The Devil May Care

by Emma V. Leech

  Before he could bring his mind to the subject of commenting on her new look she turned and began directing the footmen to take all of the many hat boxes and packages upstairs where Mrs Goodly would no doubt be kind enough to deal with them.

  Clearly sensing tension Mrs Goodly agreed to this with alacrity and practically ran up the stairs.

  “Milly,” Beau said, reaching out and catching her hand as she made to follow her. “Milly, I must speak to you.”

  To his astonishment Milly just sighed and patted his hand. “Yes, I expect so, but not now please, Beau. I'm dreadfully tired. I had no idea how tedious shopping could be. I declare I'm ready to drop. Perhaps you could arrange for some tea and cakes to be sent to my room. I'm too exhausted to eat dinner, I'm sure you won't mind. You could go to your club,” she added with a bright smile and began to make for the stairs again. Momentarily stunned at being made into an errand boy it took him a moment to come about again.

  “Damn it, Milly, no! I must and I will speak to you,” he said, wondering what in the blazes had come over his wife and how he was expected to deal with it.

  “Oh, very well,” she replied, sounding really rather cross with him. “But if you please in the parlour, I'm sure you don't wish the household to listen in on you.”

  He trailed in her rather stormy wake to the parlour feeling very much ill at ease. Once alone with his wife as he'd been longing to be for the best part of two days he was suddenly at a loss for what to say to her. She sat down in a flurry of blue satin and looked up at him, her brown eyes glittering with impatience. One imperious eyebrow rose. “Well?” she demanded.

  He cleared his throat. “I ... Milly, about Mrs Hadley ...”

  Milly frowned at him. “Who?”

  Slightly wrong footed, Beau stared back at her and ran a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit that infuriated his valet and he'd tried to cure himself of but appeared to have failed. “Mrs Hadley, I think she ... she visited you yesterday.

  “Oh!” Milly said as the penny dropped. “That odious creature.” To his surprise she got to her feet. “Really, Beau, I'm not in the least bit interested in discussing your latest flirt but I must say I was shocked at you. What a disagreeable woman, I really thought you had better taste, but that's your own affair I suppose. If you could at least prevent your latest petticoats from coming to Ware and bothering me, however, I should be obliged ... really, it was too vulgar.”

  Beau looked at her in undisguised shock. She didn't care in the least. A cold feeling wrapped itself about his heart and all the hopes that he'd had in proving his innocence to her evaporated. She didn't care if he was innocent or not. She simply didn't care.

  “But Milly she's not ... I have no interest in her ...”

  Milly laughed and shook her head, glossy dark ringlets dancing around her sweet face. “Indeed I should think you would have grown bored of her already. Frightful creature!”

  He watched as she made for the door and reached for the handle.

  “But Milly,” he exclaimed, wondering how this was so far removed from how he had imagined it. “What about my note ... I ... I didn't mean to frighten you with it or ... please, love, you must understand I meant no disrespect.”

  To his dismay she looked back at him, her brown eyes wide and quizzical. “Note?” she replied, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “I never got any note, Beau.”

  “B-but I gave it to Rexom to give to you ...”

  “Oh!” she said, her face clearing as her lovely mouth creased into a smile. “I do remember! I'm so sorry, I must have forgotten to read it. Mrs Goodly gave it to me just before I went down to dinner but I was so famished I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry, how birdwitted I am to be sure. Was it important? I promise to read it the moment I get home.”

  Beau stared at her. He knew that in some way she was playing games with him but he was too hurt to figure it out. Without uttering a word of protest he just watched as she favoured him with a dazzling smile. “Goodnight, Beau.”

  Beau watched the door close and went to fix himself a drink, though no amount of alcohol was going to fill the empty space in his chest. He had no intention of getting foxed either. He needed his wits about him to deal with his wife. She was up to something, no doubt about it.

  The dress, he reasoned, was revenge. No matter what she really thought about Mrs Hadley, having a woman she believed to be her husband's mistress call on her could only have put her in a flame. He allowed himself a glimmer of hope. She wouldn't have gone to such trouble to show him what he was missing if she didn't care.

  He almost laughed, my God, if she knew how tormented he'd been by those damned high -necked gowns she could have saved her blunt. Not that he hadn't appreciated the sight of her. His body ached for her. He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more but to climb the stairs and demand entry to his wife's bedroom. But he wouldn't.

  His father had been the kind of man to take what he wanted no matter what. Beau and his brother had been the result of such a union and he'd born the guilt of that his whole life. No woman had ever come to his bed unless they wanted to be there. In fact he had always preferred to toy with his lovers until they were at such a pitch that they would beg to be there.

  “Hoisted by your own petard,” he muttered and took a sip of brandy. She was clearly intending to teach him a lesson and he could do nothing more than allow her a victory. The pity of it was that she didn't know she'd already won.

  Chapter 21

  “Wherein jealousy sets fires.”

  Beau woke after a fitful night as his valet came into the room. Dreams of removing his wife's high necked gowns had been overlaid by others of a cruel creature in a blue dress who laughed at him every time he dared touch her hand.

  Feeling uncharacteristically fragile he allowed his valet to select his clothes for him without a murmur of dissent. This was so out of their normal routine which generally involved a deal of haggling, that Purefoy was moved to demand if his Grace was feeling quite the thing this morning.

  Ignoring this comment Beau walked to the window to look out before beginning the taxing job of tying his cravat, something he positively refused to allow Purefoy to do for him. His attention was taken however by an unfamiliar carriage drawn up outside his home.

  With a dark and terrible feeling growing in his chest he watched as a tall and serious looking young man handed his wife into the carriage.

  “What in the name of ...” He looked up to see Purefoy had also been watching proceedings with interest. “Who the devil was that?” he demanded, to which Purefoy looked alarmed.

  “I couldn't say, your Grace,” he replied, holding a dozen pristine white cravats over his arms for Beau to choose from. “Perhaps a relative of Lady Ware's,” he ventured, adding with a soothing tone. “He looked a rather bookish sort, Sir.”

  Purefoy took an involuntary step backwards at the dark glance Beau cast him before stalking out of the room. Yes, dammit, Beau thought savagely. He had looked a bookish type. Probably some damned intellectual who could speak intelligently to his wife about ... about ... well about damned well anything! Beyond furious he threw the door of his wife's room open and looked around.

  Everything was neat and orderly but a subtle scent of perfume lingered in the air. Milly never wore perfume. At least not for him. His jaw tightened. Opening drawers one after another he searched for some clue of infidelity. By God if the fellow had touched her he'd kill him.

  The drawer by her bedside table rewarded his search. An address, written in a masculine hand. The address was in an artistic part of town, but certainly not one that Milly had any business in venturing to.

  By the time Beau's own town carriage was ready he was so overwrought he thought there was a fair chance he'd wouldn't wait to call the bastard out. He'd murder him in the streets with his bare hands.

  ***

  Milly looked across at Mrs Goodly with concern. The poor woman had been utterly horrified when Milly had admitted just who she'd be
en to see the day before. More than that however she looked pale and drawn and more than a little unwell.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Edith,” she asked, reaching across the carriage with concern.

  “Oh, I'm quite alright, dear. Just rather a headache I'm afraid.”

  Milly looked up as the address they been bound for appeared outside the carriage windows. “Perhaps we should do this another day,” she said, frowning at her friend and feeling concerned. This was all her fault. Poor Edith probably hadn't slept a wink last night, what with Milly's revelations about Dasher and her rather daring new dresses.

  She was wearing one now. Although it wasn't visible beneath her spencer she had to admit that it made her feel good, more ... confident. She also had to admit to feeling a little flush of triumph when Mr Priestly had given her an openly admiring look of appreciation. Not that she had the slightest intention of encouraging such behaviour, but still ... it was rather nice not to be completely overlooked.

  “No, no, you must go in and get the engraving sorted so the notice can be put in the papers." Mrs Goodly said. "I'll just sit in the carriage, if you don't mind that is? Mr Priestly will take good care of you I'm sure.”

  “Indeed I will be the finest guard dog imaginable, your Grace,” Mr Priestly said, his grey eyes rather too warm and much less serious than usual.

  Urged on by Mrs Goodly's assurances that she was really quite alright and just needed a moment to sit quietly, Milly allowed Mr Priestly to hand her down from the carriage with a little misgiving.

  The business of commissioning the engraver was swiftly dealt with as the man gave Milly an assurance that he knew just what was needed as her little drawing was so finely drawn. Well aware that she was being flattered, Milly was nonetheless pleased as looking at the engraver's superior work that adorned much of the walls of his office, he clearly knew what he was doing.

  Once back outside they looked about for the carriage and discovered it had been forced to move further down the street to allow for a delivery of ale to be made at the Inn next door. Taking Mr Priestly's arm, Milly allowed him to escort her down the street.

  ““Oh,” she said, looking in the window of a bookshop as they passed by. “They have Ormond, I do love Maria Edgeworth.”

  Mr Priestly nodded with enthusiasm. “Have you read her Letters for Literary Ladies?”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Milly in surprise. “But don't tell me you have?”

  “Very well,” he replied, laughing at her. “If you insist, I won't. I did though.”

  She looked up at him with curiosity. “And did you agree that women ought to be educated, not just left to sit about looking pretty?”

  “Well naturally,” he said, smiling at her with an easy warmth that was a little at odds with his rather austere appearance. “It is our Christian duty to educate both ourselves and others. And any man who could doubt the superiority or worth of an educated woman need only spend a few moments in your company, Madame.”

  Milly blushed, more from the tone of his voice than from his words. “Goodness,” she said, feeling flattered but also a little uncomfortable with the obvious admiration in his eyes. “Well that's very kind of you Mr Priestly. I think perhaps we should get back to Mrs Goodly now, though. She'll wonder where we've got to.”

  “Oh, Mrs Goodly can wait just a moment I think,” he said, moving towards the doorway. “I must just pop in and buy Ormond. I've nothing to read you see and I have a thirst for a good story.”

  He seemed so enthused that it would have been churlish to insist, and after all it would only take a moment to buy the book, so Milly went with him.

  A few moments later they emerged again with Mr Priestly holding his new book wrapped neatly in brown paper.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to Milly.

  She looked up at him in confusion. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “It's a gift, Madame. It's been such a pleasure working with you. I don't think I've ever been so inspired or excited by a new project. I would just like to thank you for involving me.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. She didn't feel comfortable taking gifts from someone who was supposed to be a business acquaintance, not a friend. No matter if he was charming company. “If you want to thank someone you should give that to Mrs Goodly, after all she recommended you.”

  “But I want to give it to you, Lady Ware,” he said, pressing it into her hands. “It is only a book after all,” he added laughing. “And I have the feeling this project will be so successful you are going to make my fortune for me, so it is a terribly shabby thank you really.”

  Milly was too delighted by his faith in her success to continue to refuse his gift, after all it was just a book.

  “Very well, Mr Priestly. If that's the case I shall accept your shabby gift with very good grace and thank you kindly for your consideration. After all, I dare not upset you in case you lose enthusiasm and we fail at the last hurdle.”

  “Indeed no, that would never do.” He laughed and she put her hand back on his arm and continued back towards the carriage.

  ***

  Beau stood on the other side of the shop and watched his wife come out of the book shop with another man. They were laughing together and Milly blushed, her pretty cheeks tinged pink as she refused to take the gift he had obviously bought for her. But her young admirer was ardent in his desire that she accept and in the end she was persuaded. Beau wondered what else the bastard had persuaded her into.

  Jealousy wrapped around him, heavy and smothering like damp wool until his chest felt too tight to draw a breath. He couldn't remember ever being this angry or so very hurt. He wanted to kill the man at her side so badly he only hoped the bastard would provoke him. Yet he could do nothing that would cause a scandal. He wouldn't have people gossiping about Milly.

  He didn't want to believe she was being unfaithful to him and clung to the belief that she was merely being led along a dangerous path. She probably thought this man was just being a friend to her. No doubt she enjoyed the fellow's intelligent conversation he thought, with the bitter rejoinder that she obviously didn't think Beau capable of it. The only book he had tried to discuss with her had certainly not been the kind that led to profound conversation. Conversation had been the last thing on his mind.

  Her companion certainly looked like an intellectual. Perhaps five or six years Beau's junior he was slender and grave in looks. Beau could well believe the fellow had been tormented in school for being bookish and useless as sports. Somehow it didn't make him feel any better. With fury Beau saw the look in the man's eyes as he walked closer and felt certain that conversation wasn't the only thing on the bastard's mind either.

  They looked up as he strode over to them and his temper wasn't improved by the flash of guilt in his wife's eyes. If she wasn't doing anything wrong why did she look so damned guilty?

  “Beau!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with alarm. She saw his gaze travel from her to her companion and the hand that rested on his arm. Her jaw tightened and her expression became defiant. “How extraordinary to see you here.”

  “Yes,” he replied, turning an icy cold gaze on the man beside her. “Isn't it.” To his satisfaction he discovered that he was a good deal taller and broader than the slight man who was staring back at him. The contempt in the man's eyes told Beau everything he needed to know, however. The man thought him a dandy, a foolish frippery fellow with not a thought in his head past what he would wear that day. “Won't you introduce me to your friend, Milly?” he asked, a dangerous tone to his voice that her friend would do well to heed.

  He noted the glitter of irritation in her eyes. “Beau, this is Mr Priestly. Mr Priestly, may I present my husband to you, the Duke of Ware.”

  Mr Priestly bowed but his manner wasn't the least bit deferential, in fact it was downright insolent. “A pleasure, your Grace,” he said, a faintly mocking smile flickering over his thin lips.

  “Mrs Goodly was Mr Priestly's nurse f
or many years, Beau,” Milly said, smiling at him, her eyes a little too bright. “We were going to spend the morning at Hatchard's but Mrs Goodly isn't feeling very well so we just stopped so I could buy a book before we return home.”

  “But Hatchard's book shop is closer to home than this out of the way little place, love,” Beau said, holding her gaze. “And I wonder that Mr Priestly didn't buy the book for you. Not very galant, Mr Priestly.” He turned back to her companion raising one eyebrow just slightly. “But then I imagine you are too much the gentleman to buy gifts for married ladies, aren't you? Always wise, I feel. You never know what kind of trouble you might land yourself in.”

  Mr Priestly held his gaze though there was a definite flush to his thin face now. “I must bow to your superior knowledge of such matters, Sir.”

  “Why you impudent pup!” Beau stepped forward and had the satisfaction of watching Mr Priestly flinch but Milly stepped between them.

  “Don't you dare,” she breathed, glaring at him.

  With a remarkable effort Beau held out his arm to his wife instead of beating Mr Priestly to death in public. Milly stared at him, fury glinting in her dark eyes.

  “We're leaving now, Milly,” he said, daring her to contradict him.

  “But Mrs Goodly is in the carriage waiting for me,” she said, a dangerous glint in her eyes that didn't escape him.

  “I'm sure Mr Priestly can be relied upon to escort Mrs Goodly home.” Beau bit the words out, too furious to wonder what kind of figure he must present to Mr Priestly as he took Milly's hand and placed it firmly on his arm. He turned back to Mr Priestly every word infused with menace and the strong desire the kill the man with his bare hands.