Jasper looked at his old friend, his comrade in arms so long ago.
Horn pushed a pile of papers to the side of his desk. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to help me find who betrayed us,” Jasper said. “And then help me kill him.”
IT WAS WELL past the dinner hour when Lord Vale finally returned home. Melisande knew this because the large sitting room at the front of the house had a terribly ugly clock on the mantelpiece. Fat pink nymphs cavorted about the clock face in a manner that was no doubt meant to be erotic. Melisande snorted. How little the man who had designed that clock knew of true eroticism. At her feet, Mouse had sat up at the sound of Lord Vale’s arrival. Now he trotted to the door to sniff at the crack.
She pulled a silk thread carefully through her embroidery hoop, leaving behind a perfect French knot on the right side of the fabric. She was pleased at how steady her fingers were. Maybe with continued proximity to Vale, she’d overcome her terrible sensitivity to him. Lord knew that the anger that had built during the hours she had waited for him certainly helped in that regard. Oh, she still felt his presence, still longed for his company, but those feelings were presently masked with exasperation. She hadn’t seen him since breakfast, hadn’t received word that he wouldn’t be home for supper. Theirs might be a marriage of convenience, but that didn’t mean that simple courtesy must be thrown out the window.
She could hear her husband talking in the hallway with the butler and footmen. Not for the first time that evening, she wondered if he’d entirely forgotten that he had a wife. Oaks seemed like a capable man. Perhaps he’d remind his master of her existence.
The ugly clock on the mantel chimed the quarter hour, the tones tinny and flat. Melisande frowned and placed another stitch. The smaller yellow and white sitting room at the back of the house was much prettier. The only reason she’d chosen this sitting room was because of its proximity to the front hall. Vale would have to walk past to go to his rooms.
The sitting room door opened, startling Mouse, who jumped back and then, as if realizing he’d been caught in retreat, leapt forward to bark at Lord Vale’s ankles. Lord Vale gazed down at Mouse. Melisande had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t mind kicking her dog.
“Sir Mouse,” she called to prevent any tragedy.
Mouse gave one last bark, trotted over to her, and jumped up on the settee beside her.
Lord Vale closed the door and advanced into the room, making a bow to her. “Good evening, madam wife. I apologize for my absence at dinner.”
Humph. Melisande inclined her head and gestured to the chair opposite her. “I am sure the business that detained you was most important, my lord.”
Lord Vale leaned back in his chair and laid one ankle over the opposite knee. “Pressing, yes, but whether important or not, I don’t know. It seemed so at the time.” He flicked a finger against the skirts of his coat.
She set another stitch. He seemed somehow downcast this evening, as if his usual joie de vivre had deserted him. Her outrage deflated as she wondered what had made him somber.
Lord Vale frowned at her and Mouse. “That settee is covered in satin.”
Mouse laid his head on her lap. Melisande stroked his nose. “Yes. I know.”
Lord Vale opened his mouth and then closed it. His gaze roamed the room, and she could almost feel his need to jump up and pace. Instead, he drummed his long fingers against the arm of his chair. He looked tired and, with the humor in his eyes gone, older.
She hated to see him down. It made her heart ache. “Would you care for a brandy? Or something from the kitchen? I’m sure Cook has some kidney pie left over from dinner.”
He shook his head.
She watched him a moment, perplexed. She’d loved this man for years, but in many ways, she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what to do for him when he was weary and sad. She looked down, her brows knit, and snipped off the end of her thread. From her basket, she selected a silk the exact shade of ripe raspberries.
Lord Vale stopped drumming. “Your design looks like a lion.”
“That’s because it is a lion,” she murmured as she placed the first stitch in the lion’s lolling tongue.
“Isn’t that unusual?”
She glanced at him beneath lowered brows.
A small amount of amusement crept into his face. “Not that it’s not a fine piece of embroidery. Very, ah, pretty.”
“Thank you.”
He drummed some more.
She outlined the lion’s tongue and began to fill it in with smooth satin stitches. It was nice to sit here together even if they both didn’t know quite what to do. She silently sighed. Perhaps that wisdom would come with time.
Lord Vale stopped drumming. “Almost forgot. Got you something whilst I was out.” He fished in his coat pocket.
Melisande laid aside her embroidery hoop to accept aks p to ac small box.