He felt a rock forming in his stomach.Oh, he was not equal to this! He could not sit politely in the same room with her, sipping tea with the Gardiners as though she were an indifferent acquaintance—as though his heart did not sing each time she smiled, as though he could look at her, so seemingly fresh and innocent in that soft muslin and not imagine the feel of her skin—not recall the warmth of her lips, as though it had been yesterday instead of three years since he had last tasted them!
“I hope you shall like our city,” Mrs Gardiner was offering. “Perhaps we will show you the parks, or the theatre.”
Oh, no, she must not go out! Amália must have known the same, for she looked nervously to Richard. He tensed, but it was not necessary for him to make a reply.
“I think it might be wise,” Mr Gardiner put in quickly, “if we allow our guest some days to recover from her journey, my dear. It would not do to tire her needlessly, and London will still be here in a fortnight.”
He was staring at her again. He realised it when he found that he had watched each flicker of emotion across her features, each twitch of her fingers on the cup as she listened to Mr Gardiner. Richard blinked and shook himself. He was a dunderheaded ass, if he thought he could breathe the same air as she and not bring catastrophe upon them both.
“Forgive me,” he rose abruptly, unsettling his cup and dropping his napkin. “My apologies, Mrs Gardiner, Mr Gardiner, but I must be going.”
“Of course, Colonel, but we are sorry to see you go so soon!” Mrs Gardiner’s dismay was plain, and she even looked slightly hurt.
“I pray you, Mrs Gardiner, to overlook my manners at present,” he apologised. “I had nearly forgotten the time, that is all, and I have a pressing engagement.”
“Indeed, you must not delay,” agreed Gardiner as he stood. “Please send word if you are in need of anything at all, sir.”
Another glance—he could not help it—and Richard tore his eyes away. His throat was too tight to risk speech, so he simply nodded, crude as it was. He took a step away from his chair and bowed to the room, mumbled a hoarse word or two of gratitude, and fled.
Chapter sixty-one
London
“Senhor,thereisamessage for you.” The manservant extended a tray with a bow, and waited for his employer’s notice.
Vasconcelos had been facing the street, but turned with sharp interest. He dismissed his hired man and had the sealed note half-opened when his son came to stand by him. “Have they found my wife?” Miguel demanded. “She cannot have been so very difficult to find, yet it has taken days!”
The father turned purposefully away, shielding his information and scowling in disdain. “I have not sent men to find your foolish wife.” He scanned the note quickly, and his eyebrows raised in interest. He folded the paper again without allowing his son to read it, and returned to the desk to pen a reply.
“Well, what is it?” Miguel waved his hand impatiently. “Will you not tell me, Pai? Where is she?”
“I’ve not the least notion, nor do I care,” the father replied, in a tone of deep ennui.
“But what of an heir? Do not all your designs require that our family continue on?”
Manuel Vasconcelos continued writing without making a response. He signed his note with a flourish and sealed it, then leveled an annoyed look toward his son. “If the woman is found, well enough. Sire your heir and do as you like with her. If she is not, we shall simply have her declared dead, and you may find a more suitable wife. These things are not impossible.”
Miguel stalked to his father’s desk and slammed his fist down on the old oak. “I wanther. I do not wish for a meek little woman, bred to lower her eyes and do my bidding! What better proof of our family’s return to the highest classes of society than the adoration of the Noronha wench? She does not bow to just anyone. Conquering her, now that is something in which I can take pride!”
“Your desire has nothing at all to do with matching your sword to that of the Englishman?”
Miguel sneered. “Fitzwilliam is a cub who fancies himself a lion, parading about with his medals and his epaulets and assuming that the real wars are fought on the battlefield! She must have tired of him by now.”
Vasconcelos arched a dry brow at his son as he summoned the manservant. “I must speak with the viscount. I trust you will do nothing foolish while I am away.”
“You have yet to tell me what this is all about,” Miguel gestured to the note. “What has been found?”
“Perhaps nothing. There is merely some activity about Darcy’s town house.”
Miguel looked up. “Your men did not capture him yet? I thought you dispatched more for the task just last week!”
The father’s jaw clenched as he donned his coat. “No, they have not, but Darcy’s estate is some days from here. It is not impossible that they might yet be sending word.”
“It is not Darcy who has returned to London? What else could occasion interest and a visit to the viscount?”
Vasconcelos smiled tightly as he faced the door and awaited the manservant with his hat. “Why, your old friend, Colonel Fitzwilliam himself.”
Hertfordshire
