The Trouble With Virtue: A Comfortable WifeA Lady by Day

  “Of course,” Honoria mused, ignoring her completely, “now you’ll have Sir Noah’s company, as well.” Her eyes brightened with possibilities. “Lady Devon said she saw Sir Noah outside Lord Poole’s house—she’s got a direct view from her window, you know—and she vowed he was the most striking figure of a man she’s seen in years. Years. Only imagine what that could signify.”

  “Coming from Lady Devon, I should think it means he has two arms and two legs.”

  “La, Josephine, you are too contrary! I should think it means a good deal more than that. I’ll say this... Sir Noah may only be a knight, but he is rich as Croesus, and he is something new. I daresay he’ll offer a bit of exotic spice to our humdrum existence.”

  Josephine made herself laugh, even as she wondered whether there was anything she could have done differently—or that Joseph Bentley could have done differently, rather—to avoid Sir Noah’s coming to London in person. “Such high expectations for a mere mortal.”

  “Is he? Mortal?” Honoria’s eyes flashed with mischief. “To hear Lady Devon tell it, I rather think not.”

  * * *

  BUT SIR NOAH was mortal, and two hours later as Josephine and the girls bustled through the entrance hall on their way to the coach, she nearly collided with him on her way out the door.

  “Good heavens.” She jumped back, looked up, and there was a heartbeat when she couldn’t breathe. His eyes were that blue. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen him before, that he hadn’t introduced himself—she knew immediately who he was.

  “Pardon me, madam,” he said quickly. “Do forgive me.” He offered a bow, and it was all she could do not to stare. He looked as if he’d just disembarked from a ship, which, of course, he very recently had. It was dark outside, but the chandeliers illuminated a face kissed deeply by the Mediterranean sun and cut with lines that creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. His burnished-gold hair was streaked with blond and cropped, yet long enough to testify to his scorn of a wig at sea. He stood with that wide-legged stance that could identify a seaman from a hundred yards.

  He was the Mediterranean itself, come wildly to life on her doorstep.

  “Sir Noah Rutledge,” he said now. Those blue eyes glanced over her, leaving sparks on her skin. “Please pardon my intrusion, but I was told there is a Mr. Joseph Bentley at this address.”

  She debated the wisdom of letting him think her a complete stranger, but decided it would only make her look foolish when he learned that she wasn’t. “How do you do, Sir Noah? What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Lady Mareck, Elias Woodbridge’s niece by marriage.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lettie, Pauline, do hurry—the carriage is waiting.” And then, “I’m afraid there’s nobody by that name here,” she said. “There must be a mistake.”

  There was a small ruckus behind them, followed by an outraged shriek from Lettie. “Auntie Josephine, Bentley just tore a bit of lace from my gown!”

  Josephine turned just in time to see Pauline snatch the strip of lace from Bentley’s mouth. “Mary, could you bring a pin?” Josephine called. “Quickly, please.” Bentley darted toward Josephine in a frenzy of excitement. “Edgar, could you please—” But Sir Noah was already bending down to scoop Bentley into his arms, where Bentley became a wiggly bit of silver fluff with a pink tongue, desperately trying to lick Sir Noah’s chin.

  “We are just on our way out, as you can see,” she told him. “I assume you’re in town to see your cousin?”

  “Yes.” Thick, strong fingers ruffled Bentley’s fur and expertly kept that small, furry face at a safe distance from Sir Noah’s own very—oh, yes, very—handsome one. “It’s been a long time—too long,” he said. “There’s much I’d like to discuss with him.” Of course there was. And he would have the opportunity to discuss exactly none of it until she’d had a chance to speak with Elias about his sudden arrival. “Although I understand he’s been feeling poorly,” he added.

  She saw now that the back of his hand had been tattooed with a geometric Ottoman design. She forced herself not to stare.

  “I’m afraid Elias has been feeling a bit worse than usual these past few days.” Which Sir Noah already knew because she’d told him as much in the note she’d sent him earlier today.

  Or rather, the letter “Joseph Bentley” had sent him in response to a note Sir Noah had sent to Elias. It was a miracle she’d been at Elias’s house to intercept it.

  Edgar reached to take Bentley from Sir Noah. “Pardon me, sir.”

  “Bentley, you naughty dog!” Lettie scolded from the bottom of the staircase, where Mary was pinning the torn lace, and Josephine felt a twinge of unease. Hopefully, Sir Noah would not make the connection.

  When Josephine returned her attention to Sir Noah, she found his unnerving gaze resting somewhere between her chin and her bosom.

  “Elias’s health is always unpredictable,” she told him a bit more sternly than she might have, and his gaze lifted to meet hers once again, which didn’t help things because his eyes were a shade of blue she hadn’t seen since overlooking the sea at Gibraltar. “It is a very distressing situation.” This was fast becoming equally distressing. “I can never be certain myself when I might find him asleep—” just to reinforce what she’d said in the note about Elias’s sleeping patterns “—but thankfully his staff is adept at having meals ready during any window of opportunity. When he’s of a mind to take food, naturally.” That might have been a bit of an exaggeration.

  “Good God.” His lips tightened and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Dare I ask the prognosis?”

  “There’s no need for that.” She hadn’t anticipated this level of concern. “His condition is serious—you mustn’t misunderstand—but it has been for quite some time. I don’t expect any sudden changes. But you may have difficulty catching him awake when you call.” Perhaps expectation of failure would keep him away a bit longer.

  “Indeed. I ran into exactly that issue this morning, and again this afternoon.” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. “In the meantime, I’d hoped to find his man of business. Joseph... Bentley.”

  “Of course. Have you inquired at the shipyard?”

  “It was the shipyard manager who gave me this address.”

  Had he. And after being under the strictest instructions not to give the address to anyone under any circumstances.

  A sharp bite of anger had her making an effort to keep her lips fixed in a pleasant smile. “A simple mix-up, I’m sure. He must have given it to you by mistake. I do spend a good deal of time with Mr. Woodbridge—perhaps they keep my address in case of an emergency.”

  “Perhaps they do at that.”

  “I’m ready, Aunt Josephine,” Lettie called.

  No, she did not like the way he was looking at her at all.

  “I shan’t keep you,” he said, and bowed again. “A pleasure, Lady Mareck. And a pleasure to meet... Bentley.”

  The corner of his lip curved a little as he turned away, and her muscles tensed. She had a terrible feeling that her alter ego had just been discovered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JOSEPHINE, LADY MARECK, had a dog named Bentley.

  Joseph Bentley.

  It could not be that bloody simple.

  It could not possibly mean what it implied. Could it?

  By the time he returned to his lodgings, Noah had decided it could.

  An invitation awaited him—a ball, tonight, hosted by the Dowager Lady Wescott.

  You shan’t be without acquaintance, Lady Wescott wrote. Josephine, Lady Mareck, whom I expect you know through your mutual relationship with Elias Woodbridge, will be in attendance.

  Then by all means, let him dress at once.

  He crumpled the invitation in his fist, made a sudden decision, and headed back out to the street. T
wenty-four hours wasn’t quite enough to cure his sea legs, and the ground seemed to move beneath his feet. Outside in the cold night drizzle, he ordered another chair.

  You may have difficulty catching him awake when you call.

  Or perhaps there’d merely been a mix-up, and Elias’s butler had told him by mistake that Elias was asleep.

  On Joseph Bentley’s orders.

  On Josephine, Lady Mareck’s orders.

  The chair clopped along the street toward Elias’s house, and Noah conjured her in his mind’s eye: smooth, auburn hair, elaborately coiffed and lightly powdered. Flawless seashell skin. Hazel eyes that gave away nothing. Generous breasts pushed high and round above a shapely waist. Delicate collarbones that had him fisting his hand against the desire to trace them.

  Christ. If he could be guaranteed companionship of that caliber, he might welcome the too-fast approach of his own declining years.

  He laughed into the empty carriage. Wouldn’t that be just his bloody luck? If his cousin was having an affair with the stunning Lady Mareck, convincing Elias to leave London would be next to impossible.

  Outside in the darkness, the cold, drizzly, filthy reasons that anyone should wish to leave London sat shrouded in all their dreariness. The Mediterranean climate would be so much better for Elias’s health. He sat back and rubbed his forehead, considering the possibility that Elias was more ill than he’d believed. That Noah was too late. Had waited too long.

  Damn it to hell.

  There were other naval architects. He could find someone else to help him revive that old Turkish shipyard. But he couldn’t find an architect who was also his cousin. Elias was the only relative Noah had left.

  Elias’s butler, Mr. Trowe, did not pretend to hide his displeasure at seeing Noah a third time in one day. He wasn’t half as displeased as Noah, who stated his business and headed for the staircase.

  “Sir, I must insist— Sir, I absolutely forbid you to go upstairs! Quickly—call the footmen!” Noah ignored the footsteps pounding up the stairs behind him. “Sir, you must stop this instant!”

  Noah didn’t. “You may inform Lady Joseph Bentley that you attempted to stop me from seeing Mr. Woodbridge but were unsuccessful,” he said sharply.

  Elias’s room was easy enough to find—it was the one with the chambermaid standing stubbornly in front of the door. Her resolve fled when she saw him, and she quickly stepped out of the way.

  Noah paused and looked at the butler. “Would you care to announce me, or shall I announce myself?”

  “This is an outrage. Sir, you do not have permission—”

  Noah gave a rapid double knock and cracked the door. “Elias? It’s Noah Rutledge.” Nothing. “Elias?” He opened the door and stepped inside.

  The bed was empty. There was nobody in the room.

  He turned on the butler. “Where is Mr. Woodbridge?” A dozen alarming possibilities tumbled through his mind.

  The man observed him, prune-lipped. “He is out for the evening.”

  “Out for the evening? He’s a bloody invalid!” Only after the words shot from his lips did it occur that perhaps he wasn’t.

  Lady Mareck could have been lying about that, too.

  “And where,” Noah managed to ask through a growing fury, “has he gone?”

  Trowe shook his head. “I cannot tell you, sir. I simply do not know.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “He never tells us what he’s about, sir.”

  Never implied that this was a regular occurrence. “Am I to understand that Mr. Woodbridge is in perfect health? That there’s been no physician here today, as I was told earlier?”

  Trowe’s jaw worked a little. “Would that were the case, sir.”

  “Then he is in ill health.”

  “Sir, I must ask you to leave.”

  Oh, he was leaving. Most definitely.

  He had a ball to attend.

  * * *

  JOSEPHINE SHOULD HAVE told Pauline she needn’t dance with Mr. Crumley, but it would be impossible for Pauline to form any real opinion of the man—of any man—if she never spoke to him, or in Pauline’s case, to anyone. The look of betrayal Pauline had cast her as she’d walked away made her feel like a cruel old auntie, but that was part and parcel of being a proper chaperone. Especially when Charlotte already worried that Josephine hadn’t really changed in all these years and would somehow manage to ruin her daughters during their first Season instead of finding them husbands.

  “I don’t know why I never think of scalloped lace,” Josephine was saying to Lady Orville, who was here with no fewer than three granddaughters. “Your gown is remarkable. Quite stunning.” She tried to spot Pauline through the crowd, but someone else caught her eye. Her fan stilled.

  Sir Noah.

  He saw her, and their eyes locked through the crowd before she pointedly looked away.

  “Oh, fie,” Lady Orville said. “You are much too free with your compliments, Josephine. I must say, your musical entertainment the other night was splendid. But then, your entertainments are always exceptional— Oh, dear. I think he’s standing too close. Do you think he’s standing too close?”

  Josephine followed Lady Orville’s line of sight toward her eldest granddaughter, who was talking with the future Baron Lytle.

  “I think they turned to avoid the crush, is all,” Josephine said, too aware that Sir Noah was systematically making his way toward her.

  He stopped to talk with Eleanor, the evening’s hostess. Laughed at something she said. His smile sliced across the room, and Josephine’s pulse leaped just a little.

  “Yes, Josephine.” Lady Orville let out a breath of air and fanned herself once more. “Yes, you’re right. They are practically besieged. Although I daresay they’ve talked long enough. I think I should separate them.”

  “It’s only been a minute or two.” Sir Noah moved away from Eleanor. He wore a striking jacket unlike anything else in the room, dark green and shimmering with an embroidered pattern of Moorish vines. “You mustn’t fret—Davinia is much too attractive to go un-sought-after by every eligible possibility. Young Mr. Lytle will not be able to monopolize her.”

  Sir Noah paused to chat with Lord Poole, then Colonel Wenthurst, then Lord Yost, moving ever closer. And closer. And she had an awful feeling she knew why.

  Lady Orville squeezed Josephine’s arm. “You are too kind, as always. My fears do get the best of me where Davinia is concerned.”

  “Shall we go see if we can refresh our punch?” Josephine asked.

  “Certainly! Oh— Oh, there is Burton. Do forgive me, Josephine. I must go speak with him. I’ve been so anxious for Davinia to be introduced to his eldest son.”

  “By all means, go. Oh—there are Honoria and Annabelle.”

  The hair tingled on the back of Josephine’s neck as she moved through the crush toward her friends. The sharp hum of pursuit coursed hot and fast with her pulse.

  He knows.

  Yet there was a chance he didn’t.

  Auntie Josephine, Bentley just tore a bit of lace from my gown! A very small breath of a chance.

  “La, Josephine! There you are.”

  “Would anyone care to join me in the other room for a glass of fresh punch?” Josephine asked quickly, only to see that Honoria’s eyes were already fixed with great interest on something behind her. “Ophelia? Punch?” Josephine tried now “It’s so dreadfully warm in here—”

  But it was too late, because just then—as if he cared nothing at all for social order—Sir Noah joined them.

  “Good evening, Lady Mareck,” he said, moving in next to her, so close that the tails of his jacket brushed her skirts.

  She turned her head as if only just noticing him. “Sir Noah,” she said pleasantly. “What a lovely surpri
se to see you again so soon.”

  Amusement creased his eyes, but only just. “The surprise has been mine.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Mr. Bentley,” he murmured against her skin, looking directly into her eyes.

  She withdrew her hand, careful not to react. “Do allow me to introduce Lady Edgethorn—” she gestured to Annabelle “—Lady Nystrom—” Ophelia “—and Lady Ramsey, whose brother Lord Croston you may be acquainted with, as he captains one of his Majesty’s ships in the Mediterranean fleet.”

  “Ah, yes.” Sir Noah smiled at Honoria. “The much-celebrated Captain Warre, and for very good reason. An honor, Lady Ramsey.”

  “If I’d known you were returning to England,” Honoria said, “I would have insisted that you bring him with you. I swear I see my brother so infrequently I hardly recognize him.”

  “You don’t really keep a caged lion aboard your ship, do you, Sir Noah?” Annabelle asked.

  He laughed. “If I did, there’s no doubt he would also be a seasick lion. That sounds like a good deal more trouble than I’m prepared for. I’m lucky to have room for a dozen chickens.”

  Ophelia fluttered her fan and perused him openly. “There’s been a great deal of speculation whether we might see you riding about London on a camel.”

  “Perhaps I might at that, if only so I do not disappoint.”

  “I doubt that would be possible, Sir Noah.” Ophelia drew her fan across her neck and swept her gaze across his torso.

  Josephine could excuse herself and hope the flattery would keep him there while she made her escape. Or she could remain stubbornly with her friends until sheer awkwardness forced him to remove himself.

  “I realize this is hardly the appropriate time or place,” he said now, turning to Josephine, “but I hoped I might have a word with you about my cousin.” Three pairs of eyes turned on her with simultaneous envy and sympathetic understanding.

  Or, she could take a private turn about the room with Sir Noah.