Then there was Phin. She heaved an even bigger sigh and threw down her pen, spattering ink across the corner of her stationary as she did. She’d never known feelings like the ones she had for Phin. He excited her and aroused her. He made her laugh, and he made her feel safe. She knew beyond a shadow of any doubt that he was the only man for her, but she’d gone and ruined things. She was convinced that she shouldn’t be writing a letter to her mother, she should be pounding on Phin’s door and falling at his feet and begging for his forgiveness. Perhaps there were other things she could do on her knees that would incline him to feel kindlier toward her.
She snorted at the ridiculous, sensual thought just as a knock sounded on her door. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she whipped toward the door, wondering if that could be Phin now. She truly would fellate him out of a sense of pure relief if he’d come to her room to say he’d forgiven her.
“Who is it?” she called, standing.
“Just me, miss,” Florence said, opening the door.
Lenore’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she was tempted to laugh at herself.
Right up until Florence said, “If you please, miss, Mr. Swan has arrived and is taking tea in the wisteria parlor with Lord Howsden and Lord Herrington.”
Lenore pressed a hand over the pooling dread in her stomach. “Thank you, Florence. You can tell them I’ll be right down,” she said in a hoarse voice.
Florence nodded, sending her a look of sympathy, and left. Lenore turned to her vanity, picking up a brush to run through her hair, then worked as fast as she could to pile it into something resembling a fashionable style on her head. Any hope of easily getting out of the mess she’d made was completely gone. She was in trouble, pure and simple. At least she had allies. Freddy and Reese would go to bat for her, she knew. She would have felt so much more confident if Phin were there as well, but she had lost the right to hope for that.
She headed downstairs with as much courage as she could muster. She thought she was doing well, until the sound of Bart’s gruff baritone reached around the corner from the parlor as she approached.
“…don’t cotton much to your prissy, British ways,” he was in the middle of saying. “Where I come from, men are men, not women dressed up in men’s clothes. It’s obscene, if you ask me, and not at all what God intended.”
Lenore stepped around the corner into the parlor in time to see Freddy and Reese’s barely-disguised looks of rage as Bart rattled on. Bart sat with his legs spread in one of Reese’s fine chairs, looking like a buffalo in a lily pond. He held a delicate, china cup as though he might crush it without realizing it. His boots were worn enough that Lenore worried for Reese’s Persian carpet, even though they weren’t as dusty as they would have been back home, fresh from the ranch.
Freddy noticed her entry first and stood from the sofa, crossing the parlor to greet her. “Lenore, you look lovely,” he said in a tight, distracted voice.
Lenore humphed warily, but accepted his kiss to her cheek and grabbed his hand tightly when he reached her. “Don’t leave me alone with him,” she whispered before he pulled away.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, taking her hand and leading her back to the sofa.
“Would you like some tea?” Reese asked, leaning forward and taking up the silver teapot on the table between the sofa and chairs as though taking up a sword.
“Yes, please.” Lenore sat, heart trembling, still holding Freddy’s hand. It was her primary source of courage in that moment.
Bart stared flatly at her, as if everything around him were a joke that had gone stale. “I don’t see what you like so much about this place,” he said with a sneer. “It’s all fiddly and frilly, and the men aren’t even men.”
“Freddy and Reese are among the best men I’ve ever known,” Lenore shot back, forcing confidence she didn’t yet feel into her voice.
Bart rolled his eyes. “I told you they’re queer, right?”
“Why are you dragging this whole thing out, Bart?” she asked as Reese handed her a teacup.
“You don’t want it drug out? Then go pack your bags and come along with me now,” he fired back, irritated. “I told you I’d be back to take you home, and here I am. So quit delaying and come along.” He sat forward, putting his barely-touched tea on the table so clumsily that liquid splashed over the sides of the cup.
“Lenore isn’t going anywhere,” Freddy said. “She’s my fiancée, and as long as she wishes to stay here, I’ll stand by her.”
Lenore’s burst of affection for Freddy was clipped short as Bart growled, “Yeah, well, she’s my wife, and the law says she’s got to do as she’s told.”
“I’m not sure your Wyoming laws apply in Great Britain,” Reese said, perhaps a little too imperiously, given the circumstances, but with a strength Lenore was grateful for.
“I don’t give a hoot about what you Brits think is or isn’t legal,” Bart snorted. “Lenore is my wife, and it’s about time we headed home.”
“I’ve thought about it, Bart, and I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lenore said. She attempted to show her resistance by calmly drinking her tea, as any good Englishwoman would do, but the cup shook so much as she attempted to raise it to her lips that she quickly put it down again. “I told you what I wanted yesterday, an annulment, and I stand by that.”
A moment later, Mr. Tilney appeared in the parlor’s doorway and cleared his throat. “Mr. Mercer is here, my lord.”
Before Reese could tell Mr. Tilney to let him in, Phin strode into the room. His anxious expression hardened to pure rage when he saw Bart was there. Even so, Lenore was so relieved to see him she could have wept.
“Mr. Mercer,” Reese greeted him with a formality that would have made Lenore laugh in any other situation. She could see by the way Reese used them now, proper British manners were one of the sharpest weapons he had. “Please join us. We were just attempting to convince Mr. Swan to leave England.”
“And to grant Lenore an annulment,” Freddy added.
Phin took a breath where he stood and glanced from Reese and Freddy to Lenore to Bart, and then back to Lenore. “I see,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “And have you had any luck?”
“I’m not going anywhere and I’m not giving up what’s mine,” Bart announced, standing and taking a few steps to stand near Phin. It was clear his aim was to intimidate Phin, but Phin had a good four inches on him. Bart was twice as broad, though, and with muscle, not excess fat. All in all, Lenore didn’t like the picture he painted. “My wife would do well to obey and get the hell out of this dollhouse right away.” He finished by glaring at Lenore.
“Please, just leave me alone, Bart.” Lenore set her teacup on the table and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Everyone here knows that the second I leave this house with you, you’ll kill me.”
“Now why would I want to do a thing like that to my pretty wife,” Bart growled in a voice that implied murder would be the least of her worries if Bart extracted her from her protectors.
“You think that saying things like that and in that manner is going to persuade any of us to let Lenore out of our sight for so much as a second?” Phin asked, pulling himself to his full height and towering above Bart.