Chapter 8 #4
“It doesn’t matter how Lord X found out,” Jordan said. “What right does he have to assume you lied about fighting in the war? He gives no proof. For that alone, you should sue the paper. If I were you, I’d make the government set the Gazette straight.”
“The government wouldn’t bother.” Ian shifted his gaze from Felicity to Jordan. “What I did on the continent was unofficial. I doubt anybody even remembers my role.”
“What did you do?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing worth discussing.”
Of course not, Felicity thought, renewed in the rightness of her position. A non-existent military career wouldn’t be. How convenient that no one remembered his role.
“Wellington remembers what you did,” Gideon suddenly remarked from his solitary position by the fire. “He told me they couldn’t have won the war without you.”
All eyes turned to him, most especially Felicity’s.
“The duke himself told you that?” Jordan asked his brother-in-law. “When the devil did you meet the Duke of Wellington?”
Gideon shrugged. “Some ball or another, I don’t remember.
Wellington and I were arguing about the British peerage’s role in the military.
I’d just learned that Wellington wasn’t born a peer, but made one after his efforts for his country.
So I told him I thought it was stupid to have a system where the best educated men—the peers and all the eldest sons—were discouraged from defending their country by the demands of inheritance.
In the heat of the moment, he gave Ian as an example of an eldest son and a peer who’d participated bravely and effectively in the war. ”
Shock kept Felicity motionless. Could it be true? Ian hadn’t lied about his war record? It was impossible! How ... why would a viscount’s heir fight in the war?
“Wellington was probably drunk,” Ian muttered.
“If he was, he hid it well,” Gideon said. “When his comment roused my curiosity, I asked more questions about you and he suddenly remembered I used to be an American privateer. Got very quiet on the subject. I didn’t think it wise to press him.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered who you’d been,” Ian said tersely. “I’m surprised he said anything at all. It’s an exaggeration of my small help.”
“Wellington doesn’t exaggerate,” Jordan put in, a note of awe in his voice. “What the devil did you do during the war? Were you a spy? Why won’t anyone speak of it?”
“Because it’s nothing anyone wishes to discuss. Nothing I want to discuss.” Ian’s gaze locked with Felicity’s, dire with warning. “Or to have discussed in the newspaper.”
Felicity had never felt so small. If Ian had been telling the truth, then she’d committed a great wrong by publicly questioning his honor.
Avoiding his gaze, she sank against the unforgivingly hard settee.
She deserved worse—to be on the rack. What a fool she’d been to assume his rakish habits were the only facet to his character.
She’d glimpsed the darkness in him when she’d first met him, a darkness only pain could carve into a man’s soul and the kind of pain that only came from witnessing horrors.
Why had she been so quick to ignore her instincts?
Because of Katherine? No, to be fair, it had been more than that.
It had been her bias against men of his station.
He’d been so ... so typically arrogant and secretive about his affairs it had blinded her to other considerations.
Like the rumors about his spying and his absence from England, which corresponded with the years of the war.
And his treatment of her on the balcony had aggravated her anger. But she should never have aired her grievances in her column, especially without knowing the truth. It was wrong.
“Why has Lord X made you his enemy?” Gideon asked Ian. “Perhaps you should assess your friendships among society to determine whose throat to cut.”
“Let’s have no talk of throat-cutting,” Jordan reproached his brother-in-law. “You’re thinking like a pirate again, Gideon, and not like a civilized man.”
Gideon cast his wife an amused glance that her brother couldn’t see. “Sometimes the pirate way is more effective.”
“Only if you want to hang,” Jordan retorted hotly.
“Enough.” Ian held up his hands. “Thank you for all the advice, my friends, but I’ll deal with this my own way. And I assure you, Jordan, I’ll take care of Lord X without cutting any throats. There will be no need for this discussion in the future.”
Although he hadn’t so much as glanced at her while he spoke, she knew his words were intended for her.
Good Lord, she’d really done it now. She’d lost the only thing that had protected her from him until tonight—his willingness to treat their confrontations as a sparring match, as something he needn’t worry overmuch about.
After tonight, however, he would grind her into the dust with all the weapons and power at his disposal.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. She’d been foolish to take him on, especially with her future and that of the boys at stake.
She should have listened to Papa’s favorite adage about not taunting a cannon with a club if one wanted to keep one’s head.
For although she desperately wished to keep her head now, she very much feared it was too late to avoid the cannon.