Malia Martin (25 page)

J
ames lay on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He could hear his wife crying in the room adjacent to his, though he was rather sure she would have stopped immediately if she knew.

She was not crying for attention as he had heard a few women cry in his life. No, the sobs that emanated from his wife’s room were soul-wrenching tears of frustration and hurt.

At the moment, James was fighting the horribly urgent need to go in and console her. He wanted to put his arms around her and promise to make it all right.

Which made him very angry with himself. She deserved this, didn’t she? The woman had betrayed him utterly. The whole town of Gravesly had made a laughingstock of him, really.

So, why couldn’t he feel the same distant coldness for Gravesly that he could conjure in an instant for London and the ladies of the
ton
like Lady Jersey?

Why indeed?

James shook his head and forced himself to stand. He would leave the room, the house. He would go away so as not to be weakened by his wife’s sobs. James stalked toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the handle.

His wife’s cries were muffled, faint; in fact, he would never have heard them if he had not lain down for a short nap. It was only in complete silence that he had made out the sounds.

And then it had taken him a moment to figure out what they were.

She did not cry loudly so that he could hear and feel terrible. For, if she did, he knew that he would not feel anything but contempt.

James closed his eyes, gripping the handle to his door, the way out, the road to silence and sanity and strength. And then he turned and went to the door connecting his room with his wife’s.

He stood there for what seemed forever. He could not show weakness, and if he entered her room now, he would be weak. He knew that.

The scene in his study had been difficult, no matter his feelings of betrayal. He had not enjoyed acting the tyrant to his wife, seeing the light in her eyes fade. Knowing that by taking away Gravesly, he took the meaning from her life.

But he could not go on with his quest and allow his wife hers as well.

James turned away and forced himself to leave the room.

He hadn’t come. The morning light touched her eyelids, and the first thing that came to Prudence’s mind was that her new husband had not come. With the memory of his outrageous requests the night before, Pru was quite happy he had decided to stay away. And yet, as she dressed, a picture of his large, callused hands caressing her nagged at the back of her mind.

“Stupid, frivolous thoughts,” she muttered to herself.

“Ma’am?” Her maid skittered backward and almost dropped the brush she was using to dress Pru’s hair.

“Nothing, Mary, I am just talking to myself.” She was very unused to having servants bowing and rushing about to make sure her every whim and pleasure was obliged. No matter that it sounded rather decadent, in truth it was annoying.

“I am sure my hair looks fine.” Prudence waved the girl aside. Pru finished her toilet quickly and went downstairs. She let out a sigh of relief when she opened the door to a deserted dining room. Plates of food sat on the sideboard. Pru picked up a piece of bacon and munched on it as she continued through the servants’ door. A footman on the other side dropped the plate of eggs he carried and stared at her in amazement.

“Oh, so sorry, ma’am.” He bent quickly to clean up his mess.

“Goodness, I’m sorry for startling you.” Pru knelt to help the man, and he jumped back like she had just taken off all her clothes.

“Please, ma’am, you will ruin your gown.” He recovered his senses. “I’ll go to the kitchen and get one of the maids to do this.”

“Yes”—Pru looked at the coagulating mess on the floor—“I think it will need a mop.” She stood and brushed at her skirts.

“The kitchen staff is terribly good at what they do, Mrs. Ashley. I am sure they can deal with this on their own.”

Pru stiffened at the sound of James’s voice. The footman blanched and backed away, mumbling something about a mop.

Pru turned slowly. “Good morning, husband mine, you did not attend me last night. I gathered from your rules that you would be at the deed of getting an heir every night until I started increasing.”

James held out his arm. “I do not usually conduct conversations in the servants’ hall. Please accompany me back to the dining room, Mrs. Ashley.”

With a disgusted sniff, Pru laid her fingers gently on his elbow. “So, I am to be Mrs. Ashley now?”

“I do believe you demanded that title when you thought your butler was to be thrown in prison.” He pushed open the door to the dining room and allowed her to go ahead of him into the room. It was amazing how he could effect such pristine manners yet inflect such a tone of malice to his words.

“Please sit, I shall make up a plate for you.”

Prudence sighed. She did not want to sit at a table and eat with this horrible man who resided in the body of Captain Ashley. But she did as he asked and sat. She watched the man pick up a plate, her eyes, of course, going to his long fingers.

How she loved her husband’s hands.

Truth be told, she was rather put out that James had not come to her room last night. Since the hard kiss he had given her at Harker’s, James had not touched her at all.

His rules were abhorrent, but she had at least hoped that with the forced intimacy, perhaps she could find the old Captain Ashley hidden within this man who seemed possessed by the devil.

He put a plate laden with food in front of her without saying anything, and went back to fix his own plate. The footman from before entered with another platter of eggs, deposited them on the buffet, and stood aside, hands behind his back, chin in the air.

How she missed Chesley House and the warm breakfasts she would share with Delilah and Clifton in the kitchen. She sighed and speared one of her eggs with a fork. She would surely never get used to this life that her husband wanted so badly.

“I have booked passage for Clifton,” James said as he sat at the other end of the long dining room table.

“Excuse me?” Pru asked.

“I think it best that Clifton go to the Colonies. I shall give him a nice fat pension, of course.”

“The Colonies?”

“Well, the United States, if you must.”

Pru blinked at the chameleon her husband had turned into.

“And, of course, I will keep the signed confession in a safe place, so you must not think that you may return to your former pursuits just because Clifton is living on another continent. They have courts there as well, you know.” The man actually smiled and took a bite of his toast.

Pru wanted to fling her egg across the atrociously long table and hit the dear man smack on his nose.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Yes, actually, I can, and I most definitely am.”

Pru banged her fork down next to her plate and stood, shoving her chair back so hard that it crashed to the floor. The footman cringed.

“You cannot just order people to leave the country at your whim!”

James stood as well, except he did so calmly and slowly. He turned and nodded to the footman, who nearly ran from the room. “Please, Prudence, I have asked you not to raise your voice in the house. And I would appreciate it if you would not yell at me in front of the servants.”

Pru shook her head in disbelief. “I am not your child, James. I am your wife.”

“And I expect you, then, to act like an adult.”

“Well, that would certainly be easier if you started acting like a human being.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. And then James took up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “Good day, Prudence,” he said, and went to the door.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, James Ashley!” Prudence took two huge strides to reach her husband before he left, and grabbed his arm.

He stopped, his gaze tracking a hot path from her face, to her fingers wrapped around his arm, and back to her face. “Let go of me, Prudence.”

“With pleasure,” she said with disgust.

“Monday next, Clifton will leave for the Colonies. That is the end of it, Prudence.”

Well, that just meant she truly had only a week to find Mr. Watson and come up with a brilliant plan. At this point, she was running out of hope for any plan that could help her, even if she did manage to find the mysterious Mr. Watson.

She looked up into James’s glacial gaze. “Are you truly this shallow, then?”

He blinked, and she thought she saw some emotion flicker in his eyes.

“The fate of Mrs. Witherspoon does not matter as much as what a bunch of society matrons think of you?”

James laughed, but the sound held no humor. “You underestimate people, Prudence. Mrs. Witherspoon can take care of herself, of that I’m sure.”

“Are you, Captain? And you are willing to risk her life on that?”

“Really, Prudence, I rather think you are being a bit, what did you call me at Harker’s, overly dramatic.”

“Do not take lightly something you do not understand, Captain.”

“Touché, Prudence,” her husband said, and left her without another word.

The man was going to drive her to Bedlam, surely. She waited for a moment, schooling her emotions so she did not go back into the dining room and break every piece of china in reach. And then she went out into the hall. She was not sure what she would do, but she had a vague idea of finding Captain Ashley and strangling him.

“Mrs. Ashley?”

Pru looked over at a tall, thin man standing outside of her husband’s study. “Yes?”

“Mr. Jenkins, ma’am.” He advanced, stopped in front of her, and nodded. “I’ve been retained by your husband to act as your secretary.”

“Ah.” Pru smiled, not a real smile, but a tugging of her lips that obviously relayed exactly how she felt about her husband and his wonderful idea of a secretary.

Mr. Jenkins cleared his skinny throat. “I have your schedule made out for you.” His long, spiderlike fingers slid a paper from a leather portfolio in his arms. “You will be attending three different soirées this evening.” He held the itinerary out to her.

Pru folded her arms in front of her and stared at the piece of paper. “Three? How thrilling.”

Mr. Jenkins frowned, looked at the schedule then back at her. She finally took pity on him and took it from him. He sighed heavily, and Pru smiled at him, a real smile this time. The poor man. He was just doing his job.

“Thank you, Jenkins. I will do as I am commanded.” Pru turned to go up the stairs.

“Um, excuse me, Mrs. Ashley, but there is one more thing.”

“Of course there is, does the captain want me to meet with someone? Perhaps he wishes me to perform tricks for a party of his cronies. Or, maybe, I must do acrobatics at one of the delightful soirées which I am to attend this beauteous eve.”

Jenkins looked like he wanted to run screaming from the room. “No, Mrs. Ashley.” He worked his jaw and ran bony fingers through his dark, thinning hair. “I am to inform you that Chesley House is to be put up for sale.”

“Ah, yes, my house, Chesley House. My dear husband is going to sell Chesley House.” Pru took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. “My husband, of course, gave you the thankless task of telling me, Jenkins. I would quit now, if I were you. Your employer is an absolute tyrant as well as a spineless toad.” Pru clenched her fists at her sides, effectively wrinkling her schedule to oblivion, then marched up the stairs without even dismissing Jenkins.

Pru threw the crumpled paper in her hand across the room when she reached her chamber. Then, for good measure she turned around and slammed her door as hard as she could. The entire wall shook, and a bit of plaster fell from the ceiling. Pru took a deep breath. She felt a little better.

Unfortunately, she was still married to a man who would put Napoleon to shame, the arrogant, overbearing ass. He thought he was going to sell her house, did he? Well, she would just like to see the man try.

She kicked at her bedpost, bruised her toe, and cursed. “Bloody hell.” Pru sat on the edge of her mattress and stared at the wall.

Prudence stood among the throngs of people at yet another ball. She had gone to her required three soirees the night before. Captain Ashley had accompanied her to the first, introduced her around, making sure to mention the name of her parents and Baron Farnsworth, and then let her go on alone.

She was starting to recognize people, now, after only two nights. It seemed she was quite a hit, for everyone wanted to know intimate details about the woman who had married the Most Delectable Man in England.

Now she knew why James hated the name so. If she heard one more woman titter behind her fan as she said it, Prudence just might do something drastically unladylike.

She flipped open her own fan and waved it before her face. It was damn hot. There were far too many people in one place, and half of them were dancing, making the heat even worse.

Lady Trent continued her treatise on the merits of using lemon as furniture polish, and Pru resisted the urge to drop dead from boredom.