Madelynne Ellis - Her Husband’s Lover

Darleston leaned against the mantel. ‘I did intend to stay elsewhere. Alas, that didn’t work out. He had … other plans.’ Darleston’s lips quirked upwards but failed to form a smile. ‘However, as your father had already kindly extended an invitation, and I was already quite nearby …’

‘And do you like it? What you’ve seen?’

‘I’ve scarcely taken more than a passing glance. I understand you have a hundred and twenty or so acres, but I’m sure I’ll find it charming, much as I find the lady of the house.’

Butterflies fanned the flames in her chest. It was an easy compliment for him to bestow, but not one she heard very often. Few sought her acquaintance or pleasure, preferring Amelia’s vivaciousness. ‘Strictly speaking, that would be my sister, not I.’

He turned his head to spy her sister out. Amelia sat at the centre of a ring of gentlemen upon a tapestry-covered pouffe. The week was clearly to be one rife with trouble. Just as Emma was about to intrude upon her sister’s admirers, the drawing-room door swung open, admitting a blond gentleman.

Emma’s concern switched to her husband. His expression was one of wistful delight, which transformed in an instant to one of rapturous joy. Good heavens, Lyle, she thought . Must you advertise the wickedness you’ve been about? She quickly turned her head, praying that, from what she could descry of the other gentlemen’s thoughts, they merely saw Lyle as merry and not licentious.

‘Darleston! God in heavens, what the devil are you doing here?’ Lyle crossed the room in several bounds. He stepped past her without so much as a glance in her direction and enfolded Lord Darleston in a fond embrace.

‘Langley!’ Darleston sounded equally surprised to find Lyle wrapped tightly around his person.

‘Heavens, man. How long has it been? It must have been years. You’ve met my wife, I see.’

Lyle turned his head towards her and graced her with a nod. A fantastic smile lit his face. Emma frowned at him. She couldn’t see why Lord Darleston’s presence should make him quite so joyous. Then again, Emma sucked down an unsteady breath. No! No, it simply couldn’t be. The first man she’d felt remotely … No! Oh, but it was. She could tell just from the way their arms stayed around one another and the embrace encompassed not only the brushing of chests but of thighs and hips too.

They knew each other, and not just in the platonic sense.

‘Yes, I knew of the wedding.’ Darleston pulled away first. He gave a swift glance around the room but the other occupants were still crowded around Amelia and seemingly uninterested in anything else. ‘My father made certain to send me the newspaper cutting. Happy, I trust?’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced first at Lyle and then at her as if he was seeing them quite anew. ‘Mrs Langley.’ His lips formed her name, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. Lightning flashed in his eyes.

‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Lyle slapped him upon the back.

‘Children?’

Emma bowed her head. She stared at her hands clasped tight around her teacup. Why did everyone have to pounce upon that particular subject as if breeding were the only possible purpose in taking a bride? Or one couldn’t possibly be happy without a dozen pale-faced imps running about one’s feet? She prayed they never had a child. Not a single blessed one. Her mother had carried fifteen of the little devils. See where it had got her – a cold box in a rat-infested cemetery, rained on and covered in moss.

Lyle, clearly noticing her distress, waved aside the question. ‘None yet. What about you?’ He cast her an encouraging smile. He might take ridiculous risks, but Lyle also worked hard to maintain at least the illusion of an affectionate marriage.

Darleston gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘Much to the Earl’s vexation.’

‘But there is a Lady Darleston?’ Emma ventured.

‘There is.’ His very abruptness explained all that was missing from his response. Likely he and his wife were not on intimate terms, assuming they tolerated each other’s company at all. Perhaps they even lived apart, occupying one grand house apiece.

Lyle slapped Darleston across the back again, as he finally relinquished his embrace. ‘I insist that we celebrate with something more spirited than over-stewed tea. You don’t mind, Emma, if I snatch him away, do you? It’s been … gracious, how many years?’

‘Nine,’ Darleston remarked dryly.

Emma gave a polite nod. What could she say? Foolish displays had never been her forte; she left such nonsense to Amelia, who would have stamped her foot and demanded a place in their conversation. ‘I’ll see to our other guests.’ She made to rise, but Lyle shooed her back into her seat.

‘No need to move, my sweet. Stay by the fire. We’ll walk. You don’t mind an evening stroll, do you, Darleston? You’re not afeared of the country vapours? I find it most beneficial to take a little wander before bed.’

‘Indeed, that sounds delightful. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stretch my legs. I’ve been stuck in a carriage for days.’

‘Where’ve you come from?’

‘Only from Shropshire today, but from London before that.’

‘Stopping in on the old family pile?’

The candlelight glowed bright copper among the fiery strands of Darleston’s hair as he shook his head. Lyle guided him towards the door.

‘I stayed the night at Pennerley. Do you know the marquis? I had intended a longer visit but he has business in Yorkshire to attend.’

‘And so you washed up here. How marvellous. How wonderful indeed.’

The door swung closed behind them. Emma stared at the abandoned cups of tea and poured herself another. A moment later she rang for Ada. ‘Could you ensure my sister’s bed is warmed, please?’ It was time she coaxed that little goose away from the ganders.

The proposed drink went forgotten. Darleston allowed Lyle to guide him across the hallway of Field House and down the front steps, eschewing overcoats and accoutrements. Twilight subsumed the last of the day as they crossed the lawn, stealing the colour from his vision. They didn’t really speak until they stood upon the bank of the Trent, well out of sight of the house amongst a copse of ancient sycamore trees.

‘I didn’t … I had no idea that you’d married Hill’s daughter,’ Darleston began. She’d told him her name and it hadn’t sparked a flicker of recognition. He’d met other Mrs Langleys before, but … ‘I mean, I knew you’d wed, but I’d really no idea there was a connection.’ Silence swallowed his words, which wasn’t such a surprise. What the hell did you say to someone you hadn’t seen for nine years and to whom you’d made promises you could never hope to keep? ‘Lyle.’ He put out his hand and touched the other man’s arm, making the briefest of connections. ‘If my presence is going to make things awkward, I can make my excuses.’ Hell only knows where he’d go when he left. He was fast running out of friends with country estates. The last place he wanted to end up was home, where Lucy could find him. Increasingly it looked as if he’d have to take a long, slow tour of the Scottish Highlands and grow a beard so that he’d blend in with the locals and not drawn undue attention.

Not drawing attention would be a damned fine strategy at this point.

The trickle of fear slowly running down his spine made him look about as if he might find spies perched within the tree bowers.

Lyle’s response acted as a burr upon his senses. ‘Is that what you think – that I’m afraid of you exposing my past?’ Lightly, tentatively, Lyle’s fingers rested upon his shoulder. Darleston turned towards the touch, so that they stood face to face, far too close to be friends, not quite close enough for lovers.