Always the Rival (Never the Bride #7) - Emily E K Murdoch Page 0,66
Seventeen
That he had never noticed before, there was a dent in the plasterwork.
Charles shook his head slowly. Shoddy craftsmanship. How had he never noticed it before?
He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and smiled wryly. Well, he had probably never noticed the dent because he had not lain on the billiard table in years.
Charles twisted his head around to look at the dent more closely, and then a wry smile crept over his face. It looked almost as though someone had thrown a billiard ball up at the ceiling.
He had not resorted to that. Not yet.
Stretching out his legs, he sighed heavily.
Here he could just be alone.
He had to forget Priscilla and think instead of Miss Lloyd. Seeing Priscilla would have to stop, naturally. She occupied his every waking thought, and that could not continue.
He must be loyal to Miss Lloyd – Frances, he should probably call her now. He had not been loyal to her in any description over the last few weeks. That would have to change. He was marrying Frances. He would learn to love Frances.
“Charles?”
The voice was just behind him, and Charles sat up hastily, whacking his head on the billiard table lights.
Stars appeared before his eyes as pain seared through his forehead. Even so, he could just about make out the figure standing in the doorway.
“F-Frances?”
It was Miss Lloyd. As though his mere thoughts had conjured her up, she was standing there, a little nervously, waiting for an invitation to enter.
“Frances,” he repeated.
Moving off the billiard table hurriedly, Charles stood up straight, brushed the dust from his shoulders, and tried to smile through the pain in his head. “Frances. I was – I was not expecting you.”
He glanced at the butler, who shook his head briefly. No, Miss Lloyd had not been expected. So what was she doing here?
“Thank you, Hodges, that will be all,” Miss Lloyd murmured quietly.
The butler bowed, and as Miss Lloyd stepped into the room, he closed the door behind her.
Charles stared. None of this made sense.
She smiled wanly. “Come, sit with me.”
He blinked blearily. The room was hardly set up for a woman’s comfort; the billiard room had always been the domain of gentlemen, and that meant a different kind of comfort.
Miss Lloyd looked perfectly comfortable; however, walking over to the leather armchairs placed haphazardly around the fireplace with no fire in the grate.
Charles knew he had to move, but his legs did not obey. With an immense effort, he managed to stumble and fall into an armchair opposite her. It groaned as it took his weight, the old leather slightly cracked on one side.
Immediately a vision of Priscilla soared through his mind.
No, the last thing he should do now is compare the two ladies! He was with Miss Lloyd, and he was marrying her.
“Your Grace,” she began.
“Charles, please. I think, considering what we will be to each other in three days, Charles is appropriate.”
“Well, then, I suppose you should call me Frances,” she said quietly.
“Frances. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Frances had not leaned into the welcoming embrace of the leather armchair and instead looked incredibly uncomfortable. There was evidently something on her mind she found distasteful.
A wedge of hot ice slid into Charles’ stomach. Oh, God’s teeth, she had heard. She had come to confront him about his passion for Priscilla, and there he could not deny it. How could he?
“Look,” he said quickly, “I want you to know –”
“You do not look very happy, Charles,” she said. It was almost a whisper, but her eyes had lifted, and she stared unblinking.
Charles shifted in his chair. He was hardly going to tell her the truth.
“Nonsense, I have never been happier,” he prevaricated with a wide smile, throwing his hands out. “How could I not be, knowing that in just three days –”
Frances was smiling. “You never learned how to lie, did you?”
Charles’s words faded away. He swallowed. This was potentially the longest conversation he had ever had with Miss Lloyd – Frances – just the two of them, and he had not realized how perceptive she was. It was going to be a damned nuisance when they were married.
“I have not been sleeping well recently, ’tis true,” he began. “But that has no bearing on my happiness, I assure you. I am quite well.”
Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. God’s teeth, he had to come up with something better than this if he was going to persuade her of anything.