to attack anyone, at least not directly.” He glanced at her; she was looking ahead, as yet unmollified, but at least she was listening. “Regardless, even if Gallagher had lived in Chelsea, you still couldn’t have gone to meet him because of the risk of someone seeing you and speaking of it, ultimately resulting in a serious scandal. That-the threat to your reputation-was the reason, all physical danger aside, that you couldn’t go with me to meet Gallagher.
“The reason you can’t go to the meeting with Roscoe is the same-if anything, even more so. If you were seen entering or leaving his house, regardless of the circumstances, your reputation would be shredded irretrievably.” That caused her frown-the quality of it-to change. His eyes on her face, what he could see of it, he strolled slowly on. “Roscoe lives in Pimlico, in well-to-do affluence. If Gallagher was unlikely to pose a physical threat, Roscoe is even less likely-that would be totally and comprehensively uncharacteristic. Roscoe would think it beneath him to resort to violence of any sort.”
He drew breath, then quietly said, “So you don’t need to worry about me when I go to see him.”
She didn’t say anything, simply kept walking by his side. Then she glanced at him, quickly read his eyes, then once more looked ahead. And sighed-tightly, but a little of her dangerous tension slipped away. “I know it’s irrational-you don’t have to tell me, I
“It affects you strongly.” Raising her hand, he kissed her fingers. “I know. I understand.” She wouldn’t feel so powerfully unless she loved him even more powerfully.
He knew those feeling irrational fears couldn’t simply stop. And in her case, before, his “going into danger” had indeed been the prelude to something disastrous happening in her life; small wonder that she reacted badly to any such situation now.
“Tomorrow, I’ll go to see Roscoe with Dalziel and Justin in the morning, then I’ll come back-directly back-and tell you what happens, what he says, what we learn-what the status is regarding the sale of the company.”
The telltale tension that had kept her ramrod stiff beside him ebbed step by step. Eventually she glanced at him, met his eyes. “You promise you’ll come directly back?”
He smiled slightly, turned her around and started them back toward Piccadilly. “Word of an Allardyce.”
She nodded and looked ahead. “Good.” After a moment she added, “I’ll be waiting.”
But that was for the morrow. That night they met at his aunt Cordelia’s house, first in her drawing room, then later they sat side by side at her long table while a highly select company dined.
It was primarily a political gathering, a renewal of contacts before the autumn session got under way; discussions ranged widely. Now he was Dearne, and fixed once more at home, Christian knew he would need to take a more active interest. Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered Letitia was more than qualified to advise him.
When he cocked a brow at her-Randall had held no seat in either the Commons or the Lords-she shrugged. “I act as Papa’s surrogate of sorts. I keep an eye on events, and if I tell him his vote is needed, he’ll grumble but come down to cast it. These days Justin could do the job, but with their falling out, the task has remained with me.” She glanced around the table. The ladies had yet to retire, primarily because they were, one and all, too deeply involved in the discussions going on. “It’s at events such as this that one hears the true story. Not just what the news sheets say, not just what the Prime Minister might decree, but the true nature of affairs underlying the decisions, or forming the basis for those yet to come.”
She looked back at him. “Do you plan to be active in Parliament?”
He met her gaze. “Until I know more, I can’t say, but…if one holds a seat in the Lords by virtue of one’s birth, it seems incumbent on one to do what the job requires-just like any other part of the duties of a marquess.”
She considered him for a moment, then nodded. Looking about the table, she murmured, “In that case, you might want to consider…”
Over the next twenty minutes, she gave him a concise political history of those about the table, the ladies included. With the discussions still raging, Cordelia dispensed with the customary separation and the whole company rose and adjourned to the drawing room.
They circulated, then Cordelia swooped, captured Letitia and bore her off to clarify some point with two other ladies-leaving Christian to fall victim to Lady Osbaldestone.
Watching Letitia’s back-wondering if, once they left, he could persuade her to walk across the square rather than around the corner into South Audley Street-he didn’t even know that terrifying dame had him in her sights until he felt something strike his foot. Glancing down, he discovered it was her cane; he looked up and met her eyes, blacker than night, sharp and shrewd.
“You could do much worse,” she regally informed him, “than to follow what is clearly your inclination. Indeed, there are many of us who view Letitia’s previous marriage as a regrettable if unavoidable aberration, one that should be wiped from the collective conscious of the ton.” Her eyes bored into his. “We’re counting on you to accomplish that task. See you don’t let us down.”
With that, she inclined her head and moved on to her next target.
Letitia reappeared moments later. “Lady Osbaldestone said you were looking for me.”
He’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Indeed. I think we should leave. There’s something I should tell you, but not here.”
She agreed readily enough. They took their leave of Cordelia-who to Christian’s alerted eyes looked far too satisfied-then walked out into the night.
Once they’d gained the pavement, Letitia wrapped her shawl more snugly about her shoulders. “What did you want to tell me?”
Christian took her hand and drew her to walk beside him. He crossed the street and headed around the deserted square; the gates to the park in the center were locked at sunset. “Did you know that some of the ladies-who exactly, I don’t know, but Lady Osbaldestone at least-suspect you had some…for want of a better word, ulterior motive for marrying Randall?”
He glanced at her, saw the face she pulled. “I always worried they might-they’re so sharp-eyed, nothing much escapes them-but while Randall was alive, they kept their suspicions to themselves. I’d hoped they would continue to do so.”
“They are, they will…I think.” They would as long as he did as they wished.
“I gather she spoke to you-what did she say?”
“In her usual inimitable fashion she was cryptic, but I gathered she and they, whoever ‘they’ encompasses, were not at all happy about you marrying Randall.”
“They weren’t. But now he’s dead, so…” She shrugged. Frowning, eyes down, she kept pace beside him.
They’d reached the other side of the square. He led her up his steps, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for his latch key.
Only when they halted before the door did she look up and realize.
“This is your house.” Letitia looked at Christian.
He shrugged. “My bed’s bigger than yours.”
An unarguable point.
When he simply held her gaze, and waited, she inwardly shrugged. She waved to the door. “All right. Just as long as you remember to wake me up in time to walk me home.”
He smiled and opened the door. The truth was, she felt more comfortable there, in his house, than she ever had in Randall’s. And she had far greater faith in Percival’s discretion than she had in Mellon’s.
As it transpired, Percival wasn’t there to greet them.
Christian noticed her looking down the front hall. “I told Percival not to wait up.”
Of course he had. She caught his gaze as he drew her to the stairs. “You planned this-bringing me here.”
“Of course.” He looked ahead as they started climbing. “I told you there was something I wanted to tell you, and I can only tell you that here. Upstairs.”
She arched her brows, but he didn’t meet her gaze again, didn’t add anything as he led her to his bedroom.
He didn’t, in fact, say another word. Not for a very long time.
Instead he spoke with actions, more persuasive than any words could ever be. Both in the way his hands drifted over her body, reverently, worshipfully, in the way he reined in his desire enough to let her take the lead, for
