Stephanie Laurens – The Lady's Command (страница 10)

He hauled in an unsettlingly tight breath, held her gaze, and quietly, evenly, said, “I regret, my dear, that in this instance, I cannot take you with me. I would if I could—I would lay the sun, the moon, and the stars at your feet if that was what you wished and it lay within my ability. While not fraught with danger, this journey is not one I can allow you to share.”

He paused, then—deciding that he might as well be hung for a wolf as a lamb—he added, “There will always be some voyages like this. With others…perhaps we can reach some agreement when I get back. However, for now, my decision stands. I am the captain of The Cormorant, and I have absolute authority over who boards my ship. I cannot, and will not, take you with me.”

He expected her to erupt, although, truth be told, he’d never yet seen her lose her temper. He’d seen her annoyed, irritated, but never truly furious. But he now comprehended that this issue meant a great deal to her, and he knew she was stubborn, someone who would fight for what she believed… Instinctively, he braced for her anger.

It never came.

Instead, she studied him through narrowed eyes, glinting an unusually hard, bright blue from beneath her fine lashes. Gradually, her expression grew pensive.

After several moments of fraught silence—of him waiting for some high-flown denunciation—in a relatively normal tone, she asked, “Is that because, despite you saying there’ll be no real danger for you, you fear exposing me to even that low level of danger?”

He blinked. “Freetown—the capital of Sierra Leone—is no Bombay, or Calcutta, or Cape Town. It’s basic in every sense of the word and definitely no place for a duke’s daughter.”

“And that’s where you’re going?” When he nodded, she said, “I see. So your decision is driven by wanting to protect me.”

“Yes.” Exactly. He didn’t say the word but was quite sure she read his exasperation in his eyes. Why else would he deny her?

She studied him for a moment more, then—to his complete surprise—she gave a little nod, more to herself than him, and rose. “All right. That I can accept.”

Suddenly, he felt oddly unsure, as if some unexpected wind had blown up and was steadily pushing him off course. He tried to study her face, but she was looking down and shaking her skirts straight. “Just so I have this issue clear, as long as my intention is to protect you, then you’ll accept whatever decisions I make?”

She raised her head, met his eyes, and smiled—gently, reassuringly. Then she stepped closer, came up on her toes, and lightly touched her lips to his. Drawing back, her hand on his chest, she stated, “I accept that, in seeking to protect me, you will make such decisions.”

Sinking back to her heels, she watched him for a second, then her smile deepened. “Now.” She turned and walked toward the door. “As we discussed last night, we’re having dinner here, just the two of us, and then spending a quiet evening in the drawing room.”

He followed as if drawn by invisible threads.

At the door, she turned and, smiling, arched her brows. “Unless you would prefer to attend more events?”

“No, no.” He quelled a shudder. Reaching past her, he opened the door. “I’m looking forward to spending a whole evening in which I don’t have to share you with anyone else.”

Belatedly, he realized what he’d said—which word he’d used—but she only smiled sweetly and led the way out.

Feeling very much as if he’d avoided a cannonball to his mainmast, yet having no clear idea how he’d accomplished the feat, he followed at her heels. They’d got over that stumbling block and peace and harmony had—somehow—been maintained. He told himself to be grateful.

* * *

The evening following Edwina’s discussion with Declan in their library, she stood by the side of Lady Comerford’s ballroom and pretended to pay attention to the various gentlemen surrounding her. A few ladies were scattered among the ranks, but to Edwina’s dismay, for some ungodly reason, a sizeable cohort of gentlemen seemed intent on vying for her attention.

Even though the group included several she’d heard spoken of in hushed whispers by the racier of her peers—the young matrons of the ton—and even though she recognized the attraction several of those gentlemen possessed, she had no attention to spare even for such potent distractions.

Declan had informed her that he would be departing London sometime the next day; he had begged off accompanying her to this ball on the grounds of having to deal with last-minute preparations. Given she’d already declared their purpose in appearing together at such major ton events achieved, she’d had to accept his decision with a gracious smile. She’d hidden her welling consternation; she had yet to decide how best to respond to his decision to leave her safely in London.

She understood his motives, but equally, she knew that they would have to start somewhere—that at some point, she would have to press her case to accompany him on his business trips. In the circumstances, it was difficult to find a reason not to commence as she intended to go on. If she bowed to his fear for her now, if she gave it credence on what he’d assured her was an as-near-as-made-no-odds dangerless voyage, his attitude would only grow more entrenched, making her ultimate battle to change his mind that much harder.

On them both.

As she was beyond determined that, ultimately, she would prevail and would routinely accompany him on his voyages, then letting his decision stand, even this once, seemed an unwise path to take.

Outwardly gay, she attempted to respond to the banter and comments directed her way sufficiently well to camouflage her distraction. Meanwhile, the better part of her brain revisited the options she’d identified over the past twenty-four hours. She wasn’t the sort to fret and fume, to argue and shout; over the years, she’d found that the most effective way of overcoming hurdles was to ignore them and act as she believed she should. However, this situation was complex and complicated, affecting not just her but Declan, and also impacting and potentially shaping the foundation of their marriage.

She’d thought about seeking advice, but there were precious few whom she might ask, and even fewer with what she deemed the requisite experience and understanding to whom she might consider listening. There were few ladies in the ton whose husbands were adventurers. The closest comparison she could think of was her brother, Julian, and with respect to his marriage, it had, indeed, been Miranda who had acted to make their marriage happen; if she hadn’t taken a decisive step against Julian’s clear direction, the joyful marriage she and Julian shared would simply not have been.

Impulse, observation, and contemplation all urged Edwina to act. If she truly believed—as she did—that her accompanying Declan on this voyage was critical for their marriage to succeed, then it behooved her to make that happen for their joint greater good.

That was a nice, clear, unequivocal conclusion. All she needed to do was convince herself that it was, indeed, the right one.

She was still mentally debating, still absentmindedly fending off subtly worded advances when, across the ballroom, a gilded head of light brown hair caught her eye. She was too short to see the face beneath, but that color, that recklessly windblown style…

Seconds later, the crowd thinned, and she glimpsed Declan moving purposefully in her direction. Her pulse sped up; she ignored all those about her—she had eyes only for him.

It appeared he felt the same way about her; although several ladies attempted to intercept him, and although he cloaked his responses in superficial civility, his gaze barely diverted from her.

And then he was there, smoothly taking her hand and raising it to his lips while his gaze held hers. “My dear, I apologize for my tardiness. Matters took longer than I’d anticipated.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he raised his gaze and allowed it to travel over the group of over-attentive gentlemen.

Declan smiled, coldly, on the group of, at least to him, unwelcome admirers who had had the temerity to gather about his wife. He didn’t like the looks of any of them. An unsettling thought rose in his mind—that with him absent on the Crown’s business, she would have no one to send them packing. “Do introduce me to your”—cicisbeos—“friends, my dear.”

Several of said friends all but deflated.

He managed not to bare his teeth and managed to respond with passable civility to the introductions Edwina was quick to make.

This was the first night he hadn’t accompanied her into the ton, and he was going to be away for at least a fortnight, possibly longer…

He squelched the impulse that rose within him; this was not a venue in which snarling was acceptable.

The introductions were barely complete when the small orchestra at the end of the room put bow to string, and the introduction to a waltz rose above the chatter. He fell on the opening. Closing his hand over hers, he smiled into the widening eyes she turned his way. “I do hope you’ve saved this waltz for me.”