“They say pleasure can be taught,” Mr. Tobin said, his eyesand tone suggesting an entirely naughty meaning hidden behind his polite wordsand gentlemanly exterior.
He wanted to bed her. Dear heavens, once she would have beentoo naïve to note the subtle hints. But Simon had changed that for her. Now sheknew the workings of men and women, and it all just left her feeling horridlyempty.
“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but only if one wants to betaught.”
Mr. Tobin inclined his head and retreated a few inches,apparently understanding that she was not a society wife ripe for the plucking.“Eloquently spoken, my lady.”
“Shall we have a drawing room game?” Nell asked their smallassembly at large then, trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction.
“I bloody well despise games of all sort,” offered Mr.Sedgewick, a well-known artist whose talent rivaled that of Burne-Jones. He wasas thin as he was tall, his slight frame belied by a raffish air.
Maggie laughed at his response, grateful for the distractionof Nell’s house party. At least here she could tamp down the worry, the fear,the ache in her heart for a time. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
“I’ve heard you don’t despise chamber games, Sedgewick,”ribbed Lord Montford, whose most recent poetry volume had set tongues waggingand books flying from the shelves.
The ladies tittered and the men snickered.
Mr. Sedgewick pressed a hand to his heart, affecting an airof affront. “Truly, Montford, I’m shocked at the suggestion. I fear you’ve gotit all bollixed up, and the man in question is truly Mr. Tobin.”
Nell made a dismissive gesture with her hand, ever theimperious hostess. “Gentleman, please do calm yourselves. I’ll not have blooddrawn in my drawing room unless it’s for a worthy cause.”
“Pray tell us, Nell. What is your idea of a worthy cause?”Mr. Tobin gave Maggie a rascal’s grin. “I’ve a notion to impress LadySandhurst, and if bloodletting is required, I’ve no compunction.”
Oh dear. She supposed she ought to have known that Nell’sgathering might take a wicked turn. But she simply wasn’t prepared for flirtingand feigned courting. She wished she could simply stop loving Simon as easilyas he’d disappeared. Life would have been much simpler. Easier, for certain.
“Poetry impresses me,” she returned. As did a strong man, anhonorable man. One willing to fight for her. Simon had not fought. He’d givenup and rode away. Perhaps it was better in the end. He never could have lovedher, just as she never could have stopped loving him. Love had proven to giveher all the joy of a festering wound.
“A recitation is in order,” Nell demanded. “Jonny, you mustrecite one of your poems for us if Lady S. shall not.”
Mr. Tobin obliged her by standing. “Very well. You win,Nell, just as you always do.”
But before he could begin, a commotion could be heard justbeyond the drawing room. A door flung open. Lady Needham’s butler stood there,attempting to bar the path of an unseen foe behind him.
“Lord Sandhurst,” he announced grimly.
Maggie’s head swirled. It couldn’t be. Had she heardcorrectly? A gasp caught in her throat as the butler moved to reveal the manstanding behind him. He was tall, slightly disheveled and most certainly notwearing evening finery. In fact, he was muddied and looked as if he’d just slidfrom his horse after a two-hour ride. He was thinner than she recalled, hisface a trifle more gaunt and covered in whiskers, though handsome as ever.
It was him. Like a ghost, he loomed over them, his greengaze scanning the faces of those in attendance until he reached her. The breathseeped from her lungs. Simon had finally returned.
Nell was the first to react. “Sandhurst, whatever are youdoing here?”
“I’m here for my wife,” he all but growled.
He had come for her. She wanted to rejoice, run into hisarms and kiss him. But she remained seated, wary, watching him. Because he wastoo late. Far too late in remembering he had a wife. And she had already closedand locked the door inside herself. She wasn’t about to give him the key.
Simon was in a grim mood. He’d just had to ride across thecountryside in the dark and muck to find Maggie. He was cold and miserablewhilst there she sat, looking brilliantly beautiful in a black evening gownwith diamonds in her red hair and a man at her side. By God. He knew he’d beengone for a time, but did that give his wife the right to cavort with a gaggleof lecherous poets? Of course it didn’t. He was going to rip off one of Tobin’sarms and beat him with the bloody thing.
Nell was gaping at him as if he’d grown a second head atophis shoulders. He wanted to shake the woman for her interference, the audacityshe had to spirit his wife away. He had finally been able to return to DenverHouse. It had taken him some time, some railing and raging and bottles ofwhiskey. But he had returned because he’d known Maggie waited there for him. Hehad needed her sweetness, her warm embrace, the comfort of her ready passionand easy caring. Yes, by the time he had fought off the demons chasing him downand the fog of whiskey had lifted from his addled mind, he’d known he’d made aterrible mistake in leaving her in the first place. He needed her more than heneeded air to breathe.
And then she had not been there. Coming home to DenverHouse, with its gaggle of ghosts, had been hell enough. Without Maggie there towelcome him, he’d been lost. At least Mrs. Keynes had known her whereabouts,for he may have well and truly lost his bloody mind if he hadn’t discovered whereto find her.
So here he was, cooling his heels while the company staredat him in dazed bemusement. He wasn’t accustomed to being the odd man out, butnone of that mattered now. He had come for his wife. He very well couldn’tnothave her. He needed her. Desperately, he’d come to realize. He needed her tomake him laugh again, to shore the loose pieces inside himself. But sheremained seated, looking more as if she were about to leap into Tobin’s bloodyembrace than his.
Damn it all. He’d returned to his senses too late.
“Welcome back, Sandhurst,” Nell said at last into theshocked silence that had descended over the drawing room’s inhabitants.
“Thank you.” The words felt rusty as he said them. He hadbeen alone for many weeks, speaking to no one, lost in grief and blame anddrink. “I apologize for intruding on your merriment.”There, that ought todo.He realized he’d bungled things a bit upon his entrance.
