"I think you'll find Leopold a changed man," Diana said.
"In what manner?"
"I am fairly certain he regrets his actions, his charade."
"He said as much?"
"No,” Diana admitted as they resumed walking. "He won't speak to me of it, but I can see it in his eyes. I know that he has been everywhere looking for you. He tried not to worry your family and friends, but it could not be helped if you were to be found."
"And it is for that reason that I wrote to you."
"I am grateful—most grateful—that I have not lost your friendship and affection. But if I could forsake a part of it to earn your forgiveness of Leopold, I would."
Trudie could not help but be touched. "I shall find it in my heart to forgive Leopold. It is only a question of when, but I shall endeavor to make it sooner rather than later."
That appeared to satisfy Diana, and they finished their stroll with few words between them but full of patient understanding.
When Diana departed, Trudie was sad to see her friend leave. She saw that Diana had left her parasol behind. Holding the parasol, she decided that she would return it to her friend soon. Diana was in town, where Leopold was as well.
Trudie went into her chamber and opened the box containing his letters. She had locked them away as if by doing so, she could lock away and forget what had happened at Château Follet. But as much as she could not change the past, she could not forget it. Was she be ready for the flood of emotions that would surely drown her when she read his letters? Would she find his tone furious or contrite? It was possible both would engender from her the same reaction. Perhaps she had not forgiven Leopold because she had not forgiven herself.
She heard the wheels of a carriage outside. Diana had remembered her parasol. Grabbing it, Trudie hurried downstairs.
"You have a guest, Madame," the butler informed.
"Yes, thank you," she replied.
But stepping into the foyer, she froze. It was not Diana.
It was Leopold.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LEOPOLD TOOK IN TRUDIE’S trembling lower lip. She had lost weight for her cheeks had not their prior fullness and her arms had thinned. Her gown, with its empire waist, hid her form for the most part, but he hoped her hips, belly, thighs and arse—all the parts he had come to appreciate in their time at Château Follet—had not lost their suppleness.
Regardless, he found she looked quite lovely.
“I cannot believe that Diana betrayed me,” Trudie whispered.
They stood the length of the foyer from one another. Having come on horseback, he was still in his riding clothes and likely smelled of horse, but given the circumstances, he had not the time to change to present himself properly.
“She did not,” he told her. “I followed her without her knowledge.”
He wanted to quip that it was gratifying how, in allowing Diana to visit her, Trudie trusted his cousin more than she trusted her husband, but he had no right to such sarcasm.
Sensing that Trudie, like a cornered mouse, wanted to flee, he said gently, “As I am an uninvited guest here, I will not tarry, but would you grace me with your presence for a walk about the garden?”
She lowered her eyes in thought and fidgeted with her fingers. He hoped his assurance that he would not stay would mollify her, but he discerned resistance.
“A brief walk,” he added.
Looking up, she met his gaze. “A brief walk.”
She went to retrieve her bonnet and shawl. Upon her return, he would have offered his arm, but he assumed she would not wish to take it. Strolling past him, she headed to the garden. They ambled in silence for several minutes. He looked mostly at her while she looked mostly at the flowers, the sky, and her feet.
Finally, he said, “I begin to think no apology great enough to merit your forgiveness.”
She said nothing.
“But one such could be had,” he continued, “I would give it in any form you wish, as often as you wish.”
She drew in a long breath as she stared at a bed of flowers. “I too am sorry. But apologies cannot undo the past.”
He kept his gaze upon her. “No, they cannot. But they can pave the future.”
“The future,” she echoed with uncertainty.
When she said nothing further, he said, “Yes. You cannot expect to hide away here for the rest of time. You are still my wife.”
Her back straightened. He refrained from pointing out that, as her husband, he had the prerogative to dictate where she resided.
“I will overlook the fact that you have kept your whereabouts secret from me,” he said, “though, as your husband, I have a right to know where you are. But I understand that what happened at Château Follet has caused you no small amount of distress.”
She whirled around to face him. “No small amount of distress, sir? I wonder how many wives have suffered what I had?”
“And how many husbands would have banished their wives to a life of poverty for committing adultery?”
Her chest rose and her eyes widened. “Is that what you wish to do?”
He stared deep into her eyes. “I did not mean to threaten you.”
“Certainly I deserve to be banished,” she said, her voice cracking. “If that is what you wish—”
He grasped her by the arm, more tightly than he intended. “I have no such wish. I will not say that the thought never crossed my mind in my angrier moments, but I could not punish you in such a fashion when I was the first to sin.”
She stared at his arm upon her. He could not make out what she felt, so he dropped his hold and retreated a step.
“Your sense of fairness is appreciated,” she acknowledged.
The lack of emotion in her tone riled him. Fairness be damned.
“What I wish,” he stated as calmly as he could, “is for us to move toward forgiveness. You have had ample time to consider it.”
“You wish for me to forgive you for your deception, for the agony you caused me?”
“Yes, and I will forgive your being unfaithful.”
“I did not lay with a man not my husband.”
“No, but you would have if I had not been there.”
“I would not have!”
He took a step toward her. “I sought to test you. Do you disavow that you failed?”
She looked down.
“You committed adultery in your heart. No court would absolve the intentions you held.”
“What I did was wrong,” she murmured. “I was wrong to repay your wrong with mine own, and your deception with mine. For that I am sorry.”
He felt the pressure about his chest decrease. A part of him wanted to reach once more for her, but he did not wish to alarm her.
She looked up at him. “We ought not have married, you and I. Though it was the strongest wish of our families, we are not suited.”
Why did she dwell on what could not be changed? he was about to challenge.
“I would not censure you if you wished to have nothing more to do with me,” she said.
“Quite the contrary,” he disputed. “I expect you to return with me to London tomorrow.”
She was taken aback. “I had no intention of leaving. Mrs. Atwood has graciously allowed me to stay for as long as I wish.”
“With due respect to Mrs. Atwood and her hospitality, I mean to take my wife home.”
“But I have no wish to return to London!”
“How much longer did you intend to stay here?”
“I know not, but I certainly am not prepared to leave on the morrow.”
“You have stayed here long enough.”
“That is your opinion, but I differ—”
“Prolonging your duration here would serve no purpose.”
“You have no assurance of that. Pray do not lord over me as if we were at Château Follet!”
With another step, he closed the distance between them. He stared down at her intently, noting her breath had become u
neven. “You quite enjoyed my company at Château Follet.”
She quivered. “You left me little choice!”
He raised his brows. “Did I force pleasure upon you? Did I force you to spend like a wanton?”
She attempted to brush by him, but he caught her around the waist. She struggled against him.
“You could have chosen not to enjoy all that you did,” he told her. The more she writhed to free herself, the more his groin tightened with arousal. “I would hazard that you still enjoy it.”
She pushed against him. “You wish to revel in my disgrace!”
“I wish to exalt it.”
She stopped and stared at him.
“You think Château Follet to have been a terrible tragedy to befall our marriage,” he said. “I do not.”
“Your circumstances there were quite different from mine,” she replied, resuming her struggles.
He recalled how she had resisted him in the music room. He had prevailed then. He could prevail now. But he could not be the ogre twice, no matter how much he wished to ravish her. He had spent these months cursing himself, vacillating between guilt and anger, and longing for her presence, craving her body, dreaming of how it would feel to sink himself once more into her wet heat.
“I own I acted abominably,” he said instead. “And I intend to be a better husband than I have been.”
When he would not release her, her frustration grew. “I think it rather late for such promises!”
Surprised, he let her go. She stumbled out of reach.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. He had expected she would not forgive him immediately, but he had not imagined any other outcome than returning to London with her.
Her brow furrowed in pain, as if her words had cut her as much as they had him. “As I said, we are not suited to each other. I do not think we—I am one who could truly make you happy. We wed out of duty to our families.”
“Many men and women marry for such a purpose.”
“And I think it wrong. I place no blame upon you. I accepted your proposal knowing full well that you did not love me. But what happened betwixt us at Château Follet has caused irreparable harm to our chances for a happy marriage.”
“I disagree—”
“And I think it unnecessary for either one of us to be saddled with such a fate...”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
“Given the circumstances, I think a petition for divorce could be easily granted.”
Blood pounded in his ears. Divorce? Not once had he contemplated divorce.
“Surely you do not speak of such foolishness in earnest,” he said.
She grew defensive. “I do! Adultery is easily grounds for divorce.”
“When committed by the wife, yes.”
“As you pointed out, I had committed adultery in my heart.”
He pressed his lips into a line. Only a woman in utter pain would consider such drastic options. “Have you no sense of what a divorce would mean? The scrutiny, the gossip would fall more harshly upon you than upon me.”
“I am prepared to weather it.”
She spoke softly, but he believed her as much as if she had made her declaration in the strongest of tones from the hilltops.
“And why would you wish to endure such ignominy?”
“Because I have no wish to be the source of your marital misery.”
“Have I ever said I was miserable?”
“Not in words.”
Her response gave him pause. He had lacked the resolve to hold true to his vows, but that was changed. “I have given up my mistress.”
“I have no wish for you to cease your affair.”
She was being more foolish by the minute, he decided.
“Do you not see that I wish for you to be free to lead the life you desire?” she pressed. “I refuse to be your shackles.”
“Do you wish for my freedom or yours?”
She frowned, and he regretted having spoken out of jealousy.
“We would both of us be free,” she acknowledged.
“Have you considered what a divorce would do to our families?”
She looked down. “I have.”
He had thought divorce an idea that came from the spur of the moment.
“You cannot have fully considered the consequences of seeking a divorce,” he said.
“Ours would not be the first, and our families are well connected such that the divorce may be a quiet one, if you will.”
“Our families might never forgive us.”
“I do not expect that they would forgive us when I have not forgiven myself.”
“Damnation, Trudie, if you are not able to forgive me just yet, I will accept that. But a divorce would be senseless.”
“On the contrary, I think it quite sensible. The more I think on it, the more I am convinced it is the best solution, no matter the pain and difficulties that will follow.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I have never known you to be frivolous before. Indeed, it was a quality I quite admired in you till you decided to go to Château Follet. And while your decision to make of me a cuckold infuriated me—”
She groaned and looked away.
He stepped toward her. “But I am prepared to forgive you for that.”
“I have no wish for your forgiveness! I do not deserve it!”
“But you wish to punish us both for that?”
“Do you not see the sacrifice I am offering with a divorce?”
“It may be a sacrifice but it is most idiotic!”
Her mouth fell open, and of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and devour her lips.
“Aye, idiotic, nonsensical, foolhardy.”
She straightened in anger.
“What is it you fear, Trudie?” he inquired.
She took a step back from him. “I fear a life of misery for us both.”
“I think you fear what you discovered at Château Follet. I think, while you are ashamed of the corporal responses of your body, you desire it, too. You relished all that had transpired at Château Follet.”
She faltered but replied, “I may have given into lesser instincts in the moment, but in the clarity of distance, I see no benefit to such indulgences.”
“And the benefit of condemning what is natural to your body, to what pleases you?”
She lifted her chin. “So that I might not as easily fall prey to temptations.”
“You lie to yourself.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I saw you in the throes of ecstasy, my love. Your body desires it no less now than it did then.”
“I have the benefit of understanding and better judgment now.”
“Do you? I will wager the wanton little harlot lives strong in you still.”
He noticed that she trembled a little. Anticipation rose within him.
“If you can prove otherwise, I will grant your divorce.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LEOPOLD BEHELD HER WIDENED eyes. For a brief moment, he doubted the wisdom of what he had just offered. Perhaps her carnal responses could only be elicited by her debaucher, and that congress with her husband could not be as exciting as congress with a stranger. But even if the answer to his question was not favorable, he had to know if she could be aroused by him.
“I think that quite unnecessary—” she began.
“You fear you will fail my challenge.”
He held her gaze, refusing to relinquish her.
“Prevail and I will leave you in peace,” he said. After seconds that felt like minutes, he added, “And if you insist on a divorce, consider it your parting gift to me.”
After another long silence, she said in a small voice, “Very well.”
Slowly, she turned and led him back into the house. At the bottom of the stairs that led to her chamber, she hesitated. She had not looked at him since accepting his challenge. Her gaze still forward, she ascended the stairs.
He fo
llowed her, noticing the gentle sway of her hips, the subtle outline of her arse under the fabric of her dress.
Once inside her bedchamber, she still could not look at him. He stood behind her, inches separating them.
“I was a fool, Trudie,” he whispered as he slid his fingers from her wrist up arm, “to have taken you for granted.”
She sucked in her breath at his words and shivered at his touch.
“P-Perhaps we both have been guilty,” she said meekly.
He put his hand upon her shoulder and attempted to knead away the tension there.
“Our wedding night might not have been the best start, but perhaps it could end on a note much improved.”
Lowering his head, he kissed the side of her neck and thought he heard a whimper. Sweeping away the soft tendrils at her nape, he trailed kisses all over the back of her neck.
Noticing that she still remained fairly tense, he gently turned her around to face him. “I fully intend to make love to you in the manner you deserve without regard to my own pleasure. You need not fear that I shall force myself upon you.”
“Indeed?” she replied in a shaky voice.
“I deserve no pleasure for the part I played at Château Follet. I would pay any penance, Trudie. You have but to name it.”
She choked a little. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“What can I do to merit your unequivocal forgiveness?”
She thought for a moment. “Perhaps you warrant your own spanking.”
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