Page 49 of The Pleasures of Passion
Fulkham glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s a bit early still for a card game, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It doesn’t start for three more hours.” But that wasn’t where he was going. He had plenty of time for that later. He had to talk to her. Had to find out the truth. Had tomakeher tell him.
“If you’re going to see Mrs. Trevor, I would advise you to tread lightly. We still need her.”
Deuce take the man for always reading his mind. “I know. That’s why I intend to, as you say, turn her up sweet. If I can.”
And if she would even see him. And talk to him.
He frowned. That might be difficult to manage. She was damned angry. And though he might deserve some of that anger, she might not let him close enough to admit it.
Then an idea came to him. “Fulkham, I need one more favor.” Picking up a sheet of St. George’s Club stationery from a nearby writing desk, he handed it to the spymaster, along with a quill. “Here’s what I want you to write. . . .”
Nine
Brilliana stood in her aunt’s drawing room, staring down at the sealed note a liveried footboy had been ordered to put directly into her hand. Fortunately, that was easy, since Aunt Agatha had been taken with a horrible headache and had been resting in her bedchamber since before Brilliana’s return. Thank heaven. She hadn’t been looking forward to explaining why she’d gone to see Papa.
Now she had something else to deal with. And this dratted note had better not be from Niall, or she’d throw it in the fire.
But it wasn’t; it was from his cursed friend, Lord Fulkham. Apparently Niall had wasted no time in asking the man to intercede.
Dear Mrs. Trevor,
I gather that Lord Margrave has behaved in a less than gentlemanly manner and managed to set you against him. While I understand how that could happen, given his strong opinions, I assure you I do not condone such behavior.
There is still the matter of your father. So I hope you will do me the courtesy of meeting me in Bedford Square garden as soon as you receive this to discuss how to handle the situation. As I emphasized upon our last meeting, it is imperative that we not be seen together, and since it is dusk and the trees are thick, meeting in the park seems the wisest course.
If you cannot meet with me, please send a note to that effect with my emissary and arrange some other time or place.
Yours sincerely,
Lord Fulkham
She glanced at the waiting footboy, who was dressed in a livery unfamiliar to her, probably the baron’s. She’d hoped to have more time to consider what to say to his lordship. Now that the full heat of her anger at Niall had dimmed, she wasn’t as sure of her position.
She was still furious at him for calling her an adventuress, but Niall’s reaction to her remarks about his mistress put everything in a new light. Because his father had been relatively kind, she’d believed him when he’d told her of Niall’s mistress. Had she been too hasty, perhaps? Her accusations had clearly shocked Niall.
It was true he’d once been a spy and was clearly good at lying when necessary, so perhaps he was equally good at hiding his feelings. But somehow she thought there was more to it than that. He’d seemed genuinely horrified by her claim—she’d seen it in his eyes.
And surely her instincts about him hadn’t been as bad as all that back then, had they? Although she’d seen evidence of the rogue in him, she’d also truly believed him when he’d claimed to love her. What if that had been the real Niall after all?
She sighed. And what if it had not?
“Mrs. Trevor?” the footboy prodded. “Do you have an answer for the master? I’m either to bring you with me to the park or carry back a response.”
Might as well get this discussion over with. Perhaps Lord Fulkham knew the truth about the duel. If he did he might not tell her, but even a lack of response would tell her something.
“Let’s go,” she told the footboy.
With a nod, he preceded her to the door.
On the way out, she told her aunt’s footman that she was going for a stroll in the park. He wouldn’t find that unusual since she walked there often, and today it was lovely, with the sun setting over the houses in shades of vermilion, lavender, and citron, the vivid emerald-green plane trees standing in stark contrast below.
Perhaps when she was done with Lord Fulkham, she would return to the house for her watercolor box and attempt to capture all that beauty. The prospect of that calmed her nerves—until she entered the gates of the private park and caught sight of a gentleman dressed in evening attire with his back to her. Then her stomach knotted once again.
Because the man had sun-kissed hair and a familiar build and—
“Here she is, my lord,” the footboy said.
