It was some time later when he caught sight of Marianne again, this time dancing with one of her silly admirers. Apparently her sins had been forgiven and her reputation quite recovered. Her waiting throng was as massive as ever, and anyone looking on would never have guessed at her misfortune, or that she had married him.
Was that not what they had all wanted? For her to not feel the effects of her poor decisions?
So why should he suddenly be so very cross?
And as he glowered at the man now making his wife laugh, seeing the youthful and handsome face gazing down at her with such ardor, he could also admit to severe pangs of jealousy.
Had he ever been jealous before?
Of course not. He’d never had a reason to be.
Grinding his teeth together, he found himself wishing most heartily that he hadn’t a reason now. The moment the dance ended, he strode across the ballroom and placed himself directly in front of the man whose hand was outstretched and waiting for Marianne.
“I say!” the idiot protested when Marianne reached them.
Kit did not even spare a glance for him, and kept his eyes on those of his wife, who tilted her head and smiled a little coyly. “This dance is mine,” he said firmly, taking Marianne’s hand.
“No, it’s not. I’ve claimed the waltz!” the man cried.
“I don’t care,” Kit replied, feeling something quite powerful rising within him the longer he gazed at his wife. “I am taking this dance with my wife.”
At least three people gasped, and Marianne’s brow quirked just a little. “You can’t!” the same idiot sputtered, sounding scandalized.
Now Kit did glance back, giving the puppy a withering look. “Are you telling me that I cannot dance with my wife?”
The man colored and fell back a step.
“My apologies, Mr. Banks,” Marianne said in her best polite voice. “My husband has a prior claim.” Her lips twitched into a smile that curled his stomach quite pleasantly. “He will always have the prior claim.”
With as much flourish as he dared, Kit escorted her to the dance floor, and took up the proper position.
“You don’t dance, Mr. Gerrard,” Marianne murmured as her hand rested in his.
“No,” he admitted as the musicians struck up, “but I daresay I waltz.”
Marianne’s smile would have spurred him into dancing the entire night if he were less of a man. As it was, he could barely speak for their entire waltz. He looked nowhere else but at her, and she was just as intent on him. He’d missed her these last few days, when duty and responsibility had forced them apart, and had longed for their ease and comfort of Glendare, when they could be absorbed in each other without seeming excessive. Holding her in his arms now, acutely aware of the perfection in their movements and their fit, he could not imagine ever being more satisfied.
Swirling about the room, seeming the only two there, he felt himself becoming lost, falling further and further away from anyone and anything else. He wanted to swing her up into his arms and beg her to remain. He wanted to crush his mouth to hers, even in this room, and to hell with the scandal. He wanted to give her children, scores of them, and start right away. He wanted to sit quietly in a library with her, stealing glances and smiling for no reason at all. He wanted to hear her playing music when she thought she was alone. He wanted…
Control. He wanted control. And he wanted time.
And damn it, he wanted her.
But not now. Not yet.
The music came to a close and applause filled the room. Marianne was a little flushed, and he was a little short of breath. He kissed her glove and led her back to her throng.
“You were right,” she said, her words rushed.
“About?”
She glanced up at him slyly. “You do waltz. You most certainly do.”
In lieu of carrying her off into the night, he gave her a very smart bow, and squeezed her hand, then left as soon as humanly possible. Only when he was a safe distance away did he breathe again.
“Did you see that?” a woman hissed from somewhere behind the pillar he stood by.
“I thought you said theirs wasn’t a love match!” someone else gushed.
“That’s what we all thought!”
“If that wasn’t the most outrageous display of passion confined to a ballroom, I will eat this fan.”
“Positively smoldering.”
“It will be all over London by morning. The Gerrards are not only a love match, but a shocking one. No wonder he saved her, I daresay the man cannot do without her.”
“The way he looked at her, Cynthia! My goodness, what ardor!”
“I don’t condone husbands and wives dancing for that reason alone. What were they thinking? And a waltz? Really.”
“Don’t be such a prude. They are young and in love!”
Kit was seething by the time the busybodies went away, and he wrenched himself out of his position. He knew he had not been controlled enough during that dance, and there was the proof of it. No one was ever supposed to know his true feelings, and they certainly were not to speculate that he loved his wife. Or that she might, impossibly, return the sentiment.
Could a man not dance with his wife and not be wild about her? Was that so unlikely?
He caught Blackmoor’s eye, and they retreated together, finding the safety of the card room, and the men equally reluctant to dance and attention, much more to their taste.
It could not have been more than an hour and a half later when an agitated young man came into the room and looked around anxiously, seeming desperately relieved to find Kit within.
“Mr. Gerrard,” he panted as he came over and bowed. “Please, sir, it’s your wife…”
Kit groaned and looked up from his game. “What is my wife doing now?”
“She’s all in a rage, sir, and it’s drawing comment.”
He snorted in derision. “Has she struck anyone yet?”
The man seemed to shrink back in horror. “No, sir.”
“What’s it about?” he asked reluctantly, praying it was something silly he could write off.
The young man shifted his eyes nervously to the man next to him. “Lord Blackmoor, sir. The subject of supper was brought up, and it was observed that he was her companion there.”
Kit sighed heavily and hesitated to rise. There was no saying what Marianne would say or do here. A dozen possibilities rose in his mind, and each angered him more than the next.
Blackmoor surprised him by rising first. “I’ll take care of this. I am the subject after all.” He didn’t wait for a response, and left the room quickly.
“Ridiculous,” Kit muttered to himself. “Absolutely ridiculous.” He waited what seemed an age, his mind reeling. He didn’t want to know what had happened in the ballroom and he didn’t want to interfere, especially when he considered what Marianne was capable of.
The creature formerly known as his wife had apparently returned. And with it, the return of everything dark and resentful he’d associated with her.
He nearly groaned when Blackmoor returned the room, his friend’s expression blank. “Well?”
“It’s handled,” he said simply.
Kit winced. “Was it horrible?”
Blackmoor shrugged a shoulder as he picked up his cards once more. “Not really. She refused to dance with me.”
Kit closed his eyes in horror. “Good lord, that woman.” He shook his head, cursing under his breath, and looked back to his friend. “I hope you didn’t take offense.”
“Not at all. I didn’t want to dance with her either.” He suddenly seemed very pensive for a moment.
“Blackmoor?” Kit prodded.
Blackmoor came out of whatever stupor he was in and gave Kit a very frank look. “Why did you marry her? You said you had your reasons. What are they?”
At this moment, he didn’t have a clue. He shook his head, considered the phrasing for a moment, then slowly shrugged. “I just… I couldn’t let anyone
else have her.”
It seemed a weak reasoning in light of what Marianne had done, but it was the truth.
“Interesting.” He looked out of the door towards the ballroom, as if something had caught his attention.
“Blackmoor?”
“Interesting idea, marriage,” he mused, bringing his attention back.
Kit snorted a little. “Not really. You’ve done it before.”
“I’m considering it again.”
If Blackmoor had said he was considering becoming a vicar, he could not have stunned him more. “How seriously?”
He shrugged. “As I said, considering.”
“Well, please consult me before you do something rash,” Kit grunted, shaking his head. “Between my wife and my brother, I have access to more information on anyone than Scotland Yard.”
“Duly noted.” Blackmoor glanced out of the door again, brows furrowed, then he shook his head and went back to their game.
Chapter Twenty-One
Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
They’d been in London just over a week, and Kit had spoken to her only a handful of times since the ball. Worse than that, when he did speak to her, it was in the cool, carefully polite tone from their past. He barely looked at her, even when she’d come to breakfast in her nightgown and wrap again. He’d always had something to say about that, even when they had been fighting. But now, it could not have interested him less.
She’d considered coming to breakfast stark naked to see if that would cause a flicker of any kind, but that seemed a little drastic.
Nothing she did interested him anymore. He was never around, and when he was, he was all indifference. Somehow, that wounded her more than his insults ever had. And she found herself growing more and more bitter, angered, and resentful. What had caused her husband to suddenly change?
She’d tried to speak with him about Lily Arden’s engagement, but he’d brushed that aside with claims of how fortunate she was to have a husband who was respectable and honorable and, if Colin was to be believed, actually interested in her. He thought nothing about the manner in which the arrangement had taken place, assuring her that most of England’s marriages in the upper classes were carried out the same way. And further told her not to create a mountain out of a molehill.
She’d tried to invite him on an outing to the park with her and the children, but he refused at once. There was too much for him to accomplish, he said, for such a pointless venture. Yet later that day, she had observed him out in the gardens with Ginny and Bitty engaged in some imaginary search for treasure.
She’d even asked him to listen and give him advice on her playing, which ought to have delighted him, given his previous passion on her playing and the interest he had wanted to take. But again, he had declined. She had thought, perhaps, he might have exaggerated his musical tastes and abilities before, but she’d seen him helping Bitty with her pianoforte lessons, singing the melody with her, and his voice had been utter perfection. The blending of their two voices as they sang and plunked had brought tears to Marianne’s eyes, and the joy on Bitty’s face had softened her bitterness.
Kit would be a marvelous father.
If they ever got around to that.
It became very apparent to her, after days and days of the same, that the problem somehow lay with her. He was just as attentive to the children and his associates, and behaved as he ever did when they were in public. He even glared at the attention she received, as he had before, but it seemed to go unnoticed by all but her. He was polite and respectful, and no one seeing them would find anything amiss at all. But the distance between them was greater than it had ever been, and she had no idea why.
She eventually decided that she could not wait for her husband to come to his senses and like her again. She could not spend her days lingering at home, anticipating the slightest bit of attention from him like some infatuated miss. She had to fill her days with better things, and hope that time would soften him again.
Today, she had been more productive than she had been since Glendare, and she felt better for it. She needed to find some useful purpose with her days, and her fortune, and her time, particularly when she would one day be a lady of title, and she might have done so after today. She sighed with satisfaction as she removed her bonnet and gloves upon reentering the house, handing them off to Mrs. Wilton.
“Have you had a pleasant day, Mrs. Gerrard?” the kind woman asked as she gestured for her spencer. “You’ve been gone almost the whole of it!”
Marianne smiled and started unbuttoning the garment. “Yes, very much so. Now, if you don’t mind, I promised Miss Rosie I would…”
“Marianne,” came the sudden bark of her husband, silencing her and causing both women to turn in surprise towards the hallway, where his glowering form emerged.
Marianne swallowed and nodded to Mrs. Wilton, who took the bonnet and gloves only and disappeared. “Yes, Kit?” she asked softly as she rebuttoned her spencer.
He folded his arms in his most intimidating fashion. “Where were you today?”
She blinked and tilted her head, confused at what she was supposed to have done to earn this ire. “Excuse me?”
“You were gone all day. None of the servants or the girls knew where you were.”
Again she blinked, and then frowned at this interrogation. “I was out.”
His eyes flashed ominously. “That’s not good enough,” he growled.
She sniffed and brushed at her skirts with a careless shrug. “I was on several errands today.”
She’d never heard her husband snarl before, but the sound that emerged from him was far too animalistic for it to have been natural. “You tell me your whereabouts right now, or so help me…”
“Are you threatening me?” she interrupted in disbelief, her voice rising with indignation.
His throat worked and she saw a muscle tick in his jaw. “Tell me where you were,” he demanded in an only moderately calmer tone.
She shook her head, suddenly feeling very defeated as the realization dawned. “You don’t trust me.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed. “Whether I do or not is beside the point if you do not tell me.”
Something inside of her burst and she felt a towering rage come over her. “Fine,” she snapped, throwing her hands into the air. “You want to know where I was? I spent the entire day trying to find something useful that I could do with myself, some difference that I can make.” She smiled coldly, as if she didn’t believe it was possible herself. “I went to three charity meetings where nothing was accomplished but gossip, and bad gossip at that, and then I went to call on Gemma Templeton, as she is so downtrodden about Lily’s state, and then, if you can bear the suspense, I went to St. Ann’s Orphan Home to speak with Lady Sprotmire about the work there. And if you have difficulty believing that, you may speak with your great friend, Lord Blackmoor, as he saw me leaving and was kind enough to escort me to Lady Whitlock’s home where we discussed some new music.”
Kit looked a little unsettled by her outburst, and looked away briefly. “That report was unnecessary. I only needed the basics.”
Marianne shook her head slowly and took two steps towards him, then stopped when he took the same amount away. She wanted to cry, but there were no tears. She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. “What’s happened, Kit?” she whispered, feeling broken. “Why are we back to this? We were friends, becoming more than that even, and…”
He held up a hand to silence her. “In the future, please inform myself or one of the servants about your activities beforehand. This is London, and your safety is paramount.”
The coolness… The sheer detachment of his manner killed whatever light of hope had ever existed within her. The wonderful, warm, charming husband she had known for so short a time was gone, and only this cold, immovable man remained.
She swallowed her grief and nodded. “Are you still willing to take me to the opera tonight?”
/> “Of course. We have a box, and your brother and his wife, as well as your aunt, will be joining us.”
She smiled bitterly. “How wonderful. At least one of them is bound to be pleased to be seen with me.” With a mocking curtsey, she walked passed him to the stairs and made her way up, praying she would not crumble.
Generally speaking, there was little about the opera that Marianne did not love. All of the finery and excitement of a ball, with all of the opportunities to see those of importance and influence, but in the sort of setting that required more subtle ways to make an impression, all while enjoying what was usually some breathtaking musical talents and engaging scores. The feeling and passion in opera was so lost on the world, and with the restrictions and confinement of English propriety and high Society, one could feel quite stifled. But at the opera, one could be transported to the emotional realms so foreign to one’s life.
Tonight, however, there was little to find pleasure in.
The music was breathtaking, the arias perfection, the duets tormented, and the show itself quite engaging. She was even dressed in a new ensemble that was destined to make the fashion followers envious, a powdery blue silk with a sheer silver overlay that changed the tone of the blue with every flicker of candlelight. Anna had outdone herself with her hair, intricate curls and folds and decorative pins giving her a look that was nothing short of regal, and she felt as stunning as she looked.
But everything, even her new heights of popularity and the uninhibited looks of admiration she’d received from everyone, fell far short of the satisfaction she had wanted.
Kit had barely glanced at her all evening, though he sat beside her. Their hands had been near enough to touch initially, and once Kit had come to that realization, he had jerked the offending hand away and turned himself as carefully away from her as possible without letting anyone staring into their box know. And there were several pairs of eyes staring into their box.
A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6) Page 26