Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle

by Stephanie Laurens

  Nothing, Jason mused, his temper stirring at her ladyship’s dismissive reference to his wife, beyond his own lack of interest. In days past, he would very likely have accepted Lady Ormsby’s invitation. Now, looking into her hard blue eyes, he could not understand what had ever attracted him to her like. They had no softness, no womanly gentleness, none of the spontaneous sensuality he had found in Lenore. The idea of compromising his now much higher standards, of accepting such unattractive liaisons in lieu of his conjugal rights, appalled him. It was not possible.

  Extricating himself from Lady Ormsby’s clutches without causing undue offence required a not inconsiderable degree of talent. Finally quitting her ladyship’s side, leaving her disappointed but not slighted, Jason ruefully reflected that this was the third night he had had need of that particular art. The undeniable conclusion from his three days of distraction was becoming increasingly hard to avoid.

  He missed Lenore. During the day, he prowled about town, finding no joy in the pursuits that had filled his life for years. Yesterday, when her brief letter enclosing her list had arrived, he had pounced on it. Compton had not even seen it—he had gone to Hatchards and bought her books for her, adding two he thought she might like to the pile before having it wrapped and sent down to the Abbey. For the rest of the day he had wandered about, eschewing his clubs for the fresher air of the parks, his mind filled with imaginings of how his wife was filling her day.

  As for his nights, they were lonely and miserable. When it came down to it, he had spent much of his life alone, but now he felt more alone than ever before, cold, as if his arms longed for her warmth.

  “Eversleigh! Good God, man, look where you’re going! You’ve trodden on my flounce.”

  Abruptly called to order, Jason hurriedly removed his foot from his aunt Eckington’s purple flounce and nodded in greeting. “My pardon, aunt.”

  “So I should hope.” Lady Eckington fixed her basilisk stare, known to have reduced Hussars to meekness, upon him. “Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet but that’s hardly surprising in this crush.”

  There was nothing like familial pressure, Jason decided, to force one to acknowledge the error of one’s ways. He smiled at his aunt, knowing his imperviousness to her intimidation always annoyed her. “She remained at the Abbey for a few days more—I came up to ensure everything was as it should be at Eversleigh House. I plan to go down tomorrow and bring her back with me.”

  “Excellent!” Lady Eckington’s ostrich feathers bobbed. “A very wise move. She’ll no doubt wish to establish herself in society while the leniency extended to a newly-wed wife is still hers.”

  Jason stored that one up for Lenore, should she prove difficult.

  “Must say,” her ladyship declared, her gaze fixed on Jason’s face, “I’m glad to see you taking your responsibilities seriously, Jason. A workable marriage can make all the difference, y’know. And Lenore’s an exceptional choice—getting your marriage on a solid foundation would be well worth your effort.”

  With a nod, Lady Eckington bustled away. Jason watched her go, a smile on his lips, for once in total agreement with his father’s eldest sister.

  HAVING MADE his decision, for good or ill, Jason wasted no time. Leaving London the next day, he spent the night at Salisbury, arriving at the Abbey in the early afternoon. Leaving his groom to drive his curricle to the stables, he strode up the steps to where the front doors were propped wide. As he crossed the threshold, his eyes not yet adjusted to the dimmer light, his ears were assailed by a shriek.

  “Damnation, Morgan! Oh! It’s you, Your Grace. Begging your pardon, m’lord, but we weren’t expecting you.”

  Blinking, Jason saw Mrs. Potts heave herself up from her knees. Glancing about, he met the accusing stares of a gaggle of maids, all on their knees scrubbing the hall tiles. Two scrambled up to mop up the pool of water he had sent across the floor when he had kicked one of their buckets.

  “Her Grace decided ’twas time to have a clean-up in here,” said Mrs. Potts, drying her hands on her apron as she came forward. “Quite right, too.”

  “I dare say,” Jason replied. “Where is your mistress?”

  “In the library, Y’r Grace.”

  Where else? “Don’t disturb yourself, Mrs. Potts. I’ll go to her there.”

  “Yes, Y’r Grace. Er…will you be staying, m’lord?”

  Jason halted, frowning. “How long I remain depends on Her Grace. However, we’ll both be leaving for town in a few days, at most.”

  Mrs. Potts beamed. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

  With a benevolent nod, Jason turned and headed for the library. The instant he stepped through the doors, he saw Lenore had made a start on her cataloguing. There were piles of books everywhere, emptied from the shelves and balanced one upon the other in stacks as high as his shoulders. Closing the door gently behind him, he glanced about but could not see her. Carefully he wended his way through the stacks, stepping softly.

  Up in the gallery, Lenore was seated on a cushion on the floor, staring out of the large windows before her, a book on the medicinal properties of herbs open in her lap. She had not turned a page for nearly an hour. Despite her efforts to hold back her dismal thoughts, they persisted in trapping her whenever she allowed her mind a moment’s respite from the activities she had organised. The first four days following Jason’s departure had passed in a dull haze, her mind never really winning free of the aching loneliness that had gripped her on reading his brief note, stating that he had altered his plans and had left early that morning, bidding her a distant adieu until he returned. Yesterday, she had declared “Enough!” and made a determined effort to get her new life back on track. She had her position, her own household to run—it was time she commenced running it again. She had a library to catalogue—she had started in with a vengeance. She had a child, growing within her, and that was what, all too often today, had seduced her mind from the task at hand.

  She had not previously given a child much thought—how would a new small person fit into her life? Would a child, their child, ease the empty ache she now felt in that part of her heart that Jason had claimed as his, had filled and now left void? Somehow, she could not quite believe that it would. But she had all that she had been promised—and her memories. She had no cause for complaint.

  With a deep sigh, she looked down at the book in her lap, trying to remember why she had been studying it.

  “I might have guessed.”

  Lenore looked up, straight into her husband’s grey eyes, and only just managed to keep her joy from bursting forth. He stood a few feet away, one shoulder propped against the window-frame, horrendously handsome, his driving cloak with all its capes hanging from his broad shoulders to his calves. For a moment, her senses swayed, urging her to fly to his arms. With an effort, she shackled them, forcing herself to calm. Serenity intact, she smiled. “Good afternoon, my lord. We did not look to see you return so soon. Is anything wrong?”

  Faced with a far calmer reception that he had hoped for, Jason did not return her smile. Her attitude dashed his unacknowledged hopes, making it plain that she had not missed him as he had missed her, that she was perfectly content cataloguing her damned library. “My aunts asked after you,” he offered in explanation. “They believe you should come up to town and make your social début as my wife now rather than later. They were quite adamant on the matter and, having considered their arguments, I suspect they’re right.”

  While listening to this cool recitation of his eminently sensible reasons for returning, Lenore shut the book in her lap and placed it aside. Taking the hand he offered, she rose and brushed down her skirts. “So you wish me to go back to town with you?”

  To Jason, her reluctance was obvious. Slamming a door on his emotions to protect them from further hurt, he inclined his head coolly. “I believe it’ll be best for you to appear in town at least for the Little Season.”

  Casting a last, resigned glance at her piles of musty tom
es, Lenore allowed him to tuck her hand in his arm and lead her from her sanctuary. The idea of going to town with him—to have to watch from the sidelines as he enjoyed himself in the company of other women, all more attractive to a man of his tastes than she could ever be—filled her with dread. Her feelings, only just soothed after the trauma of his leaving, would be raked raw anew. How could she face it?

  She would have to face it, her inner voice noted. He was not asking for anything outrageous; in fact, he was probably doing the right thing in insisting she go to London. If Agatha and the rest of his aunts thought she should, then they were probably right. And she could never explain why she was so very reluctant to leave the secure peace of the Abbey—not to anyone.

  Leading her from the library, Jason felt a perverse pleasure in dragging her from her books. Immediately he acknowledged the feeling, he was appalled. What was this fascination of his reducing him to?

  As it transpired, having accepted the inevitable, Lenore had too much to do to brood on the fact. On her discovering that her husband intended to dally no longer than was necessary for her to get herself organised, her hours were filled with giving orders—for the household in her absence, to Trencher over which gowns she wanted packed. They departed after luncheon the next day.

  AS THE CARRIAGE rattled over the cobbles, Lenore put her head back on the squabs and sent up an urgent prayer for deliverance. She could not endure much more swaying. She had never before been so afflicted and suspected the cause was not far to seek. This was what happened to women with child, or so she had read.

  The long journey had been uneventful enough. The first stage to Salisbury had not been that long; she had coped quite well, the carriage rattling along at a good pace over the uncrowded roads. They had spent the night with Jason’s uncle, taking to the road after breakfast. Breakfast had been a mistake. Luckily, Jason had spent much of the day on horseback. He had decided to take his favourite hunter to town, presumably, Lenore supposed, so that in November he could travel on direct to his hunting box in Leicestershire while she returned to the Abbey. He had elected to ride, allowing Trencher to travel in the carriage with her, leaving space for the groom beside the coachman on the box. Trencher, she had discovered, was a fount of wisdom on childbearing.

  “Three of m’sisters have had six of ’em, my lady. Don’t you fret. This’ll only last a little while. Best try to get your mind off your stomach—think of something nice.”

  Lenore thought of Jason, and the hours they had shared in her bed at the Abbey. Which had led to her present predicament, which in turn led her thoughts back to the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

  By the time Jason had displaced Trencher on the outskirts of the capital, she had felt a lot better. As her husband had been unfailingly kind in a highly distant fashion, Lenore was reluctant to attract his somewhat unnerving attention; she had said nothing of her indisposition.

  But the slow, rocking progress through the crowded streets of the capital had sorely tried her fortitude.

  “We’re here.” Beside her, Jason sat up. As the carriage rocked to a final halt, he reached for the door. Alighting, he turned to hand her down. Lenore quit the coach with alacrity. As she walked up the steps by her husband’s side, she heaved a sigh of relief to have her feet on solid ground.

  Jason heard her sigh but interpreted it quite differently.

  Lenore had visited Eversleigh House but briefly in the weeks before their marriage, her only concern then to determine if she wished any of the chambers other than her own to be redecorated. She hadn’t. The current vogue for white and gilt had never found favour with her; the solid polished oak with which Jason had filled his house, the deep greens and reds and blues of the upholstery, were much more to her taste. There had been nothing to change; Jason had claimed as his prerogative the redecoration of her rooms. It was, therefore, with a sense of expectation that she allowed him to lead her up the stairs at the conclusion of the traditional servants’ welcome in the hall.

  “These are your rooms.” Jason set the door wide and stood back, his eyes going to her face, keen, despite the continuing hurt that ate at his confidence, to see if she liked what he had had done.

  Slowly, Lenore entered, eyes drawn immediately to the bed. Of pale polished oak, it was wide but not overly high, the mattress sunk into the base. High above its centre, a gold ball hung, suspended from where she could not tell. From it depended a tent of green silk, pegged out to the four corners of the bed where four slim columns of turned wood ran upwards to support it. It was an elegant bed of unusual design, the floral carvings that marked the headboard repeated on the footboard. Silks and satins in a melding of pale greens covered the expanse. It looked remarkably comfortable.

  Turning, Lenore saw that all the furniture—the large dressing-table, an escritoire, two cheval glasses and three huge wardrobes—as well as a selection of occasional tables, side-tables, chairs and stools scattered about the large room, were all in the same fine wood upholstered in greens and soft golds.

  Letting out a long sigh of pure appreciation, Lenore glanced about, locating her husband by the dressing-table. Meeting his watchful gaze, she smiled, utterly unaffected, her mask put aside. “It’s absolutely lovely, my lord. Just what I would have wished for.”

  Her words, she was pleased to note, brought a slight smile to her husband’s lips. He had, she had noticed, been rather sombre of late.

  “I’d hoped for your approval. And I hope you approve of these, too.”

  Drawing nearer, Lenore saw that his hand rested on a large, flattish velvet case.

  “I had these made up for you,” Jason said, lifting the lid of the case. “Using some of the stones in the older pieces of the family collection. The diamonds are in the safe downstairs—I’ll show them to you later. But I thought these are probably more your style at present.”

  Lenore did not answer. Eyes wide, she stared at the range of necklaces, earrings, pendants, rings and brooches revealed within the case. Winking in the last of the afternoon sunlight, emeralds and topazes, pearls and peridots glimmered and shone against the black satin lining. Slowly, Lenore sank on to the stool before the dressing-table, her fingers stealing to the jewels. Her jewels. She had never had much in the way of jewellery—her mother’s pearls had come to her, but the rest of the family collection was in keeping for Jack’s wife.

  As her fingers caressed a delicate peridot and pearl necklace, she glanced up, blinking rapidly, at her husband. She wanted to thank him, but “Oh, Jason,” was all she could say, and even then her voice quavered.

  Luckily, he seemed to understand, for he smiled, much more his old teasing self, and reached for the necklace.

  “Here, try it on.”

  He fastened the catch at the nape of her neck. Lenore stood and stepped away from the table, the better to view her reflection in the mirror above it. Jason stepped back but remained behind her, watching over her shoulder as she fingered the delicate pearl drops.

  Finally, drawing in a shattered breath, Lenore smiled mistily at him in the mirror. “These are truly exquisite, my lord. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  His eyes dropped to her throat, as if studying the necklace. From behind, his fingers came, first to trace the strand as it encircled her neck, then to caress her sensitive nape. “No thanks are required, my dear. You’re my wife, after all.”

  His words were light; not so the expression in his eyes. As his head lowered, his object clearly to place a kiss on her throat, Lenore panicked.

  Turning, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “Regardless of that fact, my lord, these are the most wonderful gifts I’ve ever been given. I do thank you, most sincerely.”

  She could not bear to look into his eyes. The silence stretched, then was broken when he said, “I’m overjoyed that they meet with your approval, my dear.”

  His tone was distant again, miles away.

  “I’ll leave you now. No doubt you’d like to rest.” Fe
eling as if someone had landed a direct hit to his stomach, Jason forced himself to stroll to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused. “My aunt Eckington is giving a ball tonight. If you’re not too tired, I suspect it would be wise for us to attend.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lenore agreed, desperate to make amends for her rebuff. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly recovered by then.” Shyly, trying to read his expression across the slowly darkening room, she added, “I’ll take great delight in wearing some of your gifts tonight, Jason.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing them on you,” he replied, coldly formal. With a polite nod, he left the room.

  Appalled, Lenore sank on to the stool before her dressing-table, one hand pressed to her lips. She knew perfectly well why she had shied away from that kiss—one kiss was all it would take for him to have her in his arms—and, once that happened, there would be only one end to their embrace. Not that she feared the outcome—oh, no. That, she longed for with all her being. But his leaving her at the Abbey had forced her to acknowledge the depth of her feelings, the totally consuming, all-encompassing love she felt for him.

  And she was no longer sure she could keep it secret, certainly not if he surprised her as he had just then. She had no desire to forbid him her bed; she had thought he would come to her at night, when she could keep up her guard, endure her love in silence, protected from his too-perceptive gaze by the dark.

  For it would never do to let him know she loved him—not as she did. It would embarrass her and probably him, too, although he would never let her see it. He would be kind and gentle and as caring as could be, but he would not love her.