Edith was leaping from foot to foot in excitement. “Packages have arrived for you, my lady. From Madame Moliere’s. The famous modiste.” The maid’s face shone with rapture.
“I’m well aware of who Madame Moliere is.” The modiste had created Arabella’s wedding trousseau under the direction of Aunt Maisy. “I’m sure she’s sent the riding habit I ordered some time ago. There’s no need to become so ridiculously giddy.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but I don’t think it’s your riding habit. There’s too many packages and red ribbon.”
Arabella put the pen into the inkwell and stretched her neck before turning. She hadn’t much sleep last night as Rowan had been insatiable. An image of Rowan the previous evening, sitting naked in a chair before the fire, sipping at his scotch while he watched her bathe slipped into her mind and heat flew up Arabella’s cheeks. That she could still blush at what transpired after her bath was rather surprising.
When sleep finally did come last night, it was not peaceful. Barker’s repulsive form invaded her dreams of late, probably owing to her resolution to confess everything to Rowan. It had been several weeks since the evening they’d dined at the home of his parents, but still, Arabella couldn’t bring herself to tell him. The time had not seemed right and her bubble of happiness felt too fragile.
She must stop delaying the inevitable.
While Barker appeared in her dreams, he did not do so while she was awake. The more time that went by without seeing him, the more assurance Arabella felt he was gone from her life forever.
“My lady?” Edith was still hopping about like a deranged rabbit. “Shall I have them bring the boxes in?”
At the nod from Arabella, Edith flew from the room, only to return with two burly footmen each carrying a stack of boxes wrapped in red ribbon. When the footmen had shut the door, she turned to Edith.
I haven’t ordered anything else.” Mystified at the sheer amount of boxes now littering her private parlor, Arabella shook her head. “There must be a mistake.”
“I don’t think so, my lady.” The maid took the largest box and placed it on Arabella’s lap. It was wound with bright red satin ribbon and smelled of bergamot, her favorite scent. “This fell from the ribbon.” Her maid held out a small embossed card.
Opening the envelope, Arabella immediately recognized Rowan’s bold scrawl.
‘You should always wear red, my love.’
Warmth burst over her chest inciting her heart to beat with joy at her husband’s regard.
“It’s from your husband, my lady?” Edith was peeking over her shoulder and Arabella hastily tucked the card up her sleeve.
“Yes.” Carefully she unfurled the ribbon, wishing to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. No one had ever gifted her in such a lavish way. She supposed her dour manner hadn’t allowed anyone the opportunity. Another shaft of sunlight spilled through her entire being at the thought of Rowan invading Madame Moliere’s on her behalf.
Lifting the lid of the box she was greeted by a swath of tissue paper. Pushing the paper aside, Arabella sat back in wonderment.
How beautiful.
Inside the mound of tissue sat a stunning gown of crimson velvet.
“Oh, my lady,” Edith whispered in awe. “Tis the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.”
Tiny bits of gold dripped from the bodice to the folds of the skirt where the delicate strands formed an intricate pattern. The hidden pattern would shimmer and flash as the wearer walked, and fairly sparkle when she danced. Gold braid decorated the hem and sleeves. The neckline was rather scandalous and would hug her breasts and push the tops into view. The color of the gown was the perfect foil for Arabella’s sable hair and dark eyes. Rubbing her hands across the velvet, Arabella mused the gown must have cost Rowan a small fortune.
“Oh, Rowan,” she whispered under her breath. “Maybe you love me just a little.”
“My lady, did you say something?” Edith held out another box to her.
Arabella shook her head. “I fear my husband is rather extravagant.”
The box she opened next contained gloves to match the dress. But the third box caused Arabella to wave the girl away. “Take the dress upstairs immediately so that it doesn’t wrinkle.”
Edith took up the box containing the dress. “I’ll be right back, my lady.”
Once the maid retreated, shutting the door behind her, Arabella pushed aside the tissue. A crimson chemise of pure silk lay in the box. Gold thread shot through the silk, mimicking the design of the gown. The very sight of the chemise conjured up a host of erotic thoughts in Arabella. She pressed her thighs together to staunch the delicious ache. Rowan would not be home for several hours.
What a wicked man I’ve married.
The remainder of the undergarments were equally scandalous. Another box held sheer black stockings and a matching garter. Just as the door opened to Edith, Arabella picked up the final box. Smaller than the rest, Madame Moliere’s initials did not grace the top.
Tugging at the ribbon, she opened the box to find a small jewelry case and another note.
‘I will always come for you.’
Reaching inside, her fingers curled around a thin gold chain from which a blood red ruby dangled. The teardrop shaped stone was surrounded by gold filigree and fairly glowed as it caught the sunlight streaming through the parlor window.
“Shall I have the rest of the boxes brought to your rooms, my lady?” Edith was smiling at her, nearly as thrilled as Arabella with the array of gifts littering the room.
“Yes.” She felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes.
He has turned me into a watering pot.
“I’ll carry this up myself.” She closed the small box and held it to her heart, fairly skipping up the stairs to her room.
39
Arabella’s earlier joy slowly turned to dread as the day wore on and Rowan failed to appear, nor did he send a note. As the hour grew later, she declined the offer of a tray in her room, certain Rowan would arrive at any moment.
He did not.
She ate alone in the large dining room, ignoring the curious looks of the servants. Barely tasting her food, she nibbled at the roasted duck which she’d asked Cook to prepare especially for her husband. When she could not drag out the meal any longer, Arabella made her way upstairs, the taste of the duck lingering bitterly in her mouth. Her stomach knotted and rolled as if she were aboard a ship during a storm. As the hour grew later, her anxiety increased.
Unable to sleep, she finally decided to go down to Rowan’s study and work on a stack of ledgers sitting on his desk. Reviewing the columns of numbers had a calming effect and she hoped after an hour or so she would be able to sleep. Or that her husband would return home.
Settling herself in Rowan’s chair, she breathed in the scent of tobacco and leather, two things she always associated with him. His delay in returning home, she told herself, was probably due to a late meeting. He’d merely forgotten to send a note to her. Opening the top ledger which had to do with cotton shipments, Arabella went to work, making careful notes along the margin for Rowan to review later.
* * *
Arabella jerked awake as a thud sounded outside the study door. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, wincing at the stiffness of her neck. She’d spent the night asleep at Rowan’s desk, the ledger still on her lap. Gray light filtered through the curtains heralding the dawn. Birds began to chirp in the gardens as morning slowly stole over London. Her candle was barely more than a stub and the fire had gone out.
Another thud sounded and the study door was flung open.
“I should have known I’d find you here. Fixing my books, are you?” Rowan strode into the study, followed by the smell of stale cigar smoke and alcohol. His clothes were rumpled and there was a tear in the shoulder of his coat. The ends of his hair stuck up at odd angles and his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot. He shut the doors to the study behind him with an exaggerated flourish.
He smells as if he’s spent the night in a brothel.
Arabella clenched her fists. She was angry and worried and now jealously seeped into her thoughts. “Good morning, my lord.” The words came out in a hiss even though she tried to contain her temper.
“Good Morning, my dear, deceitful wife.” Loathing and disgust dripped from every word, his features frozen into an icy mask.
Arabella stayed wisely behind the desk as the thing which she’d most feared finally took shape. She grabbed the bits of her earlier anger around her using it as a shield against her rising panic. “Where have you been? You smell as if you’ve spent the night—”
“At a brothel? Would that I had but you’ve ruined such a thing for me. Have I been drinking? Most assuredly. Unfortunately, no amount of alcohol can wash away the truth. But then, you probably wouldn’t understand. Truth being a foreign concept to you.” An ugly sound erupted from him. “You are unbelievable.”
A terrible swirling black mass threatened to drown her. “How dare you speak to me in such a way.” She tried to stand, and her legs failed her. She was going to be violently ill.
He knows. He knows. Somehow, he knows.
Rowan approached the desk, his legs unsteady. The smell of alcohol grew stronger. Gazing coldly at her, he settled onto the couch. “Lying bitch.”
The words slapped at her, shattering her into a million small pieces. Her palms flattened across the desk. “Rowan—”
“You were never kidnapped.” His voice grew low and dark. Never taken.” He laughed, a horrible choked sound. “Never in danger. I merely interrupted a lover’s quarrel, didn’t I? How convenient I showed up at just the right time. I wonder if you would have stabbed him anyway?”
Arabella shook her head. “No. Please let me explain.”
“Don’t you want to know how I found out?” Reaching into his pocket he threw something small across the space that separated them, hitting her smack in the chest. A sapphire earring. Her sapphire earring.
“I suppose I should be glad you didn’t give him your wedding ring, though I believe sapphires may be worth slightly more than a ruby. I didn’t believe him at first until I visited the pawn shop. You actually agreed to marry Corbett.” He stood and slunk to the sidebar and poured himself a full glass of scotch.
“How did you find out?” she whispered. But she knew of course. Barker.
“Apparently you missed a payment, my love.”
The sarcasm and hatred in his tone sliced into her like a blade. She was trembling and quickly she pulled her hands into her lap, clasping them firmly. “I was so very angry and Corbett…manipulated me. I know that is not an excuse but—”
“Barker came to me requesting money or he’d turn over his suspicions about you to Constable McLauren. I heard the entire sordid tale. Apparently, Corbett confided in Barker. A marriage of revenge. Punish all of us in one fell swoop. No matter it would have destroyed your brother. Jemma. Your aunt. Good God, you are horrible.”
“I am not that girl anymore.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “You know I’m not.” Arabella felt as if she were drowning in her own darkness and regret.
“Well, Barker,” he poured himself another glass, “is convinced you meant to kill Corbett. I’m inclined to believe him. I find murder to be completely within your character. You also enjoy deceit, kidnapping, and blackmail. It’s a wonder you haven’t ended up in Newgate. No wonder Nick sent you to Wales.”
Arabella shook her head. “Corbett fell out the window.”
Rowan snorted. “Yes, conveniently for you. I’m sure you would have pushed him if he hadn’t slipped. What a bloody relief his death must have been. And there I was, riding in like some fucking hero to save you from yourself. You must have cheered your good luck imagining all the ways you could use me. I’m sure you didn’t think your brother would force us to marry. No wonder you kept trying to run off to the Continent.”
“No.” She shook her head violently. “I lied about Corbett but nothing else. Nothing else.” Despite her best efforts, Rowan had found out. And he hated her, just as she knew he would. The pain and betrayal etched on his face was like a knife to her heart.
“I am no longer willing to play your fool.” His lip curled in revulsion. “Christ, I defended you to my family.”
“I did a horrible, terrible thing in accepting his proposal. But I could not have gone through with marrying him. Things were different then. I was different then. Please, listen to me.” She was cold all over, her mistakes of the past taking away from her the one thing she wanted.
“You’ll never change.” He snorted. “Always scheming. Lying. Betraying. I wish to God I’d never touched you.”
Her heart cracked open as her very soul bled out. A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away. “I love you.”
“Love?” he snarled at her. “This isn’t love, Arabella. I just like fucking you.”
She fell back against the chair. The vulgarity of his words shading every intimacy they’d shared, tearing the happiness from her. Had it meant nothing to him? Shutting her eyes against the blatant disgust in his face, she forced herself to stand.
“Fine,” she hissed, summoning all of the bitterness that rapidly filled the hollowness left by his impending loss. “Then divorce me as your mother wishes. Get your act of parliament and marry your precious Lady Gwendolyn. I’ll not fight you. Better yet, why not sue for an annulment? I’ll be glad to testify that you are unable to satisfy me.”
His knuckles turned white as his grasp tightened on the glass in his hand. For a moment she feared he would throw the crystal at her head. His face grew hard and unrelenting, lips curling into a grimace as if speaking to her caused him physical pain.
“If that’s what it takes to be rid of you, so be it. And now,” he grabbed the entire decanter off the sideboard and waved her toward the door, “get the fuck out of my study.”
Arabella raised her chin, refusing to allow him to see the devastation of his words. She stood and moved towards the study door. She had become unmoored, set adrift like a rat-infested ship, cast out to sea by the one person she wasn’t sure she could live without.
“Don’t forget to shut the door.”
Spots swam before her eyes as she focused on keeping her breathing even, afraid she might faint as she made her way upstairs. Reaching the safety of her chamber she marched directly to the door separating her rooms from Rowan’s and locked it. With a small cry, Arabella fell to her knees, pushing her forehead to the rug, welcoming the chafing of the fibers against her skin. Nothing would ever wash away the stain of the person she used to be. She would never escape that Arabella.
Rowan’s disgust was deserved. She had lied. But his affection had so quickly turned to hatred, she wondered if he’d ever cared for her at all.
Annulment or divorce, what did it matter? Whichever he chose, her reputation would be in shreds, her future assured. London would offer her no refuge. The proceedings may well take years, but once free, she could travel to the Continent and never return. Alone. Adrift for the remainder of her life. Curling into a ball on the floor, Arabella wondered if it were truly possible to die from a broken heart.
I will not die from a broken heart. My punishment is far worse. I must live with one.
40
“Lord Malden?”
Rowan looked up from his dinner, a bowl of something rather mushy and unappetizing he assumed to be stew. He wasn’t sure. The Fox Hole, a tiny tavern on the outskirts of Dorking in Surrey was not known for fine cuisine. He did not choose the tavern for the quality of the food but rather the proximity to the patch of land formerly belonging to Squire Tidwell.
“Hello Hind. I’d wondered where you’d gotten off to.” Reginald Hind was truly the architect of the rail line project and Rowan’s business partner. Son of an Oxford professor, Hind possessed a rather unique education. He was an architect by trade but had vast knowledge of engineering. Not wealthy in the least, he’d found Rowan quite by accident, drawn t
ogether by their mutual love of the advances in industry and transportation.
“I’ve found our surveyor, Johnson. He got lost coming through the woods,” Mr. Hind said as he lowered himself into the seat across the table. Raising his hand, he summoned the barmaid over and ordered an ale.
“Our surveyor lost his way? Doesn’t bode well for our project, does it?” Mr. Johnson, the surveyor, was two days late in joining Hind in Dorking. Rowan had wondered if the man would indeed arrive. Hind never had any doubts.
“Well, my lord,” Hind stroked the ends of the bushy mustache hanging from the top of his lip, “the woods are especially thick this time of year. Easy to get turned around when you don’t know your way. I’ve put him up in a boarding house run by a widow.” Hind wiggled his eyebrows. “A very merry widow.”
Rowan sat back and took a draught of his ale. He couldn’t care less about the sexual escapades of Hind, of which there were many. Rowan found he didn’t care for many things as of late. Food held no taste. Drinking himself to oblivion had only worked for a short time. He even visited his former mistress hoping to stir some sort of feeling within him but experienced not a hint of arousal.
I miss Arabella.
Longing for her pierced him as Hind drawled on about the widow who ran the boarding house. Rowan worked from early in the morning until late in the evenings, sometimes falling asleep in the small parlor of the house in Dorking he rented. He’d fled here after his confrontation with Arabella. Ironically the sale of Longstreet’s land to him came only minutes before Barker approached Rowan at his solicitor’s office. Barker, smug and full of dislike for Arabella, made a mistake. Hopefully he was contemplating the error of his ways while sitting in prison.
“Malden? Are you listening to me?” Hind clapped his hands as a bowl of the stew was placed before him.
“You are bound for disappointment.” Rowan nodded to the bowl. “I’ve yet to determine whether it’s lamb or beef.”
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 23