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Rafael devoutly hoped that Johnny’s mouth wouldn’t lead him to say something so insulting about Victoria that he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. Then he would be forced to kill the fool, or at the very least beat him to a bloody pulp.
“No,” Rafael said, “it doesn’t matter.” What had he meant about David and his distrust of all women?
Fortunately, Johnny, in his twenty-five years, had honed his sense of self-preservation.
“About these other, er, diversions. I suppose you’re probably not interested for a while, huh?”
“One never knows, does one?” Rafael said blandly. “A man is a man, isn’t he? If he isn’t interested, he’s dead or too old to do anything about it.” He clapped Johnny on the back this time, and strolled off. He’d give old Johnny an hour to consume another three brandies, then give him another opportunity to be indiscreet. Perhaps just one more brandy would be sufficient; he could hear Johnny giggling at what he’d said.
Victoria smiled and chatted with friends and neighbors, gracefully accepting congratulations on her marriage and ignoring some covert glances at her waistline by several sly matrons, all the while watching her husband as he greeted young men he hadn’t seen in years. But she realized there was more to it than simply reacquainting himself. He was spending his time with the worst of the lot, and not nice young men like Richard Porthtowan, for example, or Timothy Botelet. Surely he would have known them as a boy, spent time with them, and not with such dissolute wastrels as Paul Keason and Johnny Tregonnet.
David Esterbridge swam into her ken for the first time that evening, eyed her stiffly, and muttered, “I suppose I should dance with you. It would be rude not to.”
Victoria would have much liked to laugh in his sullen face, but she forced herself to say with just a bit of irony, “I’ll wager that your father sent you over to do your duty.”
David shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Yes, he’s a stickler for what’s proper, and you are Elaine’s cousin, after all.”
Victoria looked over at Squire Esterbridge, who was standing alone for the moment, and she smiled at him. He was regarding her intently, and nodded, and she wondered what he was thinking. She had known him since she had come to Drago Hall five years before, and he’d always showed kindness to her. He also held David in firm tow, she knew, still, despite David’s twenty-three years. The squire was a smallish man, slight, balding on the very top of his head. His eyes, though, were as intense and vivid as they must have been in his youth—a bright moss green, slightly tilted up at the corners.
David added, his voice waspish as he saw the direction of her attention, “I see you married the other Carstairs.”
“It appears so,” she said, waving toward the squire before turning back to David.
“Why? Because he looks like your damned lover?”
“No.”
“Are you pregnant? Do both of them share you now, Victoria?”
“No and no.”
He looked ready to spit. “God, how could I be so wrong about you? You don’t even bother to deny it.”
It was difficult, but Victoria didn’t slap him hard. “Didn’t I just say no and no? Deny what, David? Deny that you have a foul mind? Deny that you have an equally foul and mean mouth? Of course, that would be impossible to deny.”
“Curse you, Victoria. Oh, the devil. I might as well dance with you now. My father’s giving me one of his damned looks, and I’d never hear the end of it if—”
Her smile never faltered, but it grew more obviously a mockery. “You are such a useless ass, David,” she smoothly interrupted him. She gave him a small, insolent wave of her hand. “and a complete fool, of course.” She turned on her heel and walked away.
He stared after her, his lips thinning in fury. The damned little trollop. No longer was she interested in him. He would have married her if Damien hadn’t saved him, told him the truth. He made his way to Baron Drago, who was at the moment unoccupied by the punch bowl.
“David,” said Damien, and offered him a glass of Elaine’s champagne punch.
David tossed down the punch in one long gulp.
“I saw you speaking with Victoria,” Damien continued, his eyes resting on Victoria for a brief moment. “You don’t look very pleased.”
“No,” said David. “Do you know,” he added viciously, “that she didn’t even bother to deny that both you and your brother are her lovers?”
Now, that was a surprise, thought Damien, his expression never changing. Why was Victoria toying with the young fool? “Really?”
“Yes,” David downed another glass of champagne punch. “Does your brother know the truth about his wife?”
“An excellent question,” Damien said thoughtfully. “I really can’t say. I would say, though, that if you want to keep your nice teeth intact and in your mouth, you will not say anything to him in the nature of an insult to his bride.”
“I’m not a fool.”
Are you not? Damien thought, but said nothing. He watched David Esterbridge dutifully make his way back to his father, that miserable old martinet. Elaine came to him at that moment, smiling quite contentedly. “Everything is a success,” she said with great satisfaction.
