Kitabı oku: «Regency Scoundrels And Scandals», sayfa 4
‘And then they will ask Georges who was there and he will tell them, he has no reason not to. I should have spoken to him.’ Eva shook her head, angered at her own lack of foresight. ‘Although what I could have said to explain such a request without exciting curiosity, I do not know.’
‘I think he will be circumspect.’ There was something in Jack Ryder’s voice that made her suspicious. Perhaps if it had not been almost dark, she would have missed it, but relying only on her hearing seemed to make her more sensitive to his mood.
‘Why?’ she demanded, suddenly suspicious. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘Nothing at all of any significance. I tipped him, said I was certain he would be discreet…’
‘And why should he think that was needed?’ A stray lock of hair tickled the dip of her collarbone. Eva put up a hand and discovered that half of it was down. As she touched her face, she felt how warm and damp her skin was. Her cloak, she recalled now, was crumpled and dusty from being on the floor.
‘I walk in to a deserted building after dark with a man and I emerge an hour later, dishevelled and flushed and crumpled and he asks the caretaker for discretion,’ she said flatly, working it out as she went. ‘Georges thinks…you encouraged him to think…that we were making love in there!’ The magnitude of it swept over her, leaving her hot faced and sick inside with humiliation. ‘How could you?’
‘It will be effective. And he appeared most sympathetic. I imagine your people would not grudge you a little harmless diversion.’
‘Harmless? Diversion? Is that how you categorise adultery and dissipation? Is it?’ She kept her voice down with an effort. A grand duchess does not shout. Ever. ‘Think of my position!’
‘It could not be adultery,’ the infuriating man pointed out. ‘Neither of us is married.’
‘Oh! You render me speechless.’
‘Patently not, ma’am.’
Now he was being literal with her! He deserved to be thrown into the castle dungeons. If only she had access to them now—they would be full of rats and spiders and he could hang there in chains next to Antoine, she thought vengefully. They deserved each other. Then the memory of what else lay under the castle sent a shudder running through her. No, best not to think of that, not here, not now, in the darkness.
‘Mr Ryder. Let me be plain. If I were to so far forget myself—and what is due to my position—as to take a lover, I would not chose an insolent, ill-bred adventurer and spy.’
‘You made me a spy,’ he countered.
That was true. Eva caught herself on the verge of an apology. This was outrageous—how was Ryder managing to put her in the wrong when he was quite obviously the one at fault? ‘Just because I did not remonstrate as I should when you took those outrageous liberties with me in the alleyway, there is no reason to assume you can blacken my name—’
‘Liberties, ma’am?’ His voice, with its faintly mocking edge, cut into her diatribe like a knife into butter. ‘Forgive me, but when those officers had gone I do believe that you returned my kisses with as much enthusiasm as I gave them. Either that, or you are an exceptionally talented actress.’
‘I was in shock,’ Eva protested, guiltily aware he was perfectly correct.
‘Of course you were,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘I perfectly understand. And, please forgive me, but that incident had nothing whatsoever to do with my exchange with Georges just now. I am afraid he leapt to a conclusion and it seemed to fit our purposes all too well.’ There was a pause, which Eva filled by gritting her teeth together and concentrating on breathing slowly and calmly through her nose. ‘Would you like me to go back and explain he has jumped to an incorrect conclusion, your Serene Highness?’
‘No!’ Deep breathing was not as calming as it was supposed to be. ‘It is too late now. The damage is done. Where are we?’ She looked out of the window and saw the glint of the river below. ‘Driving back into Maubourg? But why?’
‘Because it is the last place they would expect you to be by now if you have been missed. This coach is going to drive slowly, and very visibly, through the middle of the town. Henry is going to ask the way for the Toulon road at least three times, at each point making certain that the rather gaudy red door panels are well illuminated. We will then drive into a dark alleyway, remove the door panels to reveal a tasteful—and fictitious—crest, and equally sedately, make our way out of the Northern gate with me driving. By the time daylight comes Henry will be driving again, the door panels will be plain and to all intents this will be a third carriage, one which has not been seen in Maubourg.’
‘And if they have not missed me yet?’ The precautions and layers of planning took her aback. If she had thought at all about what would happen after they had left the factory Eva had simply envisioned driving as fast as possible towards the coast. ‘No,’ she answered her own question. ‘I see. They will question the guards and time my escape by us leaving my bedchamber, so they will be checking up on the coaches leaving tonight. Mr Ryder—do you do this sort of thing a great deal?’
‘Abduct royalty? No, this is the first time.’ He must have felt the intensity of her glare in the gloom, for he continued before she could explode. ‘Missions into Europe during the war, yes, some. Mainly I carry out intelligence work for the government, and occasionally for private individuals.’
‘What sort of thing? Following errant wives?’
‘Checking that suitors are what they seem, occasional bodyguard work. Recently I assisted a gentleman who had misplaced his wife ten years ago.’
‘Goodness. How very careless of him. And you earn your living from this?’ He spoke like a gentleman, with the hard edge and decisiveness of a military man. Her jibe about lack of breeding had been far from the mark. He wore no jewellery and she could make no judgement from his clothes, other than they seemed suitable for climbing down walls.
‘I have an adequate private income. I do this because I enjoy it.’
‘You do?’ How very odd, to enjoy fear and danger. Then Eva realised that she was enjoying it, too, in a perverse sort of way. She was scared, worried sick about Fréderic, embarrassed by much of what had happened today, but she was also alive. The blood was pumping in her veins, her mind was racing, she had been pitchforked from a life of predictability and privileged powerlessness into one of complete uncertainty—and she felt wonderful.
Only the day before she had gazed at her own reflection in the mirror and struggled to accept the fact that all that lay ahead of her was a decline into graceful middle age.
In a few months she would be twenty-seven. For nine years she had been a dutiful wife, then a dutiful Dowager Duchess. She had done nothing rash, nothing impulsive, nothing exciting. As Freddie grew up, then married, she would step further and further back into respectable semi-retirement. It was her duty. She might as well be dead.
‘Ma’am?’
‘Yes, Mr Ryder?’
‘You sighed. Are you all right?’
‘I am contemplating the thought that it is dangerous to wish for things. I had been finding my life a trifle dull and wanting in diversion recently. Then Napoleon returns, Philippe is struck down, someone tries to murder Freddie and me and you leap through my bedchamber window and take me burgling. I appear to be about to enter an adventurous phase in my life.’
‘I can promise you that.’ The coach stopped again, for what must be the third time. Eva listened to Henry’s rough French accent and the response from the watchman standing under the streetlight. She drew back further into the shadows.
‘Why are we not taking the Toulon road?’ she asked as they started forward once more.
‘Because, although it is faster, it is also riskier. Support for Bonaparte is strong to the south, and it is the obvious route for us to take. Then how do we find a boat to take us to England from a French port? I am going north, up into Burgundy, and then north-east towards Brussels, which is where the king has fled. Wellington has had his headquarters there since early April. We will go from there to Ostend.’
The coach turned sharply, lurching over a rougher surface, and pulled up. ‘Excuse me, we will be on our way in a moment. Henry will sit with you for a few miles.’
After some scraping and banging at the sides of the vehicle, the coachman climbed in, doffing his hat. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’
‘That is quite all right.’ This at least was easy. One’s entire life appeared to be made up on some days of holding conversations with tongue-tied citizens. ‘Have you been a coachman long, Henry?’
‘I’m a groom, ma’am. Least, that’s what I am official-like. Most of the time I’m whatever the guv’nor wants me to be, depending on what we’re about.’
Hmm, not so tongue-tied, which could be useful. ‘So sometimes you have to be a gentleman’s groom, when Mr Ryder is at home in London?’
‘Aye, ma’am. When the guv’nor’s being himself like, which isn’t often.’
‘That must be difficult for his family,’ Eva persisted, fishing as carefully as she could. ‘For his wife, for example.’ Though he had said he was not married…‘Or his parents.’
‘Would be, indeed, ma’am, if he’d a wife. As for his respected father, top-lofty old devil he was, if you’ll pardon me saying so; nothing the guv’nor did was ever right for him, so I don’t reckon he’d give a toss, even if he was alive. Which he ain’t.’
That had not got her very far. He was not married and a top-lofty father confirmed his origins were respectable. It was an odd choice of words, being himself—it implied two very different lives. And London was home. Just who was Jack Ryder?
‘We’re out the Eastern gate,’ Henry observed. ‘Another hour and we’ll be snug at the inn, ma’am. I’ll wager you’ll be glad to be settled for the night.’
‘You know where we are staying tonight, then?’
‘Why, yes, ma’am. The guv’nor doesn’t leave things to chance. All booked, right and tight on the way down, and the landlord expecting us late, so no suspicions there. It’s a nice little place used by gentlemen on hunting expeditions in the foothills, but it’s quiet now.’
Eva sank back against the squabs and fell silent. Henry was certainly not in need of setting at his ease in her presence, so, strange as it felt, she did not have to make conversation. It was curiously peaceful to realise that she had no duties, none at all, other than to survive this adventure and reach England.
‘Ma’am!’ She jerked upright, startled to find they had stopped moving and there were lights outside. ‘You’d dropped off, ma’am,’ Henry added helpfully.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Eva said repressively. Goodness knows what sort of appearance she must present with her gown crumpled, her cloak filthy and her hair all over the place. She pushed it back and pulled her hood up to shadow her face as best she could. People saw what they expected to see, and this innkeeper would not be expecting a weary traveller to be his grand duchess. She must just be careful to do nothing to attract his attention.
The door opened, Jack helped her down and the landlord came bustling out to greet them, cheerfully prepared for their arrival at this late hour.
‘Welcome, sir, welcome, madam! Come along inside, if you please.’ Eva let the familiar local patois wash over her as the horses were sent off to the stables, their luggage carried in and Henry vanished in the direction of the taproom. ‘The room is just as you ordered, sir. The bed has been aired and I am sure your wife will be comfortable.’
The man led the way up the stairs. Eva stopped dead at the bottom, the last traces of sleep banished. ‘Room? Wife? Which room are you in?’
‘Ours.’ Jack took her arm and began to climb. Without actual violence she had no option but to follow him. ‘Thank you.’ He took the branch of candles from the landlord’s hand and pushed her gently through the open door at the head of the stairs. ‘This looks excellent. Some hot water, if you will.’
Eva stood in the middle of the room and looked around. One dresser, two chairs, a rug before a cold grate, a clothes press, a screen and a bed. One bed. ‘And just where are you sleeping?’ she enquired icily. Beneath her bodice her heart was thudding like a military tattoo.
‘With you. In that bed. Why? Where else do you expect me to sleep?’
Chapter Five
‘I expect you to sleep in your own bed, in your own room.’ Her mouth had gone dry, her stomach was full of butterflies.
‘I am your bodyguard. I need to be close to you.’ He was touching the flame to the other candles in the room, his hand steady as he did so. Eva felt her irrational panic building. What was she afraid of? That he would ravish her? Ridiculous. Somehow common sense did not stop the unsettling physical reactions.
‘Then sleep on the floor.’ She pointed to the far corner, hidden behind a screen.
‘Why should I be so uncomfortable?’ Jack enquired. ‘The role of the modern bodyguard does not include sleeping at your threshold like a faithful troubadour. I have had a long hard day. That looks like a very large, very comfortable bed. I’ll put the bolster down the middle of it if that would make you feel any better.’
The click as he turned the key in the lock brought the panic bubbling closer to the surface. ‘It is scandalous,’ she stated. ‘I am—’
‘My wife,’ Jack said, turning from the door to face her across the expanse of snowy-white quilt. There was not a trace of amusement on his face. ‘For the rest of this journey you act, think, live as my wife.’
‘No!’
‘Eva, what are you afraid of? Do you think I am going to insist on my conjugal rights? That would be carrying the deception a little too far. This is for your safety.’ It was not a small room, but his masculine presence seemed to fill it. Part of her mind registered that he had called her by her first name; part of it dismissed that as an irrelevance. The forefront of her consciousness was full of the reality that she was going to have to spend this night, and goodness knows how many nights after it, in bed with this man.
‘Of course I do not think that.’ She was fighting not to think of it! ‘And I am not afraid of you.’ She tilted her chin haughtily and tried to stare him down.
No, she was not afraid of him, she was afraid of what he was reminding her she missed, afraid that every hour spent with him would tear away a little more of the screen she had erected round her needs and desires. Afraid that she might turn to him in the night for strength and comfort and…It was easy to resist temptation when it was not a fingertip away, easy to ignore yearnings when there was no way of satisfying them.
‘You are tired. We both are. They will bring hot water up soon and you can wash and go to bed.’ As he spoke there was a tap at the door. Eva watched, startled, as Jack slid a knife from his boot and went to open the door. By the time the little maid had come in with the pitcher of water, the knife was out of sight. He turned the key in the lock again once she was gone and gestured towards the washstand and screen. ‘Go on.’ He lifted her valise and placed it behind the painted wooden panels.
‘Thank you.’ Eva forced the words out of stiff lips and stepped past him into the fragile privacy. She was going to have to use her cloak as a dressing gown. Her hands shook as she delved into the valise, but she lifted out the scanty contents, shook out the one spare gown he had allowed her and sorted through the rest. Oh, no!
‘Mr Ryder.’ It was the tone she used to point out some grave dereliction of court protocol and it normally produced a reaction of instant, anxious, attention on the part of the person so addressed.
‘Yes?’ His voice sounded muffled, but unconcerned. Eva had a momentary vision of his shirt being pulled off over his head and turned her back on the join in the screen panels resolutely. For a moment she had wanted to peep, like some giggling maidservant spying on the grooms.
‘When you took those things out of my valise at the castle, you apparently removed my nightgown. What, exactly, do you expect me to sleep in?’ If she hadn’t been so angry, she would have considered her words more carefully. As it was, there was a long silence from the other side of the screen. He is laughing at me, the beast, she decided grimly, just as a white linen garment was tossed on top of the screen.
‘Have one of my shirts.’
‘You have plenty, I assume?’
‘Of course, I knew how long I was packing for.’ He is laughing. Eva fumed as she stripped off and washed hastily, then dragged the shirt over her head. It came midway down her thighs, the cuffs dangling well below her fingertips. She pulled it down as much as possible, rolled up the cuffs and unpinned her hair. At least he had left her hairbrush in the case.
The long, regular strokes had the soothing power of routine. She did the requisite one hundred and hesitated, half-tempted to do another set. Then another. She braided it hastily. ‘Where are you, Mr Ryder?’
‘In bed.’
‘Then close your eyes.’
‘Very well. They are closed. Will you snuff out the candles?’
A cautious look around the edge of the screen revealed that Jack was indeed in bed, his eyes closed as promised. There was no doubting that he was awake somehow; he seemed to radiate alertness. The covers were pulled up to his chin, not giving her any hint as to what he might—or might not—be wearing and the odd lump down the centre of the bed showed that he had inserted the bolster as a gesture to modesty.
Eva emerged, resisted the undignified urge to scuttle from candle to candle and then dive into bed, and instead went round carefully snuffing each until the bed itself was just a white glimmer in the room. She slid under the sheet, pulling it up tight to her throat.
‘Good night, Eva.’
No more ma’am, not until they reached safety. It was a curiously liberating thought. ‘Good night,’ she responded coldly. Jack. Liberating, or dangerous? Protocol was a straitjacket, but it was also an armour. Behind it one could maintain a perfect reserve, perfect privacy for the emotions. This adventure was going to throw her into an intimacy of thoughts and fears with this man that was at least as perilous as any physical closeness.
She should have been exhausted, ready to drop into sleep the moment her lids closed. The bed was comfortable, clean, and there was the reassuring touch of the bolster down her spine to remind her that she did not need to fear turning and touching Jack in the night. Of course she trusted him, and really, it was no different to him sleeping on the floor on the far side of the room, she told herself stoutly.
So why could she not sleep? Eva closed her eyes and tried to relax, starting with her toes and working up. She tried counting sheep, reciting recipes, recalling Italian irregular verbs. Hopeless.
Was he asleep? She held her breath to listen to his, steady and even. There was an interruption as he shifted slightly, a soft sigh, then the even rhythm resumed. Jack Ryder was obviously one of those infuriating people who could sleep anywhere, under any circumstances. She just hoped he would wake up as quickly if danger threatened.
Eva turned her thoughts resolutely to her son, her lips curving into a smile as she did so. How soon before she could see him? He would have grown so much. What new clothes would he need? Would he look more like his father now as he grew up, or less? Would he still throw himself into her arms to be kissed, or was he too grown up for that now? Without realising it, she relaxed and drifted off to sleep.
Jack opened his eyes on to darkness and lay still, trying to work out what had woken him. Eva’s breathing was soft and regular, she was lying curled up with her back turned and had managed to push the bolster a good three-quarters of the way across the bed towards him. A woman used to sleeping alone.
Distantly a dog was barking, the bored yap of a lonely animal, not the aggression of a threatened one. The yard below was silent. He dredged into his mind and came up with the sound of a closing door outside. It must be about three o’clock—who was abroad at this time? He had chosen this inn, a hunters’ favourite off the main road, for its isolation.
He eased out of the bed, pulling on his breeches before taking four silent strides to the window. He unlatched the shutter, pushed it back and stood looking down until his eyes adjusted to what dim light there was. Minutes passed, then he saw a familiar figure come out of the shadow of the stable opposite and walk across the yard. In the centre the man stopped and looked up, directly into his eyes, although he could not have seen Jack.
He eased the window wide and leaned out. ‘What’s the matter?’ He pitched the whisper to reach Henry and no further.
‘Nothing,’ the groom hissed. ‘I was restless.’
Jack raised a hand in acknowledgement and silently closed the window again. Henry was lying, of course, he had probably been prowling about every half-hour or so throughout the night. He never seemed to need much sleep—the result, he claimed, of becoming accustomed to very little when he was a prisoner of war.
The man drifted out of sight as soundlessly as he had appeared. Jack turned to go back to bed and found himself face to face with a white spectre. ‘What the hell!’
It was Eva, of course. How she had got out of bed and across the room without him hearing her was a worry—was he losing his sharpness of hearing, the instinct that warned him of danger? But, of course, Eva was not a danger. Not, at least, in the sense that she was likely to knife him in the back.
‘It is me,’ she whispered. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Antoine’s men?’
‘No, nothing’s wrong. I was simply checking. Henry is on guard below,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Go back to bed.’
‘Very well.’ Eva started to turn, stumbled, put out her hand for balance and hit it sharply against his naked ribs. The gasp of pain as her nails grazed across his bruises was out before he could choke it back. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. You scratched me slightly and made me jump, that’s all.’ She stood, looking up at him as though she could read his face in the near darkness. Her own was a pure oval of white, only the shadow of her eyes discernible.
‘I do not believe you,’ she said after a moment, and spun round towards the bedside table, the movement sending a faint rumour of warm skin and gardenia wafting, achingly, to his nostrils. ‘Stay there.’ There was a scrape and a flame flared up. She touched it to the candle and carried it over to where he stood. ‘Mon Dieu! Your ribs, your chest! Turn around.’
‘It is nothing, just bruises from the rope.’ Jack tried to urge her back to the bed, but she stood her ground. Eva should have looked ludicrous in his oversized shirt, her slim legs and slender feet emerging from beneath the hem, but she looked tousled and delectable and the fact she was wearing something of his was oddly arousing. No, extremely arousing.
‘What rope? And turn around, I am not going to hurt you, you foolish man.’ She seemed to have no conception that he might not obey her.
The implication that he was frightened had him turning before he could catch himself. Then he froze as a cool palm touched lightly on the diagonal welt across his back. ‘You didn’t think I climbed down the castle wall to your window like a lizard, did you?’ It was suddenly difficult to control his breathing.
‘Rational speculation about how you appeared in my room was the last thing on my mind,’ Eva said drily. ‘You could have flown there on a broomstick for all I knew.’ She made a soft sound of distress as she moved the candle to see the full extent of the damage. Jack stood watching their shadows slide across the bedchamber wall and fought the urge to turn and take her in his arms. Her feminine concern, the gentleness of her touch, almost banished the constant awareness of who she was. But the Grand Duchess was all too aware of it; Jack reminded himself grimly of the fact, and turned round.
It did not help that the suddenness of his movement gave her no time to move her hand and they ended up almost chest to chest, her right arm wrapped around his naked ribcage, her left hand holding the candlestick out to the side in an effort not to scorch either of them. Oddly, the intimacy did not appear to be concerning her.
Eva tutted again, moving away to put the candle down safely. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything useful like medical supplies along with all those clean shirts, have you?’ He was breathing like a virgin on her wedding night now and Eva was perfectly composed. For God’s sake, man, get a grip.
‘Of course.’ Offering up a quick prayer of thanks that he had stopped to put on his breeches, Jack lifted one of his valises on to the bed and opened it. ‘There. Not that I need anything.’
‘I will be the judge of that.’ Eva began to lift things out of the case. ‘What on earth are these?’
‘Probes for removing bullets.’
‘Urgh.’ She opened her fingers fastidiously and dropped the instrument on to the bed. ‘I hope Henry knows what to do with them, or that you stay well out of the line of fire, because I am certainly not using them. Here, witch hazel, that is just the thing. And some lint.’ She shook the bottle and pulled out the stopper, releasing the strange astringently aromatic smell into the room. ‘Sit on the corner of the bed, please.’
The liquid was cold on his sleep-warm skin and Jack could feel the goose bumps forming as she dabbed her way up his back and across his shoulder along the lines left by the rope. He found himself wondering with a sense of detachment if she was going to deal with his chest with such aplomb. It seemed she would. For some reason a woman who baulked at sharing his bedchamber could cope quite easily with his half-naked body provided there was an injury to deal with.
Eva moved round, tipping the bottle on to the lint again to re-dampen it. She paused to survey the darkening bruise, then caught his eye. ‘What is it?’ Damn the woman, can she read minds? His ability to keep a straight, unreadable, face was one of his most valuable professional assets. So he had believed.
‘I was wondering why you do not appear to find this embarrassing,’ he answered frankly. ‘We are both half-dressed and in a bedchamber, and earlier that appeared to be a major obstacle to a good night’s sleep.’
She looked down her nose, suddenly every inch the Grand Duchess, despite her makeshift nightshirt and bare feet. ‘You are injured; that is something that must be dealt with, whatever the situation. On the other hand, finding myself constrained to share a bed with a strange man was something I would hope to avoid if at all possible.’
‘So modest behaviour depends on circumstance? Ouch!’
‘Sorry.’ She peered close to see why he had jumped, then carried on dabbing. Her breath fanned warmly over his collarbone, playing havoc with his pulse rate. ‘Of course it depends. If I was in my bath and the place was burning down, I would not expect you to wait politely outside the door until I got dressed before breaking in to rescue me.’
Jack fought with himself, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort not to laugh, then he caught Eva’s eye and watched while she imagined the scene she had just described. Her lips twitched, the corners of her eyes crinkled and she burst out laughing. He had never seen her laugh before; he hadn’t known whether she had a sense of humour. The only smiles he had seen were polite social expressions, but this was another woman. One hand pressed to her lips, she hurried to put the bottle down safely, then collapsed on the bed in a paroxysm of giggles.
‘Oh, Lord! I can just imagine our chamberlain doing just that! “I regret to inform your Serene Highness that the castle is on fire. Might I suggest you complete your coiffure at your earliest convenience, ma’am, as the flames are licking around my feet, ma’am…”’
She looks eighteen, a girl, so fresh, so natural, so sweet. The laughter drained out of Jack as he stared at her. Eva sat up at last, hiccupping faintly and mopping her eyes with the cuff of the shirt.
‘I am sorry, it must be the strain.’ She smiled at him hazily. ‘I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud, or even found something silly enough to laugh about.’
Jack put out a hand towards her, not knowing what he wanted, only knowing he needed to touch her. Eva put her hand in his, her eyes questioning. He did not speak—there was nothing to say, nothing that he could articulate. For a moment she held his gaze, then awareness of who she was and where they were became clear from her expression and she looked away, chin up. Jack freed her hand and stood up.
‘Back to bed, we will need to be up in a couple of hours. You require your sleep.’
She nodded haughtily, very much on her dignity and got up, skirting carefully around him to slide under the covers on her side. ‘Good night.’
‘Good night.’ He stoppered the bottle of witch hazel, grateful for the way its heavy odour blanked out the feminine scent of her, and pulled the covers up firmly over his shoulders.
It was no part of his plans to be attracted to a woman, least of all a grand duchess. He had not thought himself so susceptible, nor so unprofessional. It was not as though he was short of feminine comfort for his physical needs—a succession of highly skilled barques of frailty made quite certain of that—for he had long since recognised that his chosen path was not one a wife could be expected to tolerate.
Not that the examples of marital life about him had made him eager to commit himself to such a relationship, so it was not such a deprivation. His recently widowed sister, Bel, had once confided that her husband was so dull she could hardly stay awake in his presence, his father had been a serial adulterer, and his friends, one after another, appeared to be sacrificing themselves on the altar of respectability by marrying simpering misses straight from the portals of Almack’s.
