Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (34 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Lessons From a Scarlet Lady
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“You hardly know him well enough to judge.” Her mother’s voice held a wobble.
“Don’t I? I’ve been in love with him for over a year. If you think I haven’t watched him, even if it was from afar, milked every possible detail from Brianna, read the gossip columns, and generally listened to anything said when his name came up in conversation, you would be wrong, Mother.”
“Rebecca!”
“It’s the truth,” she said simply.
It was an immense relief to say it out loud. Keeping this from her parents had been a strain, and refusing the offers of marriage had required explanations that weren’t entirely straightforward. Having everything out in the open was for the best.
Another silence descended, this one not so tense, but more contemplative.
Her mother examined her as if she’d never laid eyes on her before, the outraged expression fading from her face as the clock ticked on the mantel in a solemn rhythm. Eventually, she said, “I believe you mean this.”
Rebecca stifled a choked laugh over the echo of horrified realization in that statement. “I do.”
“I wondered once or twice when we were at Rolthven Manor, if you want the truth. When the two of you played together that evening . . .”
“Yes?” she prompted, curious as to what her mother had sensed.
“One cannot develop a penchant for a man just because he can play the cello beautifully,” was the prim rejoinder. “You
would
be particularly susceptible to that talent.”
“I didn’t know that about him,” Rebecca reminded her. “And I just told you I’ve been in love with him for over a year.”
“So you did.” Her mother massaged her temples. “I’m still assimilating the implications of this—this—”
“Catastrophe?” Rebecca supplied ironically.
“I wasn’t going to say that, but well, yes. I suppose it fits. You really do think you love that rash, handsome young man?”
“How many times must I say it?”
“Your father has something against him.”
“I know.” Rebecca looked briefly at her clasped hands. “But I have been informed I am not going to be told the details. Robert, on the other hand, says he is innocent of whatever accusation is leveled his direction. But he didn’t tell me what the source of the contention might be.”
“Not for our ears, apparently. Men have an annoying habit of excluding us from their personal disputes.”
Rebecca hadn’t been expecting sympathy, so the observation made her blink in surprise.
“He isn’t the Marquess of Highton,” her mother murmured reflectively, looking pensive.
“No, he isn’t. But if Robert had proposed like the Marquess, I would have married him.”
“Would you now? I suppose that’s promising. And though he isn’t a marquess, he is the younger brother of a duke. An excellent match by any standards.”
It was Rebecca’s turn to be stunned into silence.
Her mother straightened in her chair. “What did you think? That I would discount your feelings? I love you. You are my daughter and my only child. I want you to marry well, but marrying for love is a special thing. Now, had I not seen Lord Robert here today, I believe I would be more upset about this. But, quite frankly, he wasn’t really the roguish charmer I expected. He looked more like a man on unfamiliar ground.”
It was an apt description.
“And he
really
could not stop looking at you.” Her mother adjusted her skirt with a languid hand, her expression thoughtful. “You know, bringing him to the altar would be the social coup of the decade, in a way.”
Making a social splash was the last thing on Rebecca’s mind, but if it made her mother more inclined to accept the situation, Rebecca was hardly going to argue. “I don’t have any idea if it is possible. Damien seems to think so, but I don’t know. Robert doesn’t
wish
to be married.”
“How do you know?”
“Like I said, he told me.”
“Robert Northfield discussed his feelings on marriage with you?”
Right
before
he kissed her. Rebecca decided not to mention that lapse in decorum. She looked at the floor, studying the roses on the beige background of the rug. “He doesn’t want to change his life.”
“Men rarely do.” Her mother lifted her brows in a delicate, ladylike mannerism. “But we usually know what they want better than they realize themselves. They often need to be guided in the right direction.”
It sounded so close to the title of Lady Rothburg’s helpful chapter that Rebecca turned her face away to conceal her expression. Her mother would collapse in a horrified heap if she knew she shared the sentiments of an infamous courtesan.
Yet the advice was the same.
How interesting.
“Your father is the true obstacle.”
Rebecca didn’t need to be told that piece of information. Her shoulders drooped. “I know.”
A peculiar smile crossed her mother’s face. It wasn’t exactly sly, but hinted in that direction. “Let’s make a pact, darling. If you manage to bring the roguish Lord Robert to heel, I will take care of your father. Keep in mind that women have a more understated approach to matters of the heart, but it usually works beautifully.”
The second almost word-for-word quote from
Lady Rothburg’s Advice
rendered Rebecca at a complete loss for speech. The book had been banned after it was released ten years ago, but it had sold in record numbers before Parliament declared it too risqué to be sold publicly. Surely her mother never would have purchased a copy?
Impossible.
Chapter Nineteen
Duplicity always has a price.
From the chapter titled: “What Your Husbands Keep from You”
 
C
olton felt like a liar.
A cheat.
If he was wrong, he was insulting her in the worst way possible. Unfaithful? Brianna?
God, please let him be wrong.
He took a drink of wine and studied his wife across the table. She looked beautiful, as usual. But there was something about her manner that spoke of unease. For one thing she was quieter, preoccupied. He was rarely the one to start conversations, but this evening he’d had to make the effort to fill the silences between them.
Was it because she felt guilty?
He
was the one who felt guilty, damn it, for hiring a man to dog her every footstep.
Colton murmured, “This is very pleasant, isn’t it? Just the two of us for a change.”
“I think having a quiet evening at home is a very lovely idea.” Brianna sipped her wine, her blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. “We don’t do it often enough.”
What they’d done infrequently lately was make love. It was his fault—because he couldn’t get past his doubts—but he wanted her. Hell and blast, he wanted her. The self-denial had been a lesson in pure torture.
The first report had been delivered to him that afternoon. Though the words stuck in his throat, he said, “Tell me, what did you do today, my dear?”
Please, do not lie to me. Please.
“Errands mostly. The milliner, that sort of thing.” She lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “I called on Arabella on my way back home.”
“Oh?” He waited.
“Yes.”
Nothing more. He knew about her visit, of course. He knew in intimate detail her every move. For instance, he’d been informed an unescorted gentleman had arrived at Arabella Smythe’s town house twenty minutes after Brianna had entered the building. He knew that the curtains in the front parlor had been drawn. And he knew that the gentleman remained for over an hour, after which time he and Brianna had exited the house in quick succession. Hudson did not yet know the identity of this mysterious gentleman, but he was investigating. The description was a little vague because Hudson’s man had been watching from across the street, but the report stated the stranger moved well, like a young man.
Arabella had been Brianna’s friend for years. Was it possible Arabella would provide a discreet meeting place for his wife to meet with her lover? Colton wondered about the incident with an inner agony he hoped didn’t show in his face.
It was all he could do to spear another piece of the roast lamb on his plate and chew and swallow it. It was perfectly cooked, but it tasted like sawdust. He managed to wash it down with a mouthful of wine. “I see,” he murmured. “How is the countess?”
“Fine.”
Another one-word answer? He waited for her to elaborate, but instead she merely took a forkful of potato. If he inquired whether Arabella had company when she arrived, he would sound too suspicious. How could he know such a thing if someone hadn’t told him? He said nothing, but the silence was torture.
When the devil was she going to tell him she carried a child?
He set aside his fork, no longer able to even make a pretense of wanting to eat.
Perhaps he should just ask her. Maybe he should also inquire why she was also patently uncomfortable around him all of a sudden.
“I want to go visit my mother and father. I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” His wife spoke so quietly he almost didn’t catch the words. In the candlelight, her long lashes lent shadows to her perfect cheekbones.
“No.” His autocratic refusal came out before he could help it.
Obviously startled, Brianna stared at him. “I—I beg your pardon?”
He needed to keep her near him, just in case he was right. What if her lover was someone she’d known since before her marriage, and now that her innocence had been given to her husband so the deception couldn’t be detected, they could freely indulge themselves in a torrid affair? What if he was a family friend, a neighbor perhaps, and she wished to tell
him
about the child first?
He’d tormented himself with a dozen theories. A ruthless, practical voice inside his head reminded him that
someone
was teaching her how to drive him wild in bed. Colton wasn’t her instructor, so who was?
When forced to look at the situation with the light of cold logic, he couldn’t come up with any explanation besides another lover. There was little doubt Brianna knew exactly what she was doing.
Well, he’d already said it, so he might as well make his position clear. “No, I do not give you permission to go.”
“Per—permission?” she sputtered, her linen napkin dropping from her hand and drifting to the floor.
“You must have it. I don’t give it.” He enunciated each word clearly.
He was being both petty and tyrannical but he didn’t care. A lack of sleep and restive doubts weren’t conducive to civility.
“Colton,” she whispered in shocked reproof. “Why wouldn’t you wish for me to see my parents?”
“I’ll escort you myself when I get the time.”
“Time? You? God in heaven, when would that be? They live in Devon, which is several days’ journey in either direction. I had to use coercion just to get you to Rolthven, which is convenient to London.”
“Do not blaspheme in my presence, madam.” Now he was being truly overbearing, but he’d been dwelling on nothing but thoughts of his wife’s possible infidelity for weeks and it was eating him inside. She was entirely right, but he was not in the mood to admit it.
Two red splotches appeared on her smooth cheeks. “Colton, what on earth is wrong with you?”
“There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Yes, there is.” Brianna tilted her chin, defiance in her dark blue eyes. “Or do I need
permission
to disagree with you?”
She shouldn’t have goaded him, not in his current state of mind. He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “You might keep in mind you need my permission for just about anything you do. The day we wed you gave a vow to be faithful and to obey me. I expect both. You are my wife and under my rule.”
“Rule?” She gave what sounded like a hysterical laugh but it could have been a sob.
It hadn’t been the right word to choose probably, but he wasn’t at his best.
The arrival of a footman to clear their plates, with another right behind him with the dessert course, put an end to any further conversation, which was probably just as well for the moment. The minute the servants exited the room, his wife rose. “Please excuse me.”
“Sit down. I have no wish to have the household staff put it about that you walked out on me in the middle of a meal.” That was true anyway. His troubles with his wife were a private matter. It had been humiliating enough to express his doubts to Hudson when he hired the man to follow her.
Brianna sat back down, her soft mouth set in a mutinous line. She eyed the frothy chocolate concoction on her plate as if someone had set an asp in front her. “My stomach has been unsettled lately. Does it meet with your royal approval if I decline to eat any more or must I choke it down and deal with the consequences if it doesn’t agree with me?”

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