Shuddering, she forced away the memories.
Despite all those weeks of trying to prepare herself, she didn’t know if she could go through with it tomorrow, either. Or the next day or the next. No matter how competently she might be fulfilling the other duties of a wife, she couldn’t do this.
Marrying Giff had been a dreadful mistake.
What was she to do about it?
All she knew was, after what had happened tonight, she couldn’t remain at Fensworth and deal with him now. The ease of being with Giff, the satisfaction of helping him cope with the problems that had been dumped in his lap, the teasing, intoxicating, sensual thrill of his physical nearness—all of that had lured her into inviting him to begin something tonight that she hadn’t been able to finish. She needed to get away from his disturbing, brain-numbing presence, so she could think clearly and decide what to do next.
She stood, waiting for her heartbeat to slow before she rang the bell to summon the maid who would help her prepare for bed.
Tomorrow she’d tell Giff she was returning to London.
* * *
And so, the next morning, after having barely slept, Temper rose early, needing to talk with Giff before he rode out with the estate agent. Sitting in the breakfast room, her ear perked for the sound of his footsteps, she toyed with a cup of coffee, her stomach too queasy to tolerate food.
Fortunately, a letter the maid brought to her last night, delivered to Fensworth by a servant returning late from the village, gave her a perfect excuse to implement the course of action she’d already decided upon.
Then the sound of bootsteps in the hallway reached her. She put a hand to her throat, conscious of the sudden acceleration of her pulse.
‘Temper!’ Giff said, halting in surprise when he saw her. ‘What are you doing up so early?’
She curved her lips into a smile, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt. ‘I wanted to catch you before you rode out. I... I’ve had a letter from Pru. She and Johnnie are about to leave on their first voyage. Since I don’t know when I might see them again, I want to return to London and bid them goodbye.’
‘Of course,’ Giff said, walking over to pour himself some coffee. ‘It will be ten days or so before I can leave, but you needn’t delay. When do you think you’ll be ready to go?’
‘Today.’ At the surprise on his face, she added hastily, ‘I must leave immediately, or I shall miss them. And I don’t have much to pack. We departed London in such haste, only a few of the new mourning gowns I’d commissioned were completed. All the rest should be awaiting me in London.’
‘Today!’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon. But I wouldn’t want you to miss saying goodbye to Pru.’
‘Thank you for understanding, Giff. I’ll leave you to your breakfast,’ she said, rising from her chair, ‘and go start my packing.’
He caught her hand as she walked by him, stopping her flight. ‘The packing shouldn’t take you long to do?’
When she continued to look away, not meeting his gaze, he sighed. ‘I’m sorry about last night, Temper. I was...too hasty. I didn’t mean to...frighten you. I promise, when I rejoin you in London, I’ll do better.’
Ah, but could she? Or would it be better for her to repudiate her responsibilities, take a draft on her bank and begin provisioning a voyage—somewhere, anywhere—immediately, so there was no awkward reunion in London?
She’d figure that out after she got to back to Vraux House.
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for,’ she said. This whole debacle is my fault, not his. ‘I’ll...see you in London, then.’ Maybe. ‘Goodbye, Giff.’
Gently pulling her hand from his grip, she hurried out of the breakfast room.
* * *
A week later, Temper mounted the entry stairs at Vraux House, having just bid farewell to her sister and her new husband as they left on their maiden voyage. She couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming envy of them for setting out on the adventure she’d always dreamed would be hers.
And for looking so happy in their marriage when she’d made such a hash of her own.
On the drive back to London, through the days and nights since, she’d done little but agonise over what to do about her dilemma. Insist on adhering to the original terms of their bargain, despite Giff’s change in status? Flee to the West Indies? Force herself to do her duty, whatever the consequences?
The options kept going around and around in her head. Giff would be returning to London soon and she still had no idea which one she should choose.
As she crossed the second-floor landing, heading for the next flight up to her chamber, she noticed the library door was open, her father at his desk within. Acting on impulse, she checked in mid-stride and turned to enter his inner sanctum.
Unusually, he looked up as she walked in. ‘Temperance?’ he said, as if not sure he’d recognised her.
‘Yes, it’s me, Papa,’ she said, coming over to stand by his desk.
‘I gave you away to be married, didn’t I? Where is your husband?’
‘Gifford is still at Fensworth, settling matters at the estate. He’ll be returning to London soon.’
Her father nodded. ‘Good. He should be nearby, where he can protect you.’
Emboldened by her own desperation, she said, ‘Is that why you married Mama? To protect her?’
At first she thought, as he had when she’d questioned him before, that he would simply not answer. Then, at length, he nodded. ‘I knew her family would force her to marry money. Viscount Loxley wanted her. He was a bad man, he would have hurt her and she is so lovely—a treasure that must be safeguarded. Like you and Prudence. I couldn’t give her—other things—she needed, but I could keep her safe and let her choose the men she wanted.’
‘So...you loved her?’
He shrugged, as if the word didn’t have any meaning for him. ‘I could protect and support her.’
And wasn’t that love, of a sort? Perhaps the only sort of which her father was capable? One couldn’t expect of someone more than they had the resources to give.
‘Did you ever tell her that?’
Lord Vraux shook his head. ‘Why would I?’
Temper sighed, feeling a wave of sympathy for her father—and her mother. The world of emotion was foreign to him and trying to talk about it resulted in a conversation about as revealing as if she’d been questioning him in English and he responding in Urdu.
Before she could say anything else, he’d turned his attention back to the object on his desk—an illustrated medieval manuscript, its luminous blues, yellows and reds gleaming in the light.
Knowing he’d already forgotten her existence, Temper walked from the room.
Love came in many different shapes and varieties. The stilted, limited variety her father had given her mother hadn’t been enough for her—yet it was probably all Vraux had to offer.
Would a limited marriage be enough for her—or for Giff?
Especially if, as Lady Sayleford claimed, he truly loved her? She’d not yet forced herself to fully examine how she felt about that possibility. How deeply her own feelings were engaged towards him.
She couldn’t begin to consider those questions until she determined what she meant to do about the more immediate problem of whether, or how, she could live with him.
She told herself that he had agreed to her terms before they wed. He did have cousins to step into his shoes, safeguard the estate and carry on the family name, without needing heirs of his own body. The fact that he was now an earl shouldn’t change anything.
But a small voice inside kept whispering that she, who prided herself on courage, was really just being a coward. That Giff was valiantly shouldering broad new responsibilities—while she was failing him in the only duty that counted for a peer’s wife. Especially if he loved h
er, she owed him more.
She owed him an heir.
When he joined her in London, she would have to do better.
* * *
In the late afternoon a week later, with more than a little trepidation, Gifford Newell walked up the stairs to Vraux House.
‘Lord Fensworth!’ Overton said in surprise as he opened to door to him, a smile creasing his normally impassive face. ‘Welcome back to London! Her ladyship is in the garden. Shall I tell her I’ll bring tea to the front parlour? Or...would you prefer her to meet you in your rooms?’
As most newlyweds would? Giff thought, biting back an ironic smile at Overton’s discreet phrasing. ‘I’ll need to wash off the dust of the road. You can tell my wife that I’ll be in my rooms.’
Thus giving her the choice. Would she come up to him? Or send a footman to say she’d prefer to meet him downstairs for tea?
It probably depended on just how badly he had frightened her. For there was no escaping the conclusion that it had to have been his rather limited advances—and not so limited display of ardour—that had sent her fleeing back to the safety of London.
He sighed as he trotted up the stairs. If her sojourn back home had convinced her they must revert to the original restrictions she’d imposed on their marriage, he had no right to protest. He’d given his word, after all.
It wasn’t fair, just because an earldom had fallen out of the sky to settle on his shoulders, to expect Temper to change something that, for reasons he hadn’t yet been able to determine, she had felt so strongly about she’d hinged her whole acceptance of his proposal on them.
And so, if he had to, he must live with them. And hope that, in time, he might discover enough of the reasons behind her reluctance to help mitigate the constant state of frustrated arousal that bedevilled him.
* * *
Just in case, Giff dismissed his valet as soon as the man brought him hot water and towels, telling him he intended to rest after his long journey and would call him when he was ready to dress.
Unlike Overton, Miles permitted himself a grin before bowing himself out with a cheeky ‘Enjoy your rest, sir.’
It appeared everyone in the household expected he would be disporting himself with his new wife. Except, probably, his new wife.
Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to feel rather foolish when he called Miles back, if she didn’t come to his rooms, he had just wiped his dripping face when he heard a light footstep pause outside his door. Then a knock, and Temper’s voice calling, ‘Giff, may I come in?’
The half-arousal he’d been fighting for the last hour, knowing he would soon see her again, hardened instantly. Through a suddenly dry throat, he croaked out, ‘Of course.’
He mustn’t assume, just because she was joining him, that she was ready to give intimacy another chance. She would know as well as he what the whole household expected of a newlywed couple’s reunion, and wouldn’t want the staff speculating about the state of their marriage.
Patience, he urged himself, his hands trembling as he replaced the towel and turned to greet her.
She was walking towards him, looking so lovely and so welcoming that his chest tightened. With her golden hair and warm smile, she was like sunshine filling the cold and lonely void of a heart that had never received the affection it craved from the family that had been supposed to love him—and hadn’t.
To his deep satisfaction, she allowed him to embrace her. Thank you, Lord, that I didn’t frighten her away completely, he thought as he held her, breathing in the sorely missed jasmine scent of her. Whenever restraint was required, he would master it to keep her here, in his arms, where she belonged. Where he needed her. Even if this was all he would ever have of her.
When she pulled back, mastering the urge to hold on, he let her go. ‘How stunning you look! I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.’
She laughed—seeming, to his infinite relief, to have regained the ease in his presence that had been so notably lacking their last morning at Fensworth. ‘In ten days? And you’re just being gallant. I look like a hag in black!’
‘Nothing you wear in any colour could ever make you look remotely like a hag,’ he retorted. ‘Shall I have tea sent up? Or...would you rather take it in the parlour, after I’ve made myself decent?’
‘I...thought we might remain here. And possibly become even more...indecent.’
His pulse rate accelerated so violently, he felt dizzy. ‘You’re giving me that chance...to do better?’
She nodded, looking nervous, but determined. ‘I’d give us both that chance.’
Almost too afraid to breathe, Giff walked over to her, cradled her chin in his hands and leaned down to kiss her, hoping that first contact conveyed all the tenderness and respect and awe he felt for her, while muting the need.
To his great delight, she opened her mouth to him, inviting the invasion of his tongue. His arms went around her, pulling her closer, as his tongue played with hers, light strokes and parries that deepened and intensified.
Then, when she pulled his shirt from his trousers and ran her hands up the bare skin of his chest, he could wait no longer. Every sense exulting, he lifted her, carried her to the bed and laid her gently back against the pillows.
She settled back and, without any further preliminaries, started drawing her skirts up towards her waist. Startled out of his sensual haze, he stopped her hand—and looked into her face.
A face that was set, resolute—and devoid of any trace of desire.
Inwardly cursing, he sat down beside her and smoothed her skirts back down to her ankles.
‘You look like one of those Christian martyrs, tied to the stake and waiting for the lions to be released. What sort of beast do you think I am?’
She attempted a smile. ‘I know you won’t...ravish me.’
He tried to contain the frustration, disappointment—and hurt. ‘I have my pride, too. If my touch is so...repugnant, I certainly won’t force it on you.’
‘No, it’s not that! Surely you can tell that I find you...attractive.’
‘Then what is it?’ he demanded. She flinched and he made himself soften his tone. ‘I’m just a simple male, Temper. I don’t understand and I want to.’
She shook her head, tears starting at the corner of her eyes. ‘I should never have married you. If I’d known you were going to inherit...’
‘What, unworthy me, becoming Earl?’ he snapped, devastated that she might share his mother’s opinion of his abilities after all.
Her eyes widened. ‘You unworthy? How could you believe I think that? It’s quite the opposite, really. You deserve to have married a lady of impeccable reputation. Someone better. Someone...whole.’
He stared at her. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
With a deep sigh, she swiped at the tear that had started to slide down her cheek. ‘I suppose you deserve the truth. So I will...tell you what I’ve never revealed to anyone. But you must promise never to breathe a word of it to another living soul. Absolutely no one. Do you promise?’
‘Of course! Though I can’t imagine any sin you could confess worthy of the distress it’s obviously causing you.’
‘How about the fact that I’m not really a maid?’ she spat back bitterly. ‘That I’ve been...used.’
Chapter Twenty-One
As Giff stared, trying to take in that incomprehensible thought, Temper began, her voice almost expressionless. ‘I was fifteen. We were staying at the country house of one of Mama’s friends. Papa, as usual, remained in London. Pru had lingered in the parlour, playing charades with some other guests, but I wanted to walk through the gardens. They contained a grotto that was, for me, an enchanted space. I thought it must resemble the exotic landscapes of India or the Far East I’d read about and longed so much to visit.’
She paused and he waited, sick about
what he knew must be coming, anxious to know the whole story, though knowing he mustn’t rush her.
‘I was sitting on a bench, listening to the splash of water in the fountain, when I suddenly realised I wasn’t alone. A man stood at the grotto’s entrance, watching me. I later learned that he’d attempted to force his attentions on Mama and been slapped for his efforts, dismissed and told never to return. So when he came upon me he was angry...and aroused.’
She blew out a breath. ‘The short of it is, he...forced himself on me. Growing up as I did, I suppose I should have guessed what he intended, but I didn’t. Not until he’d pinned me on the ground under him and dragged up my skirts. He was so heavy, I could hardly breathe! I fought him, but it was too late, I had no leverage and he was too strong. Afterwards, he went off and I just...lay there. Stunned. Horrified, disbelieving, that a perfect day under a sunny blue sky could have turned into such a nightmare.’
He could have howled with outrage at her anguished tone. ‘And you never told anyone?’
‘No,’ She laughed shortly. ‘Of course, he threatened me, saying if I said anything, he’d claim I’d invited his advances. That since, by then, I already looked so much like Mama, everyone would believe him.’
‘The bastard!’ Giff exploded. ‘Surely you knew your family—’
She held up a hand. ‘I did. Even at fifteen, I knew what he claimed was false. That I was not responsible and had done nothing to encourage him. But I felt so...soiled. I couldn’t tell anyone. Pru would have been horrified. Gregory might have tried to call him out. And at learning that one of her rejected lovers had... Mama would have been devastated.’
She turned her face away from his gaze. ‘I wanted to run away and hide for ever, but I knew I couldn’t. So I tore my gown in several more places—he’d already ripped my bodice—and rubbed in more dirt. I went back and told them I’d fallen out of a tree. I could tell Pru thought it odd, because though I’d always loved climbing trees, I never lost my balance. The others just laughed—or scolded. Up in the chamber assigned to me, I stripped off the gown and soaked in a tub, made the maid bring me more and more hot water, but...I couldn’t make myself feel clean. I’ve never really felt clean, ever since. Before my maid could attempt to repair the dress, I took it to the woods and burned it.’ She turned her pained, devastated face to his. ‘And now you know the whole of it.’
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