by J. D. Robb
His recounting of his cronies’ various peccadilloes had taken all of an hour. Some were charming, like Lord Bright’s promise to go to Almack’s as often as his very shy sister did. And some were appalling, making Bettina sorry that she had insisted Harry tell her all that he thought she needed to know.
If Harry ever came downstairs, they were going to make their first test in public: a ride in the park. They had argued over whether to take a carriage or their horses. Harry had won. They would ride. They always rode on Rotten Row, he’d said, reminding her that they wanted to do nothing that would draw any particular attention.
If riding astride became too difficult for her, Harry insisted that they could dismount and lead their horses, pretending that they preferred to walk to more easily converse with friends.
“I rode astride with my brothers for years. Can I guess that you never rode sidesaddle with your sisters?”
“I would have looked stupid. But I’m sure I can manage.”
As she watched Harry come down the stairs, she wondered if he could, indeed, manage. He was having a difficult enough time with the habit, the new one she had not worn yet. She bit her lip and did not complain.
The blue was gorgeous. Bright enough to make her look young again, but it did not demand attention the way Mrs. Melton’s clothes did.
Bettina bowed to him, and he curtsied with studied grace. That was one lesson he had learned well. Then, for no reason at all, they both burst out laughing.
“I suspect that with the right air about us, it will be great fun to fool the ton.” Harry smoothed his skirts and stopped in the middle of the gesture. “A lady is always confident and never gives any indication she is not dressed perfectly.” He whispered the phrase to himself, but Bettina heard him.
“What have you been reading?” she asked. “I do not think there is a woman in the world who thinks she is dressed perfectly.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve read several of the books you have on ways to command attention in society.”
“Today, I have no desire to command anyone’s attention. God forbid.” Bettina drew on gloves and offered an arm to Harry. “The horses are out front. Remember what I told you about mounting, and for all that’s good, do not refuse the mounting block. I never do.”
Bettina waited patiently while Harry did his best to mount her mare. The horse cooperated, but Harry’s ensemble did not. The groom held on to the reins as Harry hooked his leg over the pommel and adjusted the voluminous skirts so that they would drape properly.
It took all Bettina’s control not to call out help, and she prayed that the groom was not aware of what an excellent rider the countess was reputed to be.
Once on the horse, she could see Harry could not find the stirrup, his foot lost in the fabric, so she stepped up and took his ankle, directing it properly.
Harry leaned down so that Bettina had a very clear view of her décolletage and breathed, “Thank you, my lord,” in a surprisingly sexy voice.
Her body reacted with a feeling between her legs that could only be the beginning of something she had no desire to experience in public. Turning quickly, she mounted his horse with convincing ease.
It was Wednesday, and with Parliament not in session, the streets were more crowded than usual, all the better-looking equipages and riders headed for an afternoon on Rotten Row.
Harry’s only mistake on the way to Hyde Park was when he took the lead as soon as they moved away from the gate of Fell House. Bettina cantered to his side and whispered, “The earl takes the lead.” Harry winced at the obvious error and fell back.
The park was filled with familiar faces, just as she expected. There were several carriages, and knots of people gathered for a gossip here and there. With a bow and wave to several of them, Bettina led Harry to a spot where they could easily ride side by side.
“Will you stop waving that way? You will have people thinking I have turned into a nancy boy.” Harry leaned toward her as he spoke, and Bettina nodded with a smile so that everyone would think the comment had been an amusing one.
“You must stop looking annoyed, Harry. I am supposed to be the love of your life. Act like it.”
With a sniff, Harry gave his horse a nudge and rode off, making it obvious to every observer that they were not on the best of terms.
Come back here! Bettina wanted to shout. She might feel perfectly at ease seated astride, dressed as her husband dressed, but she did not feel at all comfortable pretending to be him among his cronies and, worse, his flirts.
When Harry’s good friend, Lord Bright, called out, Bettina pretended she did not hear him, but a minute later she could not avoid Lord Osterman, who stopped his horse crossways in the path.
“Where the hell have you been all week, Fellsborough? I was counting on your vote, and now have had to put it off until you deign to return to Parliament.”
“My apologies for the inconvenience. I was struck with some strange inflammation that left me too weak to even move from bed. It passed as quickly as it started.” The excuse she and Harry had concocted sounded weaker when spoken than it had when they discussed it.
“More like you found a whore to your liking and spent the last three days with her.”
“That would be more like you than me, Osterman.” Bettina had no trouble recalling what Harry had told her about Lord Osterman. How he liked to find a prostitute and use her until the woman begged to give the money back if he would leave her alone.
Bettina wished now that she had not ignored Lord Bright. She would much rather tease him about his last visit to Almack’s than have the image of a beast like Osterman in her head.
Her disgust stood her in good stead in this situation. It was not hard to look as revolted as she felt. In fact, she was having a hard time controlling her anger at his outrageous behavior.
“You only wish you had the kind of stamina I do,” the man bragged. “I can fuck for hours without rest.”
“And the pleasure is all yours.” You selfish pig.
“The wife has no complaints.”
Of course she doesn’t, Bettina thought. You probably avoid her bed as much as you can.
“Not like your wife, Fellsborough. You don’t seem to be in the countess’s good graces. Have you been neglecting her? Perhaps I should offer to show her what a real man can do.”
“She is a loyal and faithful wife, Osterman. There is nothing you could say or do that would tempt her.” Bettina was pleased with her response. It’s what Harry would have said; she was almost sure of it.
“Are you suggesting a wager? I could bed your wife and give her more satisfaction than you ever could, and put another child in her belly for you to call your own.” Osterman licked his lips.
That the man could even make such a suggestion drove all rational thought from Bettina’s head. She leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. For a second her vision was actually clouded with red. “Mark my words, you lecherous fool. A whore is more of a lady than you are a gentleman.”
Osterman’s expression made Bettina realize that she might have gone too far. His face showed a mix of puzzlement and a matching anger, his skin a mottled red and white. “Watch what you say, Fellsborough, or I will call you out right now.”
Bettina hoped her panic did not show. Harry was an expert shot, but she had never in her life handled a pistol.
“I need your vote, my lord.” Osterman spoke with hatred coloring each word. “That is the only thing that is saving you. Be advised you are on very tenuous ground.” Osterman turned his horse with a jerk of his wrist and headed toward the park entrance without a farewell.
Bettina decided to allow him the last word, even though it left her feeling that she had lost the battle. Harry would never have allowed that.
Bettina looked around for her husband and found him conversing with the Duchess of Lowbray, laughing much too loudly at something she said.
The mare he rode was not comfortable, Bettina could see that, reflecting,
she suspected, Harry’s ill ease riding sidesaddle.
At least Harry’s behavior was not threatening her life, as she had just threatened his. Bettina had had no idea how easily riled a man’s body could become, even with a sensible female brain in command of the situation. No wonder they spent so much time boxing at Jackson’s and racing horses.
She prayed again. Please keep us safe and help us find our way back. Soon!
Five
“Lord Fellsborough!”
Bettina looked around to see who was calling out, certain it was not the voice of God answering her prayer. God would never announce a name in so seductive a way, even if God was a woman, which was as likely as the idea that God was a man.
It was Patricia Melton, of course. This outing was turning into a living nightmare.
Mrs. Melton was driving her own carriage, a delicate-looking curricle picked in blue and silver. She was smart enough to wear a dark blue habit, not the same material as Bettina’s this time. The lighter blue and silver of her conveyance framed her body as the habit and bonnet framed her blond hair and blue eyes.
With a smile that she had practiced in front of a glass, Bettina rode over to the woman with a little more haste than was seemly.
“Mrs. Melton.” He bowed to her from his seat. Patricia Melton raised her fan so that all attention would be focused on her very sultry eyes. Probably because her teeth were so bad that she did not want anyone to see them. On the other hand, what one really wanted to feast the eyes on were her breasts. Bettina had never noticed how full-breasted the woman was. She caught herself and decided that she was only noticing now because her male body was—um—fascinated. Yes, that was the word.
“You are here alone, my lord?” Patricia Melton asked.
“No, my wife rode ahead to speak with the Duchess of Lowbray, who is with us after visiting her first grandchild in Kent.”
Mrs. Melton made a face, or at least her eyes crinkled unbecomingly. “I can see that you have better things to do than to hear about a newborn, even if he is going to inherit a dukedom.”
“I do have a newborn of my own, you recall.”
“Yes, I do. During your wife’s lying-in we had that lovely interlude at the Graves’ party. I was hoping we could reprise that experience.” The woman leaned forward so that her breasts were on view for him alone.
Bettina had no idea what to say. Harry had sworn that Mrs. Melton meant nothing to him. Exactly what did an “interlude” mean? Before Bettina could think of a response more innocuous than, “I never want to see you again, you fat cow,” they were interrupted by the groom who accompanied them. “My lord, the countess would like your help with her saddle.”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for?” Bettina snapped and then waved her hand at him, appalled at how much like Harry she sounded. Besides, she wanted to know exactly what her husband had to say about the “interlude” Mrs. Melton referred to. “Excuse me, Patricia. My wife needs my attention.”
“Oh, I am sure she does, my lord.” Mrs. Melton spoke as though she were very familiar with just such an intimacy.
Bettina rode to Harry’s side. He was on the edge of a grove of trees that gave them some privacy. Good, because this question would not wait. “What exactly does a woman mean when she reminds a man about an ‘interlude’ they shared?” She tried to sound as though it was idle curiosity that prompted the question.
“What are you talking about? Can you please check the saddle? It feels loose.”
Bettina glanced at the perfectly snug fit of the saddle and ignored his question. “Tell me what happened between you and Patricia Melton at the Graves’ party.” The edge in her voice commandeered Harry’s attention quite effectively.
“Graves’ party? When was that?”
“While I was recovering from Cameron’s birth.”
“That was months ago. I don’t remember.”
She leaned forward, hoping to see the truth in his eyes. “You had sex with that woman and don’t remember?”
“What?” Harry’s horse sidled away, and Harry had to take a moment to settle her. “Bettina,” Harry leaned even closer to her as he whispered her name, “I swear before God that from the moment we married, I’ve never had sex with anyone but you. Why can you not trust me?”
If she had an answer to that question, she might have told him. Instead she pressed her advantage. “Then what in the name of all that is good is an ‘interlude’?”
“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a figment of Patricia Melton’s imagination. I danced with her or sat at supper with her or something equally innocuous. Nothing happened.”
Maybe he was telling the truth. Then why did she doubt him? Because her enthusiastic, adventurous lover had not been in her bed since Cameron was born. He could not be any more satisfied than she was. She almost asked, when Lord Bright rode up to them.
“Truth to tell, I cannot decide if you are arguing or desperate to make love, but whichever it is, I suggest you save it for the bedroom. You are attracting all eyes.”
“Thank you, Nick.” Bettina did her best to appear jovial. “We were, indeed, teasing each other about, well, you are quite right. It is better saved for the bedroom.”
Bright chatted with them for a moment more. Bettina was self-conscious at conversing while Harry watched, but when he did not interrupt, she decided she must be performing adequately.
Finally, Lord Bright turned to the countess. “You shine whenever I see you, my lady. I look forward to dinner at the Daltons’ this evening. Shall we send this fool to his club”—he nodded at the earl—“and the two of us can play whatever game you wish?”
“I do enjoy chess,” Harry said with a spark in his eye that was more anger than flirtation.
“Chess it will be.” Bright laughed, swept off his hat, and bowed to them both. “Until this eveing!”
Bettina sent him off with a salute and almost groaned aloud at the reminder of the dinner performance facing them later.
“Fix this saddle,” Harry said with a return to his usual commanding form.
“It’s not loose, Harry. It’s just that you are less than comfortable riding sidesaddle.”
“Then we will go home. Now.”
“No,” Bettina insisted, even as she turned toward the gate. “We should stay so that no one thinks we were arguing or so anxious for sex that we are almost in each other’s laps.”
Harry gave her a withering look. “Must you question every single thing I say?”
“Yes, when I think you are wrong.”
“We are both on the verge of a shouting row. If we lose our tempers here, lose control here, then we are going to have a more difficult time maintaining our pose. You are likely to start making those gestures with your hands, the ones that make it look like you want to strangle me. Or start crying.”
“And you will try to leave or at the very least look away, as if what I say has no merit.”
“I do not do that!”
“You just did. That very sentence rejects what I said. What’s more, you rode off when we first arrived here when I suggested that you act like I, as the earl, am the love of your life.” Tears filled her eyes.
With a look of panic, Harry moved as close to her as he could. “You are the love of my life, Bettina. Do not cry.”
As if she could control that.
“Bettina, even you do not cry in public.”
He was right. It was much too unseemly and would attract all the damned attention they were trying to avoid.
“Then let’s go home, Harry. Not because I want to but because I have to tell you about the argument I had with Osterman. And what in the world did the duchess say that made you laugh that way? Not at all ladylike, Harry.”
“She told me that having grandchildren was so much more fun than the children themselves.”
“You laughed at that? I do not think she meant to be funny. Her three younger children have been nothing but an embarrassment to her.”
“Lowb
ray’s heir is a fine man. I knew him at school.”
“Harry, I said her three younger children.” Bettina stopped her horse and, perforce, Harry slowed beside her. “The duchess’s second son ran off with a married woman. Her daughter has chronic hiccoughs and cannot be in society, and her youngest daughter is so obese she cannot ride a horse. Believe me, there is nothing funny about having one child beyond the social pale and two daughters who will obviously never marry.”
“You told me nothing about her,” Harry said, with quiet vehemence. “How was I to know? Men do not gossip over such trifles.”
“Stop acting so superior.” Bettina nudged her horse, and they moved on, smiling and nodding to acquaintances but not stopping to talk. “I have had enough of this for now. When we are home I will tell you what Osterman said, and then I want to hold Cameron and pretend that everything is all right.”
“Which means I will go visit our son, and you will retire to the earl’s study and read the Edinburgh Review or the papers.”
Bettina missed her baby and wanted to spend more time with him than the miserly ten minutes each morning. How could Harry stand to see so little of the boy? Unless he did not care for the child any more than as his heir.
The first night of this curse, alone in bed and afraid of sleep, Bettina had consoled herself with the idea that the purpose of this nonsense was to help her to understand Harry better. But the fact was that being in his body really did not give her any more understanding of how his mind worked than she had before.
What was the point of this then? She wondered if she would ever find out.
Six
They rode the rest of the way from the park to Fell House in silence, negotiating the heavy street traffic with care.
Once in the front hall, Bettina reminded her husband, “Before you go to see Cameron, come into the study. I would have a word with you, my dear.” Harry followed Bettina into his study.