Till Dawn with the Devil (2 page)

Beatrice pushed on his arms until he released her. Reign cursed under his breath and whirled away from her. The urge to strike her was so pronounced, he had to put some distance between them. He had never struck a woman in his life, and he had no intention of beginning with his wife.

Reign scrubbed his face with his hand as he sought for sobriety and composure. “When you married me, you ceded all your rights to me. I am your lord and husband, and my dictates are law.”

Beatrice’s laughter filled the room. “You sound more like a drunken bully than the man I married. If I had recognized this regrettable flaw in your character sooner, I would have never consented to marry you.”

She squeaked as Reign closed the distance between them and backed her up against the wall. “I wish I had glimpsed the shrew hidden behind that pretty face. If I had, dear wife, I never would have been tempted to lift your skirts and tie myself to you for all eternity.”

“Rubbish!” Beatrice said, her audacity startling him so much that he released her. She slipped under his arm and walked to the window. “You will not be tied for me to all eternity, Rainecourt. I will see to it, even if you do not have the courage to do so.”

No Rainecourt had ever sought a divorce. It simply was not done.

“Divorce? Truly?” Reign mocked. “My dear lady, you have no grounds to divorce me.”

Beatrice bit her lower lip as she studied him through a veil of dark eyelashes. “Perhaps not.” She gave him a sly glance. “However, you do.”

There was something in her expression that caused the walls of the bedchamber to close in on him. Reign tugged on the knot of his cravat.

“What are you babbling about?”

“Though it pains me to tell you this, my lord”—for a brief instant there was genuine regret in Beatrice’s gaze—“you leave me no choice. The child I carry is not yours.”

Reign froze. He was certain she saw the disbelief on his stark expression before his protest formed in his throat. “Come now, wife, is that the best you can do? I was your first lover . . . your only lover.”

His wife shook her head. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “This is the reason why you must let me go. I have wronged you, my lord. My mother and father knew I—”

Reign picked up the small side table and sent it flying into the rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. He pointed a finger at her. “Not another word. I do not believe you.”

Beatrice had been untouched when he had bedded her. A man knew such things about his lover.

“I speak the truth, my lord. I never wanted to marry you. I only did it to please my family.”

He raised his hand. The gesture was enough to silence her. Reign stabbed his finger in her direction. “You are not leaving this house. No arguments. No outlandish lies in a futile attempt to force my hand. You have made it clear that you cannot abide my presence, so I am willing to grant you your freedom once you have delivered my son. Afterward, you are free to return to the protection of your family.”

He walked over to the door and gave the room a final derisive glance. “I hope you enjoy the beauty of this bedchamber. You will not be leaving it without an escort.”

Beatrice’s hands curled into impotent fists as she comprehended that her bedchamber was her
prison. “Rainecourt, you arrogant bastard, you have no right—” she screeched at him.

“I have every right, madam,” he roared back, “until my child has been born.”

Reign scowled at the door. He belatedly realized he had broken the lock. “Let me be clear. If you attempt to leave this evening, I will not be accountable for my actions and you will suffer dearly for your defiance.”

His high-handedness provoked Beatrice’s temper. She plucked a Chinese figurine from its narrow mount and flung it at him. The figurine shattered against the wall.

“A pity. That figurine was one of my mother’s favorites,” Reign said casually as he brushed a shard of porcelain from his shoulder. “I am optimistic that your aim will improve in the upcoming months.”

He closed the door.

“Rainecourt!” Beatrice screamed like a wild, wounded animal caught in a trap. “You devil! You can keep me prisoner, but I will never love you! Never.
He
is the only one I will ever love! Do you hear me?”

Reign picked up the decanter he had abandoned and headed for the stairs. He was confident that Beatrice was too frightened to defy him this evening. All he wanted to do was lock himself in his library and wash away his wife’s ugly words.

It was going to take a sea of brandy, but he was up for the task.

The next morning, Reign awoke to find himself on the floor of his bedchamber. Winkler was crouched over him with a concerned expression on his lined face, while several other servants crowded in the doorway.

“What is it?” Reign rasped as he tried to sit up. He placed a hand to his head and groaned. The world tilted with each movement. He froze, praying he was not going to disgrace himself by losing his stomach in front of the servants.

“Milord, there has been an accident,” the butler said gently.

Reign squinted at Winkler. “What the devil are you talking about? What accident?”

“Lady Rainecourt . . . Milord, your wife is dead.”

Spring 1821, London

“I predict this evening will end in ruin.”

Lady Frances Lloyd, or simply Fanny to her friends, stifled a giggle. “What an utterly outrageous thing to say,” she murmured under her breath.

Perhaps she was being a trifle dramatic, Sophia privately reflected. However, during her brief stay in London, she had come to dread Town balls. And she absolutely loathed being announced. In that moment, there were too many gazes judging her choice of evening dress and watching every gesture. There were too many opportunities for her to humiliate herself.

“Chin up, my girl,” Griffin said, patting her gloved hand that gripped his forearm. “We are almost through.”

“I detest this,” Sophia hissed softly.

“Hush.” Fanny held on to Sophia’s right arm as if she expected her friend to flee. “It is time.”

“Presenting the Lady Sophia Northam . . . the Lady Frances Lloyd . . . Mr. Derrick Griffin.”

Head held high, Sophia stared at the confusing landscape of shadow and color that usually made little sense to her brain. Had the din in the ballroom diminished as they were announced? Were people staring? The unspoken questions only heightened her apprehension.

“Stairs,” Fanny murmured, reminding Sophia to pay attention. “Six steps.”

Earlier, Fanny and Griffin had described the layout of the ballroom in detail. With her friends’ assistance and the stylish white-and-gold walking stick that matched her dress to steady her, Sophia prayed she would not disgrace herself by tripping down the remaining three steps.

“Smile, Lady Sophia,” Griffin coaxed; his warm, steady arm was a source of great comfort. “You are stiff enough to crack into pieces. Do not tell me that you are afraid to face the
ton
?”

Crowds frustrated her more than frightened her.

“I fear no one,” Sophia said fiercely.

“An intelligent response,” Griffin said, sounding amused. “What say you, Fanny?”

Her friend sighed. “Sophia, your brothers were boorish to abandon you on your first evening in Town. If they dare show their faces this evening, I intend to let them feel the sting of my displeasure.”

Her connection to Fanny and Griffin could be traced back to childhood. Both families had been close friends of the Northams, and they had remained steadfast even after her parents had died in what had appeared to be a tragic murder-suicide.

Sophia’s smile was genuine as she cocked her head in Fanny’s direction. Above the shadows and annoying mist of her faulty eyes, she glimpsed that her friend had pinned up her dark hair for the ball. Sophia peered closer. “Did you curl your hair?”

“Yes.” Fanny heavily exhaled. “You will not dissuade me from speaking my mind to your wastrel brothers, Sophia. They would have happily left you to rot in the country again if they had not been persuaded by Griffin’s parents and my own.”

It was true. Her brothers, Stephan and Henry, had not been pleased that Sophia had joined them in London this season. She had overheard her brothers cursing Fanny’s father and debating which one of them would be saddled with the burden of escorting her about Town. Henry, in particular, lamented the expense of a sister who would never attract a husband. As far as her brother was concerned, Sophia was doomed to spend the rest of her days as a spinster.

“Most brothers look upon their younger sisters as an inconvenience,” Sophia said lightly. “Stephan was just annoyed that my presence would keep him out of the card rooms.”

“Ravenshaw is an arse,” Griffin muttered in her ear. “Henry, doubly so. If they do anything to upset you, let me know and I will beat them bloody on your behalf.”

Sophia affectionately leaned into Griffin. “It is one of the many reasons why I adore you.” She felt Griffin stiffen as she straightened. “Something amiss?”

“Miss Roberts has arrived with her parents,” he said breathlessly.

Ah, yes, the mysterious Miss Roberts. The lady was Viscount Burrard’s daughter. Griffin had been introduced to the eighteen-year-old young woman several days ago, and according to her friend he was smitten. At seven-and-twenty and the second son of a viscount, Griffin’s family had high hopes that he would secure the affections of an heiress this season. Sophia did not know if Miss Roberts was an heiress, but she had certainly captivated Griffin’s interest.

“You should go and pay your respects.”

His hand tightened briefly over hers. “You do not mind?”

Sophia wrinkled her nose and waved away his concerns. “I do not expect you and Fanny to watch over me all evening. I am not a helpless child.”

She focused on his face and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Very well.” Griffin slipped from her grasp. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her delicately
on the knuckles before moving on to Fanny. “Wish me luck, Fanny?”

Fanny snatched her hand out of his grasp. “With your roguish charm, I should be wishing Miss Roberts luck,” she said wryly.

Griffin took several steps in Miss Roberts’s direction before he stopped, pivoted, and returned. “Sophia, if Ravenshaw and Henry do not make an appearance—”

Sophia’s face softened at his concern. “Fanny’s parents should arrive later this evening. They will see to it that I have a way home.”

“Ladies.”

With an abrupt bow, Griffin disappeared into the crowd.

Fanny was quiet for several minutes, making Sophia wonder if her friend was watching Griffin’s exchange with Miss Roberts. “Does he know?”

“I beg your pardon?” Fanny absently replied.

“Is Griffin aware that you have feelings for him?” Sophia clarified.

Her friend laughed. “I doubt it. Most gentlemen are blind when it comes to love.” Fanny sounded resigned and a little sad.

“If you would prefer, we could find a quiet room—”

“Oh, no,” Fanny said, cutting Sophia off in midsentence. “You are not going to hide away the entire evening. You are going to meet people, and perhaps even dance.”

“Dance? Here?” Sophia said, trying to hide her anxiety at the notion of dancing in front of strangers. She and Fanny had taken dance lessons together, but she had only practiced with their instructor and once with Griffin. “If I humiliated myself by falling, I would never hear the end of it from Stephan and Henry.”

“I do not give a farthing about your brothers’ feelings. Like most gentlemen, they both can be insensitive twits!” Fanny said heatedly; she was always ready to battle Stephan and Henry on Sophia’s behalf.

“You are a good friend, Fanny.”

The compliment seemed to drain her friend’s anger. “I love you, too.” Fanny sighed. “Oh, come along. I see Lord and Lady Howland up ahead. We should go pay our respects. It will not be as amusing as yelling at your brothers, but it will have to do.”

With a discerning eye, Reign surveyed the crowded ballroom and found it lacking. “Tell me, my friend, why are we not at Nox? At the club, we have the opportunity of increasing the weight of our purses, imbibing decent brandy, and—”

“Flirting with immodest wenches,” Vane added, his blue-green eyes twinkling with humor.