquess(20)

Of course he did. “Perhaps he is an eccentric. They say very wealthy men can be peculiar.”

“Yes.” Alethea cast her a sidelong glance. “They say that about my husband as well.”

“But you don’t care a whit about it. Neither does St. John. Perhaps Lord Doreé is the same.” Tavy tried to smile, but her lips quivered. She had never spoken of him aloud before, except that one morning, to her aunt.

“Perhaps,” Alethea considered.

“He was at Lady Ashford’s party tonight.”

Alethea’s head came around. “Really? St. John and I left early, of course. Did you—”

“We spoke.”

“Good heavens. What is he like?”

“He was civil.” And beautiful. And confusing. And everything she had feared. And she could barely breathe thinking of it.

“St. John says he seems a perfectly unexceptionable person, despite his great fortune and recluse ways. But you know, it is a trial to try to wrest detailed commentary from my husband. He does not see people in quite the same way most do.” Alethea shrugged and smiled, her eyes tender.

“St. John is a good man.” Tavy squeezed her sister’s hand. “And isn’t it lovely that you can remain at home happily with me and Jacob while he goes to discover the mystery of this shooting party?”

“There is the trouble. I was included in the invitation.”

“To a shooting party?” The heart thump rattled her again, pleasure mingling with discomfort beneath her ribs. Sheer foolishness she must learn to control. Again.

“Odd, isn’t it? But there you have it. The marquess must be an eccentric, after all.” Alethea chuckled. “Although he is rather young for one. I do not think he is above thirty.”

Thirty in December.

“Well, you needn’t go.” Tavy’s throat stuck. “St. John will understand.”

“But I feel that I should. If other wives are to be there, I cannot leave St. John alone. It would not be fair to him.”

Tavy’s gaze swung to her sister’s. “Jacob is only—”

“A month old, I know. I will not abandon him, of course.”

“Alethea, you can barely part with him for five minutes yet you expect to leave him with Nurse during hours of entertainment?”

“Not exactly.” Her sister’s green-gray eyes entreated.

Tavy’s stomach tightened. “Thea, I—”

“Nurse will be there, and she is quite good, but I would be so much more comfortable if you were with me.”

“You will have St. John.” Her heart raced, the panic spreading beneath her skin much thicker than before. “You do not need me. This is ridiculous.”

“Rather, it is my wretched nerves. St. John will be out and about with the gentlemen, and I am torn between my loyalty to him and this perfect little creature. If you come, my absence amongst the wives at times will not be so marked, and I will not be so distressed.”

Tavy peered at her sister’s pleading eyes and a surge of warmth rose in her, overpowering the alarm. She drew in a breath and slid her arm around Alethea’s waist again.

“You recovered so swiftly from your confinement, I think we all have forgotten how recent it was, and how difficult the journey was for you.”

“Then you will come?”

“I will if you wish it.”

His party could prove useful. She could not ask the gentlemen point-blank if they knew Marcus’s blackmailer. But traders’ wives sometimes knew more than their husbands realized. Merely sister to a trader, Tavy herself knew more about the Marquess of Doreé than any of them would even begin to imagine.

But that meant nothing in any way that mattered. She would go to his house but she would avoid conversation with him, thereby avoiding confusion. And if every time she caught a glimpse of him her heartbeat sped and her blood warmed, that would simply be her punishment for being such a fool once.

Ben took his head between his hands and tried to focus on the rough surface of the table inches from his face. To no success. The clamor of coarse male voices and equally unrefined female ejaculations combined with the agitated sawing of a fiddle racketed through his brain, halting thought.

But dulled thought was precisely what he had sought here. He couldn’t remember how he ended up on a bench surrounded by dockworkers and sailors, nor could he really recall anything for quite some hours, except the desperate need to forget. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sank them into his hair, the haze thickening.

“Poor ducky.” A woman’s cool, callused fingers passed over his brow. “I’ll wager you ain’t been in such a state in a month of me pa’s sober days. Not here, leastways.”

“Does she truly not understand, Lil?” he uttered to the tabletop. “Could she be so na?ve, or is it lies?”

“Who’s that, love?”

He swung his head around and made out the moll’s rounded features. “She has no idea.”

“Then she’s a fool, whoever she is.” Lil pursed her full lips and ran her hand down his neck and back. “Forget about her and come give Lily a cuddle.” She twined her arm around his waist.

He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to forget for years. Can’t seem to. But thank you for the invitation.”