Chapter Eight #2
Putting the book aside, he rose in a leisurely fashion which disguised—he hoped—both the fact that his senses were on high alert and his very real discomfort with this situation.
He was fully alive to the fact that Troubridge had every right to be annoyed with him.
But the duke was also laboring under a load of misapprehensions.
He just hoped he had enough time to explain and that the damned man would listen. He was not sanguine about either hope.
Troubridge stepped into the room and raised a pistol in his direction, which made Lannister bristle with annoyance.
He tightened his lips, and was about to say something cutting, which would likely inflame Troubridge further, when his wife, Sarah, stepped around her spouse, shutting the door behind her on the interested staff standing gaping in the corridor, and laid a hand on the arm with the raised pistol.
“Robert, don’t!” she scolded gently.
Lannister’s heart softened at the sight of her. Sarah was a tall, elegant brunette, with chestnut hair and gray eyes. As he’d confessed to Ava, he’d developed a serious tendre for her two years ago, but it had mellowed now into affection.
Troubridge turned his head to look at her and the two exchanged a silent communication.
That sent a stab of envy through Rey’s chest, sharp enough to stop his breath.
That! That is what I want! That kind of mutual understanding.
He swallowed the raw ache in his throat and blinked eyes that suddenly stung.
For a moment, a pair of lustrous blue eyes in a perfect face swam in his internal vision before he repressed the picture viciously. She is not for me. My perfect angel.
Troubridge lowered the pistol reluctantly and said slightly more mildly, “Where is she?”
Rey toyed with the idea of making a disingenuous quip and decided against it. “Upstairs asleep, in her own room. And before you hare off on a tangent, I suggest you listen to my explanation of why I am here.”
Troubridge’s hand tightened visibly on the pistol which he kept pointed to the ground, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Go on.”
“You no doubt assumed I was eloping with your sister to Gretna?”
Troubridge nodded slowly. “Though I’m mystified why you would do so via Newcastle.”
“That’s because we are not going to Gretna.”
“You blackguard!” Troubridge raised the pistol again.
“Robert!” Sarah said sharply.
Rey raised his hands placatingly. Part of him was enjoying torturing the poor man.
God knows he deserves it! But he was aware that if he pushed Troubridge too far he could end up with a bullet in him, and he wasn’t sure that Troubridge wouldn’t make it fatal.
Rey had no death wish, despite his private heartache. He had two daughters who needed him.
“I am escorting your sister to Ravenshaw,” he said. “And before you try to shoot me, I’m doing it because she was determined to go alone if I didn’t. Which would you prefer, that she make the journey alone on horseback—for that is what she threatened to do—or that I escort her?”
“Neither! Any decent man would have informed me of such a venture!”
“Yes, but as you’re at frequent pains to tell me, I’m not a decent man,” said Rey with a mock apologetic smile.
As if the sense of what he had said finally penetrated, Troubridge said, “Ravenshaw? Why the bloody hell—”
“Oh dear,” said Sarah, covering her mouth with one white kid-gloved hand. Her other hand tugged at Troubridge’s arm making him lower it again. “Rob, it’s Ravenshaw, it’s always been Ravenshaw!”
“I thought she’d outgrown that schoolgirl infatuation,” he said, clearly bewildered.
“I did too,” confessed Sarah, her brown creased. “Ava has got very good at dissembling. How could we all not have guessed?”
“Because she knew he,” Rey nodded at Troubridge, “wouldn’t approve.”
“You mean Ravenshaw has been carrying on a clandestine relationship with my sister under my nose?” Troubridge had changed color and he looked stricken.
Ravenshaw was a close friend of his. No wonder he looked sick. “No,” said Rey quickly. “Ravenshaw has done nothing wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Ava confided in me. She was heartbroken that Ravenshaw had offered for Isabella Mortimer.”
“And that’s what prompted this mad start?”
“Yes.”
Troubridge wiped his face with one hand and then uncocking the pistol, he set it down carefully on the table and said, “Give me some of that whisky and explain, because I don’t understand.”
Troubridge and Sarah sat down on the settle, and Rey filled a glass and passed it to the duke, who downed it in two swallows.
“Right, now tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Ravenshaw loves her.”
“You’re certain about that? How do you know?”
“Observation.” Rey filled his own glass.
He also offered Sarah a glass of wine, which she accepted.
“If you bothered to watch his eyes, he tracks her every movement when he thinks no one is observing him. He looks at her like a starving man looks at a meal he can’t have.
” No need to tell Troubridge about that passionate kiss last year.
No one but himself, Ava, and Ravenshaw knew about that.
“If that is true, why didn’t he tell me? Damn it, the man is my friend. I love him like a brother!”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him that.
But for whatever reason, he obviously feels Ava would be better off with someone else.
You know as well as I do that he’s been dead set against marriage for years.
If you want my guess, I would say he feels unworthy of her for some reason, possibly to do with his past.”
“My God!” Troubridge sat up slowly. “That damned article in The Chronicle. Lady-killer . . .”
Rey nodded slowly. He looked down at his drink, took a sip, and went on, “When you told him Ava was engaged to Haldane, he offered for the Countess of Esberry—”
“He told us the night he fell asleep in Hyde Park that he was going to do that—”
“Did he already know about Haldane?”
“Yes, I’d just told him.” Troubridge shook his head. “He’s damned good at hiding his feelings. None of us guessed.” He dropped his head in his hands. “What a damned coil! Now he’s engaged to the countess. What the bloody hell was Ava thinking?”
“She told me he’d said he asked the countess to marry him but that she hadn’t agreed—yet.”
Robert groaned. “So, Ava came up here to try to stop him!” He clutched his hair in frustration. “If I didn’t love her so much, I’d—”
“No, you wouldn’t!” said Sarah, squeezing his knee most improperly. Rey looked away, his cheeks flushing. He felt like a voyeur with these two.
“No, you’re right, I wouldn’t,” said Troubridge, kissing her hand. They exchanged another one of those looks that made Rey choke with envy.
Troubridge sighed. “Well, at least there is probably no harm done at this point. We will escort her back to London tomorrow, and no one need know anything about this little escapade. I’ll speak to Ravenshaw myself tomorrow before we leave to go home.” He frowned. “I can rely on your discretion?”
Rey stiffened. “I am going to pretend you didn’t ask that! Of course you bloody can!” He swallowed and said, “My apologies for my foul language S—Your Grace.”
Sarah smiled, amused. “No need. Haven’t you heard Robert’s bad language?”
“I have, but just because your husband chooses to be foul-mouthed, is no excuse for me to follow his example in front of you!”
“Point taken, Lannister,” growled Troubridge. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said to Sarah, who just squeezed his hand affectionately. She then rose.
“Well, I think I had best go up to Ava. I’ll spend the night in her room. You two can share the other one! That should take care of the proprieties.” And she left them, and Rey rang for another bottle of whisky and a pack of cards.
The landlord had arrived with these items just as Sarah reappeared in the doorway, pale and clearly agitated. Troubridge dismissed the interested landlord, who left reluctantly. Robert shut the door in his face and said sharply, “What is it, Sarah?”
“She’s not there. Her bed hasn’t been slept in, I checked with one of the maids, who saw her in the corridor that leads to the back door!”