Lessons from a Scarlet Lady

by Emma Wildes

  “I especially don’t want one.”

  That was clear enough. Robert stifled a laugh. “Point taken.”

  “Brianna is furious with me.”

  Ah, so this was about his brother’s lovely wife. No surprise. She was the center of his life,

  whether he admitted it or not. Robert cocked a brow. “Since you seek my counsel, am I allowed

  to ask why?”

  “I hired someone to follow her and she somehow became aware of it.”

  Rarely had Robert seen Colton look so uncomfortable. It took a moment to assimilate the

  information. Robert was mystified. “Why?”

  “Because the inept bastard slipped up, obviously.”

  “No, I meant why would you ever hire someone to follow Brianna?”

  “Because I thought . . . no, I wondered if perhaps . . . oh hell.” Colton shoved his fingers into his

  hair and said heavily, “I worried she might be unfaithful. I was wrong, as it turns out, but she

  isn’t in a frame of mind to forgive me. We’ve barely exchanged a word in two days.”

  “Unfaithful?” Robert stared, not sure how to react. “Brianna? Why the devil would you think

  that?”

  “I obviously had some compelling evidence or I wouldn’t have taken things so far,” Colton

  muttered. “It turned out just to be a misunderstanding of gigantic proportions, but I still say it

  isn’t surprising I came to the conclusions I did. That aside, I need to find a way to reconcile with

  her. I requested an audience so I could formally apologize, but she refused. I am, quite frankly,

  surprised she hasn’t left me and gone without permission to Devon and her parents.”

  The note of despair in his brother’s tone did not escape Robert, though he was stunned that

  Colton, who usually thought everything through with a thoroughness that bordered on obsession,

  had made such a grave mistake. When deep emotion was involved, it was clear Colton wasn’t

  quite as keen-minded.

  Brianna would never even consider infidelity. Robert knew it as certainly as he knew the tide

  would come in on a predictable timetable. She was deeply in love with his brother—probably

  almost as much, Robert realized, as Colton was in love with her.

  “She hasn’t left,” Robert ventured to guess, “because even though you’ve hurt her and insulted

  her integrity—then even worse, demonstrated an ignorance of the depth of her feelings—she

  loves you enough to stay. I am going to wager that as much as you wish to endeavor to make this

  right between you, she wants it even more. That is to your advantage.”

  A flicker of relief washed over Colton’s face. “Do you think so?”

  “It doesn’t mean you won’t have to grovel, Colt, and as far as I can tell, being an exalted duke

  does not train you in the art of groveling.”

  His brother gave a small grunt. It was hard to tell if it was assent or the opposite. “I think I am

  willing to do whatever it takes. I do not want her unhappy with me, but I especially do not want

  her unhappy. I have no idea how to rectify the situation.”

  “I may have a few thoughts.” Robert felt a slight smile curve his lips. Soothing ruffled females

  was something he’d done before, and actually, he thought he was rather good at it.

  “Excellent,” Colton said. “Help me and I’ll do my best to make sure Sir Benedict doesn’t wring

  your neck when you impart to him your wish to marry his daughter with all due speed.”

  They were upstairs in her father’s study.

  Robert, her father, and the Duke of Rolthven.

  Rebecca sat in the music room, idly toying with the keys of the pianoforte. At least she’d stopped

  pacing. That had become exhausting, and she could swear she’d worn through part of the rug.

  She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. It was like a dream. Robert Northfield had come to

  formally ask for her hand in marriage. Robert.

  A wicked rake, a scandalous rogue, a libertine of the first order—or was he? When she suggested

  the other night—when she’d snuck away from the ball and almost encountered catastrophe with

  her inopportune arrival at an event where apparently proper young ladies were not welcome—she

  was willing to consider a stop at his townhouse before he returned her home, he had refused,

  insisting he could wait.

  Not very rakish. She loved him all the more for it. And even more for allowing himself to be

  persuaded otherwise.

  It was just as she’d told her mother. Robert had an overall gloss of easy charm and careless

  behavior, but underneath she’d known the substance of the man. He’d been gentle, ardent, and

  though she’d demanded wickedness in his arms, what he’d given her was instead exquisite

  pleasure and tenderness. He would make the perfect husband; she knew it.

  Now, as long as her father felt it also, she might end up being the happiest woman in England.

  But it was hardly a given. She’d turned down far more eligible gentleman with bigger fortunes,

  and even more elite places in society. Nor did any of them have his less than pristine reputation.

  Unable to take it any longer and needing to soothe her soul, Rebecca picked up the first piece of

  music she could find and began to play. It was an unfinished piece she’d been working on weeks

  ago, before she’d slammed into the man of her dreams while trying to escape Lord Watts. She

  hadn’t made progress since that definitive moment.

  Her hands stilled when the door opened.

  Not until Robert leaned an elbow on the instrument did she realize she was holding her breath.

  “Very nice. Yours?” he murmured.

  She registered the faint smile on his well-shaped lips and elation soared through her. “Mine? Care

  to clarify?”

  She meant a great deal more than the unfinished quartet.

  He nodded slowly, looking impossibly handsome with his golden brown hair and intense blue

  eyes. “Yours.”

  Had her father really agreed?

  “I suspected as much from the very beginning.” He smiled in the way only he could, a tantalizing

  lift of one corner of his mouth. “I’ve wondered if perhaps you’d composed the music you played

  for us at Rolthven.”

  “It’s an unladylike occupation to compose music, I realize.” Her heart had started a hammer

  staccato in her chest.

  “I like it when you are unladylike.” Robert’s voice held a sultry note. “The other night comes to

  mind. I actually believe you promised me you would be unladylike on a regular basis. I’m going

  to hold you to that vow, you know, as well as the others we will make to each other.”

  Thinking of the book and its outrageous suggestions, Rebecca blushed. She said in a hushed

  voice, “I take it, since you are still here, my father was . . .”

  “Agreeable?” He looked amused as she trailed off. “Not at first, I admit. But between your

  mother—who was true to her word and intervened—and my father’s friend Sir John, who is also

  a friend of your father, I at least have had some aid in repairing my reputation. There are other

  mitigating factors like the fact your cousin, who got me into trouble with your father in the first

  place, hasn’t shown much Christian rectitude in that he’s now bound for the colonies rather than

  face his recurring gambling debts. Your father has reluctantly decided I might not be such a

  blackguard after all.”

  Robert had finally told her, in the aftermath of
their lovemaking, why her father held such a

  dislike for him. She had been furious on his behalf at her weak cousin for assigning blame to

  someone who had done nothing but try to help him. “I’m glad he knows the truth.”

  “Colton, also, has an amazing presence when necessary.” Robert grinned. “He was the one who

  pointed out the merits of a hasty marriage, lest I lure you to more reckless behavior. He didn’t say

  so, but my older brother essentially implied that unless they lock you away, given my reputation,

  how could your father be sure a scandal didn’t linger in the future? Why not a marriage instead,

  to forestall any catastrophe?”

  “You haven’t lured me into anything,” Rebecca protested. “I told my mother the truth. Quite the

  opposite. I was the one who asked you.”

  Robert just lifted a brow. “I don’t care if your father knows whether or not his worries have

  substance. Colton’s method of subtle persuasion worked.” He smiled. “No one understands better

  than my respectable brother what strikes terror into the hearts of other respectable people.”

  He came around the pianoforte and sat down next to her on the bench. One long finger reached

  out and struck middle C. The note quivered in the room. Rebecca could acutely feel the press of

  his muscled thigh against hers. He turned, so close she could see the blue of his eyes with vivid

  clarity. “You are sure,” he asked softly, “you want this?”

  She could, she realized, quite possibly stare into those mesmerizing eyes forever. “Yes.” No

  hesitation.

  “I have no practice.” He grimaced. “Well, I have no practice being a husband, something you

  might wish to note.”

  “Usually one doesn’t,” she said with all due practicality, “when one marries for the first time.”

  He smelled marvelous. She was learning that enticing, spicy masculine scent. Who would think a

  member of the male species, which favored horses and rooms full of tobacco smoke, could smell

  so wonderful?

  As if they were in sync in some mystical way, he leaned forward just enough and said, “I like

  your perfume. That first night, in the garden, I think it was what I couldn’t forget about you

  afterwards. That, and the unique color of your eyes.”

  He was going to kiss her. She desperately wanted him to kiss her. And then to lean her down on

  the bench and take her again as he’d taken her the other night. “I shall endeavor to wear that

  particular perfume all the time.”

  “And your hair.” He lowered his head just a little.

  “I analyzed the color in my mind. I’d never done that before. That alone should have told me

  something. A grown man sitting around philosophizing about the hue of a woman’s hair has

  some sort of affliction.”

  “It isn’t a disease.”

  He touched her chin. “Isn’t it?”

  She was no match for him, but she really didn’t want to resist him in any way, so what did it

  matter? Rebecca licked her lips. “What color is it?”

  “What?” He seemed focused on her mouth.

  “My hair.”

  Robert brushed his lips against hers, apparently mindful of the open door to the music room. “Oh.

  I’m still not sure. I may have to study it for the next fifty years or so.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she whispered. “Is this really happening?”

  He laughed, a low, heated sound. “I keep asking myself the same thing.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The true test of a man’s affections is his ability to

  apologize when he is mistaken. If he does so, if he is

  sincere, you will be able to tell from the look in his

  eyes. I can’t describe it, but trust me, you will know.

  Love has a luminescence all its own.

  From the chapter titled: “Does He or Doesn’t He?”

  Brianna paused in the door of her bedroom. It was occupied, which she had expected, but she

  hadn’t expected her husband to be the occupant. An evening gown was laid out on her bed, and

  Colton sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on her as she stood in the doorway.

  He looked relaxed, his hand cupping a snifter of brandy, but there was a set to his shoulders that

  told her the nonchalance was feigned.

  “Are you going to come in?” he asked as she still stood there.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. How long was she permitted her affront? His suspicions had been

  unforgivable. Absolutely so.

  Except she worried she already had forgiven him. She missed him. To a certain extent, once her

  outrage had faded to misery, she understood his doubts maybe a little. It didn’t excuse him, but

  Brianna did suppose her inexperience had been part of the problem also. All she’d wanted was to

  please her husband. It had sounded simple at the time.

  It wasn’t at all simple now.

  “It’s your bedroom. You’ll have to visit it eventually,” he said in a mild tone. “Aren’t you going

  to change to go out? You must come in here to do so.”

  That had been her intention, since even if her personal life was a shambles, it would make matters

  worse to have everyone in society know it, and she’d accepted an invitation already. “Where’s

  my maid?”

  “I dismissed her for the evening.”

  His presumption made her blow out a short breath. “I suppose I can do my own hair.”

  “Or not do it at all.”

  “Colton—”

  “When my father died, I was lost.” The words fell quietly into the room. “I don’t expect that

  tragedy to absolve me, but I do request, as your husband, a chance to explain my recent actions.

  Can’t you grant me that much?”

  He never spoke of his father. And the word request held a humility that spoke volumes. Brianna

  moved into the room, shut the door, and without speaking sat down at her dressing table, facing

  him.

  Whatever came next, she needed it. They needed it.

  “I was only twenty.” He smiled faintly. “Your age, I suppose, so maybe you can imagine it. I feel

  vastly older sometimes. Suddenly all these people depended on me. He was strong. Vigorous.

  There was no reason to think my father would come down with a cough and be gone within

  literally a few days. I didn’t believe it had happened until my mother turned to me, weeping, and

  asked me what we were going to do. Everyone was looking at me, to me, for direction. That was

  when I realized I really didn’t know.”

  Brianna watched her husband struggle to reveal his feelings and knew— knew—that if he wished

  to apologize, this was the best way possible. For if he mouthed platitudes and tried to explain his

  actions, she might think it was an excuse to put the unfortunate incident behind them.

  But this, no. This cost him.

  Colton glanced away, and she could swear she saw a slight sheen to his eyes. “I didn’t know what

  to do. I’d known I would probably be the Duke one day, but neither my father nor I ever

  imagined it would happen as it did. Oh yes, I’d been tutored and taught and advised, but never

  once did anyone tell me the transition would hurt so damned much. Being an heir is an abstract

  concept. Inheriting is something else altogether.”

  “Darling,” she said in a husky voice, her anger evaporated by his raw expression.

  “No, let me finish. You deserve this.” He swallowed, the muscles in his throat ri
ppling. “I think

  that day I felt betrayed to an extent. By him. By his dying. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I was young, but

  already a man. It just wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. He should be alive now. I had to set

  aside my grief; there was no time for it. So I threw myself into the role of duke in the best way I

  knew how, and I think maybe I forgot about some other important things in life. Lucky for me,

  you are doing your best to remind me.”

  She was frozen. Colton, the one she knew, didn’t do this. He did not open up his soul.

  “So, may I perhaps beg of you a little forgiveness for my stupidity? I tend to try and make sense

  out of everything. Your actions, no matter how captivating and enjoyable I found them, confused

  me.” Her husband looked at her, his lean body tense in the chair. “I really can’t excuse myself for

  thinking the worst, but I feel vulnerable with you in a way I haven’t experienced for a long time.

  Nine years, in fact. Add in this coming child and the sense I had you were keeping something

  from me, and I had that same feeling of being overwhelmed. So I did my best to take control of

  the situation in the only way I knew how. I am an idiot, but at least I am an idiot who loves his

  wife to distraction.”

  She’d been paralyzed before, but now she couldn’t move if she wished it.

  “I must,” he said, the words an obvious struggle, “or I would not be able to act in such an

  irrational manner.”

  Brianna adored him all the more for his typical logic surfacing even as he attempted what was

  turning out to be a very effective apology.

  Then he devastated her with the most compelling statement of all. “I didn’t realize this had

  happened to me. To us.”

  She sat poised on the bench before her dressing table, her hands folded calmly as she looked at

  him. But there was nothing calm about the flutter of her heart. “Didn’t know you loved me?”

  He was handsome, powerful, wealthy . . . everything a man could hope to be. Still, he seemed at a

  loss. Then he rubbed his jaw and said raggedly, “I didn’t realize it. And yes, Brianna. God, yes. I

  love you.”

  It got easier.

  Saying the words to Brianna hadn’t ever really been the problem. It was admitting he loved her to

  himself that had been the barricade between them. They loved each other. That was even more of