Trust Me (28 page)

Yes, she had wanted
Maria Waterbury years ago. And Jon had always done whatever he must to make
Rebecca’s sexual fancies come true. He had been the most exciting and generous
lover she had ever had.

Yet he hadn’t been
able to convince Maria.

And Maria had said
what she’d said, and Rebecca had loathed her ever since for that deliberate act
of viciousness. But she had never loathed her more deeply and fully than she
did at this very moment. “You’ll burn in hell for what you’re suggesting about
Lady Ruel.”

Maria laughed softly.
A cold sound that sent shivers down Rebecca’s spine. “Yes, but you haven’t told
me that I am wrong. I could see, earlier, from the expression on your face that
it is possible to drive someone like that over the edge again. Further over the
edge.”

****

I have to speak
with you. As soon as you can arrange it.

The letter wasn’t
signed but Jon would have recognized the neat feminine script with its tiny
lettering anywhere.

He let out a soft whistle.
A rouse to get his attention? He wouldn’t have thought Becky would lower her
dignity to that sort of thing. So, if she would contact him so soon after their
parting, when she knew he was still in his newly-wedded time, she must really
have some kind of problem. Something that money couldn’t solve. Concern
compelled him to respond. To call for his barouche and pay her a visit.

But no, things were
very fragile between himself and Anne at the moment. He couldn’t spare the time
for Becky. Not right now. And Anne would, in her present frame of mind,
interpret the visit in only one way. As a sign he intended to resume his
previous relationship with his former long-term mistress.

Becky had to learn to
manage without him. But they had spent years in constant daily contact through
his service in the Dragoons. Since his inheriting the earldom and subsequent
return to England, even though she’d been a very undemanding mistress, when he
was in London he had always been available to her. In August, he hadn’t admitted
that he’d been falling in love with Anne to himself, much less to his mistress.
Their parting had seemed sudden to Becky, a shock. He didn’t want to exacerbate
that shock by abruptly withdrawing his friendship, his ability to exert
influence to help her if she truly needed help.

He felt the severing
of their tie acutely.

Of late, he felt
everything
so acutely. He felt like a stranger to himself.

Maybe even a
sentimental fool.

That’s what
letting a woman under your skin will do to a man.

Hadn’t that been the
case with his father?

His weakness caused a
small fission of alarm to crackle over his nerves. Just like a black cat
walking across his grave…

But Anne is not
like other women. She’s rational. She will not turn this sentimental weakness
of yours around to intentionally hurt you.

God, what a thought!
With her knotty-headed theories and dead philosophers, Anne was about as
rational as a maiden aunt with too many cats and a cracked crystal ball to
foretell the future.

But he loved her all the
same. Indeed, maybe all the more.

Jon tossed the letter
into the fire then turned back to his desk, took up his quill and scrawled a
hasty note. He called for Toby. “Take this to Mrs Howland’s house and find out
what she needs.”

Toby nodded, took the
note and left. He would be discreet.

Jon sat down at his
desk again, trying to concentrate on sorting through the letters strewn over
the top. Edgy energy bristled through his limbs. Damn it all! He pushed his
chair back and stood and went to crouch at the hearth. He took the poker and
jabbed at the logs, watching the glowing orange sparks fly.

Devil take him, why
did this business with Becky have to come today of all days? Just when he and
Anne had begun to settle their differences. Couldn’t the past just leave them
alone?

He’d have to tell
her. He didn’t intend to be a husband who kept secrets from his wife. He wanted
no part of Anne’s proposed “amicable union”, where he protected her from
unpleasant truths and she turned a blind eye to certain “irregularities” on his
part. Yet, surely the telling could wait a day or so, until he knew exactly
what Becky needed from him.

Today, he wanted only
to go for a morning ride then have some breakfast. After that, he would return
upstairs, have a bath and then burrow back into bed with his wife. Tonight,
they would visit the theatre.

Tomorrow would be
soon enough to bring up the unwelcome issue of his former mistress’ letter.

God above, but love
was a touchy business. Never, ever before would he have let concern over a
woman’s feelings dictate his actions.

A long, hard ride was
just the thing he needed. He quit his study and took the stairs down two at a
time.

Muffled women’s
voices echoed from the morning room. As he approached the door, he slowed his
pace. Maria Waterbury’s distinctive contralto voice put a chill in his blood.
He opened the door and entered.

Grandmother sat on
the settee facing him. She tapped her cane on the floor. “Good morning, my lord
earl.”

Anger flared through
him. “You’re home then?”

“Now that’s a fine
welcome for your grandmother,” Maria said, laughter in her voice.

Jon kept his stare
focused on Grandmother. “You might have sent notice that you were coming home.”

“Why? This is my
house. I don’t need to send advance notice of any of my actions.”

“On the contrary,
this is my house. You live here solely at my discretion.”

Grandmother turned to
Maria. “You see, Lady Waterbury, how it is for me now.” She turned back to Jon.
“Where is this knotty-headed chit of yours?”

“Anne is still
sleeping.”

“Oh, she lies in her
bed all day. I should have expected no less.”

“It is only ten in
the morning. We were out very late .”

Her expression became
serious, she clutched her cane in both hands and leant forward. “How did she
conduct herself? Did she hang on your arm all damned night?”

Jon glanced at Maria
and caught her eye. “What are you doing here at this time of morning?”

“Your grandmother
invited me.”

He turned back to
Grandmother. “No visitors in this house before noon.”

Anger flashed in her
eyes. “Yes, my lord earl.” She spoke the words with dripping scorn.

He smiled tightly. “I
am glad that we understand each other. And Maria, I am sorry that I came along
just when you were leaving.”

Maria laughed, low
and sensual. “But of course.” She stood and walked to Grandmother and dropped
an elegant curtsy. “Thank you for a delightful morning. I shall see you later.”

Grandmother reached
out her hands. “Come here, my dear girl.” Maria approached her and took the offered
hands. Grandmother squeezed them. “You are a joy, my dear. You are welcome here
any time.”

Maria smiled her best
sugary smile. “And I almost had the privilege of calling you Grandmother.”

“You may call me
Grandmother in any case, my darling.”

“Maria.” Jon put an
edge to his voice.

Maria glanced at him.
“Oh very well, Ruel. Good day, Lady Ruel.” She left in a rustle of skirts.

Grandmother seemed to
relax and she leant back. “Wake Anne. I should like to met this bride of
yours.”

Jon went and found
Nellie.

“Wake your lady and
call for a bath. Make sure she eats something and drinks one and only one glass
of claret.”

Nellie startled.
“Claret?”

“Did I not speak
clearly enough?”

“Well, I understood
what you said, my lord, but it is barely half past ten in the morning.”

“I am well aware of
the time. Do as I say.”

Nellie’s nostrils
flared. “Of course, my lord.”

She turned on her
heel and he watched as she practically stomped away. Trouble definitely brewed
there. And nothing would prevent it from reaching its inevitable end.

But the matter didn’t
have to be addressed today.

He waited in the
sitting room until the servants left. Then he went to Anne.

She sat in her tub,
dressed in a bathing shift. Wisps of black hair fell here and there about her
shoulders, curling tightly in the steam. She held the glass of claret with both
hands, resting her lips on the rim. Her eyes were distant and dreamy.

Desire stabbed
through his lower spine into his balls. Heat pulsed into his cock, swelling,
lengthening it.

He walked to the tub
and she looked up. Her face came alive and her eyes glowed with happiness.

She lowered the
glass.

He knelt by the tub.
Then he bent close and put his mouth to hers, open and tasting her lips. She
opened to him and he delved into her moistness. Her breath tasted of claret and
her natural sweetness. He kept his eyes open, watching as her closed lids
fluttered. A tremble passed through her.

She was so endlessly
carnal. Passionately so. He willed Grandmother to the devil for her inopportune
arrival. He wanted nothing more than to take his wife back to their bed and to
keep her there all afternoon.

But he couldn’t. The
damned world was intruding and they must face it.

He lifted his head
and put his hand over hers on the glass. “Drink.”

“Claret before noon?
Nellie was scandalized.”

“But you obeyed
nevertheless?”

She nodded and lifted
the glass to her lips again and took a long drink.

“That’s my good
girl.” He took the empty glass from her. And then he couldn’t help it. He had to
lower his head and kiss her again.

She touched his
chest, briefly, hesitatingly. Then she withdrew.

He lifted his head.
“Touch me, Anne.”

She put her hands on
his chest again.

“Never suppress
yourself. You may touch me anytime that you want. If I don’t wish it, I shall
simply do this.” He took her hands and kissed her fingertips one by one.

“If I had my own will
in the matter, we should stay here in our chambers for the whole the day.”

“But?”

He released her
hands. “My grandmother is back.”

She made a slight
choking noise. “Today?”

He nodded.

“Well, I am not… I am
not… Today is not…”

“I know, my love.” He
caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “We shall face her together.”

****

“Grandmother, may I
introduce—”

Grandmother drew her
pale brows together and waved dismissively. “I know who she is and she knows
who I am.”

Jon’s guts tightened.
She was set to be difficult.

Beside him, Anne
shifted, her gown rustling. A tremulous smile brightened her face as she
reached for the teapot. “Would you care for tea?”

Grandmother turned
sharp eyes on her and he sensed the immediate tensing in Anne’s body. The older
woman blinked several times, her expression taut, as though disconcerted to be
offered tea in her own parlour.

But it was no longer
her parlour. It was theirs, his and Anne’s.

“Grandmother,” he
said in a tone gentle yet under girded by steel. “Will you have tea?”

She looked at him,
her expression hard, closed

Behave yourself.

He willed the words
into his answering stare.

She glanced away
quickly and focused her attention on the tea service. “Yes, I’ll take tea, no
sugar, no cream.”

She accepted the
teacup and saucer from Anne and balanced it on her lap. “I know so much about
you, Anne. But only about your English side. All I know about your mother’s
side is that her father was Señor Bolivar Ibarra and he was a merchant of
astounding wealth. After his marriage, your father refurbished Marshwray Place
in grand style.”

“I am sure she knows
her own family history,” Jon said dryly.

Grandmother waved him
off. “I want to be sure I have been informed correctly. From what I have heard,
Señor Ibarra was so eager to purchase a coronet for his only child, that he
neglected her wedding contract shamefully. Saxby emerged from the church in
full control of his newfound riches.”

Anne took two sedate
sips from her cup and then she raised her gaze back to Grandmother. “Papa
invested the wealth he gained from his marriage.”

Grandmother chuckled.
“And made you a wealthy young lady too. You could have had a duke yourself, had
your mama not been so eager to get you off your hands so she could run away
with that dark-eyed Italian of hers.”