And then, he would die tragically, as planned. It was a shame that the fellow could not stay alive to enjoy the spoils due to a victor. But this little escapade could not last for ever. Bonhamhad responsibilities that Smith did not. He needed to return to his real life as soon as this matter was settled.
After finishing his brandy, he went to his room to dress for dinner and plan his second skirmish in the battle to free Louisa. Old Skeffington was sorely misinformed if he thought Tom Smith could be vanquished with a few harsh words and a wave of the hand.
An hour and a half later, he had rested and changed and was on his way down to dinner when he met a maid on the stairs. She was carrying a tray upwards, towards the master suite. He gave her his most winning smile.
She paused to smile back.
He glanced at the covered plate and said, ‘I take it Lord Skeffington will not be dining with us.’
She nodded. ‘He takes most meals in his room. Too much company upsets his digestion.’
‘Of course.’ He lifted the cloche to see a perfectly ordinary meal and not the bowl of gruel and milk toast he’d expected for an invalid. He lowered the cover again and said,‘It looks delicious.’Then he continued down the stairs.
When he arrived in the dining room, the table was set for three. The Skeffington siblings were seated on either side, facing each other. The head had been left empty, probably out of respect, even though the host was not there to notice the fact. Thomas took the remaining place beside Percy and smiled across at Louisa, who responded with a polite nod.
She had changed into a dinner gown that he could not remember seeing before. The blush-coloured silk was cut low, revealing an expanse of delicate pink skin that was a close match to the bodice.
If he let his mind wander, he could imagine the silk was sheer, tinted by the body beneath it, a drape that was inadequateto hide her charms. It might be pulled away with a gentle tug, leaving her naked in his arms…
And that was not something he should be doing with a woman who was practically a sister. Such thoughts were becoming worryingly frequent, but he could hardly be blamed for them. In London, he’d seen her only occasionally and even when he had, his mind had often been occupied by other matters.
But he’d been with her now for days without relief. Even a saint would be tempted under such conditions. He sipped his wine and looked away, hoping that his thoughts were not to be plainly read on his face. This would be easier if she weren’t so damned pretty.
He wondered if she’d ever thought of him as attractive. When they were in London, he’d wondered why she often joined them when he and Percy dined together. She should have been out with other ladies of her age. Flirting, giggling and surrounded by a pack of eager, young, gentlemen. Instead, she’d stayed with him.
And her real brother, of course.
It had all been so simple. She’d been good company if a trifle quiet. There had been no pressure to become anything more than friends.
Spending the last week playacting as her lover was warping his mind in strange directions. Delightfully dangerous, forbidden, directions. The brief flashes of temper she’d been showing lately intrigued him. He liked the woman who snapped and stormed at him. He wanted to see her again.
But now that the brandy had worn off, she was as he’d always known her, quiet and unassuming. The tempestuous beauty was hiding once again, like the pink skin he imagined under her gown.
‘The soup is made from peas picked from the garden this morning,’ she said as the tureen was passed. ‘The mint is fresh as well. The recipe is not complicated, but the result is as good as anything you will have in London.’ Her smile was serene and her voice was pitched low so as not to carry further than the room.
‘It is delicious,’ he assured her.
She nodded in response and said nothing more. In London, she’d rarely spoken to him unless he questioned her directly. It was as if she did not want to take up space in the conversation that might better be used by someone else.
What about that modest behavior would turn her grandfather into a cane-thumping despot? He tried, and failed, to imagine her, even as a child, making the sort of ruckus that would bother an old man at his dinner and force him to take to his bed. Percy also had excellent manners, even when in his cups. He could not be the problem either.
He glanced at the ceiling, considering. ‘Your grandfather must be of a particularly delicate constitution, if he chooses to take all his meals in bed,’ he said, waiting for an explanation.
‘The stairs are sometimes difficult for him,’ Louisa said, her soft voice even softer, as if she feared she might be overheard.
‘He walks with a stick,’ Percy supplied.
‘He is easily winded,’ Louisa added.
‘How unfortunate,’ Thomas said blandly.
Skeffington had not seemed particularly fatigued when he was harassing them, earlier. Thomas had suspected he could go on complaining all day if he wished to.
‘Poor wind and a limp might be signs of a serious illness. What do the doctors say is wrong with him?’
‘Gout,’ Louisa said.
But at the same time, her brother replied, ‘Dyspepsia.’
