by Emma Wildes
please tell me.”
“I don’t know anything, and I suppose I am not surprised this hasn’t occurred to you because it
didn’t to me, but maybe I can venture a guess.” Arabella turned back, looking resolute. “Rebecca
gave me the book after she finished it, you know.”
Brianna nodded. There was no need to expound on what the book meant. Lady Rothburg’s
Advice.
The book.
“I still can’t believe we all read it. Our mothers would faint dead away. But—I—oh dear, there’s
no delicate way to say it, I—”
“Bella, I adore you, but please just tell me before I scream.”
“I did that thing in chapter ten.”
Chapter ten. Brianna cast back, recalled what her friend meant, and only barely managed to hold
in a gasp. She hadn’t even dared chapter ten, so she fully understood the blush. “I see.”
Arabella rushed on, “It wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as it sounded and—”
“If you do not tell me how you think this pertains to my situation at once, I may lose my mind.”
Brianna felt her teeth grind together, her uncertain stomach not helping at all.
“Andrew demanded to know where that idea came from. He was pleased, but not pleased, if you
know what I mean.” Arabella sat back, looking resolute despite her pink cheeks.
“No, I don’t, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. Your name was left entirely out of it but I finally had to confess I’d read the book
because my husband wouldn’t let the subject go. He was so relieved he wasn’t even angry.”
“Relieved?” Brianna wasn’t following the logic. “Why?”
“His first reaction was to think another man might have given me the idea.”
Brianna was rendered completely speechless. Arabella looked back with sympathy. “I believe my
expression was close to what yours is now. I couldn’t fathom how he could jump to such a
conclusion. I mean, how could Andrew think that? His answer was he couldn’t for a moment
imagine how I would dream of doing such an outrageous thing on my own. The trouble is, he was
right. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know women did things like that. Without the book, it wouldn’t
ever have occurred to me. Perhaps, if you are being followed and Colton is behind it, he has
drawn the same conclusion Andrew did.”
God in heaven, Colton couldn’t really think she was conducting an affair, could he? Brianna sat
statue still, her mind whirling, casting back over the past weeks.
He had asked after she tried the advice in chapter two where she got such a notion, but she’d
evaded the question. Unlike Andrew, Colton wasn’t one to pursue a subject, and he’d let the
matter drop.
Then . . . oh dear God, she’d tied him to the bed on his birthday and it was after that, now she
thought about it, that everything changed.
You haven’t done anything wrong, my dear. Have you?
The vulnerability in his eyes had struck her—and had there been accusation as well?
Her hand, when she lifted it to brush a tendril of loose hair off her cheek, shook like a leaf in a
stiff wind. She dropped it back in her lap and said in an unrecognizable voice, “Upon
contemplation, you could be right. Oh, Bella, are all men completely mad?”
“I think so on a regular basis,” her friend said dryly. “Whatever are you going to do?”
“I suppose,” Brianna muttered, “murder is still a crime in England?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Arabella said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Sending an august duke
to his just reward would carry a particularly stiff penalty, no matter how thickheaded he might
be.”
“It is still tempting.”
“I imagine. I was as outraged as you are now. Well, maybe a little less. Andrew didn’t go so far
as to have me followed around.”
Her husband had had her followed. It was inconceivable.
Brianna looked at her friend, straightening in her chair. “I think Colton is about to discover that,
unlike him, I am not unwilling to discuss subjects that might be uncomfortable. If you still have
the book, I’d like it back, please.”
“It’s hidden in my room. Let me get it.” Arabella rose gracefully and left the room, coming back
in a few moments with the leather-bound volume. She handed it over, her dark eyes glimmering.
“What are you going to do?”
Brianna stood, more furious than ever before in her life. “Teach my infuriating husband a lesson
in the merits of honesty.”
The door to his study flew open with such force it actually hit the paneling on the opposite wall.
No knock, no request for permission to enter. Unprepared for such an invasion, Colton glanced
up, startled. His secretary, built like a lanky scarecrow, jumped up so fast he toppled over his
chair. Rising politely to his feet a little more slowly, Colton registered the angry flush on his
wife’s smooth cheeks as she came into the room with an expression that promised imminent
disaster. He said as smoothly as possible, “Good afternoon, my dear.”
“Here.” Marching straight to his desk, she dumped a book on top of the pile of correspondence
he’d been going over.
What the devil is going on now?
Brianna wore a light peach-colored gown, the fashionable style demure but still clinging
suggestively to her enticing curves, and her beautiful eyes fairly flashed vivid anger. Realizing
whatever the trouble might be he was not particularly in favor at the moment, Colton cleared his
throat and said abruptly, “Mills, you may go now. And please, if you will, close the door behind
you.”
The young man complied with almost comical haste, and when the door clicked shut, Colton said
in a cool tone, “It is quite apparent you are angry with me over something, but you know I dislike
displays of emotion in front of the servants, Brianna.”
“You dislike displays of emotion at any time, Your Grace,” his pretty wife informed him with
open sarcasm, “but I thought I could reform you. I suppose that was my mistake, for all I received
in return for my considerable efforts was your distrust.”
Distrust. The light dawned and he cursed silently at Hudson and Sons for not keeping up their
part of the bargain and staying invisible.
This was somewhat of a disaster.
“Reform me?” He stared, taken aback by the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
She put her hands on the top of his desk, and Brianna leaned forward slightly, her fury evident.
“Did you hire someone to follow me, Colton? Did you actually think I might be having an affair
with another man?”
Relief flooded through him, for it was obvious her outrage was very real. The notion she was
gaining sexual knowledge by leaps and bounds in someone else’s bed was driving him more
insane with jealousy each day. It was his turn to flush slightly, his cravat feeling suddenly tight.
“Perhaps we should sit down and discuss this calmly.”
“No.” Her soft mouth set in a stubborn line, Brianna shook her head. “I do not feel calm at all and
refuse to pretend otherwise. Unlike you, I am perfectly willing to let others see I have emotions.”
“I have always been reserved, Brianna,” he said stiffly, the implied criticism in her tone stinging
more than a little. “You knew that before you accepted my proposal of marriage. I am sorry it
disappoin
ts you.”
“You are more than reserved, sir, you are stuffy.”
“Stuffy?” Colton slowly lifted a brow. The accusation was said with such scathing inflection, he
felt as if she’d slapped him. “I see.”
What was worse, he deserved it. A part of him almost wished she would take the satisfaction and
go ahead and hit him.
“Yes, but you were improving, thanks to this.” She pointed at the book lying amidst his scattered
papers.
What the hell was she talking about?
For the first time, he glanced down and registered the title, etched in scarlet letters on the leather
cover. “Good God,” he muttered, “where on earth did you get this?”
“Does it matter where I found it? What matters is that it has been very informative.”
He managed to stop himself from pointing out to his gorgeous bride that no lady of breeding
should read the work of a loose woman who at one time made a living of selling her sexual favors
and then had the audacity to publish details about her exploits. Instead he registered Brianna’s
statement with discomforting insight. “Why”—he managed to keep his tone conciliatory only
with the utmost control—“did you think you needed to be so informed?”
“Because I have no intention of ending up like Lord Farrington’s wife and forced to meet you at
the opera with your mistress on your arm.”
With a touch of relieved exasperation, he declared, “Brianna, I do not have a mistress.”
“That is nice to know.” Her lower lip quivered slightly and she took a deep breath. “But what
about the future? You have pointed out to me often enough the lack of fidelity in aristocratic
marriages, and I have ears and hear the gossip. I do not ever want you to seek another woman’s
bed because you find mine boring.”
She looked so adorably sincere Colton had to stifle the urge to haul her promptly into his arms
and assure her in the most physical way possible she was in no danger of his desiring anyone
else. However, he had a feeling his attentions wouldn’t be met with unbridled enthusiasm at the
moment. First he needed to repair the damage.
He cleared his throat. “I can appreciate that sentiment about infidelity for I have been driving
myself insane, wondering where on earth you were learning such adventurous techniques.
Forgive me for even harboring a doubt, but it was logical to assume someone was tutoring you,
and it wasn’t me.”
Her lashes lowered as she narrowed her eyes. “No, not you. Of course not you. You did not so
much as remove my nightdress when we made love for the first few months, Colton.”
It was true, a fact that held a certain level of mortification for him, especially coming from a
young woman who had taken it upon herself to improve their sexual relationship.
Damn all, she was his wife. He was only attempting to be polite and protect her sensibilities.
“I was trying to be a gentleman.” He felt defensive—for what he’d done, and what he had wanted
to do were two entirely different things, and his self-denial had been for her benefit.
“Lady Rothburg says there are no ladies or gentlemen in bed.”
“Is that so?” Moving to lean one hip on the surface next to him, he crossed his arms over his
chest and stared at his wayward wife, recalling the outrageously pleasurable interludes he’d
recently enjoyed as she followed the advice in the notorious book. “I take it, since you sought to
change matters, I was the one you found boring.”
Silence. No denial. Now that was flattering.
Color spread up her graceful throat to stain her cheeks. Still standing on the other side of the
desk, she admitted, “Not boring, for I enjoy it every time you touch me, but something was
missing. What happened between us in bed was pleasurable, but not exciting.”
He felt like a fool. She was perfectly right. “You wish excitement, I take it?”
“Only with you, Colton, for I love you. But, yes, I suppose I find it more exciting when you lose
some of that formidable control and show how much you desire me.” Her gaze was utterly
sincere, and he couldn’t help but feel humbled.
Ashamed of himself in many ways, but humbled. Still, how was he to know she had a copy of
that outrageous book?
“Brianna—”
“I am not,” she announced as if she truly meant it, “currently speaking to you.”
Then she turned and left as impetuously as she’d entered, but not before he saw the wet trail of a
tear making its way down her cheek and the furious telltale brush of her hand to dash it away.
If there was one thing worse than being an ass, it was being an insensitive one, he reflected
morosely.
He needed to make amends and really had no idea how to go about it, and though he was
thoroughly annoyed with himself for hurting his wife with his suspicions, another part of him
sang with joy.
Brianna was his exclusively. The child nurtured in her womb was a symbol of their love for each
other, and while he’d made a grave error in judgment, he’d never been so elated to be proven
wrong in his entire life.
Curious, he picked up the nefarious book and studied the gilt lettering on the cover. Maybe it
merited at least a perusal, for if Brianna had used it to seduce him—and she had done so very
effectively—maybe Lady Rothburg could teach him something as well.
Chapter Twenty-three
Life is full of surprises—and love is the most perplexing mystery of all.
From the chapter titled: “Keeping What You Have”
It was the only possible course of action. Robert had already made a leap into an abyss of
insanity by accepting Rebecca’s proposal before making wild—and very satisfying—love to her.
The very least Colton could do was accompany him and lend some respectability and support
when Robert approached her father. She’d declared she would marry him anyway—and now she
must—but in truth, they both wanted her father’s approval.
“If you don’t mind,” he said for the second time, since Colton had yet to respond. “If I have any
chance at all of convincing Sir Benedict to let me wed his daughter, it is through you.”
Reclined in his chair behind a desk littered with correspondence, Colton was silent.
“Do you mind saying something, damn you?” Robert muttered.
“I think I might be rendered mute until eternity,” his brother answered, staring at him
incredulously. “Did you really ask me to accompany you to petition for a young woman’s hand in
marriage?”
“I did,” Robert confirmed. Though it took effort, he added, “Please.”
“You wish to marry.”
“No, of course I don’t.” Robert couldn’t help the biting tone of his voice and stood, once again
wanting to pace. “Don’t be a dolt.”
Colton lifted a brow. “I try not to be one, but my wife will tell you I don’t succeed all the time.”
Robert couldn’t help it; he laughed. It had been a long time since he’d seen his older brother
exhibit a sense of humor.
“If you don’t wish it, why are you considering marrying Miss Marston?”
“I simply meant I haven’t been sitting around thinking I want to get married. In fact, I’ve been
fighting this like hell. She won and to my surprise the defeat is not quite as painful as I
imagined.”
The
defeat, if one could use that term for those tender hours in her arms, had been a triumph.
Robert added quietly, “I wouldn’t ask this favor, Colt, but this is important.”
“If I may be forgiven for being simplistic over something that isn’t simple at all, marriage usually
is important.” Colton steepled his fingers together. “Of course I will go with you. Was it ever in
question?”
“We want a special license.”
Colton’s brows shot up. “Do you need one?”
This was the problem. If they married in haste, people would think he’d seduced Rebecca. The
fact that the seduction had been the other way around was a moot point. It was no one’s business
but their own, but Robert hated the idea of having his wife the subject of backhanded gossip.
Still, she could carry his child.
He said testily, “Did I say we needed one? We want one. It is her idea as much as mine.” Several
days had passed and not one whisper had surfaced about her arrival at the party with a flock of
fallen women, which was a great relief. But even without a possible scandal, he didn’t wish to
delay making her his wife.
It was a curious thing, but once he’d accepted the idea, it took hold over his life. He wanted
Rebecca in his bed, in his home—but most of all, in his life.
“Let’s get Sir Benedict’s permission first, shall we, before we mention a special license?” Colton
said wryly. “I love you, and I assumed the worst. No need to make him suspicious from the
start.”
Had Colton—standoffish, preoccupied Colton—just said casually he loved him? Robert stilled in
astonishment, gazing at his brother across the desk. After a moment, he managed to say with
equal aplomb, “I agree.”
“We’ll go this afternoon. I’ll have Mills send someone to make sure he expects us. In the
meantime, sit back down. I need your advice.”
Robert sat. He needed to sit, actually.
Colton didn’t seem to notice Robert’s dumbstruck expression. He stared at the piles of paper on
his desk and then looked up. “I do not want a lecture, understand?”
“Very few people do,” he managed to say. “I’ve yet to meet the person who begged for one. But
why the devil would I lecture you?”