"Then don't let it bother you, Kit, if it's no more than a coincidence, that the two women share the same name," Walter suggested.
"A damned strange coincidence," Christopher replied, his original scowl a bit more pronounced. "Especially considering it's not a name that is even remotely common to England. Besides, I just don't like coincidences that happen to be that coincidental."
"Don't blame you a'tall. Definitely strange. But let's get back to your Anna," Walter tried again. "Why did she leave you?"
Walter was pushing it. If Christopher had wanted to discuss his Gypsy with them, he would have done so before now. Yet considering the flaming jealousy he'd just experienced, when he knew those young men weren't even talking about his Anna, well, he obviously did need to talk about it, if only to get his mind off of that other girl, who was running around with his Anna's name.
So he said curtly, "Because she objected to my thinking and saying she was my mistress."
"Thinking?" David latched on to that word. "I know you got quite foxed the day before. Did you forget to square away the formalities and ask her?"
"No, I did some asking, but apparently not what I'd intended to ask," Christopher mumbled. "Seems instead of making her my mistress, I made her my wife."
Their identical shocked expressions merely confirmed why he should have kept this to himself. A man in his position just didn't make such appalling blunders.
David was the first to recover from his surprise. But he didn't point out the obvious, which Christopher wouldn't have appreciated, having said it enough times himself. Everyone knew what he'd done just wasn't done.
And his tone was deliberately calm as he said, "Well, that proves Thompson's niece really isn't the same girl, just in case we were doubting it a'tall. Your wife wouldn't be launching herself in the tried-and-true husband-hunting fashion, now would she?"
Walter rolled his eyes at that reasoning, but what he wanted to know was, "How does one get so drunk that they don't recall getting married?"
"By drinking too much, obviously," Christopher replied in self-disgust.
"I suppose," Walter allowed. "But of course, you've rectified the situation?"
"Not yet," Christopher mumbled so softly, he barely heard himself.
Walter certainly missed it, and rather than take the hint that Christopher obviously didn't want to answer, he asked for clarification. "What was that?"
"I said not yet!"
The explosive answer still didn't stop his next question, "Whyever not?"
"Damned if I know." Christopher scowled.
David and Walter exchanged knowing looks at that point, but it was David who expressed their thoughts with, "Then perhaps we should hope that, for whatever strange reason she might have been in that Gypsy camp, your 'wife' and Sir William's niece are one and the same, after all. I'd make a call at the Siddons household tomorrow, indeed I would, were I you, Kit. Be nice if you were pleasantly surprised."
Would it? Christopher wasn't so sure, but he'd already decided to do just that.
Christopher wasn't expecting to be surprised as he was shown into Lady Siddons's parlor, where her "guest" was holding court. Sir William's niece could be a raving beauty as the rumors indicated, but she wouldn't be the Anastasia he was looking for.
After giving it some thought, though, he didn't think the identical names were so coincidental. That would be too far-fetched. It was much more likely that his Anastasia hadn't given him her true name, that she'd met William's niece at some time in the past, liked her name, and decided to take it for her own as well.
Yet he had to find out for sure, thus his early morning visit to old Lady Siddons's house. And not expecting to be surprised just made his surprise all the worse when he saw Anastasia.
She was standing in the center of seven slavering men, all vying for her attention, wearing a morning dress that would have done a queen proud, wide-skirted, tightly corseted, her wild hair caged in a fashionable manner, frilled and laced. Black lace and powder blue satin, making her cobalt blue eyes so incredibly vivid.
For the first startled moment, Christopher actually thought there was merely a resemblance between the two women, so much did she look like an English lady, rather than the Gypsy he had first met. But only for a moment . . .
Their eyes met across the room. She immediately went very still. Then she blushed and lowered her gaze, as if she had something to be guilty about. But then she did, didn't she? Masquerading as a lady. Presenting herself on the marriage mart, when she was already married.
He was letting his jealousy supersede his delight in finding her again. He realized it, and yet those nasty emotions were too powerful to easily ignore, and were coloring his every thought. Even Adam Sheffield was here, obviously having had no trouble getting past the front door this morning, and looking utterly bedazzled by Anastasia. His friend, too, the one who'd mentioned putting a bid in for her himself, was gazing at her worshipfully.
Christopher had the distinctly violent urge to walk over there and knock their heads together, the whole lot of them. How dare they fawn over his wife and entertain lurid thoughts about her? And he had no doubt whatsoever that their thoughts were lurid.
A cross between a Madonna and a wanton, as had been noted last night, was apt by far. Anastasia exuded sexual promise, and yet seemed untouchable, a combination ripe for stirring a man's desire, yet making him hesitant to proceed, thus leaving him wishful and fantasizing.
Those who were doing no more than fantasizing, he would merely hurt. The others, though, and he could see there were several others who were actually entertaining thoughts of a more permanent nature, unaware that the lady was unavailable for anything permanent, Christopher was going to slowly take apart piece by piece . . .
