Trust Me (13 page)

Her face flamed
hotter. He was making sport of her but in the fondest possible way. “Well, I
was like that before I became a widow. Then Whitecross became Francesca’s
domain and I had no place. No home.”

He caressed the side
of her cheek. “And you loved Whitecross Hall.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I hope you shall
come to love Blackmore Castle just as well.”

She smiled.

“We shall have sons.
We shall raise them to be good men, to know their duty as you do. Your position
at Blackmore will be secure for the rest of your life.”

Warmth suffused her.
“Thank you for understanding me so well.”

He squeezed her hand.
“Do you think I would really give a damn about all of this reputation business
otherwise?

****

Anne laid a land over
her unsettled stomach. Her head had begun to pound softly as well, and she
winced as Nellie dragged the brush over her tender scalp.

“The dowager left
early this morning,” Nellie said, a hint of gentle probing in her tone.

“Yes. She’s going to
visit some friends, she said.”

At the sound of Jon’s
voice, Anne glanced up. He entered her chamber looking like masculine
perfection. His medium blue coat of superfine cloth made his eyes appear even
bluer and his pale-grey waistcoat and darker grey trousers were so expertly
tailored that they outlined every aspect of his muscled frame. He leant over
her and the spicy fragrance of his cologne wafted down . “She said to tell you
farewell.”

Anne doubted his
veracity on that point.

“What a pity I never
got the chance to meet her.” There, that was a tactful way to comment on having
been given a cut direct by his closest living relative here in Mayfair. Or
rather, it would have been tactful, had she been able to keep the bitterness
out of her tone.

“There will be time
to face the old dragon later.” He bent closer and placed a kiss on her forehead
then went to sit in the wingchair by her window. The sunlight burnished his
hair, precisely styled to resemble careless disarray, to a glowing Champagne
colour.

She wished he would
return to the sitting chamber. She was a ball of nerves today and not feeling
well. The fate of her meagre breakfast was still uncertain. “We must hurry, my
lady.” Nellie came behind her and took hold of the laces to her stays.

Jon looked up from
his newspaper. “Not too tight, Nellie.”

Anne could sense
Nellie bristling. The clock ticked in the silence.

“I said, not too
tight,” he repeated in a tone that might have frozen water on a summer’s day.

“Yes, my lord,”
Nellie replied in a wooden tone.

Jon stared at the
servant levelly for several moments then returned to his paper.

As soon as he had
done so, Nellie gave the laces a firm, hard yank. And then another.

At the sudden
constriction, Anne sucked in her breath to keep from gasping.

If she said something
to Nellie about the lacing now, with Jon there, it would cause trouble between her
new husband and her loyal servant. Anne couldn’t handle any stormy
confrontations at the moment.

A lady always
laces herself tight. She does not allow her breast and belly to hang.

Mama’s words echoed
in her mind.

Indeed, there was
something confidence-giving about knowing one was girded up nicely. And dear
heavens, she needed some confidence today. It wouldn’t do to look slovenly on
her first social event in Mayfair as Jon’s bride. People would find fault with
too many things already. Why give them one more? Anne stood uncomplaining as
Nellie tied the laces.

Briskly, the servant
helped Anne into her chemise, petticoats and gown, then hurried out of the
chamber.

Anne stared at
herself in the mirror and frowned. Jon had said the pale yellow would flatter her.
It did not appear thus to her now, for her face looked sallow, waxy. She
resisted the impulse to wipe her sweating palms on the gauzy overskirt.

 
The puffy capped sleeves and a deep, round
neckline —he’d wanted her first exposure to Society to be an image of innocence
and youth but was this really necessary? “Goodness, Jon, I look just like a
dairy maid.”

“A dairy maid could
never afford that frock, believe me.” Humour resonated in Jon’s voice.

She glanced down at
the overskirt of sheer cream, embroidered all over with tiny yellow rose buds
garnished with delicate green leaves and stems. It spoke of gaiety and
springtime. Jon had selected the fabric and paid a small fortune to have the
garment made ready for today. “I am just not accustomed to wearing such bright
colours.”

“Who purchased that
ball gown you wore at Whitecross?”

Heaviness entered
Anne’s heart. “William’s mother had her dressmaker sew that creation. She hoped
it would turn William’s head and make him more attentive to me.” Guilt weighed
hard on her. “She wanted grandchildren before she died.”

In the mirror, she
stared at him where he sat slowly nursing a Scotch, but she was unable to say
more. The truth would hurt far deeper if she spoke it aloud. And Jon was the
only other person in the world who knew that she had used conception
preventatives during her marriage to William.

“She was the dearest
person. She deserved grandchildren.” Anne choked on the last sentence.

His expression
softened. “It was Cranfield’s fault. All of it.”

She offered him a wan
smile. “It is nice to have such a loyal husband.”

“He neglected you. He
didn’t deserve you, Anne. He certainly didn’t deserve an heir.”

She knew William
wasn’t solely to blame for the difficulties in their marriage, but Jon couldn’t
abide William. He couldn’t even speak his name without a slight sneer.

A rustling of skirts
drew Anne’s attention to the doorway. Nellie came hurrying in with her cheeks
flushed. “Oh, my lady, we must hurry. Your guests will be arriving soon.”

At the mention of
guests, Anne’s stomach cramped. Heat flashed over her face and she began to
breathe quicker. Today was to be their first “At Home” day as a married couple.
Anyone might come to have a look at them. It had been so long since she’d had
to face a crowded room.

Her stomach lurched
and she put a hand over her belly and suppressed a moan.

“You need to lie
down,” Jon said.

“There’s no time for
that, my lady!” Nellie said.

“Of course there’s
time.” Jon stood and went into the sitting room, and a few moments later he
returned with a glass of claret. “Drink this and lie down for fifteen minutes.”

“But my lord, I have
yet to arrange her hair,” Nellie said.

“Fix it simply. She
can be late to arrive. I shall go down now and attend to any early guests.”

****

From her vantage point
in the corridor, Anne peeked into the drawing chamber. It was filled to
capacity with guests. People she didn’t know. But since no one knew when to
expect her, she was able to sneak in and now she was leaning against the wood
panelling and clutching a cup of cool lemonade she’d procured on the way here.

How relieving to have
the liberty to ease into this first event. By letting her delay her entrance,
her husband had done that for her. Gratefulness had warmed her heart.

Yet, at the moment,
it was a struggle for her to remember that feeling.

Jon was quite well
occupied, cornered as he was by four lovely ladies.

She’d been trying not
to notice. But the sound of the ladies’ gushing laughter drew her attention
again and again.

Couldn’t he strive to
be a shade or two less entertaining?

“Well, you had better
become accustomed to that.”

Anne turned in the
direction of the low, sultry voice. Amusement twinkled in Maria’s cold, grey
eyes. With lush auburn hair and pale ivory skin, the woman was frighteningly beautiful.

And Jon had jilted
this woman for Anne.

Maria laughed softly.
“You cannot blame him. He cannot help being so attractive to the fair sex.”

“Good afternoon to
you as well, Lady Waterbury.” What else could Anne possibly say? She didn’t
intend to discuss her husband’s attractiveness to other women with Maria of all
people.

“For certain,
gentlemen always take advantage of the odd lucky circumstance.” Maria gave a
delicate shrug.

There was a witty,
cutting thing to say here in reply. Jon would know what it was. But Anne wasn’t
skilled at such social manoeuvres. “I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“Those ladies he is
currently entertaining? They are no longer a threat to you. He’s had each of
them.”

The blunt words
crashed over her like an icy wave. Yet Anne had stolen this woman’s fiancée.
Maria would like to hurt her. Who knew if it was the truth or not.

Anne stole another
glance at Jon with his fawning ladies, taking note of their flushed cheeks and
rapt gazes. Well, it could very well be the truth…

“It will be like this
all the time. They never give up hope that he will turn his attentions back
upon them. The silly cows have no sense of pride where he is concerned.”

Anne took a deep
drink from her cup and attempted to act disinterested.

“But Jon never pursues
the same woman twice.”

“How consistent of
him.” Anne tried to sound bored.

Maria laughed softly.
“Most ladies are taken in by his strength, his careless charm. But I see him as
he is. He has a hole in his soul large enough to ride Hades through.” Maria
smiled to herself, obviously pleased with her own wit. “He craves feminine
admiration. But they never seem to understand that he seeks conquest not
connection. He needs risk, variety, novelty. He’s searching for something to
fill himself. Something he shall never find. And he will not cease looking just
because he felt sorry enough for you to make you his countess.”

This last was said in
a silky-soft tone, yet underneath was enough venom to send a dizzying spiral of
fear winding through Anne’s internals. She caught her breath.

Sorry for her?

Did this woman really
think Jon would marry a woman out of pity?

Well, he simply
wasn’t capable of such… was he?

Sweat soaked her silk
gloves and she felt a bit sick all over again.

The pupils in Maria’s
eyes enlarged and a hint of a smile still curved her wide, full mouth.

“Our marriage was a
shock to you.” Anne couldn’t think of anything else to say. Any other way to
cope with this situation except to point out the obvious.

“You don’t understand
your husband.”

“Few brides do, I
suppose. I mean not completely.” Anne’s throat was growing tight, it was hard
to push the words out.

It was hard not to
run from this woman.

But she wouldn’t run.

“You needn’t worry.”
Maria had dropped her voice to a bare whisper. “He just fucks them. Once or
twice and then he’s done. And on to the next.”

Anne lowered her cup
and stiffened her spine. “I don’t wish to—”

“It is Mrs Rebecca
Howland who you must worry about.”

And just like that,
Maria had Anne’s full attention. She’d never even known the name of Jon’s
long-term mistress, only that he’d had one when they met and that he’d
dismissed her.

Satisfaction glinted
in Maria’s smoky eyes. “You can’t possibly know this, being such a sheltered,
gently-reared young lady, but Jon has certain… shall we call them
proclivities?”

Anne
nearly choked on a swallow of lemonade. A chill raced down her spine. Did Maria
really suspect that Anne did know and had enjoyed those proclivities?

Or
was she simply toying with her for spite?

No, she looked too
smug, as though she was sure she shared a secret with Jon that Anne hadn’t been
privy to until this moment.

“Proclivities?” Anne
used her best innocent tone. But her heart was pounding in her ears.

Maria caressed the
pearls at her collarbone. “I won’t go into details. I know Jon, whatever else
he may be, is a gentleman at his core. He would never subject you to that side
of himself. But Rebecca—or Becky, as he calls her—caters to those particular
tastes of his completely. He is beyond fond of her. Or, as fond of her as he
can be of anyone.”

But Jon had dismissed
his mistress. Given her a settlement of money and sent her on her way. He’d
told Anne that when he proposed marriage.

“Women like that
don’t just disappear when a gentleman marries.” Maria’s tone was smug.

Bands seemed to
constrict Anne’s breathing. Unwilling to listen to any more of this, she
brushed past Maria and entered the drawing room.

Becky.