Author: Anne Stuart
"As for you, my dear Simon," Monty continued, looking up into the vicar's lined face, "you need to treat my darling Lina with more respect. She has stayed by me when most others were off consorting with Satan or whatever other bauble has caught their eye at these gatherings. "
"You don't know?" Simon demanded, appalled. "You host these gatherings and you have no idea what your guests are doing?"
"Oh, I imagine some of them are trying to summon Old Scratch, but since I don't believe in his existence I hardly need to worry about it. They're just children playing games, the ones who aren't busy with rousing fornication. " He glanced at Lina. "Hard to believe this straitlaced fellow ever knew a thing about fornication, isn't it, Lina? But he did. He had quite the reputation. "
She really hadn't wanted to be dragged into the conversation, but for Monty's sake she turned back. "Very hard to believe. I suppose, then, that there must be redemption for us all," she said lightly. "Even whores like me. "
It was an ugly word, and Monty looked distressed. "I think he's having a bad influence on you, my dear. You aren't usually so self-critical. Trust me, compared to some ladies 1 know, you've been a model of restraint. " He glanced at Pagett. "If you're going to make Lina feel bad about herself then you'll have to leave, dear boy. I can't have my darling girl feeling sad. ”
Simon had remained noticeably silent on the matter. "Everyone has to feel sad at some point in their lives, Thomas. And Lady Whitmore doesn't need my approval for how she chooses to spend her life—she only needs her own. "
"Enough with the spiritual doublespeak," Monty said fretfully. "You two will simply have to learn to get along. I can't have you fighting over my deathbed—I prefer to be the center of attention at all times. Either the two of you go off and make peace, or you can setup a schedule of visiting with me where you won't have to see the other. Either way, I need a rest. Go away. "
This was the second time Monty had told her to go off with his disapproving friend. She cast a suspicious glance at the pale man before rising. She could assume this was simply Monty having a temper tantrum, with no ulterior motive, but there had never been anything simple about Monty.
He continued to look fretful and exhausted, and she couldn't tell whether she was imagining things or not. And then Simon Pagett was by her side, his hand on her elbow, leading her away. "You always were a rude bastard," he said in a cool voice. "I'll do my best to convince Lady Whitmore to go away and leave you to me—it's no more than you deserve. "
"You won't succeed," she said.
He glanced down at her, and for a moment she was caught, staring up into his brown eyes. Odd, she would have thought brown eyes would be warm and comforting. His were dark and almost bleak. "You underestimate my determination. Lady Whitmore. "
"You underestimate mine. "
She half expected Monty to shoo them off again, but when she glanced back at him he'd slipped into a restless sleep.
She tried to pull away from her unwilling partner, but his hand on her upper arm was almost bruisingly tight, and he whisked her out of the sickroom before she could even open her mouth to protest.
"You don't want to wake him up," Simon said, loosening his hold once the door was closed. "He'll need all the sleep he can get. And you can surely stand my company for a bit while we thrash things out. After all, we do have the same goal in mind. A peaceful passing for someone we both love. "
That sounded much too intimate for Lina's peace of mind, but she decided not to argue. "Indeed," she said calmly enough, hoping to disguise the pain it brought her.
"I've told the servants to set lunch out on the terrace. We can talk without being overheard, and we'll be close enough should Montague need us. "
This was fraught with a number of annoyances. First off, what right did he have to high-handedly order lunch, assuming she'd eat it? And to call Monty by his seldom-used first name. And why should he assume she wanted to hear anything he had to say?
He was the vicar and Monty's old friend, she gathered, but still—what right did he have coming in and making decisions and issuing orders?
And what was Monty doing? If she didn't know better she'd suspect him of attempting the single most ridiculous matchmaking in the history of the world. Or maybe it just appealed to Monty's sense of the absurd. One of society's most soiled doves and a pillar of the church. He probably thought if he threw them together enough sparks would fly.
They certainly did. Simon Pagett was looking down at her with what had to be contempt. Oh, to be sure he was all that was polite, at least up to a point, but she knew what lurked beneath his passive exterior. Well, so what? She found him similarly distasteful. They would have to be the last two people on earth to ever consider being attracted to each other.
During her nightmare marriage she'd only tried for help once. Bruised, frightened, she'd escaped to their local vicar, begging for help, for advice, for rescue.
The old man had folded his hands across his ample stomach and told her it was the woman's joy and duty to submit. And that he wished to hear no more complaints.
When she'd returned home she discovered that the vicar had preceded her return with a note to her husband, disclosing their conversation. That was the first night he'd beaten her into unconsciousness.
She'd never set foot inside a church again.
And now this. . . this man dared to look at her with what she was certain was opprobrium, judging her. I’ll eat in my room," she said and whirled away from him.
He caught her arm again, pulling her back around. "You'll eat with me," he said calmly. "You don't want the servants to know we're fighting. "
"I don't give a damn what the servants think," she snapped.
She almost thought she saw a smile in the back of those dark eyes. "In fact, neither do I, but Montague would hear of it and then he'd start this ridiculous matchmaking all over again. We're better off pretending to go along with it. "