Samuel subjected his friend to a close covert scrutiny. Hugo, for all his vociferous dislike of Society's round, looked younger and fitter than at any time since he came ashore at the end of the war.
But Samuel suspected that trouble lurked around the next corner. Hugo was happy. Whatever feelings he held for his youthful ward, they gave him deep pleasure. But beneath it lay the knowledge, the certainty, that it could only be temporary. Once Chloe had gone from his life, would he go back to the wasteland?
Samuel knew that Hugo's strength grew with each successive day that he triumphed over his addiction. Sometimes the old sailor prayed that the relationship would continue for as long as possible, and then he thought that the sooner the end came, the better. The longer it lasted, the harder it would be to break the chains that bound him to the girl.
Hugo put down his cup and yawned. "I'm for bed." He picked up the kitten, holding it aloft in one hand. "No," he said, squinting, "definitely not Ariadne. You must be Aeneas." He set the creature on the floor. "Go
back to mama." The kitten merely set to grooming itself with leisurely grace.
Hugo laughed and stood up. "Good night, Samuel."
" 'Night, Sir "Ugo."
Half an hour later, Hugo was in bed, when his door opened stealthily and a bright head popped itself around the corner, a pair of cornflower-blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, good, you're not asleep."
Hugo put down his book. "No, having become accustomed to your habits, I was waiting for you. Are you going to bring the rest of you in here?"
Chloe slid into the room, closing the door behind her with exaggerated care, one finger to her lips. "Mustn't wake Milady Smallwood from her dreams of syllabub."
"You are a disrespectful wretch! Have you no respect for your elders and betters?"
"I do if they are my betters," she responded. "But I fail to see why simple age should qualify for uncritical submission."
She pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it over a footstool, then walked over to the cheval glass and stood in front of it, examining her image with a tiny frown.
She was completely without inhibition, Hugo thought, not for the first time, as he enjoyed vicariously her own examination of her body. She lifted her breasts, touched her nipples, turned sideways, running a hand over her flat stomach, scrutinized her back view over her shoulder.
"What are you looking at, lass? Or is it for?" he asked, a quiver of desirous amusement in his voice.
"Well, I've never looked at myself before," she said seriously. "I think I have quite an elegant figure, don't you?"
"You'll pass."
"Is that all?" She extended one leg, flexing her ankle.
"All those men tonight seemed to think it was more than that."
"Samuel's right-you are going to get a swollen head."
Chloe ignored this. "And they only saw my face," she mused, peering closely at her features in the mirror.
"Only half the story," Hugo agreed, wondering where this was leading. "But in my character as strict guardian, I have to tell you, lass, that it's most improper to speculate on the effect your naked body might have on prospective suitors."
Chloe ignored this too. She turned back to him. "Do you find me attractive?"
"I'd have thought I'd made that clear by now."
"Yes, but I was the only woman around," she pointed out. "You didn't have anyone to compare me with in Lancashire."
"What the hell are you getting at, Chloe?" It occurred to him that amusement was not going to be the appropriate response to whatever this was.
"Nothing really." She stood, frowning down at the threadbare carpet. Hugo's renovations had been strictly limited to the public rooms of his house, and his household staff was at the barest socially acceptable minimum.
"Out with it, lass."
"You find Lady Carrington attractive, don't you?"
Hugo leaned back against the carved headboard, a slight frown in his eyes now. "What makes you say, that?"
"I can tell from the way you look at her when you're talking to her," she replied. "She is very beautiful and very witty. And you seem to like talking to her."
"I do enjoy talking to her."
"And she flirts," Chloe said, raising her eyes from the carpet. "Doesn't she?"
Hugo smiled. "Yes, she does. Women in her position often do. It's a game."
"A game you like to play."
"Yes," he agreed. "A game I enjoy playing with Lady Carrington."
"Mmmm. Would you like to make love to her?"
Hugo pulled at his chin, trying to work out what was going on. "Judith Devlin is a married woman, lass. And from what I can see, a very happily married woman."
"Yes, I'm sure that's so. But it doesn't answer my question. Would you like to make love to her?" She was standing at the end of his bed, holding on to one of the posts, now completely oblivious of her nakedness.
He debated and decided on an honest response. "Yes," he said evenly. "I could imagine making love to Lady Carrington with a great deal of pleasure."
"I thought so. I expect she would know much more about it than I do."
"You learn very fast, lass," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Come here." He stretched out a hand in invitation.
Chloe remained where she was. "But I'm not worldly or… or up to snuff, like Lady Carrington."
"Come here." Hugo leaned forward, caught her around the waist, and toppled her onto the bed beside him. "No, you are not worldly, and it would be quite wrong for you to be so. Why on earth are you comparing yourself with a woman some ten years older than you? If you must make comparisons, then do so with other debutantes."
"But you're not interested in debutantes," she said, lying rather stiffly against him. "And I'm comparing myself with women you are interested in."
"Ahhh." He sat up. It seemed a moment for plain speaking. "I think we'd better clarify a few things, Chloe. This London scheme was of your devising, as I
recall. You wish to acquire an accommodating husband so that you may have control of your fortune and thus the ordering of your own life. Isn't that so?"
He looked down at her as she lay still on the bed. Her eyes were tightly closed. "Chloe, open your eyes and sit up."
When she didn't immediately comply, he pulled her into a sitting position. She opened her eyes, since keeping them shut while sitting up seemed absurd.
"Isn't that so?" he repeated.
"It was," she said. "But why can't you many me and then-"
"Of all the absurdities!" Hugo interrupted. "I've never heard such moon-mad nonsense. I am thirty-four, my dear child, and thirty-four makes a poor husband for seventeen-even if I wanted such a thing."
"You wouldn't want to marry me?" It was a soft question, but her eyes had darkened with the expectation of hurt.
"I have no intention of marrying anyone," he stated. "As I've told you before. We are here because you wished it-and because it keeps you out of your brother's orbit. You will enjoy your come-out like any other seventeen-year-old in her first Season, and if your reception tonight was anything to go by, you will have more offers of marriage than you can handle. We'll both have our work cut out making the right choice for you."
"But what about us?"
"What about us?" he demanded with sudden harshness, realizing the slipperiness of this slope. "I am breaking every honorable rule of conduct in the book, Chloe. I was weak enough to allow you to engineer this, but I have sworn you will not be harmed by it. You will many and put this behind you, hopefully as an interlude that brings you only pleasant memories. You will tell no one about it, ever."
"But I don't want it to stop." She looked at him with painful candor and put a hand on his thigh. "Please, Hugo, why must it ever stop? I'll try very hard to be a good wife, and I can learn how to be like Lady Car-rington-"