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“My thoughts exactly.”

“But we cannot sort them out tonight, sweetheart. Please return to your bed; we shall make sense of this tomorrow. There is one thing for certain, weather permitting, we shall leave as early as possible.”

“Of course, you are right. Forgive me for bothering you with my fears at this inopportune time, Husband.”

Lord Greenwich reached to take his wife’s hand and kissed it. “You are never a bother, love.” A very close bolt of lightning lit up the room, as the rumble of thunder shook the windows. “On second thought, would you like to share my bed tonight? After all, it is storming, and you have never liked to sleep alone during storms.”

Lady Greenwich blushed, though it was too dark to be seen. “Oh, Harrison, you are still the romantic, are you not?” With that, she set her candle down on the table, blew out the flame and crawled under the covers being held open by her mate of forty years.

Snuggling against his warmth, she sighed. “It is so sad that most young people never know the kind of love we have shared, sweetheart.”

Lord Greenwich could not help smiling widely as he pulled his wife closer. “Yes, very sad. Now, go to sleep. I shall keep you safe, love.”

Lady Greenwich instantly sank into a deep sleep, secure in the arms of her husband, while Lord Greenwich lay awake unable to do the same. His mind was occupied by thoughts of the rumours he had heard recently at his club. Oh, there had always been insinuations about women in general, and Gwendolyn Waltham in particular, but he had always chosen to ignore them. Most of the stories, he was sure, were invented in the imaginations of men who had no such liaisons but were eager for others to think they had.

However, recently there had been talk of some kind of confrontation between Gwendolyn and Mr. Darcy at the Matlock’s ball held in honour of Leighton’s birthday—talk that Fitzwilliam Darcy was not happy to be the object of Lady Waltham’s interest. Apparently, in the tale going around White’s, Darcy had told her so quite emphatically. After seeing Darcy’s face when he realised that Gwendolyn was in his house, Greenwich now had no doubt that this was one rumour that was true.

His Martha had always dearly loved Lady Waltham’s company, so he had chosen to ignore the woman’s irritating ways. But convincing them to drive on to Pemberley when Mr. Darcy clearly was displeased with her presence was insufferable. Darcy had always been a good neighbour, and though Greenwich had been more comfortable with George Darcy than his son, he did not wish to injure that relationship by indulging Gwendolyn Waltham’s whims.

With a heavy sigh, he concluded he needed something to help him sleep.

Making sure that his wife was still sound asleep, he gave her a peck on the cheek and then slid out of the bed. Surely, Darcy would not begrudge him a glass of brandy to calm his nerves. He was sure that George Darcy kept a liquor cabinet in the library, and Fitzwilliam had changed hardly a thing since his father had passed away. So once in the dark hallway, he headed in that direction.

~~~*~~~

Chapter 27

Pemberley

Tight muscles finally began to relax as William sank deeper into the warm water filling the oversized tub. After several moments of enjoying the sensation, he sat up straight and grabbed a cloth and soap and began scrubbing. Completely finished in a short while, he plunged under the water, re-emerging seconds later, wiping the water from his face. Then laying his head against a small, folded towel on the back of the tub, he closed his eyes, anticipating the pleasure of having more hot water added as soon as Adams returned. Exhausted, he barely noticed the opening and closing of the dressing room door. Without looking, he murmured, “That did not take long.”

Waiting expectantly for the hot water to be emptied into the vessel, he was surprised when none came. Realising there had been no answer to his greeting and thinking it odd, he ventured, “Adams?”

There was still no answer. Looking over his shoulder, he could see no one as the room was only lit by a couple of candles, and the corners were left in the shadows. Perplexed, he stood and reached for the towel that Adams always placed on his dressing table. There was no towel on the table, nor was his robe hanging on the hook where it always resided. With a resigned sigh, he stepped out of the tub to obtain a towel from the linen closet. “What a time to forget ...”

His words abruptly halted as Gwendolyn Waltham stepped out of the darkness holding up his robe. Winking at him, she threw the article of clothing on a nearby chair and took a step closer, holding out the towel. In order to take the offering, however, William would have to move towards her. He hesitated.

“My, my, Fitzwilliam! The boy that I knew has become quite a man.” Lust-filled eyes trailed from his face to his groin. “It looks as though you have ... grown.”

Trying to mask his uneasiness, William replied through gritted teeth, “Give me the towel and get out of my room.”

She laughed. “I believe, sweetheart, that you are in no position to give orders.” Untying the ribbon at the top of her dressing gown, it fell open and Gwendolyn shrugged her shoulders, causing the silky material to slide down her arms.

“Do you want to see what you are rejecting? You may change your mind.” Still holding the towel, she slid first one arm and then the other out of the sleeves, sending the offending article floating to the floor. Beneath it, she wore a very sheer, silk nightgown and, clearly, nothing else.

A look of revulsion crossed William’s face and his eyes narrowed. “My valet will return at any moment. I suggest you leave before he does.”

Gwendolyn was not discouraged. “On the contrary, I think you are not so concerned with your valet’s return, but you fear your little plaything may find me here?”

“I have no idea who you mean.”

“Oh, my! Are we not protective? You are not fooling anyone. The story of your cousin has reached London, and everyone believes that she is your mistress, although I had hoped they were wrong. What could you possibly see in her? Honestly, I would have thought you, of all men, would choose a lover from your own sphere. I hear she is but a country chit, unlearned I am certain, and undoubtedly lacking in proper decorum. Besides, I have seen her, and she is certainly no beauty!”

William stepped forward, jerking the towel from her hands and quickly tying it around his waist. “You do not even know Miss Lawrence, yet you condemn her and call her a whore. I am not surprised. You, like most of the women of the ton, are conceited, selfish and lacking human decency and morals. Life is a just a game to you—a chance to see how many heads you can turn, how many men you can bed. You cannot conceive of a lady like my cousin—someone who is all that is virtuous, selfless and lovely—so you disparage her and try to ruin her reputation.”

Catching him off guard, Gwendolyn quickly ran her hands up his wet abdomen to his chest, admiring the feel of the hardness under her palms. “Surely you do not mean that.”

He pushed her away forcefully, taking several steps back. “I meant every word!”