A Notorious Vow (The Four Hundred #3)

by Joanna Shupe

Mr. Tripp extended his arm and Christina accepted it. As she passed the butler, she caught the sympathy in his gaze and wondered over it. Had he known her unhappiness over this excursion? Or how she wished it were Oliver’s escort instead?

  “Have a nice evening, madam,” Gill murmured as she passed.

  Once on the walk, she did not look back. Oliver was inside, somewhere, and if he cared about her leaving with another man, he would have made that plain before now. Mr. Tripp handed her into the fancy black carriage. After he joined her, they were off, the wheels turning and leading her away from her new home.

  “I have to admit,” Mr. Tripp said, “I do not quite understand what is happening between you and Oliver.”

  Christina had not expected him to put it so plainly, but she had no answers where her husband was concerned. “I am sorry you were forced to escort me tonight.”

  “Forced to escort you? My dear woman, it is my honor and my pleasure. Rarely have I been seen with such a beautiful woman.”

  Had Oliver asked Mr. Tripp to compliment her as well? The thought depressed her. “How long have you known my husband?”

  “About seven years. Oliver is a good man. Misguided at times, yes, but he means well.”

  “What do you mean misguided?”

  He crossed his legs at the ankles, stretching out in the carriage interior. “Thinks he knows people. That he knows how the world works. Happens to the most intelligent of men, of course. They have everything figured out and the rest of us poor fools are idiots. See, when you are right nearly all of the time, you refuse to believe the small percentage of times you are wrong. You are accustomed to believing you are right. That is Oliver.”

  This made a good deal of sense. Mr. Tripp was surprisingly wise as well. “Is this an argument you have used before, perhaps in court?”

  A grin split his handsome face, his teeth white and even in the dark. “Once or twice.” He sobered, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Forgive me for asking, but were you happy with this suggestion? That I take you to Sherry’s, I mean.”

  She had not the faintest idea on how to answer. To criticize Oliver felt disloyal, even if they were friends who led separate lives. “It is important for me to be seen in public, apparently.”

  “Yes, it is but you needn’t worry so much over that. The threat of incompetence has little basis in legal fact.”

  Christina stiffened, every muscle clenching. “Threat of incompetence?” This was what Oliver had alluded to in their conversation today.

  Mr. Tripp blinked a few times. “I . . . That is, I thought Oliver would have told you. Challenging Oliver’s competence was thrown about during the negotiations over your marriage settlement.”

  Her parents had threatened to have Oliver declared incompetent? What would that mean? Would he be sent away?

  Confusion washed through her—along with fresh anger directed at her parents. Was this an attempt at blackmail to gain more money in the settlement? There could be no other explanation, at least none that she could discern.

  She drew in a deep, fortifying breath. No matter what else happened, she could not allow her parents to ruin Oliver’s life. He had married her out of compassion and decency, saving her the misery of marrying Van Peet. No, it was not a love match and, despite their mutual fondness for kissing, he preferred to keep the marriage short and impersonal. She would respect that and do everything in her power to keep him safe.

  Even if it meant dining out every single night of the week.

  Oliver sat alone in his bedroom, restless and distracted as he sipped a very fine French brandy. Light blazed from under his wife’s bedroom door, a sign she was inside and preparing for her evening out with another man. A man who’d probably bedded half the available women in New York City—and a fair number of unavailable ones as well.

  Both Gill and Shannon had already expressed their displeasure in tonight’s plans, and Oliver realized he’d been much too lenient with his staff over the years. He was the master of this house, not them. Just because they were all fond of Christina did not mean he needed their approval in how he dealt with his wife.

  So why are you feeling guilty?

  He was still attempting to come up with an answer when Frank Tripp arrived in a sleek black brougham. Not a carriage, Oliver noted, which would have allowed for more interior room. His hand fisted where it rested on the window casing as the lawyer sauntered up the walk, not a care in the world. In that moment, Oliver hated Tripp. Hated everything about him, from his carefree attitude and dashing handsomeness, to his easy charm . . .

  Christina would remain unaffected by all that, certainly. She was practical. Reasonable. Practically shy. His wife and Tripp would share one dinner and then she would return home. To Oliver. She’d probably even be grateful for the quiet here after listening to Frank ramble all night. Knowing the lawyer, Oliver bet Christina would not get a word in edgewise at dinner.

  Frank and Christina soon came into view, her hand on his arm as they moved down the walk. Her back was stiff and proud, glossy brown hair piled on top of her head and adorned with an elegant hat. She wore the new coat Oliver had purchased for her, a stylish black wool that would keep her far warmer than the threadbare garment she had previously owned.

  He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the tightness there. This is the right thing to do. Let her live a separate life. It did not feel right, however, not at the moment. Watching her leave with Tripp felt very, very wrong.

  He closed his eyes and thought of last night. He could almost feel her soft skin, the velvety walls gripping his finger. The way she had clung to him, holding on as if he were saving her from drowning. Her luscious mouth, the sweetness of her orgasm . . . His cock had grown half-hard several times today merely thinking on it. Never had he felt so lost in the moment with a woman before. She was like a drug in his system and he only wanted more.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Tripp hand Christina up into the brougham. She turned to sit and flashed the lawyer a smile—and Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. That smile . . . it was too bright. Too genuine. Too similar to the smiles she gave him, damn it. Tripp did not deserve those smiles. Oliver needed them all for himself.

  Heat spread along the back of his neck, an uncomfortable uneasiness. Christ, was he jealous? Would this burning desire to punch Tripp exist if Christina were not involved?

  Gill appeared at Oliver’s side, the butler’s mouth set in a flat, unhappy line. Oliver returned to the window to watch the brougham disappear down Fifth Avenue. When only a desolate street remained, he turned to his butler. “You wished to say something?” he signed.

  Gill’s movements were sharp and angry. “You are feeding a lamb to the wolves.”

  “She is hardly a lamb. She can hold her own against Tripp.” Christina may at times appear delicate and gentle, but he sensed strength in her. No one had parents like hers without learning how to survive. She merely needed space and time to grow more comfortable in her skin—and Oliver was prepared to give her both.

  “Casting her aside will not endear you to her.”

  “I have not cast her aside,” he signed. “It is one dinner, and Tripp will act appropriately.”

  “Are you certain about that? He complimented her beauty before they left.”

  Tripp had thrown compliments at her? To what end? Then there had been that smile as she settled into the brougham. Oliver’s stomach clenched as he glanced at the clock. There were hours left to wait until she returned home, hours she would be spending with Tripp as they laughed and drank over dinner.

  Perhaps their hands would brush as they sampled various plates of food on the table. Would Tripp order champagne? Of course he would. Not that Oliver thought she would do something inappropriate, but he certainly did not trust Frank Tripp. Outside of their work relationship all Oliver knew about Tripp was what the newspapers reported regarding the lawyer’s wild nights, nights filled with parties, women, and recklessness.

  Damn it. What had Oliver bee
n thinking in arranging this outing? Maybe he truly had lost his mind. You are feeding a lamb to the wolves, Gill had said. Christina may not be a lamb but Tripp was definitely a wolf.

  He started signing, “Dust off my evening wear and have the carriage brought around.”

  Gill briefly looked heavenward before answering, “About time, sir.”

  Sherry’s turned out to be a grand and gay party with copious amounts of champagne. Seemingly everyone had a glass in hand, toasting and drinking, the waiters barely able to keep up with the demand. The food was impressive, a dizzying array of fancy plates with cleverly presented morsels.

  “What do you think of your meal?”

  Christina looked to the owner of the voice, Mrs. Julius Hatcher. Nora, as she’d insisted, also hailed from London. At first, Christina had worried Nora would act in the same manner as the other society women she’d encountered over the years. Thankfully, she had quickly been proven wrong. Nora was friendly, funny, and nothing but kind to Christina.

  The kindness had come as a relief after arriving at the restaurant and discovering they were dining as a group. Christina had panicked for a few seconds when she learned Frank invited his friend Julius Hatcher and his wife along tonight. She had not mentally prepared herself for making awkward conversation over dinner.

  Her trepidation eased, however, when it became apparent that Nora was genuinely open and gracious. There was no pretense that Christina saw; the other woman was very matter-of-fact. Christina liked that quite a bit.

  “It is delicious.” She forked another piece of fish into her mouth and then wiped her lips with her napkin. “Do you and Mr. Hatcher eat here often?”

  “No, we mostly stay at home. We are both far happier that way.”

  Truly? As happy as the Hatchers seemed together, it surprised Christina they chose to stay home. She wanted to hear more but knew it would be rude to ask.

  This is not a true marriage, Christina. We shall never take drives in the park and attend the opera together.

  Would Oliver’s words never cease to hurt? Perhaps if they had not shared such intense intimacy last night she would feel differently. If he had not touched her so gently, so passionately, if he had not shown such care, then she would be able to breathe without this sharp ache in her chest. She would have lived separately without forming any kind of attachment to him.

  However, last night had changed everything. In her bed, she had felt something for him, something deep and meaningful. A feeling he obviously did not share.

  “You must save room for their chocolate mousse,” Nora was saying. “It is divine. So how are you finding New York City? Have you been to all the shops on Ladies’ Mile? Tell me, which are your favorites?”

  This, combined with Sarah’s request from earlier, illustrated that Christina was likely the only woman in all of New York who had no interest in shopping. She felt the tips of her ears burn. “Oh, I have not been there yet.”

  “No?” Nora quickly recovered from the shock and waved her hand. “Well, we must go. I shall take you to all the best shops and we will spend all your husband’s money.”

  “That would be quite a feat,” Frank said dryly.

  Julius reached for his wife’s hand and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss. “Nora loves to shop. You always have a willing accomplice, should you desire, Mrs. Hawkes.”

  The name startled her. “Thank you. And please, call me Christina.”

  “Yes, I think we are all familiar enough here.” Frank leaned back in his chair and toasted them with his champagne glass before draining it. Christina liked the lawyer, though he was a bit too polished for her tastes. As she had anticipated, he drew nearly every eye in the room, with many of the ladies—and a few gentlemen—attempting to gain his attention during the meal. She would find it exhausting, but Frank seemed to thrive on the recognition, becoming more animated and winking at the matrons sitting around them.

  “So tell me more about your husband.” Nora selected an olive from the platter on the table. “I cannot say I have met Mr. Hawkes.”

  Not many have. “Mr. Hawkes does not often travel outside of the house.”

  “No? That is fascinating,” Nora said. “And he is your client, Frank? Why have we never heard of him before?”

  “I was not aware you needed my full client list, Lady Nora,” Frank said. “Is there some sort of test I must pass?”

  Julius snorted. “He will only tell you the reputable clients anyway. But rest assured that if you find yourself in the shadier sections of town, Frank represents those folks, too.”

  Frank adopted an expression of false outrage. “So I am supposed to be a stiff-neck? Shame on you, Julius Hatcher.”

  “Oh, shady clients?” Nora rubbed her hands together. “Give us some names.”

  Frank shook his head. “Those clients do not appreciate being mentioned, believe me. And I would prefer not to anger them as they always pay on time.”

  “And I do not?” Julius asked.

  “You are one of the few—which is why I love you.”

  Julius chuckled and shook his head. “You love me because I give you stock tips.”

  “That, too, of course.” Frank grinned then he straightened, his attention wandering to somewhere over Christina’s head. “As I live and breathe . . .”

  “What is it?” Nora craned her neck to see what had caught Frank’s eye. “Who is that man?”

  Christina shifted to look as well—and her heart stuttered. No, it couldn’t be . . . Here? Oliver was here?

  Her husband. In the restaurant.

  She blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks. And yet there he was, walking straight toward their table.

  Though his hair was slightly disheveled, he wore a black evening suit, complete with stiff white shirt and necktie. The coat was slightly too small in the shoulders and she bet he hadn’t worn it in quite some time. Still, he appeared handsome and solid, certain of himself. A man who would let nothing get in his way once he set his mind to it.

  He looked at no one but her, ignoring the multitude of eyes that tracked his progress across the floor, his determined green gaze holding hers as he approached. She could hardly believe he was here, that he was not an apparition or figment of her imagination. Had he not adamantly refused to join them tonight?

  Something must have changed his mind—but what?

  Frank rose when Oliver arrived and extended his hand. The two men shook and some secret message seemed to be communicated as they locked eyes for a few seconds. Oliver’s expression remained grim while Frank grinned broadly. The lawyer then turned to the table. “Christina, I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. Julius, Nora, I shall see you both soon.”

  “Wait, you are leaving?” Nora asked. “We may pull up another chair—”

  “No need to bother. I have merely been keeping his seat warm.” Frank slapped Oliver on the back and gestured to the empty chair. “And Julius, I promised Oliver you’d help him out with a little problem he is having with Van Peet. Do not disappoint me.”

  Van Peet? What had Oliver planned that involved Mr. Hatcher?

  Oliver dropped into the chair, unconcerned with any of the people around them except Christina. His eyes never left her face.

  “That sounds ominous,” Julius said, rising to shake the lawyer’s hand. “Good night, Frank.”

  “I have taken care of the bill, by the way. You are welcome.” Frank bowed in the direction of Christina and Nora. “Good night, ladies. It has been a pleasure.”

  “Good night,” Christina said. “And thank you for dinner.”

  Frank put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder but addressed her. “He is a very lucky man, Christina. Never let him forget it.”

  Lucky? He had married her as a favor and had been threatened by her parents. Hardly seemed fortunate in her opinion.

  Frank and Oliver exchanged a few signs Christina could not follow. She heard Nora whisper to her husband, “What are they doing?”

  “I
believe Mr. Hawkes is deaf,” Mr. Hatcher replied.

  Frank disappeared and silence descended at the table. Finally, Christina signed, “Hello, Oliver.”

  “Hello.” He nodded at the other couple. “Hello.”

  Goodness, where were her manners? “Julius, Nora, this is Mr. Oliver Hawkes, my husband.”

  Handshakes were traded, Julius and Nora repeating their names for Oliver, and then Nora asked, “How should we . . . That is, will he be able to understand us?”

  “He reads lips quite well as long as he can see your face. I don’t know if he will—” At that moment, Oliver withdrew his ledger and pencil, setting it on the table in answer to the question. “He shall write his responses on paper.”

  “Oh, that is so simple.”

  The waiters quickly cleared Frank’s place setting, silverware, and glasses, bringing Oliver a fresh set. Once that was done, Julius lightly touched Oliver’s arm. “So you have an issue with Van Peet?”

  Nodding, Oliver grasped his notebook and pencil to begin writing. Christina desperately longed to read over his shoulder to learn more about what he was planning but Nora began speaking. “I understand you are cousins with Patricia Kane. She is good fun.”

  “Yes,” Christina answered. “My mother and her mother are second—”

  A heavy trouser-covered weight pressed flush with her leg under the table, startling her. She glanced at Oliver and noticed the edges of his lips had curved into a small smile. Uncertain what he was about, she slid her foot an inch away, leaving him more room . . . only to have his leg flatten against hers once again.

  Heat washed over her and she reached for her champagne. Was he flirting with her, after sending her to dinner with another man? She did not understand it, especially after he had gone to such pains with his “separate lives” speech this afternoon. He had directly refused to attend tonight when she had asked him, repeating their marriage was not real.

  Yet his presence here tonight was real. Not to mention the thigh pressed against her leg was quite real. She had no idea what any of it meant.

  Even still, she did not move her leg for the rest of the meal.