“I shall be glad to have you gone from here. I would rather die than have to endure the company of a husband who treats me so despicably—who sees me as nothing more than a machine to produce his children.”
Alistair’s expression was grim. “You were wrong when you said your bed held no charms for me, Louisa,” he said through clenched teeth. “It is because it does that I avoided it—because it held too many similarities to your predecessor.”
“Oh, shut up,” she fumed, walking on. “I do not want to listen. I do not wish to hear the name of your first wife ever again. All I can say is that the more I hear of her, and the more I know of you, the more I pity her and find myself feeling extremely sorry for her, having been in the impossible situation of being married to you—a bully and a lout. I do not blame her for leaving you—in fact, I am amazed she stayed with you so long. You are a monster, Alistair Dunstan, and I wish I’d never set eyes on you.”
Walking briskly beside her, Alistair endured her outburst, his face an impassive mask. He saw how pale she was under the heavy mass of hair, and that her amber eyes were bright with bravely held, angry tears. She looked lovely, and he had only to make one single, very simple movement to stop her and take her in his arms, to wipe the anger and pain from her eyes, but her words, her rage, had driven him into a tyrannical mood and no power on earth could have made him yield to that desire.
His eyes were merciless as he reached out and grasped her arm, bringing her to a standstill once more. She lifted her head and stared at him haughtily, jutting out her chin, and Alistair felt the anger pounding in his temples for she looked wonderful, defiantly, agonisingly so.
“Do not deny me, Louisa. I warn you I will not allow it.”
Her eyes flamed. “Like a fool I gave myself to you once before. I shall not do so again until I am ready. Go to London, Alistair. It cannot be too soon for me. And do not feel that you have to hurry back.”
She snatched her arm from his grasp and marched away from him, uncaring whether he followed or not.
His face grim, his hands clenched by his sides, Alistair watched her disappear in the direction of the house. He was too angry and afraid of what his actions would be if he followed her and caught up with her.
From the beginning of their marriage he had resigned himself to endless fascinating torture because there was no other rational choice if he wanted to retain his sanity—always holding himself in restraint, curbing his emotions, knowing all the while that Louisa was fighting her own demons. He’d had to keep the barrier in place, at least until after their child was born and he could see the way the wind blew. And just when he’d decided to tell her how much she had come to mean to him, how much he loved her, and that he had decided to make their marriage complete, she had denied him with such violence that she might just as well have laughed in his face, turning on him like a shrew with all her claws unsheathed.
At a loss to know what to do about the unholy mess in which he found himself, he left for London with Sophie early the following morning.
For the rest of the day after he had gone Louisa was too numb and angry to feel the full pain of his leaving, but, as the shock of the angry words she had flung at him melted away, then her real suffering began in all its agonising sharpness and cruelty. All she had ever wanted was Alistair’s love, and she had sent him away. He would never forgive her.
Yet when she thought of the manner of his leaving, how cold and unemotional his farewell had been, how hard and implacable his eyes as he had calmly told her he expected to be gone for several weeks, Louisa’s blood boiled afresh. Oh, damn him, she thought fiercely. How could he go away and leave her like this? Did he think that she, his wife, would consent to be buried alive in the heart of Sussex while he went off to enjoy the pleasures of London? She’d go after him. She’d make him care for her. Without more ado, she ordered Edith to pack her clothes and those of the baby and Mark, and the following morning, accompanied by Edith and a nursemaid, she followed him to London.
It was very late when the tired party arrived at Dunstan House. The house immediately became chaotic as rooms were hastily prepared for them all, and a fire lit in the nursery for the baby and the nursemaid. Louisa was told by the butler, who had been thrown into a state of utter confusion by her unexpected arrival, that Lord Dunstan was not at home and that he was staying with his sister at Richmond. Tomorrow, after spending the day at Westminster, he had a theatre engagement in the evening at Covent Garden and was expected at Dunstan House afterwards.
Louisa didn’t know whether to feel relieved by the absence of her husband or disappointed, and when the butler asked if she would like a message sent to Richmond, to inform him of her arrival, she decided against it. She was tired after the long journey, and after settling the children down for the night she would be in no mood for another angry confrontation with him.
She was surprised the following afternoon when Lady Bricknell called at Dunstan House, sweeping in like a ship under full sail and greeting her like an old and valued friend. With her elaborately arranged red hair and vast array of sparkling jewels, she positively dazzled, which, combined with her flamboyance, all added to her striking personality and suggested that she was a woman with many aspects to her character.
“It’s so good to see you again, my dear,” she said, removing her cloak and handing it to a waiting footman, clearly intending to stay a while. “I heard Alistair was in London so I called on the off chance.”
“He has taken Sophie to stay with Julia and her husband at Richmond, and is to go on from there to Westminster, although he is expected to return to Dunstan House later tonight, after a theatre engagement at Covent Garden, I believe,” Louisa explained, smiling, and yet feeling uncertain and slightly apprehensive. There had been so many dramatic changes to her life since her last conversation with Lady Bricknell on the evening she had come to this very house with the intention of seducing its owner. Ordering tea, she conducted her guest into the sumptuous blue and cream drawing room.
When they were settled and sat sipping the fragrant liquid from delicate china cups, Lady Bricknell set to with enthusiasm to talk of inconsequential things, gossip, mostly, about events and people she knew. But then she looked at Louisa intently, about to shift the conversation to one of a more personal nature.
“I can’t tell you how delighted I was to hear about your marriage to Alistair, my dear—but I must say that it came as a tremendous surprise to many of his friends at the time.”
“I’m sure it did. We—did marry in haste,” Louisa answered, glancing surreptitiously at Lady Bricknell over the rim of her cup.
“And with good reason, I believe.” Lady Bricknell read Louisa’s silence by the sudden colour in her cheeks and the confusion in her eyes, and she knew that she had hit upon the truth. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she smiled, her eyes sparkling. “It caused quite a stir and gave people something to talk about. There was such a breath of secrecy and adventure about it all—rather like a novel, in fact, and I’m passionately fond of novels. Everyone found it fascinating that Alistair—a self-proclaimed single man after his turbulent marriage to Marianne—should suddenly up and marry a woman no one knew. You must tell me more about it.”
“There is little to tell,” Louisa said in a low voice, fixing her with a level gaze. “But you are a good friend of Alistair’s, Lady Bricknell, so you must know he was under an obligation to marry me.”
She nodded, unsmiling, observing a deep sadness and forlorn look in Louisa’s wide eyes, and her instinct told her she was looking at an extremely unhappy young woman. “Alistair never feels obligated to do anything he doesn’t wish to, my dear. However, I think that your marrying is a good thing. You will be good for him. You are just what he needs, and I hear he is devoted to little Constance.”
“He is indeed. Unashamedly so. Indeed, there are times when I envy our daughter his attention,” she said quietly.
Lady Bricknell must have followed the thread of thoughts on her f
ace, for she smiled knowingly. “If it is any consolation to you, I know that Alistair was very much attracted by you the minute he laid eyes on you at the Spring Gardens the summer before last. Believe me, my dear, I recognised something in his expression when he looked at you that I hadn’t seen in a long time.”
“Not since his marriage to Marianne,” stated Louisa quietly and with a hint of bitterness.
Lady Bricknell nodded gravely. “That’s right. I know little of what went on between them—he was always so reticent to speak about it—but I do know that she made his life a misery. He deserved better. But what about you, Louisa? Would you like to tell me what is worrying you—what it is that causes your eyes to fill with so much sadness? It’s plain to me that something is very wrong between you. You can rely on me not to let what you say go beyond these four walls, if that is what’s worrying you.”
Yes, Louisa thought, she could trust Lady Bricknell. She liked her and felt comfortable with her, as though she had known her all her life, and she could understand how her garish clothes and forceful personality might be forgiven when she gave so generously of the warmth of her personality. It wasn’t difficult to see why Alistair valued her friendship so highly. She also invited confidence, and Louisa needed badly to confide in someone. She sighed and poured them both another cup of tea, feeling she needed it, and hesitantly, tentatively, her anxious expression relaxed.
As she listened to Louisa falteringly tell her of her meeting with Alistair and how her brother had lost everything they owned to him at cards at Bricknell House, and how she had set out to entrap him to retrieve her brother’s IOU, Lady Bricknell’s expression changed. And when Louisa went on to tell her about the terms Alistair had laid down prior to their marriage, feeling the last remnants of her pride melting like ice when boiling water had been poured onto it, into Lady Bricknell’s worldly eyes came a look of spontaneous sympathy and softness, followed by an understanding, rueful smile.
“My, my! That is quite shocking. So, Alistair has been neglecting his conjugal duties, although how he could keep his hands off you—being hot-blooded and you looking as you do—is beyond comprehension. You are not exactly the kind of woman a man can ignore.”
“He—he hasn’t told you any of this?”
“Goodness, no. He doesn’t tell me everything—especially not those things which are of a personal nature.”
“Then neither should I,” said Louisa softly, miserably, feeling as if she had betrayed him.
“My dear, if, by telling me, you will allow me to help put things right between you, then you will have no reason to regret anything that you have told me. I knew my instincts were correct—that your real name was not Miss Divine. But James Fraser’s sister! No. I would not have thought it for a minute.”
“The trouble is, Lady Bricknell, that when Alistair told me that he was now ready to accept me as his wife in the true sense I found myself telling him that he would have to wait until I was ready.”
“Goodness! And what did he say? What was his reaction to this?”
“Naturally he was angry—as well as shocked and surprised—and immediately left for London in a terrible rage.”
Lady Bricknell chuckled. “That is so like him. You wounded his male ego. He has always been hot-blooded, and I recall telling you he was marked with a proud arrogance and indomitable will, but if you continue in this vein you will both be dreadfully unhappy.” She gave Louisa a look of cool scepticism. “You do want him, don’t you?”
“More than anything. But what can I do? I cannot dominate him. I do not know how—and nor do I wish to.”
“Nonsense, you’re a woman, Louisa—and a woman can assert an inordinate power over a man if she can find a chink in his armour and push through. When their manhood is involved, men are such weak creatures. Listen, my dear, I am old enough and experienced enough to know what I say.”
“I am prepared to expend all the patience I possess on breaking down my husband’s resistance.”
“If you learn to dominate him by his senses there is no reason why you cannot obtain what your heart desires most. It is just a matter of determination and application, and of careful ministering to the embers that glow within Alistair—hidden, I grant you, but there. A beautiful woman can always work her will on a man, and her arms are a powerful weapon when they embrace him. There comes a moment when his self-defence yields to his sensual desire,” she said softly, her eyes twinkling wickedly. “A clever and experienced woman can turn that into an advantage.”
Louisa grimaced wryly. “Experienced I most certainly am not, Lady Bricknell, and at this moment I have my doubts about being clever,” she sighed.
“Rubbish!” she exclaimed, not unkindly. “I do not believe that for one moment. You strike me as being an extremely clever young woman. Tonight you say Alistair is to attend the theatre at Covent Garden—and so shall I. You, my dear, will enter society by accompanying me,” she said, her voice full of determination.
Louisa stared at her incredulously. “But I couldn’t possibly. Alistair will be furious.”
“What? More so than he is already? Yes, you can. I shall send a note to his box and invite him to join me—and I cannot wait to see his face when he sees you. It will be worth watching. You succeeded admirably in gaining all Alistair’s attention once, and you can do so again. Tonight you must look your most ravishing. You must also be at your most charming and alluring. You will smile and laugh—but not too much. Make him a little jealous. Follow your instincts and you can’t go wrong. You will find he will be consumed with anger, but he will be unable to resist you. You’ll see.”
Louisa was not convinced. Lady Bricknell had enormous influence, and shamelessly loved forcing society to bend to her will, but Alistair—with all the iron forces of his nature gathered together against Lady Bricknell’s assault—would be quite another matter.
“Lady Bricknell, what you are suggesting is that I seduce my husband.”
“And why not? When I have gone I want you to take a restorative bath and a nap so that tonight you will feel wide awake and at your best to cope with anything. Have your maid prepare your most alluring gown, for you must look beautiful—not that that will be difficult,” she smiled. “I shall send my carriage to collect you and we will go to the theatre together.” She chuckled with pleasure. “It will be vastly amusing to see what everyone’s reaction will be when you appear—especially when it is revealed that you are Lord Dunstan’s mysterious wife. You are going to be a success, I know it, and I assure you I will not have enjoyed myself so much in a long time.”
She spoke with such sincerity that Louisa could not fail to believe her. Yet, later, when she sat ensconced on the crimson-coloured cushions beside Lady Bricknell in the carriage taking them to the theatre, she was swamped with nervousness and apprehension, beginning to have grave doubts about what she was doing.
Having left a moody Sophie at Richmond with Julia, Alistair arrived at the Covent Garden theatre with Sir Edward Thornton in no mood, after a long and tedious debate in the House of Lords on foreign policy and the conduct of the war, for sitting through the next three or four hours—a mishmash of music, drama, spectacle and entertainment. But he had promised Edward, and was doing nothing else, so he sat back and waited for the performance to begin.
Several of their friends had joined them and were casually discussing the day’s debate in the House. The theatre, which was not just a place of entertainment but also a place for social chit-chat, was filled with conversation, with people, observing good manners, passing between boxes paying courtesy calls to friends and acquaintances.
Since leaving Huntswood, he had been despondent and more disturbed than he realised over his angry dispute with Louisa—to such an extent that he could think of little else.
Long before he had reached London he was already missing her, the revelation of how much she had come to mean to him, how much he loved her, pounding in his brain like a hundred hammers, mingling with the torment of
his cruelty towards her over the past few days. He remembered her as she had been when they had strolled along the chestnut walk together—magnificent in her anger, courageous in her defiance—and filled with an incredible sweetness and innocent, tender passion when he had kissed her on his return from Rotherfield.
He felt a surge of remorse and scolding rage at his blindness when he recalled his treatment of her over the months of her pregnancy, and the terms he had so forcefully and thoughtlessly laid down at the beginning of their marriage, uncaring whether she approved or not and giving her no chance to argue. She had been too proud to anyway. She had been quiet and subdued, enduring his coldness until three days ago when it had all become too much for her—when she had suddenly snapped and he had seen her spirit revived.
He was furious with himself and shame poured through him like boiling water. Yes, he’d been blind—blind, stupid and unfeeling. How could he possibly have likened her to Marianne—with her viciousness and spite—who had rejected Mark so coldly, and who had laughed in his face when she had confessed her adultery? She had goaded and taunted him to the point where he could have throttled her when she had flaunted the result of her betrayal before him, telling him that she was to bear another man’s child—Charles Meredith’s child—a child she would love as she loved Meredith.
Louisa was none of these things. In fact, she was everything that Marianne was not. She was gentle, caring and innocent of any wrongdoing, and deep down inside he’d known from the beginning that she wasn’t promiscuous, but because she had tricked him so artfully, damaging his pride, he’d insulted her by treating her as though she was. She was the most wonderful person in the world, caring and devoted to both Constance and Mark, and he had treated her abominably. She deserved better from him.
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