He sent word through Jagat Ram that he would sup alone in his rooms. She spent a tormented evening, wondering if she should go to him. Wondering—with even more torment—if he would come to her. There had scarcely been a night, since they’d come to London, when they hadn’t made love. Joyously, rapturously. Now she sadly dressed for bed and wondered if she had damaged his pride beyond repair with her well-meaning interference.
Morgan House had quieted and the servants gone to bed before she decided to confront him. She tiptoed down the darkened passage, shielding her candle against the night air. She shivered and clutched her wrapping gown more tightly to her bosom. It was cold here, so far from the warmth of a fireplace.
She opened the door to Grey’s sitting room. There was a faint light coming from his bedchamber beyond. She hesitated, wondering if she should knock, then boldly opened the door and stepped into the room.
He was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, at a little table in the center of the dimly lit room. His elbows were on the table, his chin resting in the palms of his hands. His face was a mask of anguish. Set before him on the table was a large bottle of gin and a glass.
Allegra felt the sinking of her heart in her breast. She put down her candle with a trembling hand. “Grey?”
He looked up and scowled. His eyes were haggard. “Get out.”
“No. You need me.”
“The only thing I need is the gin.” He peered up at her in the gloom, his mouth twisting in an ugly smile. “You needn’t look so frightened, my dear wife. I haven’t touched it yet. I’ve been sitting here for hours and wondering why.” He reached for the bottle.
“In the name of God, Grey. Don’t.”
He slammed the bottle back on the table and jumped to his feet. He was powerful and menacing above her. Terrifying in his uncertain mood. “Damn it!” he roared. “I’ll bloody well drink it if I choose to!” He eyed her up and down with contempt. “Or do you have some woman’s trick to stop me, equal to your artifice in the Mall? Are you able to faint in a convincing manner? Ruth was good at that. Perhaps a few tears? A heartfelt plea? I’m minded that you were prepared to grovel before Batterbee in Ludlow. To save me from disgrace.”
She flinched at his cruel words. “I thought the monster I knew in Shropshire was gone,” she said in a bitter whisper.
“Monster?” He turned away from her and slapped his hand on the table. The bottle and glass rattled ominously. “’Tis a little late for you to regret your choice of husband, madam. I am as I am. A monster, if you will. And a coward.” He shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll not walk in the Mall anymore. To spare you further shame.”
Oh, the man was impossible! “Shame?” she cried. “I’m proud to be your lady. Your wife! I married a good and strong man. Aye, and a brave one besides!”
“Who cringes at the sight of a blade. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
She stamped her foot in frustration. “Is that the only bravery there is for a man?”
He laughed—a thin, sharp bark. “Not when he possesses it. But when ’tis gone…Ah, how he misses it.” He turned back to the bottle. “At least, with the gin in me, I didn’t feel the scorn and contempt so keenly.”
She snatched the bottle from his hand and flung it into the fireplace. The liquor flared up in a bright burst of flame, casting a satanic light across the room. “’Tis false courage in that bottle,” she cried. “False manhood!”
His eyes glowed in fury. His arms shot out to pull her close to his breast. “Damn you! Do you want a man? Is that it? Then you shall have one!” He ground his mouth on hers in a cruel kiss.
She moaned softly. He was resolved to take her, willing or no. She saw it written clear on his face. She trembled in dismay, feeling sick at heart. Helpless before his desperation.
“No, let me go,” she begged. She struggled against the power of his grasp, but he wrenched her to the floor and knelt and bent her back across his arm. Her wrapping gown had fallen open. With his free hand, Grey clawed at the lace of her nightshift and tore the garment to her navel. He lowered his head and curled his hot mouth around one nipple, kissing and sucking in a frenzy of passion and rage-driven need. Allegra writhed beneath his angry kisses.
By the time his lips had traveled a path upward to her neck and chin to find her mouth and savage it with his tongue, she had ceased her struggles. There was no reaching him in that prison of self-loathing he had built. She closed her eyes, allowing the bitter, burning tears to seep from beneath her lids.
She heard him groan and opened her eyes. For a moment he stared in disbelief at her tear-stained face. Then he groaned again, released her, and turned away. Wrapping himself into a tight knot, he buried his head in his arms. His shoulders shook with violent sobs. “Oh, God, Allegra,” he choked, “will it never end?”
She was beside him in an instant, cradling his head in her arms. “Grey, my love. My sweet, dear Grey. You don’t have to do more for Charlie. You’ve done enough. Take me home to Baniard Hall. Why do you need to stay here, with pigs like Batterbee eager to attack you? Let’s go home.”
He raised his head. The haunted look on his face was like a silent shriek of pain. “How shall I go? Like a whipped dog, as I did before? To hide behind the gin? I must stay.”
He sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand across his wet eyes. “I keep hoping that the next time, or the next…There’s no logic to it. I fought in a score of campaigns. Bloody battles that sent men screaming from the field in wild fright. And I was fearless. Fearless! But now…Sweet Jesu. Do you know how it feels? There’s a numbing chill in my bones. The blood pounds through my head, roars in my ears. Such…such terror in my gut, I can scarcely describe. As though the grave were opening to me. My hands, my sinews…weak, useless.” He moaned and pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “How do I begin to understand it, Allegra? Where do I find the key to free myself from these chains?”
“But today you were able to fight Batterbee. And against the smugglers’ swords, with only a staff, you were fearless.”
“I know. A cane. A staff. But when I put a sword in my hand, and feel the cold steel against my fingers, I see Osborne’s face in the throes of death. I hear Ruth’s cries of accusation.” He laughed sardonically. “How easily her soft voice could ascend to a whine.”
“Perhaps it happens because you regret having killed him.”
“Osborne? Not a whit. He was a pompous, arrogant man. I always felt that he deliberately picked a quarrel with me.”
“But surely you didn’t mean to kill him?”
“No. He was a terrible swordsman. I meant only to disarm him. But the field was wet, and he slipped and fell against my blade before I could withdraw it.”
“Then why should you think of him? Or Ruth, for that matter?”
“Perhaps I still feel responsible. For her grief. For her death.”
“Once and for all, Grey Ridley, you didn’t kill her! Why do you continue to torment yourself with guilt?”
He held his head between his hands, grimacing in agony. “God alone knows.” He looked at her, seeming to notice at last the torn state of her clothing. “And I torment you with my vile behavior. Forgive me. Forgive the monster you married.”
“Oh my dear love,” she said, getting to her feet and holding out her hand to him. “Come.” She led him, unresisting, to his bed and helped him to undress, feeling a maternal tenderness she had never known before. This good, strong, brave man was also a wounded soul who needed her; her heart swelled with the wonder of it.
She shed her own garments and lay down on the bed, her arms outstretched. Waiting, willing, eager for the touch of his flesh on hers. The warm possession and conquest of his manhood. If her body could be the vessel that received all his pain and left him at peace, she could think of no greater joy in life.
Their lovemaking was gentle and tender—a sharing and giving of warmth and comfort and deep understanding. When it was over, they lay side by side, lost in their own worlds, staring up at the ca
nopy of the bed.
Allegra stirred at last, uneasy to express the thought that troubled her, yet needing to have the words spoken. “You’re not staying here in London…that is, you’re not forcing yourself to face the likes of Batterbee because you fear my scorn? I don’t want you to suffer on my account. I shall love you no matter what you do.”
He leaned up on one elbow and kissed her. “No,” he said gruffly, “I do it for myself. For my honor.” He bent and kissed the soft flesh of her belly. “And to be worthy of our child.”
“Have I neglected to mention that you’re looking splendid this evening, Lady Ridley?”
Allegra held out the skirts of her pink satin mantua and gave a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, Lord Ridley. My husband is generous in his clothing allowance.”
Grey smirked and kissed her hand. “Your husband would like to throw out every gown and every petticoat and shift you own, and keep you naked in his arms forever.”
She tossed her shoulder at him. “My husband is a wicked man, sir.”
He leered—as lecherous a smile as he could make it. “Yes. With wicked thoughts. But, alas. He must wait, and suffer, until later.” He kissed her hand again. “In truth, my love, you do look beautiful. His Majesty thought so.”
“How could you tell?” Allegra had been surprised and delighted when King George arrived unexpectedly at the Earl of Burlington’s assembly. A soldier, with little interest in fashion, he had appeared plainly dressed in a dark, tied-back wig and a simple coat, waistcoat, and breeches of snuff-colored cloth. His only decoration had been a large, diagonal sash of pale-blue silk.
Allegra had paid her respects with a curtsy, and even managed to murmur a few words of gratitude for his kindness to the Baniards. But the king had responded with a blank stare, then turned and murmured to his companion. Allegra remembered what Grey had said—that His Hanoverian Majesty had never bothered to learn English. “How could you tell?” she asked again. “That he thought I was beautiful?”
Grey grinned. “He’d have to be blind not to think you so. Besides, I know a few words of German. And Burlington translated the rest for me, after the king had gone.”
The king’s appearance, though brief, had added luster to the already festive evening. Lord Burlington was a good host. One of the richest men in the land, if not the most prominent, he had supplied his guests with everything they needed for their pleasure. A corner in the Great Hall had been set aside for the service of tea, and another for conversation and the playing of innocent games of cards. There was music and dancing in a drawing room, food and drink in an eating parlor. Burlington had even set aside a small closet for the more serious gamblers and card players.
Allegra was feeling mellow and contented. The guests they’d met had been warmly friendly to Grey, and gracious to her as his new viscountess. For a few moments, she found herself thinking that perhaps no one would ever challenge him to a duel again. His fears would quietly fade away, and that would be the end of that.
She laughed softly. Foolish Allegra. Foolish hope. As though a man, full in his pride, would ever let that happen! Sooner or later, God preserve him, Grey would feel the need to force a challenge, face his demons once again, prove his manhood in that absurd way of all men.
Grey jerked his chin toward a man who had just come in at the far door of the Great Hall. “Egad, there’s a French dog,” he said, using the fashionable expression to describe someone who was overdressed. “Have you ever seen such a foppling?”
Allegra stared. In a society where masculine simplicity of dress was the ideal, the man certainly called attention to his person. His red satin suit and waistcoat were thickly embroidered with silver, and his white silk stockings had a line of roses stitched up their length. His cravat and cuffs were of heavy lace, and his flowing white periwig was so full that it almost covered his shoulders. He wore a large, decorative sword, and carried a cane as well. He made Batterbee and his friends look plain by comparison.
He lifted his head and smiled sourly across the room at Allegra. “My word!” she gasped. “’Tis Charlie!”
Grey snorted. “So it is. And determined to show society that he has returned to his former glory. I have no doubt I’ll see the bills next week.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your brother has developed the unpleasant habit of declining to pay his bills. When pressed, I’m told, he has been known to say ‘send them to my rich brother-in-law.’”
“Oh, Grey, you mustn’t allow it! Not even for my sake.”
He turned and stroked her cheek with loving fingers. “Allegra, the man has suffered greatly. Grant him a little license. A little time to come back to himself. He’s not as strong as you are, I think. To overcome the past.”
The sneer remained on Charlie’s face as he made his way across the room toward them. “Well, Annie,” he said, “is this assembly worth my time? I’ve just left a masquerade at the Haymarket Theatre. Now there’s a lively place! Half the mothers in London sit up and wonder if their daughters will return home still virgins—after a ball at the Haymarket.” He took a restless turn about the corner of the room, surveying the guests gathered in cozy groupings. “What a mess of dead fish. They scarcely look worth my while. Is there gambling here tonight?”
Allegra bit her lip. “Why must you gamble, Charlie?”
“Why?” he grumbled. “Because I shall never have enough money to satisfy my hungers. I have eight years to reclaim, Annie. Eight long years of whores I never bedded, claret left untasted. Missing roast beef to warm my belly on a freezing, hungry night. I didn’t lead a charmed life. Like your husband here,” he added bitterly.
“Charlie. Dear one.” She put her hand on his sleeve. “Why don’t you go back to Yorkshire for a while? Find peace in that sweet cottage, as I did.”
“Yes. It was pleasant. Glory was as happy there as a Cheapside matron, the simpleminded slut.” He shrugged. “But I sold it.”
“What? Sold it? But why?” She felt a twinge of inexplicable loss, remembering her own happy days in Whitby.
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I had a gambling debt to pay.”
“Faugh!” muttered Grey. “I’ve been hearing reports of your traffic in London for the past two weeks. Your gambling and wild living and all the rest of it. You haven’t lost that much, to need the proceeds from the cottage. Not even at the cockpit.”
Charlie threw Grey a glance of such malevolence that it shocked Allegra. “Am I under your watch?” he snarled. “No, I didn’t need the money. I didn’t want the bloody place. It was tainted by the Wickhams.”
Allegra clasped her hands in dismay. “Oh, Charlie. Forget the Wickhams. Forget the past. Why don’t you settle down and marry?”
He chuckled, an ugly sound. “Marry? When I have a woman like Glory? You haven’t seen her, have you? She’s well named. Ignorant and crude, to be sure. But glorious. The face of a goddess, and the willing body of a Greek slave. The best damned whore I ever had. Maybe I’ll bring her to one of your teas at Morgan House, Annie. That should horrify your refined friends. Eh?”
Allegra frowned. “If you intend to be cruel, Charlie, I don’t want to talk to you anymore tonight.”
He pouted in anger. “Why, then, a pox on you, Annie. And a pox on this lot. I’m off to Belsize, where the gambling is good and the company doesn’t prance around as though their noses were in somebody else’s arse.” He turned on his heel and stormed from the room before Grey could vent his rage.
“Do you still have hope for him?” asked Allegra with a sigh. “I think perhaps my Charlie is long gone, all his sweetness and goodness beaten out of him.”
They wandered through the rooms for the next quarter of an hour or so, stopping to chat with Grey’s old friends from the Guards. As they passed the gaming room, Lord Richard Halford called out to them from the doorway. They exchanged greetings, then followed him back into the closet.
“Are you gambling tonight, Dick?” asked Grey.
Beaming in self-satisfaction, Crompton leaned back in his chair and patted his fat belly. He snapped his fingers at a footman and sent him off to fetch a glass of sack, magnanimously tossing a coin in the servant’s direction. He looked up and saw Grey; the confident smile turned to one of uneasiness. “Ah, Ridley,” he said, “I hear you had a disagreement with my cousin Batterbee in the Mall last week.”
Grey flicked a small speck of dust from his ruffled cuff. “I was resolved to my satisfaction, Sir Henry.”
“Indeed.” Crompton uttered a sound that was halfway between a nervous laugh and a wheeze. “My cousin seemed to think that you would have beaten him bloody with your cane. Like a common stableboy!”
Grey’s voice was edged with steel. “And so I should have. I don’t make idle threats.”
Crompton’s ruddy face turned a deeper shade of red beneath his lavish periwig. “Begad, sir, you’re not a man to be taken lightly.”
“Then, I wonder…” Grey eased himself into the chair opposite Crompton and smiled. “Would you dare to play cards with me, sir?”
“I warn you, sir, I’m invincible tonight.”
“I’ll chance it.”
Allegra snapped open her fan in annoyance. “Really, Grey. Must you?” To gamble on their first night out in society, and with that villain Crompton!
He looked up at her. Though he smiled in reassurance, there was a dark shadow behind his eyes. “Trust me in this, Allegra,” he said softly. “Take a turn around the rooms with Richard. Have a bit of supper. You haven’t lost me for more than an hour or so.”
He fished in his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a silver coin, and placed it under one of the candlesticks that sat in each of the four corners of the table. At once, the groom of the chambers, who was responsible for the cards, hurried forward and set two fresh decks before Grey. “Now, Crompton,” he said pleasantly, shuffling the decks with deft fingers, “shall we begin with all-fours? Five thousand pounds a game?”
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