Chapter Six
ROBERT WHISTLED AS HEtied his cravat in readiness for his ride with Miss Glasbarr. A ride in the park used to be one of his favorite activities. Fine weather. Expertly guiding his team. Light banter with his acquaintances. An exquisite woman by his side.
He hadn’t taken Kitty Thomas to the park. The idea of doing so brought Cinthia too much to mind. Today, his thoughts held no room for the willowy socialite he’d worshiped for years. Instead, his imagination dwelled on a petite, slightly buxom, golden haired girl whose Scottish burr was made lovely by traces of a soft country lilt.
He wondered if Miss Glasbarr had an appreciation for fine horseflesh. Most women did not, but she was from the countryside, and he’d overheard the tail end of her discussion with Campbell. Had she been humoring the unworthy fop, or genuinely interest? It would be a marvelous thing to travel the park’s lanes with someone he could converse with on one of his favorite topics. So many splendid teams would be on display during the afternoon promenade.
His hands stilled halfway through the final knot. And there would be many eligible gentlemen, and introductions to be made. That was the main goal of the outing, after all. He must not lose sight of the point of their ride. Robert gave his reflection a firm nod and finished the knot.
He permitted his valet to help him shrug into his coat and left the room. The plush carpets in his chamber gave way to equally luxurious weaves in the hall. What would Miss Glasbarr think of his Edinburgh home? She dreamed of something a bit shabbier for herself, he would wager, but surely opulence would be a pleasant surprise? A man couldn’t help if he was wealthy, after all. Not that Robert was the wealthiest man in Edinburgh, but after a certain point, greater wealth couldn’t add additional ease—or joy—to life. Robert was well past the point where more money could increase his happiness.
He accepted hat and gloves from his butler, Edwards, and left his townhouse. As he descended the steps, a large black lacquered carriage pulled away from the curb down the street and rolled to a halt behind his curricle. He eyed the crest on the side with distaste. Dunreid. Robert turned his back and headed toward his own conveyance.
“Mister Banbrook.”
The familiar honeyed tone halted Robert midstride. He turned slowly. His name, uttered in that voice, was the first words Cinthia had addressed to him since she ran off with Dunreid, over a year ago.
The dark red curtains of the carriage were pulled back to frame her alabaster skin and pale locks. She was a painting, or a vision, neither of which were real. Robert stayed where he was, touched with an odd unease. He’d only just begun to shake off the clinging tendrils of her web. He didn’t know if he would survive another entanglement.
“Mister Banbrook, will you not approach?” She dipped her lashes. Ice blue eyes gazed up through them. “I should like to have words with you. Quiet words.”
He looked up and down the street. Seeking aid, distraction? He knew not. Which he sought didn’t matter, for the only other people were their stone-still, expressionless servants. Against his will, Robert walked nearer. Why was she there, now, finally, when he’d pursued her fruitlessly for so long?
“Will you sit in the carriage with me?” she asked when he came to a halt beside the vehicle.
“I think not, my lady. I have someplace to be.” He’d punched her husband the evening before. Did she know he was the one who’d blackened Dunreid’s eye? Was her warmth a lure, so she could issue a complaint?
She craned her head out the window, offering a generous view of long white neck and cleavage. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his curricle. “Going for a ride in the park?”
“I am.”
She turned back and employed her long lashes once more. “Time was, you only rode in the park with me.”
“Time was, we were engaged. Now, my lady, we are not, and you are wed to another man.” He was aware his words were clipped, but what politeness could she truly expect from him?
Her lips flattened into a hard line. He knew her well enough to see the effort she exerted to plump them back into a smile. A white gloved hand snaked through the window and closed on his cravat. She gave a tug and drew him closer. “There are things I should like to speak with you on. Will you not come in off the street? Someone may overhear.”
Though movement was a bit awkward with her clinging to his cravat, Robert looked up and down the street again. The quiet roadway remained empty. The homes were all quite large, with sizable gardens. Few houses led to little traffic. “We seem alone enough, my lady.”
“And why do you insist onmy lady, when you once called me your Cinthia?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
“Because you are Dunreid’s Cinthia now, my lady.” It would take a better man than Robert to keep bitterness from his tone.
“But I could be your Cinthia again.” Her hand smoothed his cravat and came to rest against his jacket front, over his heart. “That’s what I’ve come to speak with you about. It’s a very…delicate matter, you understand.” She lowered her voice even more. “You see, I have yet to produce an heir.”
A bolt of pain went through him at her choice of topic. Children, as he’d once envisioned for them. “You’ve been wed little more than a year. I wouldn’t let the lack of a babe worry you.” What was this new torment? Was this her underhanded way of getting back at him for striking Dunreid?
“But I am worried. More importantly, Dunreid is worried. I can tell by the way he looks at me. He means to send me into the country while he does as he pleases and hopes for a by-blow to carry on his line.” Her whispered words held a frantic edge. “Only, I don’t believe I am the trouble. Even with a string of lovers and mistresses, he’s never once sired a child. Once I’m sequestered, I’ll be helpless, but if I can get myself with child now, while Dunreid and I still share a bed, he’ll never know—”
“Enough,” Robert ground the word out.
“But Robert, who else can I go to? You’re the only man I trust.” A sheen of tears formed in her eyes. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
He backed away from her, a bitter laugh wrenched free. “How easily you employ the word, my lady.” He shook, but knew not if in rage or with some other, more desperate emotion. “Once, I would have believed the claim of love from your lips.”
“Robert,” she hissed. Her eyes darted about, taking in her servants. Dunreid’s servants.
He returned to her carriage window. She was correct, their exchange was not one he would wish overheard. “You cannot ask it of me, Cinthia. I can’t do it.” Though his words were whispered, they grated between lips nearly numb with rage, a throat that felt raw, as if the refusal had torn from him.
