They were both silent for an indeterminate amount of time, the only sound their equally ragged breathing. Will ran his hand gently up and down her back in a soothing motion and gave her a swift kiss. Everything had changed for them now. But this was his final chance. She never again wanted to discover he’d been dishonest to her, and she damn well never again wanted to find one of his courtesans in their drawing room.
“If I ever see the Signora again, I swear I shall tear the false hair right from her head,” she warned him. “You’ll find I’ll not be as forgiving now as I once was.”
He laughed, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Now that is something I’d almost like to see. Your ferocity is one of the many reasons that I love you.”
“Say it again,” she ordered on a sigh.
“Now that is something—”
“No,” she interrupted, giggling herself. “The other part.”
“I love you.”
She sighed again. She believed him, believed in what they’d just shared. How could she not? “I love you too, Will.”
Tangled up in each other’s arms, they went to dreamless sleep.
he next two days passed for Victoria in a state of utter bliss. She and her husband lingered in bed mornings and afternoons alike, making love to each other until she knew every inch of his body and he hers. It was all very much like a dream from which she had no intention of waking. Ever.
But their idyll wasn’t meant to last, it seemed.
The duke had arrived, and his first order of business was an audience with Victoria. The summons came as a surprise to both her and Will. Afternoon light filtered into her chamber as she prepared for the undoubtedly uncomfortable meeting to come. Keats was putting the finishing touches upon her hair.
“Do you think my dress too forward?” She frowned at her reflection as she asked the question of Will, who had joined her in her chamber, similarly concerned by his father’s odd request.
The duke had refused to greet either of them at his arrival. Instead, he had demanded luncheon in his rooms and a nap, in that particular order. She and Will had been secretly relieved by the respite, but now it appeared they would no longer remain so fortunate.
“I think your dress is splendid,” Will drawled, meeting her gaze in the looking glass. “And if the old codger doesn’t like it, he can bloody well go to hell where he belongs.”
“My lord,” she scolded, aware that as much as she respected and trusted Keats, they ought to at least hold up the pretenses. The duke was Will’s father, after all. “You mustn’t speak thus of His Grace.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like him, and I don’t care who knows it.”
She sighed, her nervousness threatening to get the best of her. Perhaps, she’d reasoned to herself, if she could earn the duke’s respect, she could ease the troubled relationship between father and son. Perhaps there would be a peace between them, or at least a tentative melting of their mutual ice.
“I want to do well by you,” she told her husband. “It wouldn’t do if he thought me an uncouth American bumpkin.”
“There’s no danger of him thinking that, my dear,” Will assured her, his visage grave. “None at all. I disapprove of his monarchal decree that you dance attendance upon him, you know. You needn’t heed him.”
“You could accompany me,” she pointed out, made hopeful by her inner aspirations of reuniting father and son in semi-harmony.
His expression hardened. “No. Give the devil his due. If it’s an audience with my wife that he desires, it’s an audience he shall get. Never let him say we didn’t bend to his whims.”
She wished she could ask him why he’d grown so very serious and bitter, but she was ever aware of Keats’ presence. Instead, she continued her preparations in silence, feeling as if she were the lamb being readied for slaughter. It was most disconcerting.
The duke awaited her in the drawing room. Wilton announced her with a severity she’d supposed only reserved for funerals. Indeed, there was something somber about the entire affair, she thought as she entered the room.
After having spent so much time in her husband’s presence, she noted the similarities between Will and his father at once. They had the same dark mane of hair, though gray dusted the heavily greased strands of the duke’s. His eyes were as blue and probing. The way he carried himself was stiffer and yet still reminiscent of Pembroke, with a signature aura of arrogance. The elder’s whiskers, however, were quite pronounced, his mustache so large it nearly took on the appearance of a small creature.
The effect was almost laughable. She tamped down an inappropriate giggle bubbling up within her throat. Dear heavens, she couldn’t make light of the august man. He held so much of her future within his age-spotted paws.
The duke made an imperious gesture that she supposed meant she ought to sit. Gingerly, she lowered herself to the edge of a particularly uncomfortable settee. The drawing room seemed somehow more imposing with his mere presence. She fussed with the fall of her gown, attempting to hide her nervousness.
“Lady Pembroke,” he said formally when he too had taken his seat once more. “I understand you’ve flourished here at Carrington House.”
She was under the impression only plants flourished, not people, but she wisely kept that opinion to herself. “I’ve merely done my duty.”
“You have not, my lady.” His voice was stern, unforgiving.
His assertion startled her. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” she was bold enough to question him, perhaps a character trait that was down to her proud American heritage. She had worked wonders upon the estate, and with an absentee husband no less. How dare he suggest she had somehow fallen short of his expectations?
“You are to provide an heir.” He impaled her with an impenetrable glare. “You have not done so.”
Goodness. She hadn’t been prepared to speak of such a delicate matter with him. She’d never grow entirely accustomed to the English and their odd notions. She took care in crafting her response. “Your Grace, if you must be so indelicate, then so shall I. The fault of this does not entirely belong to me.”
“I’m well aware of Pembroke’s shortcomings,” the duke growled. “It’s his mother’s blood he has running through his veins. But that’s neither here nor there. I understand that he obeyed me for the first time in his misbegotten life and has returned to share the marital bed with you.”
Victoria stilled. Will had obeyed the duke? Her entire body tensed as though preparing for a blow. She became hyperaware of her surroundings in that moment—the heavy breathing of the duke, the faint footsteps of servants beyond the closed drawing room door, the ticking of the gilded mantle clock. Tick, tick, tick.
She found her voice at last. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“You heard me aright,” he snapped. “The earl has begun sharing the marital bed with you as I’ve asked. ‘Tis half a year too late, but I’m counting myself fortunate that it’s better late than never. I’ll not have the duchy going to my cousin’s spineless, wastrel fop one day if Pembroke doesn’t sire a son. You’ll do your duty until I’ve an heir, by God.”
Her mind stumbled to sift and make sense of what the duke had just said. Pembroke had come to her because of an edict given by the duke? He’d obeyed, the duke had said. That meant everything she and Will had shared—every kiss, every moment of passion, every promise—had all been maneuvered by the hateful man before her. How many times had Will told her he had returned a changed man, that he wanted a new beginning, that he’d returned for her and her alone?
Surely he couldn’t have been lying to her the entirety of the time they’d spent together?
Or could he have? She pressed her fingers to her suddenly throbbing temples. The room seemed to spin around her. She didn’t know if she was going to faint or scream. Will’s words shuffled back through her mind like a deck of cards.
Victoria, I’ve missed you.
I’ve come back to Carrington House because I want to s
tart anew.
I love you.
Had everything been a falsehood, a fabrication meant to woo her into allowing him to provide the duke with a required heir? Dread skewered her. Yes, of course that was possible. He was the same man who had courted and abandoned her, the man who chased after lightskirts and ignored her with practiced nonchalance. She shouldn’t be surprised by the duke’s disclosure. She should not have fallen for her husband’s handsome looks, charm, and knowing hands.
But she had.
“You appear startled, my lady,” the duke observed. “Pray forgive me my plain speaking, but I’ve never been one to mince words. The plain truth of the matter is that Pembroke needs a male heir, or when he and I pass on to our rewards, the man next in line is an unsuitable country fool who will run the estates to ruin. Our family has possessed these lands for centuries. For them and the title to go to anyone other than the rightful heir would be a sacrilege.”
She swallowed, trying to calm her madly beating heart and assuage the awful sense of betrayal overtaking her. “I do understand the need for an heir, Your Grace. You said Pembroke obeyed you. May I be so daring as to ask you what you meant?”
The duke’s eyes narrowed in what she assumed was suspicion. “Forward lot, you Americans.” He sighed, apparently put out by her lack of manners. “I’ve discovered that Pembroke requires an impetus for everything. I threatened to cut him off unless he returned to you and carried out his family obligations.”
If her heart had been a finely cut crystal goblet, it would have been dashed into hundreds of infinitesimal shards in that instant. She wasn’t so fortunate. Her heart wasn’t an object, and it hurt with an intensity that blindsided her. She wanted to leave the drawing room. Her lungs felt as if they could no longer hold air.
This was far worse than Will’s original abandonment of her. He’d told her he loved her. Lies, all of it. He’d connived and betrayed her all in the name of money. Her stomach gave a surge and she feared she’d embarrass herself before the duke.
“I’m led to believe Pembroke didn’t share his motivations for suddenly returning to play husband,” the duke unkindly observed.
She took a steadying breath. “He did not.”
“Ah.” He paused, considering her. “Surely you realize what sort of man he is, my dear. As I said, his mother’s blood flows through him. He isn’t to be trusted.”
It sickened her that the duke spoke so frankly and with such disdain for his own son. Of course, it would appear that Will deserved it, but she found that notion comfortless. Little wonder he detested his father. The sentiment appeared to be a mutual one.
“I fear I’m unwell, Your Grace.” She stood, her legs shaking beneath the layers of her silk afternoon dress. “Please excuse me?”
He watched her in stony silence, his gaze still sharp as rapiers. “You’d be wise not to allow your womanly sensibilities to impede your common sense. Pembroke will get an heir on you because he must. It doesn’t matter how it’s done, simply that it is.”
If she’d been nearer to him in proximity, she would have slapped him, propriety be damned. She was shaken to her core, disgusted by Pembroke as much as she was his father. She understood his reaction to the duke now better than ever. The man was a toad who disparaged his own flesh and thought of nothing other than his crumbling empire.
She raised her chin, forcing herself to be strong and not allow the duke the last word. “You are wrong in that, Your Grace. There will be no heir, for Pembroke will never touch me again.”
With that, she turned and beat a hasty retreat from the room. The duke called after her, but she ignored him. She’d had all the audiences with the awful man that she intended to have. Indeed, she wished very much that she’d never laid eyes upon him and Pembroke both.
Mere days ago, she’d vowed not to let anyone come between them again. How bitterly ironic that the only person who could come between them was the same man who always had. Pembroke himself.
It wasn’t until after she was safely on the other side of the closed door that she allowed the tears she’d been withholding to fall. She hurried past Mrs. Morton, whose benevolent round visage plainly showed her distress. Pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, she rushed to the privacy of her chamber before she humiliated herself any further.
Later that evening, the expected knock came at her door. She had deliberately avoided Will and hadn’t gone down to dinner, pleading a headache. He’d spent the bulk of the afternoon off riding—no doubt an attempt to placate his conscience after his endless deceptions. Of course, that supposed he even possessed a conscience.
“Are you well, my dear?” he asked from his chamber, his tone concerned.
She didn’t answer. Nausea churned in her stomach. A cold sheen of sweat drenched her entire body. She stopped in the act of pacing her chamber, hoping he would simply go away. She didn’t think she could bear to see him just now.
“Victoria?”
Before she could even form a response, the door creaked open, revealing her husband. Of course he would have a key at the ready after last time. She hadn’t thought of that. He wore a dressing gown, belted at the waist, and a worried expression marred the masculine beauty of his face.
It was God’s idea of a cruel jest, she thought again, giving a man with a black heart the looks of an angel.
“Whatever is the matter? It’s not like you to miss dinner.” He started across the chamber, but she held up a staying hand.
“Don’t come any nearer to me.”
He stopped, a look of surprise replacing the distress. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“I’m not your love.” She took a deep, bracing breath, attempting to muster up the strength she would need to go to battle with him. The duke’s revelation had left her shaken and weak.
“What are you on about?” He started forward again.
She retreated, eyeing him warily. “The duke told me the real reason you’re here at Carrington House. I wonder that you sent me to meet him without fearing that he would. Perhaps you believed he would uphold your deceits for you, but it seems yours is a mutual enmity. He told me he threatened to cut you off if you didn’t get me with child. That you’re here with me out of obedience to him. I know that everything has been a lie.”
Her voice broke on the last sentence, but she refused to cry before him. She clenched her fists at her sides, feeling dreadfully impotent. He tried to come to her, take her in his arms, but she pushed at his chest, refusing to be embraced. His face said everything she needed to know. It was true. All of it. He’d deceived her over and over again. I promise. I love you. Dear God, and he’d never meant a single word. The anguish was almost too much for her to bear.
“Victoria, I can explain.” He held up a placating hand.
“No you can’t. I don’t want to hear any more of your falsehoods.”
“I came here for the wrong reasons,” he said, gripping her arms to force her into stillness. “But I stayed for the right ones. I love you, more than I ever thought possible.”
“You only love your own selfish gain,” she snapped. “Unhand me.”
“Calm down, love,” he commanded. “By God, you’ve got to listen to reason.”
Victoria tore herself from his grasp. “No. I won’t listen to you. Get out now, or I’ll scream and bring all the servants down upon us.”
“You wouldn’t.” He reached for her again, this time taking her icy hands in his. “I should have told you myself, and for that I apologize. Surely one misunderstanding can’t erase all that’s happened between us.”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding, Pembroke.” She searched his gaze, trying to comprehend. “You deceived me from the first moment you came here. You said you were here because you’d been remiss as a husband. You said you missed me. I even asked you if you were here because the duke cut you off, and you denied it.”
“What was I meant to say, Victoria? It’s true that the duke cut me off. It’s true that I returned here
with the intention of bedding you and going back to London at the first opportunity. I had no choice when I wed you. I had no choice when I returned here. At least, that’s what I bloody well thought, and I resented you for it. But I see now that I’ve always had a choice. My choice is you.”
“Your choice is my marriage settlement. It always has been, and it always will be.” She balled her fists into her skirts to keep him from seeing how badly they shook. “There was one reason for your return, and it was so you could keep living your wastrel life. God, I can’t believe how foolish I was to believe you after everything.”
His grip on her tightened. “I don’t give a damn about my old life. All of this, all of what we’ve shared, has been real, Victoria. This last fortnight has been the best of my life. Don’t toss it away now over this, I beg you.”
“It’s you who has tossed it away.” Bitterness laced her voice. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel the depth of pain slicing through her now. He had promised not to hurt her again, but he had, and worse than ever before. “I trusted you, did everything a proper wife ought to. I ran your household, loved you, believed you when you told me Signora Rosignoli’s arrival was a mistake. Even when I caught her in your arms, I still allowed you to persuade me it was all innocent. What a fool I was. Did you go to her after we made love?”
“Good Christ, of course not,” he denied. “You’re the only woman I want in my bed and you know it.”
“No.” She shook her head, tears streaming shamelessly down her cheeks. “I don’t know anything any longer, for everything I thought I knew was a farce.”
He released her, seemingly defeated. “I haven’t been a good husband to you. I’m sorry. Sorrier than you know. I don’t blame you if you hate me, Victoria. All I ask is that you not leave me. I can’t bear that.”
Her Errant Earl (Wicked Husbands Book 1) Page 13