Perhaps she had seen him stare, or perhaps she only sensed it. But she turned, looked at him with a tip of her head, and beckoned.
And, like any other wandering soul that came too near a siren, he went to her, his feet carrying him out on to the dance floor before his mind could register the risk. She was even more beautiful up close than she had been from a distance. Her movements were rhythmic, sensuous, and all too familiar.
Of course they were. He was not some innocent who could not spot seduction when it was within an arm’s reach of him. Why was she alone? More importantly, why would she not leave him alone? She seemed to have eyes only for him. She’d paid not a bit of attention to the people around her, laughing and darting away from those that sought to catch her.
But to him, she held out one long, bare arm, beckoning.
One dance. Just one. He would discover her identity. And then, club be damned, he would go home to his wife. He reached her side and her arm snaked about his throat and she danced about him, bobbing and dipping in a sinuous imitation of a minuet.
He matched her step for step, wary, but fascinated. They moved well together, as familiar as old lovers. Had he been with her before? It was not Caroline this time, he was sure. She was as dark as this woman was fair.
But her identity should not matter to him. Without even knowing the depths of his weakness, Georgiana had absolved him of his mistake on this very dance floor. In turn, he had promised her that his attendance here would be no risk to their happiness. And yet, he was failing her at the first test of his loyalty.
Without another thought, he released her hand, bowed briefly, and turned to leave her.
Before he could escape, she was in front of him again, intoxicatingly close, her hand on his cheek, her body moving against his. His blood rushed in response to the familiarity of that touch. He knew her. He had loved her, he was sure.
He did love her.
As the song ended, he reached up and snatched the mask from her face, mortified by the truth.
‘Surprise!’ She could see by the shock on his face that, for a while at least, she had fooled him. A part of her wanted to be angry that he would be so quick to succumb to the charms of a strange woman. But since that strange woman had been her all along, it was hardly fair.
In truth, she’d watched him for nearly an hour and seen no sign that he had come to the place to bed another. He had been sociable but businesslike in his dealings with everyone else.
It was only when he had seen her that he had fallen. Proof that he was attracted to her, not because they were married, but because he found her desirable.
But now, he was staring at her as if he did not know her at all. The look he was giving her was every bit as cold as the ones he used to impale her with, when he had refused to acknowledge her. Then he grabbed her by the arm and walked towards the door of the private suite.
‘You are making a scene,’ she murmured through clenched teeth as he hauled her by the arm from the dance floor.
‘I am making a scene? I am making a scene?’
‘You are,’ she repeated.
‘You cavort like some Cyprian in front of everyone in the room. And when I put a stop to it, I am the problem.’ He gave an amazed shake of his head.
‘Cavorting?’ She yanked free of his grasp. ‘I was dancing, Frederick. We were dancing.’
‘Dancing is only the beginning,’ he reminded her. And that made him sound less like a sensible man than a Puritan.
‘The beginning of what?’ she said.
‘You know precisely the sort of things that go on here. You questioned Westmoor about them at the ball.’ Now he was looking at her with disgust, as though she had even understood what she’d been asking before he’d enlightened her to the ways of love.
‘I meant nothing by it,’ she insisted, offering a gentle touch to his sleeve.
Now it was his turn to jerk his arm away. ‘That was what my brother’s wife claimed, when I danced with her, here. And to think what might have happened, had I not seen behind the mask…’
‘Caroline?’ If he was hinting at what she thought, it explained so much. ‘I am nothing like her.’
‘You are becoming more like her every day,’ he said roughly. ‘It is why you are no longer allowed in London and why I do not allow you here. Perhaps my brother does not care that his wife is a whore. Perhaps my father does not mind that half the children are not his. But I will not condone such behaviour from my own wife.’
‘I would never…’ she said, unsure whether to be angry or hurt.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘You never will. Because you are going home.’ Then he stalked to the bell pull to summon Ben to remove her.
‘Alone?’ she said, suddenly just as angry.
‘I have business here,’ he said.
‘If that is what you wish to call staying away for days at a time whenever you become angry with me.’
‘I call it business because that is all it is. I have responsibilities here and cannot sit at home simply because you are too immature to be alone.’
‘I did not ask you to stay home with me,’ she said. ‘Because I did not wish to do it myself. I came here to have fun and to be with my husband. And I do not understand why you, and your refined sense of propriety, are willing to come here yourself.’
‘That is different,’ he said. ‘I am a man.’
She nodded in mock understanding. ‘So. You wish me to stay home, by the fire, for the sake of your reputation.’
‘For your reputation,’ he contradicted.
She ignored him. ‘And all the while you will be here, terrified of making another mistake.’
‘I am not frightened,’ he argued, just as he had the last time.
‘You do not trust yourself. And you will never trust me,’ she said, suddenly sure it was true. None of their arguments had been about her behaviour. They had been about his fears of things that would never happen. ‘Tonight, I did nothing wrong,’ she said, surprised that it was true. ‘I was dancing. It was nothing more than harmless fun. But apparently, you are the sort of person who will not trust his own wife, even when she is in the same room with you.’
‘The sort of person I am?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘I was honourable enough to marry you after I watched you behaving even worse than Caroline did, trying to throw away your reputation in this very club.’
‘And thank you so much for your charity,’ she replied bitterly. ‘Perhaps I should be forced to pin a medal on you for such an upstanding moral sacrifice.’ Their time in the country had been nothing more than a lie if he would not forgive or forget what had happened while they were in London. ‘Since my presence in your life is such a continuing annoyance, perhaps I should remove myself from it.’
She regretted the words immediately. But it was not too late. Now, he would tell her not to be foolish. A single word of kindness and she could apologise. Then they would go home together and be happy again.
‘Very good,’ he said, yanking the bell pull again. ‘Snyder will bring the carriage around shortly.’
She swallowed. ‘That will not be necessary. I will find my own way.’ Hadn’t that been her plan, from the first?
‘Very good,’ he said, making no effort to stop her as she left, unmasked, through the main rooms and out the front door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She was gone.
He had spent the night alone in his room above the club, thinking it a fit punishment to let her wonder what he was doing and who he was with. It had never occurred to him that there would not be another argument, when he’d ridden back to Richmond in the morning.
She was probably sitting by the pond, watching minnows, but thinking of him. He would chastise, she would pout. They would reach some sort of temporary truce over this evening, where she woul
d promise to be good and he would pretend to believe her. They would seal the agreement with lovemaking in his bed. Perhaps he would ask her to wear the mermaid dress that had caused him to make such a fool of himself at the ball.
In a week from now or less, she would do something equally outrageous, or even more so. It was annoying that she was proving to be so difficult to discipline. But there was some small part of him that was looking forward to the conflict. He was not always happy with what she did, but at least he was not bored.
What he had not expected was to come home to Polly, the maid, packing the last of her trunks to send back to London.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded, looking out the window at the yard. It was a pointless exercise. The emptiness of the bedroom was proof that she’d vacated the house.
The maid did not answer the question he asked, proving where her loyalty was, he supposed. Instead, she handed him a neatly folded sheet of paper, closed with the GK seal that his wife still used.
The note she’d left had been succinct.
Frederick,
While there is much about the last month that I will always cherish, our recent public contretemps is proof that we are simply too different in character to continue as a couple.
I know my behaviour shames you, but I cannot seem to last even a day without breaking some rule or other. Should I ever manage to succeed in total obedience, I suspect your happiness will come at the expense of mine.
And it is clear, by your continued visits to Vitium et Virtus, that you have no interest in my feelings at all. Liberty is the reason for membership there. Were we to go together, intending to share its pleasures, I would not mind. If you insist on barring my admittance I must assume that you think me incapable of fidelity.
If you fear my disloyalty, there or anywhere else, you have no reason for it. I never wanted any man but you, nor did I wish to be unfaithful. I cannot understand why you will not give me the same trust as you expect me to extend to you.
After careful reflection, I have decided that to avoid further public embarrassment for you and pain for me it is best we return to the original plan of living separate lives.
If I require anything from you, I will contract your man of business to handle the matter, or relay the message. You may reach me the same way, or by leaving word with Mrs Pimm.
Georgiana
As she suggested, he consulted both the housekeeper and his man of business to find that her plans for the future were as carefully arranged as they would have been had he set out to take care of her. She had rented rooms and arranged an economical budget for herself that would not deplete her allowance. She had moved all clothing and personal possessions out of both his houses and was not planning a return.
There would be no need to communicate over details and no awkward social meetings. She had split the invitations they had received into two different schedules so that they might not accidentally run into each other at a rout or ball. She had done everything in her power to reduce the scandal of their parting and render it as innocuous as he had described when they’d first decided to marry. He could not have done it better himself.
She had left his home without a trace. His life would run just as efficiently as it had before she arrived, except for the bird, who was still sitting in a brass cage in the library. And it seemed even he did not approve of the change. Though she had managed to train him out of his exotic cursing, he now refused to whistle the snatches of song he’d learned in their place.
If Fred’s days seemed suddenly joyless, he must remind himself that he had been satisfied with this life only a few weeks ago. He took to carrying her note around in his pocket so he might read it during those moments when his satisfaction wavered.
She had not begun by calling him dearest, nor had she ended by promising to be his always. He smiled weakly. She had never been the sort to couch interactions in false compliments. While some might have thought it rude, he could not fault her for a lack of clarity.
The note was what it was. It lacked the flowery sentiments of farewell letters he had received from lovers in the past. Their time together had been delightful. But such things did not last. It was foolish to pretend they could.
Marriage, however, was a permanent union. It was best to behave as adults in public and private, just as she suggested. If, when he read the words, he felt bitterly disappointed? Desperate? Ready to take up the pen and scribble a hurried apology, accompanied with jewellery and flowers. And to follow the lot with bended knee begging for another chance?
That was how romantic liaisons often ended. Not for him, of course. Not in a very long while. The last time he had felt so raw, he’d been at Oxford. His heart had still been young then, tender and largely untried. He’d thought the world was ending.
He must remember not to care. After a little time to grow used to her absence, he’d grow numb to the change. Lovesickness was easily cured with brandy, the company of fellows who had been similarly abused by the fair sex and, most of all, women. Lots of them. Pretty, fast, loose. The sort who were not precisely as heartless as men, but who could be paid to be sympathetic without forming foolish attachments on either side.
If she did not want him, there was no point in being faithful to her. And the idea that he had not trusted her was ludicrous. He had wanted to keep her out of the club so she might never grow as corrupt or jaded as his mother and Caroline. Let her assume the worst of him, if it kept her from seducing his friends the moment she grew bored.
If she meant to avoid him for the rest of their lives, then Vitium et Virtus was the one place in London where he was guaranteed peace. She would not dare come there again, even masked. He would go there and behave as he used to, sampling all the pleasures the place had to offer.
After less than a day in Richmond, he instructed his valet to pack for a move back to London. The town house was smaller and therefore might not feel so empty. The city after the Season ended was relatively free of crowds. In the lethargy of high summer, invitations slowed and there were fewer people who might ask him what he had done to ruin what had become a surprisingly successful marriage.
When the carriage had been packed with clothes and servants he’d mounted his horse, choosing at the last minute to ride beside it and let the fresh air clear his head. As his valet, Biggs, came out of the house with the last portmanteau, Sargent pushed past him, racing to the carriage, getting under feet of the horses, and howling as if his life was about to end.
‘Halt!’
Georgiana’s efforts to spoil the beast had not ruined all his training, for the bloodhound stopped immediately, ran to his side, and looked up at him, waiting for the next command. But the expression on his drooping face was even more pitiful than usual.
He stared down at his friend. ‘London is no place for a dog.’
The floppy jowls began to shake and a keening whine escaped.
‘It might be different if you were a terrier, but you are too big to travel.’
Now, the whole dog was trembling as if he might collapse in a puddle of tears on the ground like an Italian diva.
‘Show some dignity, man. And why am I speaking to a creature which cannot understand me?’ Fred wiped his brow as if it were possible to clear the frustration in his mind with a swipe of his hand. ‘Biggs! Put him in the carriage. And get the damn bird as well. Never mind common sense. Let us all go to London.’
* * *
The move did not help.
On the nights it was open he went to the club, just as he’d planned, ready to throw himself into the festivities with abandon. But though there were more than enough women to tempt him, in the end, he chose no one. He returned to the private suite, just as he always had, and drank far too much, though the spirits did not seem to affect him. It was almost with relief that he left as the club closed in the hour before dawn and retu
rned to his rooms to fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning proved that the brandy had been strong enough after all. His head seemed to throb with each movement. His body ached from clutching the pillow to him, as if he expected it to escape, just as Georgiana had done. When he went down to breakfast, he had no appetite for it. He felt the same at lunch and supper. Everything put before him seemed flavourless and unappealing.
He felt no better the next day, or the next. He spent far too much time at Vitium et Virtus, lurking there even on days that it was not open. When he bothered to go home, he sat in the library with a book open and unread, staring out of the window as if expecting a guest that would never come. It got so bad that Biggs all but forced him from the house, hoping that the sun would burn away some of the demons tormenting him.
Perhaps the valet was right. It felt marginally better to walk down Bond Street, especially now that the ton had moved on to more interesting places. And he could not fault the weather on this excellent late summer day. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and it was neither too hot nor too cold. He could feel his mood improving with each step.
It had been a mistake to hide inside, brooding on the past. But he had not been hiding, he corrected himself. More likely, he had been ill. A bit of distressing news, coupled with a mild ague had convinced him that his life was suddenly without meaning.
But that was behind him. Today, the smells from a nearby bakery were awakening a hunger he had not felt in days. It was even possible to appreciate the beauty of the women walking past, a thing he’d been incapable of only two days ago. There, just across the street, was a graceful armful, staring into a shop window at a display of painted fans. The sunlight made the blonde hair tucked up under her hat seem to shine like fine French silk.
Then, her head turned as if she’d felt his eyes upon her and she glanced across the street.
His stomach fell and his heart thumped hard against his ribs like a battle drum.
‘Georgiana.’ He’d said the name aloud, unable to control his tongue any more than he could the beating of his damn heart, which seemed to be speeding up, like some infernal machine springing back to life after a period of dormancy.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 20