Trust Me (15 page)

He bent closer.

Her eyes fluttered
closed and she let her breath out this time in a soft, lingering sigh.

“Forget all of them.
For now,” he said against her lips. He pressed her pelvis more snugly against
his own.

His heart beat a
fierce tattoo for her.

His cock leaked
profusely for her.

Every particle of
himself was attuned to her.

Being in love was
such a heady thing. He had always sought out spectacular experiences. Yet he’d
never guessed the stunning sensations that love could create.

He slid his tongue
into her mouth and she tasted so damnably sweet—Oh God, her taste. Before with
women, kissing their mouths, their cunts, had all been a part of seducing them,
dominating them with sensual pleasure.

But with Anne, it was
as much for his sensual pleasure as hers. He loved, adored, hungered for her
taste.

He would take her to
bed now and he would put his head between her legs and slide his tongue into
her wet folds. He was going to make her come and come and come.

Until she begged him
to stop.

“My lord?”

Toby’s voice was a
most unwelcome interruption.

“Yes?” Jon lifted his
head and glanced over Anne’s shoulder.

“Please pardon me,
but you have your appointment with the tailor this evening.” The faintest glint
of satisfaction lit the servant’s eyes. Toby had a soft spot for Rebecca
Howland and had a hard time concealing his disapproval of Jon’s recent
dismissal of her.

“Thank you for the
reminder, Toby. You may leave us,” Jon said.

“Very good, my lord.”
The servant made a quick bow and left.

Jon stared down into
Anne’s eyes.

“You have an
appointment with your tailor?” She sounded a little amused. “Can’t you go some
other time?”

“I can’t reschedule
it. I need new clothes to be ready in time for the House of Lords.”

“Oh.” Now she sounded
sad.

A slight pang echoed in
his own chest. The bittersweet sensation made him smile to himself. Sad to have
to leave his young wife for an evening—had he ever imagined he would experience
such a feeling?

“I shouldn’t be gone
long.”

“Only hours with all
the fittings.” Her lower lip jutted slightly. An unaffected expression of
disappointment that he found so adorable—and somehow, unbearably erotic.

His cock ached.

Damn it, anyway.

He gave her a quick
kiss. “It is not like with a lady’s wardrobe. I shall be home in time to tuck
you into bed.”

****

The time dragged by
slowly. Anne chided herself. Of course her husband wouldn’t spend every
evening, every hour with her. But she had become so accustomed to his presence
all this time since he’d caught up to her in that little inn near Plymouth.

She tried to read but
she couldn’t concentrate. So she decided to send a letter to her overseer in
Ireland. However, a quick search of the elegant desk in her study yielded
paper, a quill with a huge, pink feather, but no ink.

With a sigh, she tightened
her wrapper and left the chamber and went down the corridor to Jon’s study.

She rifled through
the items in his desk, but the ink was old and clumped on the page. It smelt
funny.

She wrinkled her nose
and looked about. Crates were stacked here and there. He had not yet settled
his personal effects into his study. That didn’t surprise her; neither of them
had had much time for anything but lovemaking. Apparently, this was another
area of his life where he preferred to take care of himself, rather than allow
Toby to do it.

She began looking
through the crates, lifting out the little boxes and baskets inside one by one.
Surely the man kept ink. When she lifted one small, flat box out to see what
was underneath it and reached to set it on the desk, a short, squat box caught
her eye. She missed setting the flat box on the desk and it fell to the floor,
causing the unlatched top to come open.

A bound book and a
small collection of paper slips spilled over the floor,
 
white against the dark green carpet.

A bill of sale for
roses lay face-up.

There were at least a
dozen of them, all marked for delivery to a distinguished Mayfair address.
Emblazoned across the bottom, in Jon’s handwriting:

Lady Green Eyes.

Lady Green-Eyes?

She had a sudden
visceral memory of icy green eyes staring at her with jealousy.

The Duchess of
Lukecaster

Quickly, she gathered
up the receipts, and trying not to look at them. They were Jon’s private
business. She shouldn’t look.

She shouldn’t.

You don’t
understand your husband.

Maria’s scathing,
smug words echoed in her mind. Her eyes were drawn back to the slips of paper
she held. Several slips recorded similar extravagant gifts of flowers all sent
to the same Mayfair address, bearing dates from March to the end of July. Right
before Jon had come to visit Whitecross Hall and met Anne.

Minor gifts of
flowers to other ladies, only their first names marked on the receipts with
somewhat less flourish.

One packet, several
bills bound together with a ribbon, lay face-up.

The top bill was for
a delivery of Scotch whisky.

She picked up each of
the slips of paper.

A dressmaker’s bill.

Carriage repairs.

All these items
delivered to far less grand address in Marlyebone.

She sucked in her
breath—the mistress, these were the bills for Rebecca Howland’s upkeep.

It made his previous
protection of the woman seem all the more real.

Painfully real.

She tossed the pages
to the floor. With her mouth still fallen open, in numbed shock, she sat back
on her heels.

Oh, she was being
silly. Hopelessly silly.

What did any of this
matter?

So, Jon had led a
varied and busy private life with women. But she’d already known that.

Yet, seeing it
embodied in these sundry items, seeing it laid out so clearly—seeing the
investment of money and thought and time he’d put into the matter—she realized
that the activities associated with Jon’s former life had been just as
important to him as her philosophy books and other studies were to her.

Was she likely to
give up her studies?

No, not when they
gave her so much pleasure and satisfaction. They made life bearable. The
excitement of finding some new philosopher or new topic of interest and seeking
out everything she could find. Soaking up some novel new idea. She could never
give up her search for greater and greater knowledge.

When life proved too
hard, too disappointing, too
boring
, her studies could always be counted
on to consume her and sweep her away. Would Jon’s preoccupation with seducing
women prove just as consuming? Would the allure of it draw him back eventually?

If he did, she would
find it very hard to forgive.

Her pride couldn’t
bear it…no, she must be honest, her heart couldn’t bear it. She would turn away
from him. She’d have no other choice.

But if she were
forced to turn from Jon, she’d lose more than a lover and a husband.

She’d lose the first
true friendship she’d ever had.

The only person who
seemed to understand her. The only person who had seemed to make the attempt to
understand her.

Sobered, she gathered
the remaining slips of paper, put them into the box and hurriedly returned all
the boxes and baskets to the crates.

She’d had no business
looking at those papers. She hurried back to their suite and crawled into her
bed and closed her eyes tight, determined to sleep.

But she couldn’t
forget.

Lady Green Eyes.

****

“But I have to speak
with you!”

Wind-driven rain
lashed her cheeks and the cold soaked right down to her bones. She shivered and
pulled her collar tighter to her neck.

The tall nobleman
before her stared down his long, narrow nose in that manner she knew so well.
He was angry with her. So be it. She wasn’t happy with him either. She had sent
him several messages and he’d had his valet respond to her.

His valet!

“Get inside.” He
ground the words out.

She hastened to climb
into his carriage and, seating herself inside it, busied herself arranging her
skirts.

The door shut and she
looked up. Lamplight illuminated every contour of his fierce-looking
expression.

“You said you would
still be a friend, that I could come to you for help.”

“I didn’t mean that
you could come to me directly like this. What did you do, twist Toby’s ear with
some tale of woe until he told you my schedule?”

Oh, it was terrible,
being talked to in that distant, almost disdainful tone.

“What is it,
Rebecca?”

“It is Edwin. They
have expelled him.”

“For what?”

She twisted her hands
in her lap. “They won’t say exactly. They just say that he has been
disrespectful and inattentive.”

“The boy needs
discipline.”

“The whole idea of
sending him away to school was to give him discipline. And now they say he may
not come back.” She stared at him, still twisting her gloved hands together.
Remember
your promise to Donald. If you can no longer feel softness or fondness for me,
at least remember that.

She willed the words
into her stare.

“I’ll speak with the
headmaster and see what can be done.” His frown deepened. “Toby said you
wouldn’t tell him what the problem was. I fail to understand why you couldn’t
simply tell him and then I could have gone and spoke with the headmaster even
sooner.”

She had nothing to
say to that.

“Rebecca, I am
married now.”

“Yes.” Her throat
burned and it was hard to speak.

“It is a true
marriage.”

She could tell how he
was trying to soften his voice. To make his censure less painful. It was unlike
Jon to be so tender. And for some reason, that hurt her all the more.

“I cannot be
available to you like this.”

“Yes, of course.” She
spoke woodenly, automatically saying what she knew he wanted her to say. But
inside, her heart was screaming for him to relent.

To open to her.

The carriage was
slowing. Through the heavy rain, she could see the white columns of a grand
house.

Lloyd House.

“I’ll instruct my
driver to take you home.” He paused for a moment, studying her. “Don’t worry, I
shall fix this problem for you.”

And then he exited
the carriage and closed the door.

She stared at the
door, in shock.

He had left her so
easily.

So emotionlessly.

But what had she
expected?

That he would drag
her over his lap and spank her for her forwardness in having come to see him at
his tailor appointment? That he would undo the buttons of her dress and—

Tears sprang to her
eyes and she bit her lip.

My marriage to
Maria won’t make a whit of difference between you and I.

A year ago, when Jon
had spoke those words, Rebecca had stifled a gasp of pure relief. The future,
their
future, had been set. She’d known he hadn’t loved her. But she hadn’t thought
him capable of love. She’d thought he felt for her a kind of love, the most he
could offer anyone.

Apparently, she’d
been wrong.

Inwardly, she gave
herself a shake.

She had wanted to see
him.

And
now that she had, she felt not a bit better.

****

Jon pulled his shirt
up and over his head then watched as Toby bustled about picking up clothes,
setting out the next day’s garments. The servant was far quieter than usual.

It was as well. Jon
was in no mood to castigate the man over the breach of his privacy with regard
to Rebecca.

He sincerely hoped
Rebecca was not going to prove troublesome going forwards.

He would not like having
to completely sever their friendship.

However, thinking on
all of that would have to wait until later. All he wanted to do was crawl into
bed with his wife. He felt like he’d been gone from her all day, not just a
couple of hours.