Jamie’s heart stopped. He didn’t interrupt her.
“If he came to my bed at all, it was,” she paused, choosing her words, “fast, brief. He didn’t do the things you do. Sometimes he couldn’t manage it at all. He would shout at me then.”
“Edmund was an even greater swine than I thought,” Jamie said, “and he is dead. I don’t want to hear his name in our marriage bed again.” He wished for one hot minute that he could wrap his hands around the selfish poet’s neck and squeeze.What kind of weasel blames a woman for his own failures?
Nora kissed him at that. She rolled to the side and stopped abruptly. She must have felt his arousal hot against her leg.
“Can we do that again so soon?” she asked, shocked.
Jamie bit back a smile. His answer didn’t involve words.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jamie enjoyed the company of men. Most of his adult life he enjoyed nothing more than lingering over port and the inevitable conversation about horses, cards, and sparring, the matters dearest to the male sex. Even politics could liven an evening. Not tonight.
Tonight he swirled the count’s excellent port around as if trying to decide where red stopped and purple began and thought of Nora. That entire day she had filled his mind even as she filled his senses.Perhaps tonight we will try my bed.
“I hear you are teaching English, Major.” The portly gentleman to his right addressed him directly. Jamie tried to clear his head.Did I miss something? he wondered.
“I’m assisting some of Castellimonte’s aides with their studies,” he replied.
“I don’t understand the need,” another, as lean as the other was portly, said. A dueling scar marred the man’s gaunt face, Jamie noticed.Not one to be trifled with. He groped to remember the name.
Several other voices chimed in on one side of that issue or another. There were six men in all, including Castellimonte and Jamie. Most of the men looked older than Jamie. He had been relieved not to deal with a pack of puppies for one evening.
“They learn English because it is necessary for diplomacy,” Castellimonte pronounced, silencing debate. “We send a trade delegation to London in the summer. Even in Vienna?—”
“Even in Vienna the English pushed their weight around,” Scarface growled.
“How are they progressing?” another asked Jamie directly.
“Well enough. They should manage fine in London.” If they didn’t get lost in gaming hells or challenge the wrong lordling to a duel over some imagined slight.
“They will be watched. Your country doesn’t trust us,” Portly said, fidgeting with his napkin. “Since the unfortunate actions of our cousins the Stuarts, we are suspect.”
“Nonsense,” another said. “Why should the English worry about some craziness seventy-five years ago?”
Jamie wondered if they expected him to have an answer. He didn’t. The Wentworths of the world were paid to worry. No one else Jamie knew thought twice about the Stuart claims.
“Why would we meddle in England? We have the throne of Sardinia,” Scarface said. His tone made it clear he considered that a much bigger prize.
Portly wagged a finger at Jamie. “If your Bonnie Prince Charlie had sought help from his Savoy cousins instead of the hapless Scots, things might be different.”
Jamie certainly didn’t care about the twice-damned Bonnie Prince!
“I saw the Piedmontese at Waterloo,” he said instead. “I don’t doubt it.” That seemed to satisfy them. Their presence at the great battle had been unofficial, under the flag of Austria. Savoy always hedged its bets.
“It is the Pope who should worry, not George IV,” Scarface said. “Sooner or later a united Italy will show Europe our true strength.” Castellimonte scowled at the man.
“It is Victor Emmanuel who should worry,” another said. “Malcontents with short memories think the Code Napoleon will save the nation. Do they think that Victor Emmanuel’s brother will be better? Carl Felice is a reactionary.”
“More power to him,” came a voice down the table.
Portly shook his head, “The young always believe different is better.”
“The young must be kept busy so they don’t have time to make trouble,” Castellimonte said. He caught Jamie’s eyes.
Jamie looked back at the sharp eyes.Does Castellimonte know Wentworth has his table watched?he wondered.Probably. Spying goes two ways.
