When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,87
thinking of her and their strife even as he went about his daily tasks. It was like a sore on his soul, the…the aching distress it caused him that she no longer smiled at him.
That she avoided him.
He wanted her back in his bed, but it was more than that. He wanted to watch her sip her tea again. Wanted to take her walking in the park. Wanted to ask her opinions on business and food and the theater.
Wanted to simply hold her in his arms as she slept.
Just thinking of her absence made him feel hollow—as if something crucial were missing from inside him.
The door to the coffeehouse opened and Greycourt entered.
“Hsst!” Keys warned him.
“I see.” Gideon propped his head on one hand, partially concealing his face.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Greycourt said something to the old woman supplying the coffee, making her grin so wide that it was clear she had an entirely toothless mouth. Greycourt strode to a table under one of the windows and accepted a tall tankard of coffee.
“I thought you said he was meeting someone,” Gideon muttered.
As if in answer, a man with his hat pulled low over his face entered. The newcomer went directly to Greycourt’s table and doffed his hat as he sat.
Gideon sucked in a breath.
It was the Earl of Rookewoode.
* * *
“A slice of seedcake?” Messalina asked Lady Gilbert that afternoon.
“Oh, thank you,” the older woman replied, passing her plate.
It was entirely Lucretia’s fault that they were holding an afternoon tea. Had Messalina her druthers, she would be facedown on the bed she shared with Lucretia, wallowing in her own misery. But yesterday Lucretia had bullied her into going shopping on Bond Street, where they’d run into Lady Gilbert.
Messalina well remembered the older woman’s gleeful urge to gossip on the stairs at the theater. She thought surely Lady Gilbert would have relished the scandalous scene at Uncle Augustus’s ball.
But Lady Gilbert had looked rather more lonely than mean. Before Messalina knew what Lucretia was about, her sister had invited the lady to tea. And then Lucretia had somehow persuaded Messalina to invite the Hollands and Freya and Elspeth.
Only Lady Gilbert was in attendance at the moment. Messalina was a bit amused, despite her own troubles. Lady Gilbert’s cheeks were pink beneath her lavender hair and it was quite evident she was enjoying herself.
Perhaps Lucretia was right to have insisted on this tea.
“…and the lady never did find her garters,” Lady Gilbert said, concluding some scandalous tale Messalina had lost track of.
“Really?” Lucretia was on the edge of her seat and leaning so far forward toward Lady Gilbert that Messalina was worried she’d tumble to the floor. “I had no idea.”
Lady Gilbert nodded knowingly.
“But…” Lucretia’s brows drew together. “Whatever happened to the pet parrot?”
“Weeell,” Lady Gilbert began on a deep breath.
The door opened and their new butler, Crusher, intoned, “Her Grace the Duchess of Harlowe, Lady Elspeth de Moray, Lady Holland, and the Misses Holland.”
All five ladies crowded into the room.
Elspeth was staring after the retreating butler.
Lady Holland smiled at Messalina. “How lovely to have tea with you and Lucretia and of course Lady Gilbert.”
There was a flurry of introductions and curtsies.
Messalina sat on the settee, patting the space beside her for Freya. Her old friend was wearing a beautiful turquoise-and-white-striped gown, the crisp colors showing off her red hair, piled elegantly on her head. But Freya’s green eyes were concerned.
Blast. She’d always been perceptive.
“How are you, darling?” Freya murmured.
Messalina shook her head. If she spoke, she might burst into tears.
Lucretia had already rung for more water and was handing out seedcake on little plates.
“Are you enjoying matrimony?” Lady Holland asked Freya archly.
Freya smiled crookedly, glancing worriedly at Messalina. “Perhaps more than I should.”
Regina and Arabella giggled.
Messalina made herself hold Freya’s gaze. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that Messalina’s own marriage had failed so miserably. Freya should be able to celebrate her union with Kester. After all, they had married for love. Theirs would be a marriage of mutual love and genuine affection. Messalina had come so very close to that. So very close.
Except it had all been a lie.
Still she held out her hand for a slice of seedcake, a determined smile on her face. She ignored the worried look in both Lucretia’s and Freya’s eyes.
Messalina picked up her cooling tea, letting the talk of engagements and weddings wash over her. She ought to dump the tea and take a fresh cup.