Page 76 of The Soldier
“We’ll be late for tea.”
“Bugger tea.”
“Maybe just the last two paragraphs.”
Val read the whole thing yet again, slowly. They didn’t go in until it was dark, the drunk was wearing off, and the air growing cold again.
***
The next day dawned cold and overcast, gray clouds hugging the tops of the distant hills. St. Just rode Red, Caesar, and Wulf before going in to breakfast, lest rain cheat one of the geldings of his exercise.
When St. Just came into the house, the familiar scents of yeast and cinnamon wrapped around him. Val’s fingers were busy at the keyboard, and Scout sat panting outside the door of the music room.
Would it be so bad to be married to this?He hadn’t formally proposed to Emmie, but she knew the offer had been made, just as he knew it had been rejected.
He’d finished his morning rides convinced Emmie was being stubborn for areason. Emmie was a sensible woman, not prone to flights and fits. She cared for him—he’d wager Caesar on that—and she cared for Winnie—he’d bet his life on that. There had to be a reason she’d walk away from both of them, something beyond her insistence that she wasn’t fit for polite society.
“You are lost in thought,” Val said as he emerged from the music room with Winnie at his side. “Either that, or you are trying to communicate with the dog by divining his thoughts.”
“My lord?” Steen emerged from the morning room. “You have visitors. The Tosten ladies are here to welcome you back from your journey.”
Val arched an eyebrow. “Ladies?”
“Come on, Scout.” Winnie stomped away without another word.
“Ladies.” St. Just closed his eyes. “Lady Tosten, Miss Elizabeth. Had the pleasure last spring at one of Her Grace’s at homes, and now I am their bosom beau.” He turned a martyred expression on Steen. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I’m not at home?”
“They saw you come up from the stables, my lord,” Steen murmured sympathetically. “I’ll bring them tea and explain you need to see to your toilette.”
“Suppose I do at that.” St. Just blew out a breath. “Val, you are honestly better off lying low. Once word of your presence gets out, the Vandal hordes will descend.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” Val grinned. “Winnie has deserted me, so I’ll entertain your callers while you turn yourself out in proper attire. Take your time.”
He didn’t take his time, as the gleam in Val’s eye hadn’t been quite trustworthy, but he did manage to run the Tostens off in summary fashion when Val explained to the ladies, straight-faced, he never practiced his piano when there were guests in the house. Lady Tosten’s disappointment at being denied an invitation to luncheon for the third time would have been comical but for being blatant.
“God Almighty.” Val ran a hand through his hair. “That was work. Do they call often?”
“Once is too often,” St. Just replied. “There’s nothing wrong with Elizabeth, and from what I saw at church, she’s the belle of the valley, but somehow…”
“Don’t do it.” Val pointed a warning finger at St. Just’s chest. “If you have to talk yourself into a woman, a man, an encounter, a deal, then don’t do it.”
“Words of wisdom from my baby brother?”
“She would flutter you senseless in a year,” Val assured him, “and you might think, yes, well, but a fellow can get an heir in the dark, and then we’d just live our separate lives, send the boys off to Eton, and needs must and all that. Ask Sir Tosten how marital bliss appeals after twenty-five years with Elizabeth’s mother. Ask him why Elizabeth is an only child. Ask him why he’s around his wife and daughter for only a few weeks in the spring and perhaps over the holidays. Am I making my point?”
“You are,” St. Just said as they headed for the kitchen, “but why so emphatically?”
“Good little soldiers”—Val poked that finger at his chest this time—“do stupid things because the general says so. Lady Tosten is a general—an enemy general. You leave her to me.”
“Valentine… You are not to do anything rash.”
“Protective of the sweet young thing?” Val retorted. “She isn’t helpless, St. Just.”
“Of course she isn’t.” St. Just sighed, wondering where the argument had started and why. “But we are gentlemen, need I remind you, and we do not trifle with ladies.”
Val narrowed his gaze, pursed his lips, propped his fists on his hips, and started to say something, only to change his mind.
“You’re right.” His hands dropped to his sides. “We absolutely do not trifle with the women we respect.”
