Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,44
if I had pulled the trigger without knowing, I could never have hit him. But he died.” He raised rather haunted eyes to his cousin. “And do you know what else I think about? I think he was deloping, too. I don’t think he meant to hit me either. And yet, he died.”
“What happened then?” Christopher asked.
“His seconds carried him to the coach. Fenwick and Barden hustled me away to Dudley, who had me down at the docks before breakfast.”
“And the doctor?” Deborah asked. “Where did he go? With you?”
“No. I think he went with Harlow.”
“What is his name?” Christopher asked.
“No idea. Barden would know, though. Or Fenwick, probably. Does this mean you believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Christopher asked evenly.
Rupert’s smile was twisted. “My own brother doesn’t.”
His own brother, Deborah reflected, had conflicting motives.
“Are we going to play?” Christopher asked. “Or jabber all night?”
From then on, he seemed to relax into a mood of casual entertainment, more like the Christopher who had walked with her to the lake and kissed her. He bantered with her and with his cousin, making them both laugh. Deborah was almost surprised to realize that worry over Barden and Hawfield’s dislike and Rupert’s problems had faded into the background and that she was genuinely enjoying herself.
It was tempting to stay in this comfortable companionship, but it came to her as it grew late, that the cousins might wish to have a conversation without her, not least about the possible arrival of Dudley’s wife. So, at the end of the next game, she announced, “I am for bed, so I’ll bid you good night.”
“One more game,” Rupert coaxed as she rose from the bed.
“No, I shall only fall asleep. Remember, you need plenty of rest, cousin.”
Christopher rose with her, accompanying her to the door. There, he paused a moment.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“Your company.” He took her hand and kissed it. Sensation flooded out from beneath his lips, spreading heat and a helpless wish that things between them were different. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she managed as she dragged her hand free and fled.
*
Christopher closed the door behind her with a slightly twisted smile. It would not be so easy to win his wife—if and when he decided he wanted to.
Becoming aware of Rupert’s gaze, he dropped onto the bed once more and gathered up the cards. “What?”
“You don’t need to stay. I know you would rather be with your wife.”
Christopher lifted one eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”
“You can stop pretending this marriage of convenience nonsense. No one would marry that girl for mere convenience. She’s beautiful, and she’s funny and kind and clearly worth at least a dozen of…of most other females I’ve ever met,” he finished rather lamely.
Christopher shrugged. “It’s true. I liked her. It wouldn’t have been terribly convenient if we hadn’t liked each other.”
“Oh, stop it, Chris. I’ve never seen you look at a woman as you do your wife.”
“And how is that? With the respect she deserves?” Christopher retorted.
“Yes,” Rupert allowed. “But also…as though she were some precious piece of porcelain that might break. You protect her like a mother hen, watch her like a hawk, and when you think no one is looking, you make any excuse to touch her, and your expression is positively—”
He broke off under Christopher’s dangerous glare.
“Positively, what?” Christopher encouraged.
“Moonstruck,” Rupert said defiantly. “Glare at me all you want. You might have married her for convenience, but you’re more than half in love with her.”
“No, I’m not,” Christopher said, revolted. Am I? Please, God, no.
“Cheer up. She clearly adores you, too.”
I wish she did. “Oh, stop your flannel. This marriage suits us very well, and I’ll thank you to stay out of it. One more hand.”
“Well, don’t hang back too long,” Rupert warned, his eyes gleaming mischief. “Or someone else might just step in and win her from under your nose. I might be tempted to cut you out myself.”
“Ha!” Christopher said derisively. “Stop jabbering nonsense and play.”
Chapter Eleven
The following day was a good one for Deborah. Rupert looked much improved and was up and dressed by luncheon. Lord Hawfield seemed to have withdrawn his hostility, at least temporarily. In among the work of finishing off the library and the terrace room, and seeing off Mr. Gates, who was traveling in search of pupils for the school, she and Christopher found time for a pleasant walk down to the lake.
“Oh, look, there’s a little boat,” she exclaimed in delight, catching sight of the bobbing vessel, which seemed to