Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (29 page)

For a moment Garvey stared at him in silence. Then his tight
lips relaxed into a grin. "Is understood."

Whatever criticisms may have been levelled at Lisette Strand;
that
of disinterest in the problems of her friends had never been among
them. Despite her own anxieties, she had become extremely fond of
Amanda, and walking with her towards the front door, she murmured, "I
simply do not see why you must feel so unworthy. Surely, everyone knows
that Winfield is only your half-brother. From what St. Clair told me,
you were never close, and nobody holds his crimes over your head. To
break poor Bolster's heart for such a reason seems—"

Amanda halted and turned to face her. "He is a
peer,"
she
said miserably. "His family goes back—oh, farther than the Conqueror
and people might sympathize now Lisette but what if Winfield
should—hang and they say he will what then?"

Her own rigid standards rearing their heads, Lisette ignored
them
and said stoutly, "If Jeremy cares not, that should be enough. Indeed,
Amanda, the poor soul looks so disheartened. I wish you will
reconsider."

"I cannot," Amanda sighed. "Only I cannot really hope that
while he
is across the sea he will find someone else and—and forget me. Oh do
you think he will?"

"No, of course not, you silly goose. But is he leaving again,
so soon? He has said nothing of it."

Amanda gave a gasp. "Has—said? He—is
back?
Jeremy is in England?"

"Good gracious! Did you not know?" Lisette cast a rather vexed
glance at the front door. The afternoon was drawing to a close, the
rainy skies having already darkened to the point that candles and lamps
had been lighted. From outside came the sounds of revelry; one gathered
that some gentlemen were considerably inebriated, probably as a result
of a prolonged and convivial luncheon. She was about to instruct the
lackey not to open the door until the drunkards had passed by when, to
her annoyance, the man sprang to life and flung the door wide.

Singing uproariously, but not felicitously, since each warbled
a different ballad, Strand and Bolster reeled into the hall.

Lisette's relief was mingled with irritation. Amanda dropped
her reticule and, with a little yelp of fright, stood motionless.

Swaying uncertainly, Strand peered at his wife. He drew
himself up,
bowed low, almost fell, but recovered. "Hail, madam wife," he
enunciated thickly. "I am… quite 'toxicated. When sober I—shall bid you
farewell." He reached out gropingly, and the butler sprang to support
him. Strand gestured to the stairs.

"Wait!" cried Lisette. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"Africa. Jerry 'n me. T'be eaten. C'mon, old f'la." And he
reeled off, singing heartily into the amused butler's ear.

Lisette glared after him. All her worrying! All her fears and
anxieties! A perfectly horrid afternoon, and he had come home in this
revolting condition!

At the foot of the stairs, Strand flung up a peremptory hand,
and
Morse assisted him to turn around. "'Minds me," he said. "I shall have
some caps't'pull with you, ma'am." He started off, paused once more and
flung over his shoulder, "Whole… damn hat shop, 'n fact!" This reduced
him to imbecility, apparently, and he negotiated the stairs giggling
hilariously.

Throughout this brief interlude, Amanda had trembled before
Bolster,
and his lordship, much less inebriated than his host, had stood in mute
shock before her. At last, his voice returning, he croaked, "Mandy…
Mandy…"

"Jeremy," she replied yearningly, then rushed on. "I did not
know
you was here else I'd not have come I hope you are well I must go."

He leapt to snatch up her reticule and, clutching it to his
breast,
gulped, "No, I'm not. I'm drunk. But when I'm drunk I can speak, so I'm
going to beg—to implore you to wed me, my dearest girl. You know how I
adore you. Please, Mandy. Without you—" he shrugged eloquently—"there
ain't nothing, Tall."

Amanda pressed one hand to her lips, but shook her head.

He glanced around. Lisette was nowhere in sight; they were
quite
alone. Dropping rather weavingly to one knee, he stretched forth a hand
beseechingly. "Mandy, you
must.
I cannot live
like this. And you, my sweet love, you are not happy."

"Happy! Oh Jeremy I cannot I will not ruin your life, if I
must I
will run away and hide do not ask goodbye." And staying for neither
hat, umbrella, nor cloak, she ran out into the rain and to her barouche
which was just pulling up on the flagway.

Bolster knelt there in the hall, Amanda's dainty reticule
still clutched to his bosom. Then he sprang up and reeled after her.

Lord
Bolster, having summoned up a
passing hackney in order
to pursue his beloved, did not return that evening. Strand failed to
put in an appearance at the dinner table, but Lisette was joined by
Norman and Judith. They obviously had not yet heard of the incident at
The Madrigal and, postponing a discussion of that unhappy development,
Lisette told them her husband was engaged with friends but that she
hoped he would return before it was time for them to leave. Norman was
eager to discuss their visit to Lord Wetherby, which was to take place
on the following morning, and Judith was anxious to secure Strand's
approval of a swatch of fabric she had obtained while shopping that
day. Lisette's opinion was sought, and her endorsement noted but
without much enthusiasm, it being very apparent that Strand had become
Judith's oracle in matters pertaining to fashion, failing the presence
of Miss Wallace, who, having contracted a heavy cold, had been left in
Sussex. The evening slipped away, Norman and Judith said their
farewells and were driven back to Portland Place, and still there was
no sign of Strand. Lisette resigned herself to waiting until the
following day to hear what had transpired at The Madrigal. It was, she
decided, as well, since it was unlikely that he would recover to the
point of being able to converse coherently with anyone.

She accepted her candle from Morse, bade him good night, and
went
slowly upstairs, pondering the events of this unpleasant day. It was
beyond belief that a man as well bred" as James

Garvey should have been so vulgar as to bandy her name about
in a
gentleman's club, especially in so crude a fashion. How she would ever
again be able to walk out in public, she could not think. The shock had
obviously been sufficient to drive Strand into a bout of heavy
drinking—a typical male reaction! One might suppose he would instead
have had the kindness to come home and warn her of the rumours that had
been spread about them. With her hand on the doorknob, she knew a pang
of guilt. Poor Strand. Here she was feeling hardly done by, when he
must have suffered the greater blow of hearing it in so public a way.
No wonder he had challenged Garvey. Yet how strange that Garvey had
apologized in such craven fashion, and why on earth should Claude
Sanguinet have intervened? From all she'd heard one would think he
would joyfully have encouraged a duel that must certainly have seen
Justin slain. She shivered at the thought and hurried into her parlour.
There was no sign of Denise, who usually sat before the fire in the
evening, reading or sewing, and Lisette walked across to open her
bedchamber door, calling, "Denise? Are you—"

Strand rose from the armchair beside the fire. "She is gone to
bed,
madam," he said coldly. "You shall have to do without her tonight, I
fear."

He had changed into a smoking jacket of dark blue velvet and
had
discarded his cravat, his shirt lying open at the throat and very white
against his bronzed skin. He appeared quite recovered from his earlier
disgusting condition; he must, of course, have enjoyed at least five
hours of sound sleep since he had returned home, but anger radiated
from him, the brilliant eyes seemed to hurl fury, the lips were thin
and tight, the jaw a fierce jut. Suddenly apprehensive, Lisette wished
he had slept until morning.

"That is of no importance, Strand," she said, coming quickly
into
the room and closing the door behind her. "What a dreadful day you have
had. I have heard a little of it, and am so thankful you are not to go
out with Garvey, for I—"

"How touching," he rasped, his eyes glinting ever more
unpleasantly.
"Were you so concerned for my welfare, ma'am, you'd have done well to
keep your tongue between your teeth."

Lisette's jaw sagged momentarily.
"Wh-what?
Do you dare to imply—''

"No, madam. I
imply
nothing. I
state
that your
vulgar and irresponsible gabbling has caused one man to be ridiculed
throughout London, and the honour of another to be hopelessly fouled! I
trust you are well pleased."

For an instant she was quite powerless to reply and simply
stood
there, all but gaping at him. Then, she said in strangled voice, "You
dare… you
dare
to believe
I
would have spread such—such crudities?"

"If report errs," he sneered, "if you did not in fact vaunt
abroad
your cleverness in having kept me at arm's length through most of our
so-called honeymoon, perhaps you will tell me who else might have done
so. And why!"

"I need tell you
nothing!"
Lisette
raged. "But
had
I spread such revolting gossip, can you suppose I would have been so
noble as to have omitted all mention of your—your bird of paradise, or
whatever it is you call such?''

Strand's eyes widened. "Bird of— The devil! So
that's
it!
The incalculably superior Lisette Van Lindsay Strand guessed her
unworthy husband had left her for another woman! Oho! How that
insufferable pride of yours must have been hurt! And thus you thought
to teach me a lesson, did you, ma'am?"

"After the disgusting boasts
you
made
before we were wed," she retaliated furiously, "I doubt there is
anything
I could teach you! In vulgarity, at least!"

"I cannot be responsible for the gabblemongering of a set of
women!
I will admit you have surprised me, however. And what could be more
vulgar than that revolting little flirtation you engaged in with Garvey
this—"

"Vile!"
Trembling with wrath, Lisette
snarled, "Despicable
creature!"

"A poor defence, ma'am! I said you had surprised me. It was
because
I fancied you had eyes for a worthier man, but I should have known when
I saw you hanging breathless on Garvey's lips this morning, that—"

Crouching, livid, she hissed,
"That… what…?"

"That right under my nose you have been conducting a sordid
affaire!
And that—no matter how intimate—every incident that transpired between
us, was at once whispered into
his
eager ear! For
shame
madam! If this is a sample of the famous Van
Lindsay breeding—''

"Peasant!"
she screeched, in a voice that
would have stunned her grandmother. "Foul—loathsome—money-grubbing
nabob!"

Strand was livid with rage. His eyes narrowed, their
expression so
threatening as to have daunted a lesser girl as he stepped towards her.

Lisette was far too infuriated to be daunted. She sprang at
him, one
hand flashing upward to be seized in a. grip of iron, but the other
eluding his grasp. He jerked his face away, but her sharp nails raked
across his ear and down his throat.

Strand grabbed her flying wrist and rasped out a pithy
sentence in
Tamil which it was as well she did not understand. The sight of the
crimson streaks she had inflicted sobered her, and the glare in his
eyes was frightening.

Fear came too late. Strand had lived a nightmare this day. He
had
been publicly shamed, derided and, immeasurably worse, betrayed by the
very lady he idolized. Lisette's attack was the last straw. Scourged by
disillusion and with his head throbbing brutally by reason of the
afternoon's excesses, he thoroughly lost his temper. For the first
time, Lisette felt the full strength of him as she was swept up in arms
that were more like steel bands. She uttered a shriek as he sat on the
end of the bed, swung her face down across his knees, and reached
across to seize the hairbrush from her dressing table.

"By God!" he snarled through set teeth. "It is past time
someone taught you a lesson, you spoiled, prideful little snob!"

Kicking and struggling, beating her fists wildly against his
leg, Lisette squealed, "Do not
dare!"

For answer, he held her with crushing force and brought her
hairbrush whizzing down. Lisette heard the
whack
more than she felt the pain. Her eyes grew as big as saucers; her mouth
fell open. Never in her life had she encountered uncontrolled fury.
Never in her life had she been really spanked. She experienced both
now. Six times that hairbrush rose and fell, and at the finish she was
sobbing with rage and humiliation and pain.

White as death, past caring, Strand stood up so that she
collapsed
in a heap at his feet. Glaring down at her, he said breathlessly, "Do
you ever claw me again, madam tabby, you will get twice that treatment!
And do you ever breathe one word of our personal relationship to anyone
save your immediate family, you will really feel my wrath!"

"Beast…" she sobbed. "Savage! You's-speak of Garvey with—with
contempt, but
he
would never treat me…'s-so."

"Then it is as well you're wed to me and not to him. And wed
you are!"

"Bought
is—is what you mean. Bought and
p-paid for!"

She crouched on hands and knees, tears streaking her cheeks,
her
great eyes filled with hurt and shock; and the enormity of what he had
done penetrated his anger at last. He still held the hairbrush and now
flung it from him with such violence that it sent a vase of flowers
toppling.