She nodded, laying the book aside. “He had never been strong. His sisters had reared him, and they were accustomed to pampering him. They coddled me, too, and the children. I’m sure the ladies meant well, but they were—oh, I can’t think how to say it without sounding horribly ungrateful—but they were narrow. Their world was small, their views—It wasn’t what—” She shook her head. “Once Arthur was gone, I found I couldn’t live that way any longer,” she went on hurriedly. “He left me well-fixed, as all the world knows. I bought another house, and simply left. The aunts descended upon that house and tried to convince me that grief had disordered my wits. And so I’ve fled again. After the New Year, the girls and I depart with my great-aunt Georgjana for the Continent.”
He wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear. He knew only that this wasn’t it: hearing her complain of a narrow, conventional life, hearing her speak of rebellion. There was no female in England less likely to rebel against anything than Christina. Or so he’d thought. But then, she’d surprised him earlier, too.
“You’ve changed,” he said, moving another step nearer, “a great deal.”
“Most people change after ten years.”
“Have I?” he asked. “Do you agree with Penny that I’m much changed?”
She nodded. “You’re more confident. You always were outwardly, but now you are inwardly as well. As you should be,” she quickly added. “You’ve accomplished a great deal, I understand.”
He dropped into the chair opposite. “Oh, yes, of course. I got enormously rich. That makes a great difference. Those who shut their doors to me years ago can’t open them fast enough now. This last year and a half in London has been an education.”
“You didn’t get rich,” she corrected. “From what I’ve heard, you worked hard for every farthing, and took tremendous risks. Those shipping ventures in Greece, for instance—”
“It would seem you’ve followed my progress very closely,” he said.
Despite what he was discovering about her, he still half-expected her to blush. She didn’t. There was a quick flash in her eyes before they chilled to cool blue blanks.
“Penny’s letters are devoted to the doings of the Greyson family,” she said. “You, however, seem to be her favorite topic, which isn’t surprising, for you seem to be a never-ending source of sensational stories. She’s devoted whole pages to your financial enterprises, and even more ink to your amorous ones. You’ll find me, therefore, well-versed in the Greek ventures, as well as in the height, coloring, wardrobe, and disposition of your last mistress.”
He sat bolt upright. “How the devil can Penny pretend to know of any such thing, when she only comes to London for two months out of the twelve?”
“You can’t expect to be so much in the public eye and not have your activities noticed,” she said. “The gossips, naturally, pass their observations on to your sister-in-law.”
“And she passes them on to you.” He felt terribly exposed, which was ridiculous. He’d done nothing to be ashamed of. Nevertheless, Marcus felt like a boy called to account for some misdeed.
“Evidently she believes you an interested party,” he said. “Which would seem altogether odd—unless, of course, she’d somehow learned of what passed between us long ago.”
Her chin went up. “You hadn’t used to be so roundabout. Are you implying that I told her?”
“It’s nothing to me if you did,” he said. “Girls generally boast of their conquests, just as men do.”
“Then perhaps you’ll allow me to wonder whether you boasted to Julius. That would also account for their believing me an interested party.”
“I never told a soul,” he snapped. “Men don’t usually boast of being played for fools.”
“I never played you for a fool, Marcus Greyson.” Her eyes were flashing now, blue fire. “And I can’t believe a grown man of four-and-thirty could believe such a stupid thing.”
“Stupid?” He clenched his fists.
“I was eighteen years old. It was the first time I’d been out of my little village, my first time in anything like Society. What in heaven’s name could I have known of such games? Where could I have learned them?”
“Women are born knowing that game.”
“Then I must have been born wrong, because I didn’t.”
“Then what were you about?” he demanded. “You were as good as engaged to Travers—practically since birth, I was told—yet you let me—”
“Indeed—and what were you about?”
He couldn’t find the answer. He knew he had one, because he always did. Argument was as natural to him as breathing. But the retort he needed was stuck somewhere, and while he tried desperately to locate it, his eyes were busy too. They were taking in the blue sparks in her eyes and the flush of anger in her smooth cheeks—and its faint sister flush below, where her bosom rose and fell with her quickened breathing... where the diamond quivered, flashing fire.
Her slim white hand moved to shield her breasts from his stare. Ineffectually.
“I don’t remember.” His voice was foggy, dazed. Tearing his gaze away, Marcus shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re arguing about that episode after all these years. I can’t believe you are arguing. I can’t believe you’re wearing that gown. How can you possibly expect me to argue intelligently? Gad, how is a man to think at all?” He got up and poked at the fire again, then stood and glared at it.
“According to report,” came her low, taut voice, “your last mistress wore considerably more revealing attire. I don’t see why you must take issue with mine—or blame your illogic on it.”
Marcus swung round. “I don’t see why you must keep plaguing me about my mistress. Or why you must continue this wrangling.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I see. I’m to hold my tongue and let you say whatever you like. That isn’t in the least fair.”
“It’s not fair of you to pick a quarrel when you’re wearing a provocative red silk gown.”
“Don’t make it sound as though I wore it deliberately to provoke you!”
“You wore it to provoke somebody—and Julius is already taken!” He stormed back to the sofa. “And you’ve got that great, gaudy diamond stuck between your breasts, winking at me.”
“It’s no gaudier than yours,” she said. “And yours winks, too.”
“You’re not obliged to look.”
“Neither are you.”
They looked, nevertheless, not at diamonds, but at each other. Blue fire clashed with gold, making the space between them crackle. He could almost hear it. He certainly could feel it, crackling inside him, the current he remembered, the inexorable pull... to disaster.
He stepped back a pace, his heart racing. “We sound like a pair of children. The instant the grownups depart, we break out in a row.”
“We could hardly have this particular row before others,” she said.
“We shouldn’t have had it at all.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I really am beginning to feel—” He bit back the “haunted” in the nick of time. “I don’t feel quite myself,” he carefully amended. “I’m tired and out of sorts. And it’s absurd to blame my ill-temper on gowns or diamonds or... Well, you do look very beautiful, but that’s hardly your fault. I just seem to have difficulty... digesting—that is, one can’t expect you to wear modest white muslin frocks forever, and this is far more... aesthetic.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I should also have realized that you would grow out of your timidity and learn to speak your mind,” he went on, feeling as though he were picking his way through a field of nettles. “It is... refreshing... quite... stimulating.”
“I daresay you find it so,” she said. “However, I feel as though I’ve been battling a tempest. You give no quarter, do you? You say whatever comes into your head, and all the common rules of politeness, of what one may and may not say—” She made a sweeping gesture. “Gone.”
“It’s more interestin
g that way,” he said. “You are vastly more interesting when you’re vexed than when you’re cool and proper and polite. For instance, I’d no idea you could be so obstinate. Or that you were so fascinated with the demimonde. The first time you mentioned my mistress, I nearly dropped into a faint. I’m shocked at you, Christina.”
She did not appear to notice the use of her Christian name. “Until now, I’ve succeeded in shocking only four very unworldly middle-aged women,” she said. “Perhaps I’m better prepared for Paris than I thought.”
He glimpsed an escape route from this uncomfortable exchange and hastily took it. “No English-man or woman can possibly be prepared for Paris,” he said. “The Parisians are not French, but a breed apart. They are—” He shrugged. “I needn’t tell you. You’ll see for yourself.”
“Not the Paris you’ve seen,” she said. “I wish you would tell me about it.”
***
When Julius and Penny returned, Marcus and Christina were still in the drawing room, talking. After an hour or more of Paris, they’d returned to discussing the plight of the Greeks. They were debating the pros and cons of various diplomatic strategies the British government might pursue when their hosts entered with the news that Sally, after some initial difficulty, had given birth to a healthy, noisy, little boy.