The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a few of the items she’d left at the beginning of the summer, tossing them on her bed. When she had nothing else to keep her hands busy, she sat in a heap of puffed-up skirts on the floor. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stay in the same house as Richard. She didn’t know how to talk to him. Didn’t know how she was supposed to act around him. Didn’t like how he accused her of taking lovers.

  What would she do if he followed her back to Mansfield Hall?

  Why did he have to come back into her life now? When everything felt like it was falling apart. With Waverly threatening to expose her secrets.

  A knock at the door had her heart pumping faster in her chest. What if it was Richard? She wasn’t ready to see him again. Her nerves were on edge. Her emotions irrational. She felt light-headed, as though she’d faint if she stood. She couldn’t move from where she sat on the floor wondering what she should do.

  “Emma, love, let me in.”

  It was Grace.

  Her shoulders slumped as she let out a long huff of air. She could deal with Grace. She could not deal with Richard. Never Richard. Unfolding her legs, she forced herself up to her feet and wobbled on shaky legs over to the door.

  The moment the door shut behind Grace, Emma relocked it. Her hands shook so hard, she thought for a moment she wouldn’t be able to turn the knob.

  “What’s happened?”

  “He’s here.”

  “I saw him sitting in the parlor as I came up.” Her sister’s arms should have been comforting as they came around her, but they didn’t help with her shaking. “What has you in such a state?”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Was she in some sort of shock after her confrontation with Richard? Too much had happened in the past few days. Too many changes were taking place in her life. She didn’t like it at all.

  “You’ve had a bit of a surprise running into him twice now. I’d feel the same way if my husband found me in a harlots’ den.”

  “I thought … if he ever came home that I’d be happy. That he’d be like his father. Kind, loving. But he’s nothing like I imagined. Nothing. He cares for no one but himself. And now with Waverly trying to ruin everything in my life…”

  “Hush.” Grace petted her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “Richard will warm to you. Everyone does. Men are strange beasts. He’s no different from any of the men I’ve known. Give him time.”

  Emma stepped away from her sister and went to pull out the portmanteau from under her bed. “We have to leave. I can’t stay here with him in this house. I’m not ready to face him yet.”

  “Do you want me to have Abby get ready? We can leave within the hour. Less if you like.”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t want to spoil your mood more, but you know he may follow us back.”

  “He won’t.”

  He can’t, she thought. She wasn’t ready to have her husband in her life. Not when she’d spent so many years alone. Not when she needed to sort out this sudden mess with Waverly.

  If Richard followed her, she didn’t know what she’d do. How she’d hide what she’d done and made of herself over the years.

  “I’ll be back momentarily.” Grace squeezed her hand and left Emma’s bedchamber.

  Emma felt silly running away. She felt like a young girl again. The one too shy to talk with him during their chaperoned courting. The girl too afraid to look him in the eye on their wedding day.

  There were few good memories of Richard from her youth. She’d come to the conclusion that he hated her then as much as he seemed to dislike her now. Some things never changed.

  Closing the latch on her bag, she waited for her sisters to join her.

  Her pulse still raced. Her hands were clammy. The longer she waited, the worse she felt. Then her sisters were there, leading her down the back stairs and to a waiting carriage.

  Abby sat across from her, worry narrowing her eyes. “You’re as white as a sheet, Em.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, even though it was a lie.

  Would she be fine again? Would she adjust to her husband being in her life after she’d been independent and reliant on only herself for so long?

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against Grace’s shoulder. The farther the carriage traveled, the calmer she felt. When she was home, she knew she’d feel like her old self again. There was no chance of him following her, she told herself. He’d never wanted anything to do with her before. He’d not start pursuing her now.

  Chapter 5

  Once, you said I had the kind of smile that made others reciprocate. I made sure you always saw my smile after that day. I never could figure out what I did wrong, because you rarely returned the gesture.

  “Madam,” Brown said with a bow. “The Earl of Waverly.”

  Emma stood at the butler’s entrance. Waverly ducked his head and ran his finger along the rim of his hat on entering the room.

  When Brown shut the door, she sat without inviting Waverly to do so, and studied her unwanted guest with a look of dissatisfaction. His clothes were slightly rumpled, his necktie improperly knotted. His hair, normally slicked back with pomade, was in disarray.

  He stepped toward her but stalled on seeing her scowl. “Emma, you must forgive me.”

  “You’ve lost the privilege of using my Christian name.”

  Which was a shame, because he’d been a constant companion to her and her sisters over the last two seasons. She had thought him a true friend. Had even been foolish enough to hope that he would ask for Grace’s hand in marriage. How had she so thoroughly misjudged this man? She was usually a better judge of character.

  “I understand your irritation. Please, hear me out.”

  “Hear you out? Hear you out!” The flat of her hand smacked against the arm of the chair. She took a deep breath to help rein in her rage. “You’ve as good as threatened my standing in society.”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Emma.”

  Did he honestly think he could waltz in here and be forgiven? There was nothing he could do to make this situation better. His name was blackened to her.

  “I know Grace fancied herself smitten with me. I never meant for that to happen. Quite the opposite…”

  Emma raised her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. A poor attempt to stop the words flowing out of his mouth. The man had no shame.

  “I’ve always adored you. No one else,” he finished.

  “Please stop, Waverly.”

  “You have to forgive me, Emma.” He was on his knees before her, clasping one of her hands between his own. When she tried to pull away, he locked his fingers tightly around her wrist.

  “You must understand that I desired you long before I ever met you.”

  The painting. Because he had had the painting before he’d met her. She swallowed her disgust and tried to dislodge his hold on her wrist without success.

  “You humiliated me and risked my reputation for selfish reasons.”

  “Emma, give me a chance to prove my worth and devotion to you.”

  He kissed her hand, lingering before he finally let her pull away. She stood from the settee, needing to put distance between them.

  Waverly had never acted so brazen with her before. He’d never shown any interest in her before. Had never attempted to kiss or touch her in any way that was inappropriate.

  “You can’t do this. I’m a married woman.” She rubbed at her wrist. He had hurt her when he’d grasped her so tightly. “I’ve counted you amongst my friends without realizing the depth of deception you were playing at.”

  Getting to his feet, he followed her retreating steps. Apprehension stiffened her body at his rapacious approach, but she refused to take another step away from him. She would not be bullied in her own home. Her heart pounded so hard, it felt as though it would leap right out of her chest. She was like a cornered rabbit, and she didn’t like the feeling.

  “I’ve ado
red you since the moment we were introduced. But knew I couldn’t court you, so I courted your widowed sister to get closer to you.”

  There was only one thing left to determine: How had he figured out she was the painter? She was always careful with her signature.

  “We could never have been more than friends, Waverly. Now we are nothing to each other.”

  His calm was lost with her pronouncement. His eyes were ablaze with deep loathing, the blue storming to a thundering gray. She’d not really noticed how haggard he was until now. His eyes were bloodshot where she could see the whites of them, and his skin was sallow. His clothes were not freshly pressed, his nails unbuffed.

  “You’re wrong. We are everything to each other, my dear.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a depraved grin.

  “Our friendship was at an end when I received your last letter. Leave, Waverly. Now.”

  She’d find another way to get her painting back. She was washing her hands of Waverly from this point forward.

  She felt foolish for not keeping a servant in the room when her guest seemed likely to snap or strike out at her at any moment. The fire in his eyes told her his intention before he moved. Like a snake catching a mouse, his arms twisted around her waist and held tight. The stale smell of whiskey permeated him like a blanket of sour perfume. So suffocating. So wrong.

  “We are far from done, my little lady. I need you.”

  She tried squirming free of his hold, but his arms would not budge. With a pained protest, he was given an unguarded opportunity to assault her lips. His cold tongue slithered into her mouth, causing her to gag. She renewed her struggle, trying desperately to free herself.

  Pushing against his chest did nothing. Hitting him didn’t help, either. Her attempts at release were futile. She did the next best thing she could think of under the circumstance—she kicked his shin.

  More suddenly than she expected, he released her.

  She’d been pushing so firmly against him that she landed hard on her rear, forcing the air out of her lungs. She gathered the last of her waning courage to face Waverly and stood with the help of the walnut table beside one of the chairs.

  She pointed her finger to the door. “Get out!”

  The pinprick of some profound antipathy remained in his gaze. She dared not blink or move. He stepped forward, ran his finger down the side of her face, and smiled. A snake’s smile. A self-satisfied smile that told her he was far from done with her.

  It took every ounce of resolve she had in her not to flinch away. She would not cower before this man.

  “We have a great deal left unresolved between us. I have something you value. I know all your secrets, sweet Emma. And I plan to use them to my benefit.”

  Clenching her teeth, she could do nothing more than stare at him with seething anger and newfound repulsion. She refused to speak. That would—she thought, strangely—give him some leverage over her. She didn’t know how that was possible, but she was listening to instinct now.

  He patted her cheek as if she were no more than a child and turned away. “I’ll call on you in a week. That’ll be enough time to prove my friendship to you. Enough time for you to come to your senses. Or I will hold a party in your honor—your attendance will not be needed, if you catch my meaning.”

  She did not like the slant of his voice as he spoke the word friendship, and dared not question her concern aloud about him revealing the painting to others. She’d find a way to stop him.

  Turning up the door latch, he left. Emma’s body immediately relaxed. A rush of air escaped her, and her shoulders dropped almost as if in defeat.

  She could not let this get her down. Would it be possible for him to just disappear from her life? Something deep in her heart told her it wasn’t going to be that easy. Her gut told her he would call again in a week’s time, just as he had assured her.

  * * *

  A certain sentimentality washed over Richard as the carriage crossed the bridge, headed toward the manor, and rounded the main courtyard of the house. He’d always been indifferent to this place. It wasn’t that he particularly hated his childhood home. He just hadn’t liked everything it represented: the title, watching over the local residents, his seat in the House of Lords. Too much responsibility for a young man bent on doing something more thrilling with his life than whiling away in the country looking out for the good of others.

  Not that he’d ever done anything for the greater good. Exploiting weaknesses in others in the hope of gained profit was not a respectable path. Though it had proved rather lucrative over the years. He’d been a man with a passion for adventure. He was done with adventure. Done with the unknown.

  Perhaps the attempt on his life had been good for adjusting his moral compass. It had steered him in a less dangerous direction. One less likely to kill him prematurely.

  He should have left the seedier side of trade years ago. Trading silks had seemed rather boring when he was younger, but would have been a better choice than having someone try to kill him at every turn dealing in opium these past few years.

  He looked out the window to the striking presence of Mansfield Hall. Arched Gothic widows flanked the entrance. Ivy, clematis, and roses climbed the walls of the Tudor-style home, softening the cold white limestone backwash.

  The footman opened the carriage door and set down the steps. Serving staff rushed forward to line up before his foot touched the ground, Dante following directly behind him.

  The butler bowed before addressing him. “My lord. It is a pleasure to have you home.”

  “Have my things brought up to my room, Brown.” At least he’d remembered the man’s name. “I’ll be staying for a while.”

  To my wife’s everlasting disappointment, he added silently. She was rather put out by him when they last saw each other. He hoped he would fare much better today.

  “Right away, my lord.”

  The man bowed again and took a step back. Richard wasn’t interested in greeting his serving staff. All he wanted was to see his wife. She hadn’t come forward. Did she plan to avoid him?

  Before his thoughts turned more ill mannered and he cursed her to hell and back for cowardliness, she stepped through the door, an elegant yet stunning vision in white.

  Richard had a great love for all things of beauty, and what a pretty creature she was. Thick golden locks of hair framed her pretty face under her straw bonnet. White leather walking boots peeked out briefly from the bottom hem of her white sprigged day dress. Emma’s mossy green eyes were filled with astonishment she hadn’t yet tempered. He was immediately arrested by her presence.

  Strange that he’d been able to stay away from her all these years. Had he known she’d turned into such a lovely woman, he might have come home sooner. Even lower portions of his anatomy were reacting to the sight of her. This reaction was no stranger to him after their run-in a few nights ago. However, this was not a good time to be thinking lascivious thoughts about his wife.

  “Emma.” He tipped the rim of his hat at her, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a pleased grin. “I do believe you were expecting me.”

  The serving staff turned in unison to look at her. Her lush pink lips pursed and her nostrils flared, then quickly relaxed.

  “One can never be sure of these things. I apologize for not having your room prepared in advance.” With a clap of her hands, two chambermaids took their cue and left to prepare his room. “Which wing would you like your guest to reside in?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Dante resting against the carriage in a carefree, nonchalant stance, completely belying the man’s lethalness. “Next to the master chambers.”

  The thought of the bedchamber made him think about tumbling his wife in the drive. He needed to gather his wits and cool his ardor until a more opportune time arose. He’d definitely been without a woman for too long if this was the only direction his thoughts seemed to lead him in. Though he couldn’t help but wonder what she wore under all those pleated laye
rs of white muslin.

  “My sister—”

  “Is she staying on?” He wondered which one.

  “We all stay in the same wing. We’ve made arrangements for the remainder of the season to find Abby a suitable husband.”

  All three Hallaway sisters. He should have them cleared out. Abby was a wily little thing, while Grace always found trouble for herself. Though he supposed they might have changed over the years.

  “They will be comfortable in other rooms.” Rancor tilted her words. This was not an auspicious start to their reunion if he’d already managed to anger her.

  “I will have tea and a light repast prepared for you in the study. I assume you remember the way?”

  “I do,” he answered.

  She’d grown more confident over the years. Or maybe it was the fact that she could look him in the eye without blushing and stammering childish nonsense. Time changed a lot of things. She was no longer the child bride he’d married but a full-fledged woman. A woman he could appreciate like a finely aged wine.

  Had he been a different kind of man, he might have stayed on and lived up to his father’s every expectation all those years ago. Maybe even made a good husband. The fact of the matter remained—he had not been a different man. Nor a good one, for that matter.

  She looked at him for a long moment, as though undressing him where he stood. Richard crossed his arms over his chest and studied her in kind. Fascinating that his wife would assess him so blatantly. Before he could comment on her regard, she spun on her heel, her skirts twirling like a ballerina’s before the heavy pleats settled around her legs.

  Nothing more could be said between them. Not with all the servants standing on the limestone drive, curiosity and confusion coloring their expressions.

  “Back to work,” he ordered. Everyone took his cue and scurried off.

  “You’ll have to tell me why you’ve avoided that fine woman all these years.”

  He stared at Dante. “None of your business, my friend. I’ll worry about my wife. You worry about watching my back until the ugly mess we left behind stays behind.”