But he did not. Time and undone secrets had come between them. He had not forgotten Nell’s revelation and what it meant for him, for the woman he’d once professed to love. He stopped, body rigid with tension, and fixed her with a cutting stare. She flinched, her smile fading. She had been expecting a far different welcome, then. What the hell was she doing here? He hadn’t been prepared for this, for her.
“Why have you come, Lady Billingsley?” he demanded, careful to keep all traces of emotion from his voice. In truth, he didn’t know what he felt at seeing her again. Betrayal? Excitement? Hurt? It was likely a combination of all three. But he would not show her a hint of weakness.
“I’ve left Billingsley,” she said simply.
A few months before, the words would have been enough. Now they left him feeling oddly emotionless. “You’ve left him,” he repeated slowly, his mind fumbling to comprehend the meaning of her revelation for him. Much had changed. He thought of Maggie. What did he feel for her? Not love, certainly. But something. Thoughts of what Eleanor had done swirled through his mind, questions he needed to ask her. But he wasn’t even certain if her betrayal with Lord Needham mattered any longer. Or if she even mattered any longer.
She crossed the polished floor, her heels clicking, until she reached him. An expectant expression transformed her undeniably beautiful face. “I cannot live without you, Simon. I tried. I tried to do my duty to his lordship.”
Thoughts of her husband, the bulbous-nosed Earl of Billingsley, sweating and straining over her to produce an heir, made him ill. She’d made her choice, duty over love. All too often in their world, duty trumped all else. Somehow, he’d expected a different outcome with Eleanor. She had proved him horridly wrong. “I wish to God you had never tried at all,” he told her honestly before he could stop himself.
But she had, and her sudden appearance in his drawing room could not alter that fact.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling in that way of hers that once infallibly brought him to his knees. “You know what a beast he is, Sandy. I had no choice.”
He stiffened at her use of the diminutive only she had ever called him. It took him back to when he had loved her. But had he every truly known her? He couldn’t be sure any longer. “You betrayed me, Eleanor.”
“Never,” she denied, appearing a very sad, small figure to him suddenly. “I would never betray you.”
But he knew differently. “What of Lord Needham?”
She grew pale, her entire form going utterly still. “What of him?”
He almost pitied her. But not quite. “Nell told me. You needn’t lie.”
“It was a very long time ago, Sandy, and a dreadful mistake. We were both in our cups. It never meant anything. You remain the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I shall ever love as long as I live.”
Simon was gratified that she at least deigned to acknowledge the truth, however she attempted to minimize it. He would have thought she might prevaricate further. Even so, he couldn’t allow her to simply reappear in his drawing room as though she hadn’t abruptly told him to go to the devil. Still, he had to admit that his heart was not yet dead. Her words of love affected him, however much he wished they did not.
“What of now? We were sworn to one another,” he reminded her. “I promised to keep my wife in name only just as you promised you would never again go to your marriage bed.”
Her blue eyes pleaded with his. “Billingsley gave me no other option. I did not want to tell you, but he has raised his hand against me.”
He couldn’t help it. Her words brought a rush of instinctive rage thrashing through him. He caught her elbow. “What did you say?”
“My husband prefers to hit me rather than bed me,” Eleanor said, her dainty hands landing upon his chest as if they were a pair of butterflies. “I could not suffer him any longer, Sandy. I thought I could, but I’m no match for his fists.”
Fists. Rage skewered him. His hands went to her wasp waist as they had so many times before, finding their familiar home. Perhaps Nell had been wrong in her gossip, for Eleanor didn’t feel enceinte in the slightest to him. She was trim as ever. He searched her gaze, hoping she lied. “Tell me that bastard didn’t hit you.”
A sob rose in her throat but she seemed to stifle it, biting her lip. “I cannot. He caused me to lose my babe.”
“I’ll kill him,” he vowed, anger a wave overtaking him, threatening to bring him to his knees.
“No.” Eleanor reached up to cup his jaw. “You mustn’t. I’ve left him for good now, and that is all that matters.”
“Simon?”
Christ. The lilting feminine tone with its undeniable American accent belonged to Maggie. He released Eleanor and turned to face his wife. She stood in the door, looking characteristically magnificent in a day gown of navy silk that complemented her alabaster skin to perfection. Her flame curls were caught up in an elaborate coiffure that rendered her ordinary elegance utterly striking. A stab of lust went straight to his cock. It didn’t escape his notice that it was Maggie who aroused him, Maggie he wanted with a ferocity that still shook him. His physical reaction to Eleanor had been far more tame. Confused, even. His heart, however, was another matter, laden with even more confusion. Belatedly, it occurred to him that Maggie appeared shocked. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. She had just walked in on him in an intimate embrace with an old paramour.
But was Eleanor an old paramour? The question ate at him with an aching persistence. She had to be, yet how could she be? Now that she was back, it was almost as if she had never gone. He shoved the unworthy thought from his mind, unable to grapple with the complex implications of the scene before him.
“Who is she?” Eleanor demanded of him in a near hiss at his back.
He met Maggie’s gaze, all too aware of the hurt he read in the violet depths. Suddenly, she raised her chin, her countenance taking on a formidable air he’d never before seen.
“I am Lady Sandhurst,” Maggie proclaimed loudly in a brash American drawl that somehow made him want to drag her straightaway to their chamber, no matter the old feelings that had once again burst into flame. “Sandy’s wife,” she added, lest they be mistaken, he supposed, that she hadn’t happened upon a great deal of their conversation.
Damn it. She had likely heard far too much. He strode to her, aware that it was his duty. After all, she was his wife above all else. He suspected there wasn’t a particular rule for introducing one’s wife to one’s mistress. But even he could recognize precedence even if his mind was awhirl.
He offered Maggie his arm as he gained her side. She refused to take it, so he pretended as if he were inspecting his coat sleeve instead before performing the necessary. “Lady Sandhurst, I don’t believe you have yet made the acquaintance of Lady Billingsley,” he said, all too aware he sounded awkward as a stripling attempting to woo his first maid.
“No,” Maggie murmured with a cat’s smile. “I have not.” She held herself regally, pinning Eleanor with a queenly glare. “Nor can I honestly say that I have ever wanted to make her acquaintance. She is not anyone I would care to know. Why is she in our drawing room just now, Sandy?”
He didn’t like the way she said his name. Such scorn. He frowned at her for both her rudeness and impertinence, even if he couldn’t truly blame her for either. “She is visiting, I suspect.”
“Visiting,” Eleanor echoed. “Pray, my lady, pay no attention to me. I am merely throwing myself on your husband’s mercy as both an old and dear friend, and he has been kind enough to offer me his aid.”
What the hell? He had done no such thing. Damn the woman. She was trying to force his hand and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Was this machinating woman truly the lady he’d fallen in love with? Had he somehow failed to see her for her true self? He didn’t know.
“His aid,” Maggie murmured as if she were repeating an epithet. “How exceedingly kind and generous of him. I’ve discovered that my husband is a most generous soul
, Lady Billingsley.”
“Indeed.” Eleanor frowned, clearly not following Maggie’s line of thought.
Simon was afraid he was following it all the way to its inevitable end. He had to admire her spunk. He wouldn’t wish to be on the receiving end of her displeasure just now.
“Quite generous.” Maggie tilted her head, gracing Eleanor with a lovely smile that hid quite a bit of bite behind it. “You are more than welcome to stay here at Denver House, my lady. But rest assured that his generosity will not be extending toward yourself during your tenure here.”
He nearly choked as his fears came to fruition. “Maggie,” he cautioned, knowing by now that his wife possessed a backbone that was as unpredictable as it was formidable. Still, he hadn’t expected such a frank dressing-down from her. It was simply not done.
She didn’t spare him a glance, intent as she was on her quarry. “I gather you understand my meaning, Lady Billingsley?”
Eleanor cleared her throat, looking quite like a bird choking upon a worm. “I must say that I do not, my lady.”
“Well, then let us be clear.” Maggie stalked across the room and stopped before Eleanor, a wild cat facing down a lion. “If you choose to remain here as a guest, I cannot stop you, but I will not tolerate adultery in my home.”
“Adultery?” Eleanor sputtered. He suspected no one had ever before spoken to her with such lack of artifice.
“You will not be warming my husband’s bed.” Maggie paused before whispering something unintelligible into Eleanor’s ear.
Simon wished he could have heard it. But he remained where he was, watching the tableau before him unfold as if he were an invalid. Or a complete duffer. And perhaps that was what he was.
Eleanor blanched, her eyes flying to his. Christ, what had Maggie threatened? A beheading? Then he read the hurt in her expression and he knew. His wife had revealed the extent of their relationship. His former mistress didn’t care for the disclosure. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He knew what it had felt like to think of her making love with her husband. It had been akin to a knife being plunged directly into his gut. Time and space had lessened the pain. And if he were completely honest with himself, he had to admit that Maggie had as well.
God, he was more confused than he’d ever been in his life. Just then, his wife gave him a seething look that didn’t bode well for him later. He winced.
“I trust you will see your guest settled?” she asked. “I find I’m rather too weary to take on the task.”
He bowed, feeling like a complete ass beneath her withering glare. “Of course, my dear.”
She disappeared in a swirl of silk and riotous curls. He turned to Eleanor, wondering what in the hell he was going to do now. He supposed he’d have to allow her to stay on, at least for a few days. After all, she’d just told him that Billingsley had been mistreating her. He could not, in good conscience, turn her away. But neither was he certain that he wanted her here.
His mind was reeling, hopelessly confused by Eleanor, what he’d learned about her, the feelings he’d begun to develop for Maggie. By God, he’d just been about the business of restoring the order to his life, and now the one woman who could threaten to ruin it had simply appeared in his drawing room as if she hadn’t been gone.
“I’m sorry, Sandy,” Eleanor said quietly, interrupting his troubled thoughts. “I would have written you, but there wasn’t time. I couldn’t have known you’d have her in residence here.”
“Bloody, bloody hell,” he muttered, clenching then unclenching his fists as he fought to keep control over himself.
“Why is she here?” Her gaze probed his.
It was a question to which there was no ready answer. He paused, wondering how much he ought to reveal to her. “We are spending a month together as husband and wife,” he said at last.
She placed a tentative hand on his arm. “Is this your way of enacting revenge upon me?”
He raised a brow. “You flatter yourself, darling. I haven’t thought of you in months.”
She flinched, and he knew an instant of gratification, however small it was of him. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry for it. In time, you shall see that I had no recourse. I did what I had to, and at the first possible moment I came back to you.”
“Much has changed,” he warned her. She couldn’t expect her actions to be without consequence, nor would they be. “You may stay here for a few days whilst you find another refuge from Billingsley, but that must be all, Eleanor.”
She gasped. “You cannot turn me out.”
“I’m not turning you out,” he countered, forcing himself to remain firm in his decision. “I am merely warning you. Your stay will be temporary. You do not belong here.”
Her grip on him tightened, her expression becoming one of desperation. “I belong with you.”
“No.” He shook off her hand, hardening his heart to her. “You don’t, and I’m beginning to think you never have.”
“You will change your mind,” she said, her voice trembling. “I love you. Please don’t act with haste.”
“I’ll give you a few days,” he repeated, voice curt, before turning on his heel. “That is all.”
For it had to be. He didn’t dare trust her again. The risks were too great, for he now had a wife who was more than a name and an unwanted presence in his life. The hard truth of it was that he didn’t even want to consider just how much Maggie had become to him in the last fortnight, for that scared the hell out of him. All he knew now was that he had to find her. He wanted her still, perhaps even more than he’d ever desired Eleanor. And that surely had to count for something.
* * * * *
Maggie’s hands shook as she awaited Simon in the luxuriously appointed salon that adjoined her bedchamber. She’d sent word for him to meet her directly following whatever he needed to settle Lady Billingsley, and for her own sake, she’d deemed it best not to meet him anywhere a bed could be found. His deadly good looks and wicked caresses had a way of disarming her every time. She couldn’t afford to be so foolish this time.
She sighed. Although she had decorated the salon herself, the aesthetically pleasing confines did not bring her cheer at the moment. She had not been prepared to face the woman she had detested from afar, to see how lovely she was, how tiny her waist, how golden her hair. She had a penchant for overdressing, that much Maggie could see, but it appeared to be Lady Billingsley’s only flaw. Damn her. What right did she think she had to simply appear in the drawing room and throw herself into Sandhurst’s arms?
Every right, she supposed. Maggie frowned and paced the length of the room, worry a gnawing ache in her breast. Though she was reasonably certain she had exhibited confidence when confronting Lady Billingsley, the disheartening truth of it was that when it came to her husband, she had no confidence whatsoever.
Indeed, she very much feared he would return to his mistress. After all, he had admitted to loving her. She had been his paramour for five years. She still had a hold on him. That much had been apparent by the way he’d been leaning into her, his hands upon her waist when Maggie had intervened. The sight had nearly been unbearable.
In just over a fortnight, he had already become very important to Maggie. Necessary. She fidgeted with her skirts, her nervousness increasing the longer it took for her husband to arrive.
At last, the door clicked open and he stepped inside. For a moment, she simply stared at him, their eyes interlocked. He was impossibly handsome, she thought again, wishing absurdly that he had a wart or perhaps a large nose, anything to mar his outward perfection. But he was debonair as ever despite the distressed expression he wore.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, lingering at the door when she wanted him to close the distance between them.
Maggie pressed her palms to her skirt, hoping she didn’t look a fright. “Why?”
He sighed, the sound one of intense weariness. “I didn’t know she would come here.”
She wanted to trust him, bu
t she didn’t know if she could. “Did you invite her here?”
“Christ.” He passed his fingers through his hair, leaving the too-long locks askew. “Of course I didn’t. What do you take me for?”
The man who had ignored his wife while living openly with his mistress for the last year. She wisely refrained from saying as much. “I needed to ask. I can’t think of why she would simply appear here unless you had asked her to come.”
“She left her husband and claims she had nowhere else to go,” he said tightly.
And he believed her? Maggie frowned. “Has she no friends or family?”
“I believe she does.”
She wanted to shake him by his lapels. His sudden distance was horribly frustrating. “She cannot go to them instead?”
“I expect she can, but I’ve told her she may remain here for a few days while she gathers herself.”
“A few days.” Her dismay could not be hidden.
He raised a brow, looking every bit the arrogant nobleman she’d married. “Would you have me toss her out on her ear?”
“Yes,” she admitted without a hint of shame. “I would prefer that to having to see the woman you love sitting at my breakfast table.”
He strode toward her then, breaking the unseen barrier he’d built between them. “It’s no longer the same between us now.”
“I saw how you touched her,” she countered, not wanting to press the issue for fear of what he might reveal and how deeply it would hurt, yet unable to keep her tongue still. “It was very familiar.” She hated the hitch in her voice.
“I can’t deny what has already come to pass.” He stopped before her, his scent wafting over her and rendering her heart even weaker than it already was. “You know she and I were once very close.”
“A very old and very dear friend,” she repeated his words from Lady Needham’s ball, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. “She broke your heart. It was her choice to end things, not yours. And now she’s back as if she was never gone at all.”
Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands) Page 14