She spent lavishly in the shop in the hope of ingratiating herself with its owner. As she paid for her purchases with coins, she wished she’d thought to bring Diccon with her to carry her parcels. Instead, she directed Mrs. Thorne to deliver them to Pendon Place.
The way Mrs. Thorne’s round face had shone when Rosamund handed over coins rather than racking up the purchases on account gave Rosamund an idea. She followed that same practice over the next week or so, until she’d amassed all sorts of odd purchases.
“Would you care to explain to me why I now own no fewer than thirty monogrammed handkerchiefs?” Griffin asked.
“A lady in the village embroiders them,” said Rosamund.
“Oh.” He rubbed his chin. Then he shook his head. “No, that makes no sense to me.”
She knew it would anger him if she told him she was trying to restore his standing with the locals, so she said, “An eccentric habit of mine. Why buy three when you can purchase thirty?”
With a kiss on his brow, she left him before he could question her further.
Tomorrow, she was due to interview a legion of potential servants. Hopefully, Griffin would be out of the way while she did so, but she couldn’t help feeling on tenterhooks about it.
She would need to have Griffin’s consent to doubling the wages, of course. It was unfortunate, but necessary, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford it.
Some things were worth a premium, weren’t they?
Somehow, she doubted Griffin would see it that way. However, she’d learned very early in their marriage that she would find him more malleable in the morning when he woke after a night of pleasure with her.
Yes, tomorrow morning it would have to be. For one thing, she did not think she could live in this house a week longer under such conditions. Besides the fact that Peggy and her family were neither skilled nor particularly hardworking, it wasn’t fair to put the burden of a house the size of Pendon Place upon them.
Well, she would do her utmost to make Griffin so sated and happy that he’d deny her nothing. He might not admit it now, but he’d be so much more comfortable in a well-run home. And she would be that much closer to achieving her lifelong dream.
Briefly, she placed a hand over her flat stomach. Yet another reason to seduce Griffin thoroughly and often. She wanted a baby. Her arms ached with longing for a small bundle of soft skin and gummy smiles to call her own.
A grand, well-run house, content workers and tenants, cordial neighbors, and the light and color and diversion of London each spring. Children in the nursery, happy, healthy, and rambunctious. A husband who treated her with the gentleness and respect she demanded and fulfilled her physical needs with a passion and skill she’d never thought to ask for.
All those things were now within her grasp.
If only … oh, if only they were enough.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Griffin couldn’t find Rosamund anywhere. He’d searched all over the bloody inconvenient pile that was his inheritance, without success.
He often toyed with the idea of leaving Cornwall altogether and setting up residence on his Lincolnshire estate, but of course, that wasn’t possible. Though he hated his grandfather and everything the old man stood for, duty was bred into Griffin’s bones. Pendon Place had been his family’s principal seat for centuries. He would not be the one to break with tradition. There was the estate to be run, and besides, he was stubborn enough to stay despite the swell of public opinion against him.
Music floating down the corridor alerted him to Rosamund’s possible whereabouts. The old music room. Lord, he hadn’t visited there in years.
Rosamund must have had the pianoforte tuned because the waltz she conjured from the instrument was pitch-perfect. Griffin loved music, but as neither he nor his siblings could play well and no one invited him anywhere, he’d not heard the pianoforte for a very long time.
Perhaps the last time was when his mother had played and sang for them when their nurse brought them down from the nursery for tea. An ache formed in his chest as it always did at the thought of her.
How foreign and tragic he would have thought it then to be without music for years on end. But at that time, he could not conceive of being without his mama, either.
Pushing those thoughts away, he stepped into the music room.
And caught sight of Jacks in a man’s embrace.
“What the Hell are you doing with your hands on my sister?” he roared.
The music stopped. Jacks and Maddox turned their heads to stare.
Maddox lifted a brow. “Getting my feet trodden on, mostly. If you object, I’d be more than happy to hand the task over to you.”
“I wish you would,” said Jacks, dropping her hand from his shoulder with a huff. “Griffin wouldn’t complain half as much.” She tilted her head to survey her waltzing partner. “You’re as cross as crabs today, Tony. What the Devil is wrong with you?”
“Not the Devil, Jacqueline, please.” Unhurriedly, Rosamund got up from the pianoforte stool and came toward Griffin, holding out her hand. “My dear, your ire is unnecessary. My presence makes it all entirely proper. Your sister must master various patterns of dancing before she has her season. If she doesn’t learn now, only imagine how excruciating it will be for her in a ballroom.”
“Only imagine how excruciating for her poor partners’ feet,” murmured Maddox. He turned his attention to Griffin. “What is this nonsense about a season, Tregarth? Trying to steal a march on me, hmm?”
“I don’t need to take you at a disadvantage, Maddox,” said Griffin. “Your chances are absolute zero, in any case.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Jacks demanded.
Maddox glanced at her. “I’ll explain it to you another time.”
“There isn’t going to be another time,” Griffin said through gritted teeth. “Stay away from her.”
“Or what?” said Maddox coolly. “You’ll throw me off a cliff?”
Jacks gasped. A shocked silence fell over the room.
“Mr. Maddox, that was uncalled for,” said Rosamund quietly. “I think you ought to leave us.”
Was it his imagination or did Maddox’s arrogance dim a little in the face of Rosamund’s reproach?
“Tony!” Jacks said in a low, trembling voice. “Did you mean that? Do you mean to imply that Griffin…” She choked and sent an imploring glance Griffin’s way.
Ever so slightly, Griffin shook his head at her.
Maddox held Griffin’s eyes for a long moment. Then he said, “No, of course I do not. Do you think I’d darken his door if I thought that of him? Allbright was my cousin, after all.” Stiffly, he added, “I beg your pardon, Tregarth.”
Tears started to his sister’s eyes. She cast a stricken look at Maddox. Griffin could not bear to see his gangly, cheerful sister seem so small and unhappy. He’d hoped that period of their lives was over, and now here was Maddox stirring the coals.
It would never be over, he realized now, not if she stayed in Cornwall. He needed to get Jacks away from here if she were to have any kind of normality to her life.
He addressed Maddox. “You heard my lady. Get out of here. Now.”
“Griffin,” said Rosamund in a placating tone. She fluttered a graceful hand toward Maddox. “Mr. Maddox apologized. Let us not alienate the few friends we do have.”
Fury and fear twisted inside him. He knew he sounded unreasonable to her, but he had to get Maddox away from Jacks.
“I accept your apology,” he told Maddox. “But I repeat what I said: Stay the Hell away from my sister!”
Jacks was crying in earnest now. “You can’t stop me seeing Tony! He’s my best—my only friend!”
“We are leaving for London tomorrow, so you’ll have no opportunity to see him in any event,” Griffin ground out. Lord, didn’t she see the dangers? Why should he have to spell it out to her?
Maddox went to her and with one finger, tilted her chin. “There, now,” he said softl
y, but with a dangerous note in his voice. “All this unpleasantness has made you cry, and you know that is not allowed.”
He took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the tears away.
Griffin would have objected to this if he hadn’t seen a look on Maddox’s face that … Oh, the Devil! This was getting more complicated than he could stand!
He glanced at Rosamund and saw surprise and consternation in her expression. She must have seen that fleeting, tender look, too.
“Well, it seems that is settled,” said Rosamund. “Mr. Maddox, if you’ll excuse us, there is much to do if we are to leave here at once.”
“Of course.” With a bow and a half smile for Jacks, he took his leave.
Jacks stared at Griffin with accusing eyes. “Why would you treat him so?” she demanded. “He is a friend, not one of those county people who shunned us when we were in trouble but now beat down our door because you’ve married a well-connected heiress. He was loyal to us from beginning to end!”
“Witness his earlier remark,” said Griffin.
“He didn’t mean that, and you know it,” she said. “Griffin, it has been hard enough here after Mr. Allbright. Why would you take away the one true friend I have left?”
Because he wants more than friendship, you innocent little goose. Because it is dangerous for you to be with him.
Griffin folded his arms. “If you don’t know the answer to that question, you’re a fool.”
“No, Griffin! It is you who are a fool. It is true what they say of you. You are a brute and a beast, and I hate you!”
Her voice cracking on the last words, Jacks fled the music room.
* * *
The music room fell silent with Jacqueline’s departure, but the atmosphere still throbbed with the emotions that had played out there.
“Tell me about Mr. Maddox,” invited Rosamund.
Griffin huffed a sigh. “There is no way Jacks will be permitted to marry him. Lord deVere, her guardian, has a list of possible suitors to choose from, and I can tell you it was hard work getting him to agree to that. If he had his way, he’d marry her off to Lord Malby.”
Rosamund gasped. “Malby! That old lecher?”
“Aye, that’s the one. Friend of my grandfather’s. There was a longstanding arrangement.”
This was all very troubling. Rosamund had observed Jacks and Maddox as they squabbled amiably over the dancing, trading quips and friendly insults. While Jacqueline displayed none of the self-conscious fluttering girls ordinarily engaged in when they fancied themselves in the throes of a grand amour, it seemed to Rosamund that the girl might very well love Maddox but simply didn’t know it yet.
And there was a distinct look in his eyes.…
“But if they are in love,” she said, “you ought not to separate them. It would be cruel.”
He snorted. “Love? Jacks isn’t in love. She’s not at all missish, you know.”
“That is abundantly clear,” said Rosamund with a roll of her eyes. “I have had less success with her than I had hoped. But then the truth is I haven’t tried very hard.” She sighed. “I like her so very well just as she is.”
She paused, then licked her lips, a frown furrowing her brow. “I think Maddox does, too. In fact, I believe that whatever her feelings might be, he is in love with her.”
“Well, he can forget about marrying her,” said Griffin.
“Is his birth not respectable?” Rosamund asked.
“Oh, it’s more than respectable. Junior branch of a very old family, the Maddoxes.”
“But not grand enough for the sister of an earl, I take it?” said Rosamund.
Why did the arrangements in place for Jacqueline make her at once so uneasy and … and angry, too? It was no different from her own situation. In fact, far more generous, because Jacqueline would have her pick amongst a number of eligible suitors.
Was it because she was in love that she wanted the same for everyone else around her?
“Jacqueline would be happy with Maddox, Griffin, I am sure of it.”
“No! Can’t you see how impossible it is?” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Frankly, I can’t. If you would only stand up to deVere—”
“It’s not deVere,” he said loudly. “I do not want her to marry Maddox!”
“But why?” said Rosamund. “You said yourself he is of good family and he clearly doesn’t need her fortune. And she would be near us, Griffin. Don’t you think that would be a wonderful thing for us all?”
“No, I don’t! I want her as far away from here as possible.”
She gasped. “So Jacqueline was right. You did send her to Bath to be rid of her.”
“Damned right I did.”
“And now you want to ruin her life by marrying her to one man when she is more than half in love with another! And he wholly in love with her! It is too cruel, Griffin.”
He laughed. “Cruel, is it? Was it cruel of them to marry you to me?”
Her anger arrested, she said, “That was entirely different.”
I loved you from the first, you thickheaded beast!
“Was it really?” purred Griffin, showing his teeth. He looked like a well-groomed bear now that Dearlove had taken him in hand, but the wildness was still caged inside that well-dressed form.
He said, “From the moment of your birth, you were taught to believe you had no other choice but to marry the man chosen for you. Even at eighteen, when any other girl might dream of a handsome prince to sweep her away, you accepted your duty to marry an ogre without a qualm. Vastly unpleasant though the thought must have been.”
“If I had taken you in dislike, the duke would not have forced me to marry you,” said Rosamund, striving for calm. She hated the groundless self-loathing that made him talk this way. She’d hoped to put a stop to that by lavishing physical affection upon him. It appeared she’d failed.
He used his forefinger to tip up her chin so she looked him in the eye. “But Montford would never have let you have your handsome soldier, would he?” Griffin said softly, his voice sounding like the crunch of gravel underfoot. “There’s no need to deny it. Your high color betrays you, my dear.”
She’d flushed with wrath, not guilt, but he clearly chose to interpret her blushes in the harshest light. “You are offensive, sir.” She jerked her head away from his hand.
He raised his eyebrows in cool skepticism, but his gray eyes sparked with anger and his big body tensed as if he’d spring. “The truth is so often offensive, don’t you find?”
“You have no idea of the truth,” snapped Rosamund. “You make it up as you go along. There is no cause for you to be jealous, my lord. I am sure I have never given you one.”
“I’m not jealous!”
“Yes! You are jealous or you wouldn’t be so angry for so little cause. I would never willingly do anything to injure you, or hurt you. Captain Lauderdale is nothing to me. I don’t care if I never see him again. Does that satisfy you?”
His gaze dropped to the locket that hung about her neck, the one she so often wore. She realized she’d been fingering it again.
“I remember that locket,” he said. “You had it on when we first met. You wear it always.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Show me what is inside.”
She froze. It was his face in the locket, but she’d rather die than admit she carried him with her like some foolish, love-struck chit. She might tell him one day, but he didn’t deserve such a confidence now. Not when he accused her of deceit.
“No,” she said. “I am not going to show you.”
The blaze of ire that crossed his face made her take a hurried step back.
He wouldn’t hurt her. She knew he wouldn’t. But her blood heated and pounded through her veins. She couldn’t let him see.
He advanced on her and she retreated, her hand laid protectively over the locket.
Griffin’s scowl deepened, if that were possible. “As your husband, I command you to show that thing t
o me.”
She licked her lips. “No. It is not a keepsake from Lauderdale—of that, you may rest assured.”
“Then why don’t you want me to see it?”
“It’s private,” she said, halting as her back finally pressed against the wall. She lifted her chin. “I demand that you respect my wishes, Griffin. No true gentleman would do otherwise.”
At her last words, his ferocity intensified. He lunged and made a grab for both her and the necklace. His arm lashed around her waist. His hand came up to grip the locket and tug.
She gave a shrill cry as the chain broke and the locket came away in his big hand.
“You brute!” She wished she knew a worse name to call him, for she’d never been so furious in her life as she was now. So angry, in fact, that she thought she might explode with it.
Before Griffin could step back and open the locket, she brought up her open hand and dealt him a ringing slap on the face.
The locket dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Griffin didn’t even look to see where it went. Instead, he yanked her to him and kissed her, open-mouthed and hard.
She fought him at first, pummeling at his shoulders with her fists and stomping on his foot. But her fists made less impression on him than the beat of butterflies’ wings might have done, and her feet were clad only in flimsy slippers. Still kissing her, he caught her flailing hands in his and pinned them to the wall on either side of her head.
Raising his head, he looked deep into her eyes for wordless seconds. In those moments, she saw all the pain he tried to hide. She saw hunger there, too, and hopeless longing. It was the expression of a starving man peering through a window at a feast he knew he could never eat.
Understanding hit her. Tenderness flooded her, tangling with her fury and hurt. They were all bound together inside her, like a living thing straining for expression. With an anguished little cry, Rosamund kissed him, fervently, sweetly, savagely.
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