The Duke of Ruin (The Untouchables Book 8) Page 4

  “Fantastical?” He stroked his chin. “I’d thought we could simply say we were introduced by a common friend and decided to wed, but I suppose we could concoct a more amusing story.” His eyes lit. “I know—you left your fiancé at the altar and ran off with his best friend.” He laughed.

  She stared at him, uncertain of whether to laugh or cry. She managed to say, “That’s a bit too close for my comfort.”

  He sobered immediately. “Yes, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Later, perhaps, you’ll laugh about it.”

  Laugh at being thrown over by a duke because he loved someone else? She could laugh, but she wasn’t sure it came from being amused. More like feeling powerless. How she hated that sensation after enduring it about every aspect of her life for as long as she could remember. She lifted her chin. “You’ve loved me for years and finally persuaded me to marry you.”

  He took a step toward her, his gaze sharpening on hers. “I could believe that might be true.”

  What was he doing, flirting with her? “But it isn’t.”

  “It’ll be fun pretending it is.” He gave her a devilish smile that made her insides pitch like the time she’d ridden in a high-perch phaeton.

  Fun? Pretending to be married? To him?

  If things had gone as planned, she would be well on her way to being married. Granted, to someone else, but surely she could pretend for one evening.

  Of course she could. She’d mastered the art of living a lie, of feigning interest when there was none, of displaying joy that didn’t exist. Tonight would be no different.

  Chapter 3

  Excusing himself from their room so Miss Kingman could perform a toilette in private, Simon made his way downstairs to the dining room where Mrs. Watt had laid out a rather impressive table setting for such a small inn.

  Once she’d reminded him that he’d been there before, he vaguely remembered visiting last summer on his travels. He remembered Mrs. Watt’s enthusiasm and a particularly succulent pheasant.

  The innkeeper came into the dining room at that moment, as if summoned by Simon’s thoughts. “Good evening, Mr. Byrd,” he said jovially. “May I interest you in a cup of ale?”

  “No, thank you. Tea, if it’s not too much trouble. And a glass of wine for my wife, if you have one.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “I see there are five seats at the table,” Simon noted. “Will you and Mrs. Watt be joining us?”

  “Oh yes. Mrs. Watt is quite keen to hear how you and Mrs. Byrd met. I’ll apologize for her now—she’s excessively romantic, the silly woman. Our other guest will also be in attendance. An older fellow, Mr. Alby.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I’ll just fetch the drinks.” Mr. Watt bobbed his head and took himself off.

  Simon went to the window and looked out into the dark yard. Their travel days were short due to the abbreviated daylight, but they’d been blessed by clear weather so far. One could only hope that would continue.

  It had only been a day, but he’d enjoyed spending time with Miss Kingman. They’d read and dozed in the coach, and their conversation had kept entirely to what they were reading, the weather, and the difficulties of traveling. He longed to ask more intimate questions, such as why—specifically—she felt the need to run from her father, but expected there’d be plenty of time for that. He wondered if she felt the same. Was she burning to ask him about his horrid reputation? He couldn’t blame her and acknowledged that he’d likely have to share something.

  “Good evening.” The arrival of the other guest—Mr. Alby—interrupted Simon’s thoughts. Mr. Alby, leaning on a cane as he made his way into the dining room, was perhaps nearing seventy. Spectacles perched on his bulbous nose and white, bushy brows peeked over the top of the silver rims.

  “Good evening. I’m Byrd.” Simon offered his hand but belatedly realized Alby was using his to hold on to his cane.

  The older man raised his left hand instead for an awkward, but firm handshake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I understand your wife will also be joining us.”

  “Indeed she will.” He moved to one of the chairs and held it out. “May I help you get settled?”

  “Very kind of you, my boy,” Alby said, pitching himself into the chair with a subtle “Oof.” He leaned his cane against the table.

  The rustle of a skirt drew Simon to turn back to the doorway. Miss Kingman was still dressed in her traveling costume, but she’d removed the matching hat and discarded her gloves. Her dark hair was knotted into a simple bun at the back of her head, but she’d teased a few strands to curl about her face. Well, not curl exactly, but wave gently. She was incomparably fetching, even though she’d slept in that dress. What would she sleep in tonight, he wondered?

  Hell, he shouldn’t think of things like that when they were in company. Why, because he might become aroused? He didn’t do that anymore. Rather, he hadn’t until he’d kissed the woman standing in front of him at that house party. She’d reawakened the man buried inside the shell he’d become, and now he was to spend days on end with her without a chaperone. And he had to pretend to be infatuated with her.

  No, that wouldn’t be difficult. She breathed a life into him he’d long forgotten, and he’d take it. If only for a short time.

  He smiled at her and moved to take her hand, guiding her into the room. The moment their bare flesh connected, awareness tingled through him. “Here’s my wife. Mrs. Byrd, allow me to present Mr. Alby. Mr. Alby, this is Mrs. Byrd.”

  Miss Kingman let go of his hand—disappointingly—and dipped a brief curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Alby.”

  Mr. Watt came in then, carrying a tray with their drinks. “Well, good evening, Mrs. Byrd! Dinner is just about ready.” He unloaded the tray onto the table, setting Miss Kingman’s wineglass at the seat across from Mr. Alby. He set the teapot and cup in front of the seat beside hers. Then he turned to Mr. Alby. “May I bring you some ale or Madeira? The latter is what I’ve delivered for Mrs. Byrd.”

  “Ale, thank you.”

  With a nod, Mr. Watt departed once more.

  Simon held Miss Kingman’s chair out as she sank onto the cushion, then pushed her toward the table before taking his own seat.

  Alby blinked at him from behind his spectacles. “Is the tea for you, Byrd?”

  “It is.” Simon picked up the teapot and poured the brew into his cup.

  Alby turned his head to Miss Kingman. “Is your husband ill? Or do you forbid him from drink?”

  Miss Kingman shot him a look of alarm. Perhaps he should’ve prepared her for this. It hadn’t even occurred to him. Hell, what else hadn’t occurred to him? Maybe this would be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

  “I don’t take spirits,” Simon said smoothly. “I prefer to keep a clear head at all times.”

  Alby looked horrified. “No ale or wine or spirits of any kind?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Bloody strange,” Alby muttered as he shook his head.

  Miss Kingman lifted her glass to take a sip and peered sideways at Simon, her gaze curious. He busied himself with drinking his tea and was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Mrs. Watt.

  She bustled in with a tray of food and went about setting it on the table.

  “I don’t suppose you’re serving pheasant?” Simon asked hopefully.

  Mrs. Watt’s face fell. “I’m afraid not. It’s beef.”

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Simon rushed to say, not wishing her to feel bad.

  She brightened. “There are turnips and fresh-baked bread, as well as some greens. Oh, and the sauce. Mr. Watt makes an excellent mushroom sauce.”

  He arrived again then, bearing another tray with Alby’s ale and other dishes for the table, as well as a bottle of wine and two empty glasses, likely for them. Mr. and Mrs. Watt set to serving everyone from the dishes they’d brought to the table.

  Miss Kingman looked at him, her gaze reflecting sur
prise and uncertainty. Yes, he should have prepared her for this type of meal as well. She likely hadn’t ever dined in this fashion. So far, he wasn’t much of a husband.

  “Do tell us how you came to be wed,” Mrs. Watt said as she went around the table pouring sauce on everyone’s beef. She looked at Miss Kingman. “You made an excellent catch. I’m sure there were several broken hearts in your wake, Mr. Byrd.”

  “Not very many,” he said. “Or perhaps none at all. I really can’t say. I paid no attention to anyone save my lovely wife. For years and years. Until she finally agreed to marry me.”

  Mrs. Watt sat down at the end of the table, next to Miss Kingman, and blinked at the younger woman. “Whyever did you make him wait?” She looked utterly incredulous, and Simon might have found it amusing if he wasn’t tensely awaiting Miss Kingman’s response. He hoped she wasn’t put out by all this, but it was necessary to maintain their ruse.

  Miss Kingman gave her a placid smile. “He’s a bit older than me, as you can tell. I simply wished to wait until I felt I was ready for the marital estate.” She turned her head to Simon and fluttered her lashes demurely. “Mr. Byrd was kind enough to be patient,” she said softly.

  “I had no choice. There is simply no other woman in the world for me.”

  Miss Kingman’s eyes widened briefly, and Simon suspected he’d gone a touch too far. Ah well, it would please Mrs. Watt.

  “How romantic,” she said.

  “Indeed it is,” Mr. Alby said quietly, surprising Simon, and apparently everyone else since they all directed their attention at him. “I recently lost my wife. We were married for forty-eight years. There was no other woman for me either.” He lifted his cup in a toast. “To our women.”

  Simon and Mr. Watt joined him, raising their vessels. “To our women.”

  Casting a look at Miss Kingman, Simon sipped his tea. She dropped her gaze to her plate and focused on her meal.

  “When were you wed?” Mrs. Watt asked.

  “Last week,” Simon said, scooping up some turnips. “This is our wedding trip.”

  Mrs. Watt smiled at him and Miss Kingman. “Lovely. Where is your destination?”

  “Wales.” Simon wondered how long the interrogation would continue. Perhaps he could divert the conversation. He smiled across the table at Alby. “Where are you going, Mr. Alby?”

  “Hounslow, to live with my daughter. Her husband runs a school there. Now that I’m alone, she wants me to come.” He waved a hand. “I agreed since it will make her happy.”

  Simon smiled before taking a bite of the delicious beef. Mrs. Watt was right—her husband made an excellent mushroom sauce.

  “How nice for all of you to be together,” Miss Kingman said. “Do you have grandchildren?”

  “I do.” His tone carried a note of pride. “Two beautiful girls and a strapping lad.”

  Miss Kingman smiled, and it was as if the room was granted additional illumination. “They will love having you with them, no doubt.”

  Mr. Alby’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Truth be told, my daughter didn’t have to ask me twice.”

  Simon’s heart tugged. To have a family that loved you, hell, that wanted you, was a wonderful thing. He thought of his mother and two older sisters, all of whom had turned their backs on him when Miriam had died. Before that, really, if he’d cared to pay attention. Which he hadn’t. Prior to wedding Miriam, he’d only been concerned with having a grand time, particularly after his father had died.

  And just like that, his stomach churned and he lost all interest in his meal. He sipped his tea and cast a longing glance toward the bottle of wine. He didn’t really have an urge to drink it. Just to forget.

  Miss Kingman looked to Mrs. Watt. “Do you have children?”

  The innkeeper’s wife dabbed at her mouth with her napkin as she nodded. “We do. Our son works as a secretary in London,” she said proudly. “And we’ve a daughter who’s married to a miller in Dunstable.” Mrs. Watt gave Simon a pointed stare. “I hope you’re paying attention to your wife’s interest in children, Mr. Byrd.” Her eyes sparked with merriment, and she exchanged a gleeful glance with her husband at the other end of the table.

  Simon peered askance at Miss Kingman. A faint blush stained her neck, but she kept her face carefully averted as she reached for her wineglass. Was she praying for this meal to end?

  The conversation turned to Mr. Watt’s mushroom sauce when Mr. Alby complimented its flavor. This led to a detailed instruction of the methods he employed to create and preserve the sauce.

  Simon picked at his food but didn’t eat much more.

  “Mr. Byrd, you’ve hardly touched your greens,” Mrs. Watt fussed. “I hope there is nothing amiss. You can’t be ill on your wedding trip.”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Watt. Just a bit tired from traveling. I suspect Mrs. Byrd feels the same, don’t you, my love?” He turned his body toward Miss Kingman, who was just finishing her Madeira.

  “I am.” She offered Mrs. Watt a weary smile. “Would you mind terribly if we retired?”

  “Not at all. Tired or no, newlyweds need their private time.” She exchanged another knowing glance with Mr. Watt.

  After saying good night, Simon escorted Miss Kingman from the dining room and upstairs to their room. As soon as they were inside, Simon leaned back against the door while she made her way to the window overlooking the front yard.

  “That wasn’t so awful, was it?” he asked.

  She looked outside a moment, then pulled the curtains closed. Turning, she shook her head. “A bit awkward, but not awful.”

  He pushed away from the door. “My apologies. I should’ve prepared you for a few things.”

  “Such as this story you concocted of us being newlyweds on our way to Wales.” She arched a coal-dark brow at him.

  “I came up with that in the moment, actually. I thought I handled it rather well. As did you, explaining why I was pining after you for years.”

  A soft but guttural sound came from her throat. “You were a bit excessive. ‘No other woman in the world’ for you?” She looked at him as if he were daft.

  Chuckling, he went to the hearth, where someone had stoked their fire while they’d been at dinner. “If I’m going to spin a tale, I’d much prefer an exceedingly happy one, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose.” She joined him in front of the hearth, holding her hands out to the heat. “I’d heard you don’t take spirits. I wasn’t sure if it was true.”

  “It is. Obviously.”

  “What do you do after dinner with the other gentlemen when they drink port? At the house party, did you simply abstain? Does no one question your behavior?”

  He turned to face her. “Honestly, no. That house party was the first polite invitation I’ve received in two years. I think most of the gentlemen there were content to keep our dialogues focused on the completely inane. If they even spoke to me.”

  Her eyes widened briefly. “Some of them didn’t?”

  Most of them, actually. “Your father didn’t.”

  She made that sound in her throat again, but this one was clearly due to disgust. “That doesn’t surprise me. He thought it was scandalous you were there in the first place. When he heard that we’d kissed—”

  She abruptly turned her attention to the fire. Since her cheeks were already pink from the heat, Simon couldn’t tell if she was blushing.

  “It was a silly party game.” Simon hoped to put her at ease, but when she whipped her gaze to his for a brief, surprised moment, he wanted to take it back. Maybe it had been more than that to her.

  “Yes, it was.”

  Or maybe, in his desperation, he was looking for affection where none existed.

  He turned from the fire and contemplated the bed. It was neither big nor small and would support a blanket between them. However, there was no dressing screen to allow for privacy.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to broach the sensitive topic of disrobing, but since they
would be spending several nights together, it had to be done. He looked back at her over his shoulder. “You aren’t planning on sleeping in your clothes again, are you?”

  She turned in front of the fire but didn’t come toward him. “I’d rather not. But I’m afraid I’m in need of assistance. Unfortunately, my wardrobe depends upon a maid.”

  “I’d be happy to provide help. Just remember I’ve no experience as a ladies’ maid.”

  “Did you never undress your wife?” She looked away, angling herself back toward the fire. “Forget I asked that.”

  He went back toward her and spoke softly. “Don’t.” She turned her head, her blue eyes dark and vivid in the firelight. “We are going to get to know each other much better than we ought, and I don’t want you to regret things you might say. I assumed you would be curious about my wife. Yes, I undressed her. Many times. If I close my eyes, I can still feel her skin.” But he didn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t. She—Miss Diana Kingman—held him captive with her gaze.

  Miss Kingman exhaled. “You must promise not to look. Aside from what you must do to unlace my gown.

  “I promise.” He kept his voice and his gaze steady. “We must trust each other on this journey. Implicitly. That’s why I won’t shy away from your questions.”

  She nodded, then presented her back. “Will you leave while I undress? I’ll need ten minutes or so. I’ll be in bed when you return and will close my eyes while you disrobe.”

  It was a good plan, particularly since he thought a walk outside in the cold might do him some good. A beautiful woman’s back presented to him for the purpose of assistance with disrobing was too reminiscent of a time gone by and yet wholly new. Miss Kingman wasn’t Miriam, nor did he want her to be.

  Simon quickly unlaced her gown and helped lift it over her head. He laid it across one of the chairs set at a small table and returned to help her remove her petticoat and unlace her corset. When he finished, he dropped his hands to his sides.

  “I can finish,” she said, without looking back. “Thank you.”

  He left without a word, closing the door firmly behind him. He inhaled sharply, taking perhaps the deepest breath he had in the last ten minutes.