An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) by Eliza Lloyd (the best novels to read txt) 📕

finished, Carlow stood and said to Ellis and Nash, “Give me about twenty minutes, won’t you? I think I will attend the Talbots’ ball with you.”

Chapter Eleven

The ball was every bit as exciting as watching oats grow. Gabriel’s vision was red with anger and he barely had a word for anyone in attendance, even for the smiling, imploring Grace Talbot. Good God, he was married. What right did she have to…

What right did he have to punish Nora with the idea he was at the Talbot’s to flirt with other women? If there was any woman who would want to hash things out in conversation, it was Nora. But he wasn’t sure he could do that either.

“We are leaving tomorrow,” Gabriel said. He stood at their bedroom door, intending to find a sleeping spot away from his wife. He knew Nora would be awake, not that he’d returned home that late.

“Carlow, I didn’t—”

“No! Don’t say a word to me. I’ve done nothing but support your search, and now I must endure an ambush at my own dinner table. Did you gain anything by your gambit?”

“I wanted to know the truth.”

“The truth should be apparent to you by now. Your father sold his properties for some inexplicable reason, and the man who wants them back thought he was cheated by your grandfather. Why is that so difficult to understand? Surely even Lady Fortenay taught the philosophies of William of Ockham? The simplest reason is usually the right one.”

“Of course—he was born in Surrey! What you don’t understand or won’t acknowledge is that men have wicked hearts and contrive complicated reasons to justify their actions. My father. Exeter. You.”

“And you,” Carlow said.

“All I want is to know why.”

“Not all fathers care for their children. You might have admired your father, but he obviously had irredeemable flaws. And, if you will take my advice, you must abandon your need for an explanation. There is only one man who knows, and he can no longer tell us. Good night, Lady Carlow.”

“Gabriel, wait.” She reached for him, but he did not draw closer for fear he would succumb to the growing spell she had over him.

He turned and raised a finger. “And furthermore, Ellis and Nash have been my friends since I was eleven years old. I won’t have you ruin that friendship. The three of us are prepared to extend that same devotion to our wives and families but you, madam, have not earned an ounce of it.”

He slammed the door, genuinely and thoroughly furious with his wife. Tonight Fromme had tried to placate Gabriel with humor and stories from their youth. Even that could not tempt him to a more congenial mood. His friends had not alleviated his emotion. The ball and the drinking had only agitated him further, but he had made a point to dance with Miss Talbot just so he could say that he had indeed danced with Miss Talbot. A despicable and dishonorable act—knowing one would be wrongly hopeful and knowing the other wasn’t aware of his petty action.

Mintz walked down the hallway with a handful of towels. “My lord,” he said.

“Prepare the luggage. We are leaving tomorrow for Henbury Hall.”

“Will I be attending you?”

“No. I don’t imagine we will be staying more than a few days, and we can fend for ourselves during that short time.” He also didn’t need an audience to watch his marriage disintegrate.

“What time do you want the coach brought around?”

“Ten is fine.”

Gabriel didn’t sleep and, after an hour, he pulled on his trousers and found a robe, tying it off. His library was the most comfortable room in the house, and he wended his way down and walked to the well-stocked sidebar. He swallowed the first drink, stared at the bottles and decided marriage wasn’t so rewarding after all.

Over four weeks he’d actually thought he and Nora were bonding, through humor and shared interests and maybe affection. What they had learned should have been enough to satisfy Nora’s intense curiosity about her family. What Gabriel had promised her should have been enough to fulfill her quest for the return of family property. Andover and Fromme owed no explanation to him or to Nora.

He did not understand her unwillingness to accept what was so obviously true.

He poured another drink and walked toward the plush couches perpendicular to the cold fireplace.

A bit of moonlight filtered into the room, shadowing the furniture and bookshelves, but shining brightly on a book in front of him.

He reached for it, the binding familiar and soft to touch. Nora’s diary. Or rather, her mother’s diary.

Reading diaries was a sure way to betray trust, and he hated himself for entertaining the temptation. He tossed it back to the polished table and finished his second drink.

The library door creaked open. “Carlow?”

“Yes, Nora,” he said. He was tired and not really ready to spar with his wife this late at night. And they would have a long day tomorrow that would likely end in tears, strong emotions and cruel disappointment.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure it was you.”

“It’s my library.”

“I thought perhaps Timothy was awake.” Her feet pattered across the floor and she sat next to him, curling her legs beneath her. “Aside from Timothy, I’ve never had friends,” she whispered.

“You would have more friends if you weren’t so suspicious and accusatory of those around you.”

“Are they upset with me?” she asked.

“Nora, I am upset with you. They would never think to criticize my wife because they would give the benefit of the doubt to a lady. Don’t you see? I will not turn my back on friends I’ve known for most of my life. I’ve known you less than a month. If I had to choose sides, which you are pushing me to do, I would have to