by Peggy Waide
"Oh, for God's sake," Reyn said irritably. "Cease behaving like an infant and tell me what bedevils you."
"You sanctimonious hypocrite." She continued to mutter insults while she searched for a new weapon.
"Jocelyn, I suggest you curb your tongue and your behavior, or I will be forced to take action. You will see just how `gallant' I can be."
Deep down, she kept hoping for some reasonable explanation. Her reaction was unreasonable, but her temper now had a will of its own. Like a costermonger hawking her wares, she screeched, "My behavior?"
He took a threatening step forward. "And I promise Tam's presence will not thwart my purpose."
Grabbing the nearby foil, she clutched a pillow to her breast and assumed an offensive position. Caesar chose that particular moment to leave the safety of the chair and curl around Jocelyn's ankles.
Tam's laughter reverberated off the walls. Each heated participant rewarded him with a fierce scowl, forcing him back to the window as the silent observer.
"Put down the sword before you hurt yourself or that cat, and explain yourself," Reyn said as he watched Caesar from the corner of his eye.
Recklessly, Jocelyn advanced on her husband, waving the foil along with her insults. "Explain a certain diamond-and-emerald ring, or where you were last night." He looked dumbfounded, but needing to hear his complete denial, she baited him mercilessly. "How about Madame Chloe? Do you send all your wives to the same modiste? The same modiste you patronize for your mistresses' finery?"
"You are the only wife I have ever had."
"Do not ignore the issue, you insufferable adulterer. I have just one word to say to you." She raised her chin defiantly, ready to deliver her trump card. "Celeste."
"And?"
Exercising little skill and even less control, she waved the sword dangerously close to his nose. "You lecher, can you not think of anything else to say?"
"Enough!" he roared, his composed veneer finally slipping. "Put down the sword."
In a final act of defiance, she thrust forward when with lightning speed he grabbed the other foil, only to knock hers across the room and trap her within his arms. "Tam, witness this example of true marital bliss; but I forget, you once experienced this holy state yourself. I believe I have a greater understanding as to why you no longer hold a wife." Jocelyn struggled, trying to kick his shins. He quickly transferred her to his shoulders like a bag of oats, his foil dangling from his wrist. "If you will excuse us, Tam, I believe my wife and I have something to discuss. Will we see you tonight at the theater?"
"I'm not sure," Tam replied.
"Well, until later."
"Oh!" Jocelyn screeched. She heard the slight laughter in Tam's voice and the arrogance in her husband's. "How dare the two of you discuss the theater at this time."
Reyn slapped Jocelyn on her derriere while Caesar grappled with a loose ribbon on Jocelyn's slipper. Reyn spoke between gritted teeth. "Jocelyn, shut up. Caesar, get out of my way." Enough was enough. He needed to get this woman alone and discover the reason for her sudden attack. With that, Reyn marched from the study, climbed the stairs two at a time, all the while ignoring the flapping, screaming burden he carried as well as the gaping mouths of an astonished staff, who peered from doors and closets along the hallway. When he reached their bedroom, he slammed the door and dumped Jocelyn unceremoniously to the floor, her dress billowing about her knees.
"Oh!" she screamed, "this is unconscionable."
Leaning against the door, his hands crossed before his chest, he said, "My sentiments exactly. I presume you have a reason for providing yet another savory tidbit to be bantered about by our servants."
Briskly, she stood, mirrored his position and blurted her question. "Are you having an affair?"
Reyn could only stare, dumbfounded. Since she left his bed that morning, her mood had changed as dramatically as a spring day on the moors. Insulted by her accusations, he casually offered his instructions. "Mistresses are not the customary topic of discussion between husband and wife."
"Need I ask twice? Are you having an affair?"
How dare she. Hadn't their time together meant a thing? With an exasperated fling of his arm, Reyn's foil sailed across the room, landing with a thud in the center of a plaster rosebud on the wall. "Good God, what would you have me say?"
Snorting indignantly, she remained stubbornly silent.
"Fine. I never claimed to be a monk. Many women have shared my bed. Does that satisfy your curiosity, or would you prefer the specifics?"
"Where were you last night?"
"I told you. I met a friend."
"What was his name?"
"I see no relevance between then and now."
"How convenient."
"What the devil does that mean?" In frustration, he threw his arms in the air. "Jocelyn, I'm warning you. I grow tired of these childish, temperamental innuendoes. What is wrong?"
"Could it be you met your mistress last night? Celeste Waverly?" With a dramatic flourish of her arm, she said, "No need to answer. I saw Celeste today. She provided a fount of information."
"What did she say?" he snarled.
She held a defiant stance, her skin flushed pink with anger, her chest rising in a rapid rhythm. She was magnificent.
"It really doesn't matter. Have you seen her?"
Unbelievable. Unthinkable. After all his kindness, his continued support, she had the audacity to question his actions. She deserved a lesson or two. He said, "I admit it. Since our return to London, I have seen Celeste several times."
Jocelyn turned to the window, but not before he witnessed the moisture in her eyes. Her shoulders quivered ever so slightly. He immediately regretted his words. A lesson was one thing. To deliberately hurt her was something else altogether. Quietly, he stepped behind her to lightly kiss the tender spot behind her ear.
"Look at me," he said, gently coaxing her to turn around. "Yes, I have seen Celeste, but not in the manner you think. I am sorry I made you think otherwise. Your temper, along with the false accusation, made me very angry. There are many issues you and I must yet resolve, but do you honestly believe I would willingly spend time in her bed when I have you in mine? As long as you remain constant, I will not leave our bed for another woman's."
With hope in her eyes, she met his gaze. Her answer was barely audible. "That woman sounded so confident. You left on an errand last night, and when you returned, you behaved quite mysteriously. She suggested... and I...well, I'm sorry."
He remembered the bauble in his shirt pocket, an exquisite bit of jewelry he had bought the night before. He lifted her chin, using his thumb to wipe away a single tear. "As to Celeste, I imagine she is not very pleased with you or me. When rejected, she can be lethal. In all likelihood, she hoped to cause this very reaction." Pausing briefly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black velvet box. "As to my whereabouts last night, I thought to give you this before the Montgomery ball. You have convinced me to do otherwise."
When she opened the gift, she stared at it with eyes wide. She tentatively grasped the golden chain and lifted the heart-shaped ruby from the box. Tiny diamonds, surrounding the red gem, glittered in the sunlight. "Oh my goodness. Reyn, you shouldn't have. I don't deserve-"
"I wanted to."
Burying her face against his chest, she said, "I feel like a fool. How will I ever explain to Tam? I behaved like a complete spoony. I promise I will never let my temper run amuck. Never. Do you forgive me?"
"With all my heart."
"Reyn, I..."
Her unguarded gaze, filled with vulnerability, met his. What he saw there terrified him. He quickly sought a shift in topics. "I rather like this jealous streak of yours."
"I was not-"
His finger touched her lips. "Shhh. I win so few battles with you, let me enjoy this minor skirmish. I missed you this morning, and considering your outburst downstairs, I think today's name should be Kate. You did Shakespeare proud with that little performance
as a shrew. What do you think? Are you a Kate?"
She giggled.
He loved the sound of her laughter. They had already gone through the alphabet once, so every day he arbitrarily chose a name, his selections bordering on absurdity, the choices growing more outrageous each day. He knew that his name game was simply a diversion now, just as he knew her amnesia was an act. Both seemed content to play the game, neither of them wanting to risk their peaceful existence.
Toying with the button on the sleeve of his shirt, she said, "I suppose you wish to tame me, my lord."
He raised his eyebrows in speculation. "You at my beck and call. What a novel concept. Well then, Kate, how do you suppose you can make up for that dreadful scene below?"
Dropping her hand to stroke the front of his breeches, she smiled like a fox in a coop full of chickens. Gone was the open adoration from her eyes, passion in its place.
"Hmmm," he purred, feeling his feet planted firmly on the ground once again. "I think that might be just the thing."
Her lips, meant as a peace offering, met his. Pent-up anxiety created a driving need for exoneration and she threw her arms behind his head, placing her heart and soul into the kiss.
He growled his approval. With equal desperation he carried her to the bed, following her down to the satin coverlet in one fluid motion. All thoughts of Tam or anything else vanished with the waning afternoon.
Jocelyn entered the private box, openly appreciating the opulence of the Royal Palace Theatre. It throbbed with life and laughter, everyone waiting for the curtain to rise on the night's performance. She smiled at Agatha. "By the riches of Midas, I am always astounded by this place. It must have cost the earth to decorate. The fortune could feed a family of orphans for a lifetime."
Agatha slipped her wrap from her shoulders. "I suppose it takes some getting used to. I remember thinking the last Palace quite spectacular before its fiery demise. I believe they did a marvelous job with the reconstruction."
Glancing over her shoulder to see if her husband had arrived, she whispered, "Agatha, I must talk to you."
Eagerly, the dowager cocked her head.
"I realized that Reyn's birthday is next month. I have decided to hostess a surprise celebration in his honor."
The dowager appeared quite stunned. "Oh, my."
"I know Reyn has not celebrated his birthday since his father's accident. This nonsense needs to end. Surely, he has punished himself long enough for his father's death."
"My dear, I couldn't agree more. I am simply contemplating my grandson's reaction. He may have the two of us shot at dawn if we pursue this."
Jocelyn would not be deterred. "I want to give something back to him in exchange for all he has given me. This seems the perfect gift. The affair will be a small dinner party with the closest of friends. We can play parlor games, laugh, dance and remind Reyn that life should be celebrated. Tam and Walter, reluctant at first, have agreed to help. Surely you see the wisdom of the plan."
Walter and Reyn entered the box together. Jocelyn said, "We can talk more tomorrow."
"Come, ladies, do sit down," said Reyn. "You can gawk just as easily without being the open target for every eye here."
As far as Jocelyn was concerned, the best part of the evening came with watching the behavior of the social elite. Giggling as they leaned over the banister, she answered impishly, "Reyn, you make us sound like a spectacle."
"But we are, my dear. Hadn't you heard?" First, he lifted her fingers to his lips, then bent his head to press a quick kiss to her lips, lingering longer than was proper.
"Ahem." Agatha cleared her throat. "Must you maul one another before the gaze of all London?" She attempted to sound harsh, but everyone knew she approved of the growing relationship.
With the soft pad of his thumb, Reyn stroked the contour of Jocelyn's mouth. "Sorry, moonlight, you force me to forget myself."
"Hah! You have never been forced to do anything in your entire life." When he widened his eyes in mock astonishment, Jocelyn added, "Well, almost never. What did you mean about us?"
Walter offered the edifying piece of information. "You and Reyn seem to be the love match of the season."
"Surely you jest?" Jocelyn questioned.
Walter simply grinned before asking Reyn a question, leaving Jocelyn to peer about the theater. Her gaze froze on a box directly across the auditorium as the lavishly dressed woman entered. Celeste Waverly. Covertly, she assessed the woman and grudgingly acknowledged her beauty. Drat her eyes. Glancing back to the two men, she wondered whether Reyn had noticed the woman's presence. Of course he had. Only a dead man would miss Celeste's entrance.
Reminding herself that Reyn spent the better part of the afternoon demonstrating his devotion to her, she felt her confidence soar. She knew he cared for her at least a little. Although she had almost said the words herself, there were no confessions of undying love, which was best. At least, her body held his full attention.
When he settled beside her, an impish whim popped into her head. She tried to sound sufficiently bored. "She really is quite fetching."
Reyn looked around the box to see if someone else entered. Jocelyn tapped him on his knee with her fan and explained. "Lady Waverly." Sighing deeply, she added, "Even with her hair."
Reluctantly, he asked, "Her hair?"
She whispered behind her fan. "I realize that brown is en vogue this season, but 'tis a pity her hair is more the color of possum fur."
Agatha joined the discussion. "Who bought a fur?"
"No one, Grandmother," Reyn promptly answered.
Batting her eyelashes demurely at her husband's dark stare, Jocelyn added. "I suppose the feet are inconsequential, since they remain secreted beneath her gowns most of the time."
Walter, hearing the odd conversation, asked, "What is wrong with her feet?"
"For heaven's sake, Walter, do not encourage this flummery."
Jocelyn blundered along. "I hear they are quite enormous, but then, quite a bit of her is rather large."
"What?" Reyn snapped.
His reaction proved priceless. His mouth opened and shut. Twice. Discreetly, Jocelyn answered behind her fan. "Her breasts."
"Pray tell, what is wrong with her breasts?" Reyn asked incredulously.
Overhearing, Agatha set aside her spyglass. "I beg your pardon?"
"Reyn, really." Jocelyn tried to sound outraged by his inappropriate outburst, then boldly continued. "They are simply too large unless you feel like scaling the Pennines or such. Considering her choice in apparel this eve, I imagine she could balance a flute or two of champagne."
Reyn's gaze flew to the box across the theater. His laughter resonated from the box, garnering the attention of several people in the crowd, Lady Waverly included. As he reined in his behavior, Celeste raised her fan in greeting, an invitation as old as time radiating from her body.
Witnessing the blatant display, seized by wifely proprietorship, Jocelyn reacted. "Why look, Agatha. I do believe Lady Waverly is extending another warm welcome to me." Smiling broadly, Jocelyn raised her arm to execute a jaunty wave. Reyn quickly grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.
"Behave yourself," he whispered.
Before another stir could be caused, the play began. Jocelyn settled against her husband's chest, pleased with the events of the day.
The days drifted by, the spring months giving way to summer. Only three weeks had passed since Jocelyn encountered Celeste Waverly. It seemed far longer when she considered her feelings for Reyn. Her love grew deeper every day. The uncertainty of her future, coupled with the late nights and busy days, had begun to wreak havoc with her body.
Chloe circled, tugging here and there as Jocelyn yawned yet again. "Madame, I can see we must make a few adjustments."
"I beg your pardon?" Jocelyn asked, a thousand miles away in her daydreaming.
"The dress, Lady Wilcott. It is much too tight, n'estcepas?"
For the first time Jocelyn looked, really
looked, in the mirror, understanding the remark. She had expected the bodice to be daring, but it seemed as if her entire breast spilled over the beaded top. "Reyn will never let me leave the house."
"He will prance like a prize stallion. Le due must be greatly pleased. Accept nature's gift. We simply need some additional fabric and if you like, a bit of lace to allow for the coming months."
The comments made no sense to Jocelyn. She waited for Chloe to elaborate.
"The baby, madame. Your husband must be very happy."
Jocelyn felt as though the earth had shifted on its axis. She reached for the back of the small chair in the fitting room and gasped in alarm. "What?"
Chloe first snapped out orders for tea and a damp rag before she discreetly asked her question. "Mon Dieu! Could it be, madame, that you were unaware of the child?"
Jocelyn could only nod her head as she eased herself into the chair. A baby. The words churned wildly with her imagination. She was pregnant. That explained her exhaustion, queasy stomach and tattered nerves.
She felt the damp rag caress her brow, heard the soft fluttering of voices, but remained silent with her eyes closed in order to consider all the implications. She carried Reyn's child. The Wilcott heir. Her. A wife who wasn't supposed to be a wife. A murderess. Someone who had unfinished business and, once all the truths were told, would disgust her husband.
But what if, she thought, the baby represented a new beginning? What if it was fate asserting itself, providing the fork in the road that would allow her to make a choice? Don't be stupid, she reprimanded herself. Wishes came true only in fairy tales.
"Lady Wilcott, are you well?"
Forcing a smile to her lips, Jocelyn said, "Chloe, I am sorry if I startled you. I confess your observations have quite stunned me."
"I hope the news is good?"
"Oh, yes, of course. You understand I wish to keep this news a secret for now. I would like to tell my husband at the right time."