Falling Stars (5 page)

“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 interesting 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.

“You shouldn’t have waited up, all the same,” Julius reproved his brother. “It’s past three o’clock, and in a few hours the house will erupt into chaos. You may be able to sleep through the racket, but Christina will be awakened at dawn’s crack by overexcited children. By nightfall she’ll be too tired to dance at the Yuletide ball. In consequence of which, several gentlemen are sure to blow their brains out. Really, you’re most inconsiderate.”

“It isn’t his fault,” Christina said before Marcus could retort on his brother. “I nagged him to tell me about Paris, then Greece, until he’s hoarse from talking. Moreover, the twins will never think of waking me. They’ll be too busy interfering with the party preparations and being tripped over by servants.”

“And I shall ask the gentlemen to step outside to shoot themselves or hang themselves or whatever their disappointment moves them to do,” said Marcus. “We can easily collect the corpses next morning.”

“There, it’s all settled.” Penny patted her husband’s cheek. “What a fuss you make over nothing, Julius. Come to bed.”

Marcus kept by Christina as they trailed upstairs after the other couple, but he didn’t say a word. He continued on with her, walking to the guest wing, although his room was in the wing opposite. She should have pointed this out to him, and meant to, but she couldn’t find the right words. Every imagined sentence seemed to attach too much significance to what was surely no more than absent- mindedness. Marcus had said before that he was weary, and he did appear lost in thought at present.

When they reached her door, she paused. “Thank you for giving me your company.” Her voice was carefully polite. “You were generous to indulge my curiosity, and very patient with my ignorance.”

“One could hardly expect you to know what most of your government doesn’t. You at least ask intelligent questions. And your mind is open to new ideas.”

The servants had left two candles lit in the hall. In the flickering light it was hard to read his face. The troubled expression she discerned might simply be shadows.

“I like to learn,” she said. “I told you my life had been narrow.”

“Yes, you did. I’d thought...” He looked away. “But you mean to make up for that, I see. It’ll be good for you to go abroad, and good for your little girls. I’m... I’m glad your great-aunt goes with you. She is Julius’s godmother, you may recall.”

“Yes, I remember.” If her parents, rather than her great-aunt, had chaperoned her ten years ago, there would have been no stolen moments with Marcus Greyson in sitting rooms or gardens or woodland paths.

“She’ll be an excellent traveling companion,” Marcus said. “She’s highly knowledgeable and far more liberal minded than most of her generation. Equally important, she’ll see that no one takes advantage of you. Innkeepers and shopkeepers, I mean. And guides. The Continent is a net of perils for the unwary.”

He shook his head. “But I’m keeping you from your rest.” He moved to open the door for her.

His coat sleeve brushed her arm, a breath of a touch, soft wool against her skin. For one pulsing moment they stood frozen, and the air between them warmed and thickened. Christina felt the way she had earlier when their gazes had locked: as though they were teetering on the brink of a precipice. She was afraid that if he gave the smallest tug, she would fall... and he was bending toward her. But he drew back quickly, almost in the same breath.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” she said.

Then he turned and swiftly walked away.

***

The following day, while the two women dealt with the last minute frenzy of preparation for the ball, Marcus and Julius gathered greenery outdoors, with the dubious assistance of four rambunctious children. The girls were supposed to supervise only, according to Marcus’s stern orders. They couldn’t seem to do so, however, without inspecting every evergreen branch and pricking their fingers on holly. Then they must tumble about in the cart with the boys and crush their fancy bonnets and lose their mittens—and generally turn themselves into dirty little frights, as Marcus unchivalrously told them.

“What will your mama say?” he asked as he was wrestling Delia’s hideously fussy bonnet back into place for the hundredth time.

“Off with those dirty things and into the bath!” she shrieked.

Livy giggled, which made Delia giggle, too, and the boys mocked them, squealing like pigs. Delia instantly dashed off in pursuit of Kit, while Livy went after his brother. The bonnets tumbled askew again, and mittens dropped into the dirt. By the time they returned to the house, ah four children looked as though they’d spent the last month mucking out the stables.

Leaving Julius and the boys to carry the greenery to the ballroom, Marcus planted Livy on the antique porter’s chair by the door and began tugging off her boots. Delia, as might be expected, couldn’t wait for assistance. She was sitting on the cold floor wrestling with her muddy footwear when Christina entered the vestibule.

“Good heavens, where did these little ragamuffins come from?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

“A gypsy,” Marcus answered. “He gave me these disorderly creatures in trade for Delia and Livy.”

“No, no! It’s me, Mama,” Delia cried. “He didn’t give us away.”

“I’m sure he wishes he did.” She shook her head. “I suppose you’ve been driving Mr. Greyson out of his wits.”

“Oh, no, we were helping him,” said Livy. She fixed an earnest blue gaze upon Marcus. “We did help, didn’t we?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I never could have found such lovely boughs without you.” After carefully setting the right boot down next to its mate, he rose and turned to Christina. “I’m afraid we’ve lost a red mitten. I’m told a squirrel made off with it. Also, our bonnets are...” He gestured helplessly at the soiled, mangled bonnets. “I believe the only solution is to burn them. I am sorry. I should have—”

“Nonsense,” Christina said briskly. “We’ve plenty more. Heaps of them, just waiting to be destroyed.” She stepped nearer to add in a low voice, “The aunts, you know. Unfortunate tastes in millinery, yet they will keep sending the silly things.”

“I did wonder,” he said, reflexively lowering his own voice to the same conspiratorial pitch. “You’re not at all fussy in your own attire, yet the hats were awash in ribbons and ruffles.”

Her blue eyes sparkled. “They are ghastly, aren’t they? I dread the arrival of those packages, because the instant the girls don their finery, I want to break out in whoops. One of these days I’m sure to strangle, trying not to.”

“Mama, you’re telling secrets,” Delia reproached. She bolted upright and grabbed her mother’s hand. “Tell me.”

“Me, too,” said Livy, scrambling down from the chair. She tugged at Marcus’s cuff. “Tell me what she said, Mr. Greyson.”

He scooped Livy up on one arm, then held out his other for Delia. With a grin, she released her mother, and let herself be taken up as well.

“Really, Marcus, you mustn’t,” Christina protested. “They’re too big to be carried.”

He headed down the hall, obliging her to follow. “I can hardly let them run about the cold floor in their stocking feet.”