“Who does anything on a Monday, though?”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Lyman interjected. “It’s very kind, but I—”
“Excellent! We’ll see you on February 11. Come by for supper first, say around eight?”
Before Lyman could so much as blink, Peter Danby had pumped his hand twice, tipped his hat, and disappeared into his carriage without even thinking to hand his sister inside.
Lyman could do nothing but stare at Miss Danby, who seemed vaguely amused by the entire ordeal. “What just happened?” he murmured.
“I believe you’ve agreed to join us for dinner, though I can’tpromise I’ll be there unless Mrs. Williams is free to mind the club. Have fun with my family, I suppose. I’m warning you now, I’m the most interesting one of the lot.”
Her smile was full of humor, but it faded into an awkward silence as they stood alone before the carriage.
Della cleared her throat delicately.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Lyman murmured. “I wanted to come, but…”
She arched one dark brow. “But?”
Why had he said that? Now she expected something from him, some promise to try again, when he’d resolved to put an end to this. The words had slipped out of him without any forethought. It shouldn’t be so damnably hard to extricate himself from the attentions of one plucky miss.
Peter Danby stuck his head out of their carriage. “Are you coming, Della?”
The coachman stood waiting for her at the door, watching them.
“Give us a moment, please,” she called back. “We have important matters to discuss for my book.” She inclined her head to indicate that they should walk a little farther down the road, to the relative privacy of the stoop of someone else’s front door.
Lyman offered his arm and tried not to savor the way her soft curves fit so neatly against his side.
“Well?” she prodded, once they’d put a few yards between themselves and her brother.
Lyman bit the bullet. “I had a lovely time with you, but we can’t carry on this way. The risk if we’re found out is too great.”
Della sighed and glanced away, pressing her lips together. “I must admit I’d hoped you might have more backbone.”
“It isn’t about backbone,” he replied. Despite himself, the judgment stung. “I’m perfectly willing to risk my own reputation. It’snot as though I’m a paragon of moral virtue anyway. But I won’t risk yours.”
Della gave a short, humorless laugh at this. “How noble of you! I’m lucky I have a viscount to make these decisions for me, or I might have to shoulder the difficult task of deciding for myself what risks to run.”
Lyman bit his tongue. He probably deserved that, but it didn’t change his mind. If their union had been dangerous before, Michael’s plans to drag him before Parliament would magnify it a hundredfold. He didn’t want that on his conscience. Better to keep his distance than to bring his ruination to her doorstep.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m grateful for the pleasure of your company this past week. It meant a great deal to me.” More than he could explain. He’d felt alive for the first time in years, but he should have known it wouldn’t last.
Della was unmoved by this declaration. “I don’t understand why you insist on denying yourself any joy in life, but I suppose you’ve decided your reasons are none of my concern, so I’ll try to respect that.” Her mouth was set in a firm line, while her eyes were soft with disappointment. “It seems the strict and proper Lord Ashton has vanquished the fun-loving Lord Ashton. I hope your choice brings you whatever it is you’re looking for.”
It brings me the taste of ash in my mouth and an empty bed each night.Lyman didn’t give voice to the thought. It was therightchoice, and that was all that mattered.
“It isn’t about being strict or proper,” Lyman tried to explain. “It’s about maintaining a measure of order in my own life. What you call fun would be disastrous for me.”
Her club, the risk of their affaire being discovered, and now Michael promising to destroy what little remained of his dignity. It was all too much. He worked too hard to regain control over his life. Over himself. It might not look like much to an outsider, but he foundsome satisfaction in his writing, and in the steady progression of each day that put him farther from the memory of his own mistakes without his having repeated them.
“And what you call order looks a good deal like cowardice to me,” Della replied coolly. “But there’s no point quibbling about it. Tell me, do you intend to cancel our visits?”
Lyman shifted uncomfortably. Whatever his feelings on their romantic entanglement, he didn’t like to abandon her when she might need his help. “I’m still willing to continue our Tuesday calls if you wish, but it will be strictly a business arrangement. Or if you’d rather not see me, you can ask me any questions you might have by correspondence instead.”
“No, you’re perfectly welcome to come by the house as usual,” Della replied. “I may be disappointed, but I’ll get over it soon enough.” Did she really feel so little at their rupture? Lyman wished he could be as impassive. But then, Della probably her choice of admirers, whereas the need for discretion had forced him to be more circumspect. He hadn’t let himself care for a woman this way in some time. “Until next Tuesday, Lord Ashton. Farewell.”
With that, she strode back to her carriage where her brother waited impatiently, without a second glance for Lyman or his misgivings.
