Richard was dressed for society. The only sign of their travails was the sling supporting his arm. “My valet would despair. Cam’s clothes are too big.” He addressed the duke. “Lay off the puddings, old man, or you’ll soon be as fat as His Majesty.”
Sedgemoor raised his claret in an ironic toast to Richard. “I can’t help being a fine figure of a fellow, instead of skinny as a blade of grass.”
“Well, at least you’ve been kind enough to feed a starving man.” Richard drew Genevieve toward a chair. “Can I fetch you something?”
Chafing dishes crowded one of the library tables. “Yes, please.”
She settled upon a brocade chair, the rich silk gown flowing around her like crimson water. She’d never worn such a garment. The bodice was tight. Lydia, the duke’s sister, was built on less Amazonian lines.
She turned toward Sedgemoor. “Your Grace, I appreciate your kindness.”
“You’re most welcome, Miss Barrett.” He waved a nonchalant hand. “I’m sorry that our acquaintance begins under adverse circumstances.”
Richard passed Genevieve a plate and a glass of wine before returning to select his meal. With difficulty, she stopped herself falling on the food like Sirius on his bowl. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Fairbrother can’t get away with this,” Richard said to the duke. She’d already sensed that her arrival interrupted an intense discussion.
Sedgemoor frowned. “Mr. Evans—”
Richard looked up sharply. “She knows my real name.”
Sedgemoor’s lips twitched. “Glad to hear it, if you’ve progressed to calling Miss Barrett ‘darling.’ ” He must see that she blushed like a tomato. “Miss Barrett, please accept my apologies for abetting this tomfoolery.”
“Genevieve knows I’m to blame.” Richard dropped to the carpet before Genevieve’s chair and leaned against her knees. She stifled the urge to run her fingers through his thick hair. After the day’s intimacies, it felt artificial not to touch him.
“Richard had good reasons for what he did,” Genevieve said softly.
He straightened with astonishment and turned to stare at her. “I did?”
She wanted to kiss him and tell him that once he’d described his childhood—and the things she’d surmised from what he left unsaid—she’d forgiven his scheming. The duke’s presence forestalled such openness.
Her heart ached for the proud, lonely boy. She kicked herself, she who took such unjustified pride in her understanding, that she’d once believed Richard impervious to the doubts and insecurities that afflicted lesser men. His courage in facing down a world that had never welcomed him left her wanting to stand up and cheer. Viewed from that perspective, his pursuit of the Harmsworth Jewel became almost valiant.
Again, the duke’s presence made her self-conscious about declarations. “I should have told you the jewel is a copy.”
Sedgemoor assumed his full impressive height and regarded her down his long nose. “It is?”
“Didn’t you tell him?” Genevieve asked.
Richard shrugged. “We haven’t had a chance to share ancillary details.”
“That’s hardly ancillary.” Sedgemoor stepped forward, his face alight with a mixture of humor and irritation. “This entire idiotic masquerade has been a wild goose chase?”
Richard’s laugh was a grunt. “Fate has a sense of humor, don’t you agree?”
Genevieve could no longer contain her curiosity. “Have you reported Lord Neville to the law?”
With suspicious concentration, Richard scooped some fricassee onto his fork. He managed his food surprisingly well, given one arm was out of commission. “We can’t.”
Shock made her catch her breath. “Why on earth not? Lord Neville’s dangerous. Someone must stop him.”
Richard stood and placed his still full plate on the table before facing her. No trace now of the charming Lothario. “I intend to.”
“So report him to a magistrate.”
She read regret and determination in Richard’s features. “If he’s arrested, he’ll tar the reputation of anyone ranged against him.”
She immediately understood the austere expression. Her appetite evaporating, she too set aside her plate. “You’re trying to protect me.”