Page 31 of A Secret Consequence for the Viscount
With a nod he looked away though she could see anger in the line of his jaw. It had been like that last time, too, but then he had been much less adept at hiding his sorrow. Now there was only the slightest hint of it. A man with his emotions well under control, the uncertainty of a few days ago gone entirely.
For a moment she could only stare at him, this harder, more unreadable stranger wrapped in the shape of the one she had lost her heart to, but then the tea came and the moment ran again into now as she thanked the waiter for bringing the refreshments.
Twinings black tea. The very same as last time.
Today though Nicholas Bartlett used his right hand to lift the cup. Then it had been his left. She noticed he still cradled the injured hand whenever he could. In the carriage it had lain against the top of his thigh, the swollen reddened fingers curled in pain.
She didn’t want to ask of this though because she knew there would be some story attached to the wound that wouldn’t be an easy one. Nothing about him at the moment seemed easy.
‘We talked also of your hope of a Tory victory for the Duke of Portland in the next elections. You spoke on that for a long while.’
‘A topic you must have found riveting?’ The irony in his tone was obvious.
‘You don’t follow the turning wheels of government any more?’
‘Not particularly. I think I am more in favour of living life quietly.’
‘At Bromworth?’
He nodded. ‘The land is fertile and the work is interesting. After so long spent moving from one place to another, I would like to find a base now, a home.’
When the waiter brought them milk Nicholas thanked him. Once he would not have noticed the ministrations of a servant at all.
‘I live for a good part of the year at Millbrook House in Middlesex, my lord.’
‘Why?’
‘The life of a widow is a solitary one.’
‘But you have your daughter? The child Jake told me of?’
‘Indeed I do. Is this tea to your liking, for you enjoyed it last time?’
She did not wish to discuss Lucy with him and she hoped he had not noticed her leading him on to another topic.
‘It is.’ As he toyed with his cup she was reminded of the quiet a panther or a lion might employ before his next strike.
‘Will you come to dinner at my town house, Eleanor?’
The shock of his invitation was startling. She wanted to tell him that this was not something they had done then, but that was a lie. She had gone alone to his town house and enjoyed a meal unlike any she could remember. A meal of anticipation and sensuality and climax that had been unequalled.
‘As it would be my first foray into entertaining I would like to have friends there. I will ask Jake, of course, and his wife Rose.’
Friends.She felt an ache of disappointment and of sorrow.
‘That would be lovely.’ The very thought of an evening at the Bromley town house on Piccadilly actually made her feel like turning to run. There had been few servants there that evening six years before as the Viscount had given much of his staff the night off, but what if anyone left recognised her? What if his memory returned in the middle of the dinner? Her brother was a man sharp on detail and nuance and so was Rose. That was a further worry.
She was swapping one set of problems for another. She was walking on a tightrope much like the artists she had once seen perform in Astley’s at the Royal Grove, but without the comfort of a safety net. Recreating their ‘courtship’ as closely as possible was turning out to be a lot more complicated than she had thought.
Could she know Nicholas Bartlett again? Would he ever let her in? Or had the years of apartness made them into people who were too different to rediscover the core of each other.
She felt her knee brush his thigh momentarily as he moved to change position, the touch sending fingers of shock through her whole body.
Breathless.
Absolute.
Gripping her fingers as hard as she could on her lap, she felt herself slip into the flame.
