Scandalous Virtue

by Brenda Hiatt

  At that, Jack seized her arm and pulled her against him. “I’ll show you fire, you little vixen!” He lowered his mouth to hers.

  For a moment she yielded, the familiar heat flaming up within her at his touch. Then, recalling her plan, she pulled away. “Now, Jack, we don’t want to appear at the reception disheveled. People might talk.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about that anymore.” When she didn’t reply, he continued, more urgently. “Nessa, you must believe that Miranda Dempsey was nothing to me. She is leaving London anyway, and I’ll not see her again, even in the most innocent way, when she returns. Pray cease whatever game you are playing at and let us return to the way we were before.”

  Nessa gave him a long look. “And there are no others waiting to take her place while she is gone?”

  “None, I promise you.” His earnestness almost made her yield—but then she thought of what she would miss if she did so.

  “Good,” she said. Turning to look out of the window, she considered her plans. Though she suspected now that Jack had not truly been unfaithful, she still wished to teach him a lesson—and to enjoy herself while doing so.

  With no competitors to worry about, she could afford to play the untouchable coquette for a week or so, spurring his desire for her to a fever pitch. Then she could finally, deliciously, give in. It would be just the tonic their marriage needed.

  Dared she hope it might even prompt a declaration of love?

  Jack made an impatient movement. “So, may I direct the coachman to take us home?”

  She turned to him in mock astonishment. “Of course not! We agreed to accompany the Norvilles, remember? That is their carriage just ahead of us. Besides, I wish to make the acquaintance of the Countess Lieven. I dare not risk offending one of the patronesses of Almack’s by failing to honor an invitation I’ve already accepted.”

  Nessa had scandalized Simmons with her choice of gown tonight, one she had bought when her mourning first ended but which she had never had the courage to wear. Remembering what the countess had worn to the theater on a prior occasion, however, she doubted their hostess would be shocked. And certainly it had produced the desired effect in other quarters. She slanted a look at Jack through her eyelashes and smiled.

  A few moments later they arrived at the reception and Nessa stepped once more into the role she had assumed for the evening. Once through the receiving line, she glanced about the room and spotted Mr. Galloway standing near a curtained archway. He looked up and saw her at the same moment, his eyes widening with undisguised admiration. He started forward, but then paused with a frown as Jack placed a hand on her arm.

  “Shall I fetch you something to drink, my dear?” Clearly, he had not noticed the admiring gallant—yet.

  She nodded. The moment Jack left her side, Mr. Galloway resumed his approach. “You have returned to grace London with your presence, my lady! Suddenly the dull month of February takes on a new glow.”

  Nessa could not take him seriously, of course, but his flattery was pleasant nonetheless. “You always know just what to say to a lady, Mr. Galloway. ’Tis pleasant to see you again, as well.”

  He moved closer, after a quick glance around. “Should you ever grow tired of domestic life, I’d be more than willing to show you some alternatives,” he said suggestively. “In fact—” He broke off then, hastily stepping back.

  Nessa was not surprised to hear Jack’s voice at her elbow. “Give you good evening, Galloway. Your lemonade, my dear. I see you are renewing yet more old acquaintances.”

  Mr. Galloway must have heard the edge in Jack’s voice, for he bowed most properly, murmured something incoherent about paying his respects, and decamped.

  “Skittish thing, isn’t he?” Jack commented. “If you’re trying to make me jealous, my dear, you’ll have to choose gallants with more backbone.”

  “He approached me, not I him,” Nessa pointed out, refusing to let him nettle her. “Nor did I give him any particular encouragement.” Not that it would have done much good. Still, it was yet one more incident to keep Jack on his toes.

  Indeed, he remained close by her side for the remainder of the evening. They chatted with the Norvilles, who introduced them to various people they had not yet met—Jack because he had not mixed with the upper crust until recently, Nessa because she’d spent so little time in London.

  As soon as they could do so without giving offense, Jack suggested they leave. This time, Nessa offered no resistance. Playing the sparkling, flirtatious woman of the world took more energy than she had expected. Tiring or no, however, it had been a most enjoyable evening—the most enjoyable part being Jack’s response to her changed demeanor.

  Now, however, would come the real test, she realized as they drove back to Foxhaven House. What excuse would she use to keep Jack from her bed? After chiding him earlier for being tired, she could hardly claim fatigue, and he must know her monthly courses were not due for some time yet. Besides, she had discovered she did not much care for sleeping alone.

  Fortunately for her plan, though not for her peace of mind, Jack himself gave her the excuse she needed. “I’ve some correspondence to attend to in the library, if I can stay awake long enough,” he informed her as they entered the house. “I’ll join you upstairs shortly.”

  Suddenly wondering whether her plan was as clever as she’d thought, Nessa headed up to her bedchamber alone.

  Jack poured himself a small measure of brandy and propped his feet up on the library desk. His correspondence was fictitious—or, at least, there was none he needed attend to tonight. What he needed to do was think, away from Nessa’s intoxicating influence.

  What was she up to? She hadn’t actually accepted his apology, and clearly still intended to make him pay for the distress he’d caused her. Fair enough, he supposed. But he’d never been one to allow another to control his actions or emotions, and he wasn’t about to start now—no matter what he felt for his wife.

  Not that he’d admitted those feelings to her yet—nor would he, while she was playing at this game of hers. Certain words she’d said earlier rankled still. “Contented herself,” indeed! And “rather fond of him.” No, now was not the time to bare his heart to her. That would only give her more ammunition for whatever campaign she was launching to put him in his place.

  In fact, he’d do best to keep his distance until he’d figured out her scheme. She had an uncanny ability to cloud his thoughts—particularly in bed. Nor did he believe she’d wish to go long without further “instruction,” as she’d shown herself such an apt and eager pupil. He smiled into the crackling fire.

  Yes, he’d wait until she asked him to her bed again. It wouldn’t be long, he was certain.

  At least, he hoped it would not.

  Over the next few days, however, Jack found it more difficult than he’d anticipated to adhere to his resolve. Nessa persisted in dressing provocatively, though never quite crossing the line into vulgarity. She found some engagement or other for them to attend every single evening, whether it was a card party or simply accompanying others to the theater.

  Those evenings were torture, for Nessa was always at her most bewitching—but directing her scintillating smiles and conversation more often toward others than to him. He’d reached the point where even an oblique invitation to join her in bed would have been accepted like a shot—but she continued to behave coyly toward him. More coyly than she appeared to behave toward others, in fact.

  More than once he regretted his promise to make no attempts to control her behavior, now that it seemed in dire need of control. Still, he would not break that promise. In fact, it occurred to him that this whole campaign of hers might be an elaborate test of that very promise.

  During the day, at least, he was able to find distraction in the House of Lords, where controversy surrounding the impending Corn Bill was mounting. One day when the weather was unexpectedly fine, however, he’d taken his horse instead of the carriage. Riding home by way of Hyde Pa
rk Corner, he saw a familiar profile in a high-perch phaeton entering the Park just ahead of him.

  Without thinking, he spurred his mount forward. “I bid you good afternoon, my lady. I’d thought to suggest a drive myself when I reached home, but I see you are already engaged.”

  Nessa and Sir Lawrence, for it was he driving the phaeton, turned with varying degrees of surprise and alarm.

  “Why hello, Jack,” his wife greeted him with one of her bright smiles. “The sunshine was so lovely that I couldn’t bear to refuse when Sir Lawrence invited me out. I’d no idea you’d quit your legislative duties so early.”

  “Obviously.” Jack couldn’t help glowering a bit, if only to enjoy the effect upon Sir Lawrence. To his surprise, however, the young man met his eye squarely, if nervously.

  “It seemed most unfair for Lady Foxhaven to be trapped indoors on such a rare winter’s afternoon,” he declared, as though defying Jack to contradict him.

  Nessa chimed in, “Yes, now that the redecorating is completed, I find time hangs rather heavily on my hands on those days when I have few callers.”

  “Indeed.” Why, Jack wondered, did he seem unable to utter more than a single word at a time? Neither his wife nor her young gallant showed signs of guilt, so he’d not give Nessa the satisfaction of displaying any jealousy, however sharply its tooth might bite him.

  His taciturnity had an effect upon Sir Lawrence, however. “We were just driving into the Park, my lord,” the stripling all but babbled. “I don’t suppose you’d care to accompany us?”

  “Thank you. I believe I would.” Turning his horse, he kept pace alongside them. “I wish you’d informed me, my dear, that you’ve begun to find Town life boring,” he said languidly. “There are several remedies I might suggest.”

  He was rewarded by a stare from Nessa and a glare from Sir Lawrence. The latter spoke first. “Lady Foxhaven don’t need any more work piled upon her slender shoulders, my lord. Ain’t she done enough already, redoing your house from cellar to attic?”

  Jack raised his brows. “Have I overworked you, my lady? I must apologize, in that case.”

  “Of course not, my lord,” she responded with a distinct twinkle in her eye, reminding him of the Nessa he knew. “I quite enjoyed the task.”

  “What else could she say?” muttered Sir Lawrence, almost but not quite under his breath.

  Jack kept his eyes on Nessa’s. “The truth, I hope. Always.”

  She colored slightly and glanced away. “Look! Is that an early crocus?” she asked brightly, pointing off to the side.

  Obligingly riding over to investigate, Jack reported that it was. “It would appear that spring is nearly upon us—nearly, but not quite. The sun has gone in, and the breeze grows chill. I suggest we head for home.”

  The others agreed—Sir Lawrence reluctantly—and they turned onto the path leading back to the Park gates. Upon reaching Foxhaven House a few minutes later, Jack quickly dismounted, handing his horse over to the waiting groom.

  “No need for you to climb down, Sir Lawrence. I can assist my wife to the ground.”

  Though he pouted a bit, the young gentleman remained where he was while Nessa exited the carriage into Jack’s waiting arms. “I’ll see you at the Duke of Clarence’s ball tonight, will I not, my lady?” he inquired, looking after her more longingly than he had any right, in Jack’s opinion.

  “Of course,” she responded lightly. “I’ll—we’ll be there. Thank you for the drive, Sir Lawrence.”

  With a tip of his hat and a final lowering glance at Lord Foxhaven, he shook the reins and departed.

  Jack chuckled, forcing down his irritation. At Nessa’s indignantly inquiring glance, he sobered a bit. “You’re running a risk with that one, madam wife. He’s in a fair way to becoming besotted enough to challenge me over some imagined slight. You don’t want his blood on your head, I presume.”

  “You said that once before, and it’s as absurd now as it was then. Sir Lawrence is merely a friend. Besides,” she continued with a bewitching smile, “what makes you so certain you would best him in a duel? Perhaps he’s a crack shot.”

  “Perhaps. Do you really wish to find out?”

  She paled slightly at his seriousness. “No, of course not. ’Tis absurd, as I said. The matter will not arise.”

  “Good.” The quick glance she shot him showed she recognized the parallel to an earlier conversation. Jack smiled to himself as she turned away to precede him into the house. He was in control again, which was where he preferred to be.

  Half an hour into the royal duke’s ball, however, he realized he had congratulated himself too soon. He’d had his first misgivings when Nessa had emerged from her chamber, clad in that scandalous gown of pale peach gossamer satin. When she moved, it gave a disturbing impression of near-nudity under the transparent gauze overdress. Judging by the way other men’s eyes followed her, Jack was not the only one to notice.

  In the carriage, he’d noticed she wore a new scent, subtle but intoxicating. She sat just close enough to tempt him without quite inviting his touch. Did she have any idea how maddening she was? He rather suspected she did.

  “What an amazing assemblage,” she commented now from his side. “And to think I was proud of the attendance at our little soirée.”

  Her eyes were wide, reminding him forcibly of the innocent Nessa he’d met last autumn. That memory, combined with her seductively sophisticated appearance now, produced in him an almost overwhelming surge of desire. Clinging to the remnants of his hard-won control, he nodded.

  “It’s to be expected when one of the royals throws a ball, it happens so seldom. In no way does it diminish your own triumph.”

  She smiled up at him, but something of his desire must have shown, for she quickly became coquettish again. “I trust I’ll do you credit tonight, as well. Surely having my dance card already full can be construed as another sort of triumph?”

  “I am astonished we were not trampled to death in the stampede when we arrived,” he said dryly. “You did save me a waltz or two, did you not?”

  “Three, in fact, to include the supper dance. You are my husband, after all.” She dimpled up at him until he didn’t know whether to shake her or kiss her breathless.

  “I’d nearly forgotten,” he teased, then decided abruptly that he’d gone far too long without certain husbandly rights. His resolve to stay out of her bed suddenly seemed absurd. She was his wife, damn it. Tonight would see the end of this silly estrangement, he was determined.

  The dancing started then, opening with the traditional minuet and followed by a waltz. Nessa danced both with him, and her airy grace wrought his frustrated desire to a fever pitch before he was forced to relinquish her to another partner.

  Watching her go down the room on the arm of Mr. Pottinger, he redoubled his resolve. Before he slept tonight, Nessa would be totally his again!

  Nessa left Jack’s arms reluctantly. This standoffish role was becoming more and more difficult, she thought as she allowed Mr. Pottinger to lead her into the country dance forming next. All she really wanted to do was go home with Jack and resume those “lessons,” which had been in recess for far too long.

  “You are beyond stunning tonight, my lady,” declared Mr. Pottinger in his affected lisp as they took their places in the dance. “Every other woman here is cast completely in the shade.” His gaze swept over her admiringly and she had to force herself not to flinch.

  Again.

  Not for the first time, she regretted her choice of attire. Somehow, this gown had not appeared nearly so scandalous when she’d had it fitted in the modiste’s shop a few days ago. She’d had her first misgivings when her looking-glass confirmed Simmons’ shocked exclamations, but had decided it was just the thing to break through this odd reserve Jack had erected against her of late.

  What the deuce was wrong with the man? The more outrageously she flirted with him or tried to invoke his jealousy against others, the cooler and more controlled he
seemed to grow. This gown had been a last-ditch effort to incite his desire—and it seemed to be working. Unfortunately, every other man present appeared similarly affected, a consequence she foolishly hadn’t considered.

  Mechanically, she went through the intricate figures of the dance, her mind still occupied with her husband. Her scheme to simultaneously punish him and enjoy herself had been less than successful. Oh, flirting and feeling desired by numerous men had its appeal, but as the novelty waned, the appeal grew less and less. Tonight, she had to fight the urge to hide herself from leering eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, she had gone too far.

  The sight of her sister’s face as the dance concluded confirmed her fear.

  “Nessa!” Prudence exclaimed in a strangled whisper the moment Mr. Pottinger took his leave of her. “What can you be thinking?”

  Philip, Nessa noticed, was discreetly averting his eyes. She fought down a blush. “I’m merely taking your advice, Prudence.”

  Her sister flushed to the roots of her pale brown hair. “I meant for you to carry it out in private, Nessa! Not for all the world to witness! How—”

  But then Sir Lawrence appeared to claim Nessa for the next dance, and Prudence had perforce to contain herself—though her shocked eyes still spoke volumes. Lifting her chin defiantly, Nessa accompanied Sir Lawrence to the floor. Even if Prudence were right—as a niggling voice told her she was—she would carry off this evening with aplomb.

  Sir Lawrence appeared to be struck completely speechless, which Nessa thought was just as well. She was sick of fulsome, lust-barbed compliments tonight. The hours she must still endure stretched endlessly ahead. Perhaps a fictitious headache …

  “You look pale, my lady.” Sir Lawrence finally found his voice. “Perhaps we should sit out this dance until you feel recovered.”

  The thought of escaping all of the eyes—both lecherous and condemning—appealed mightily. “Yes, let’s,” she said eagerly. “Somewhere … out of the way.”

  “I know just the spot.” Taking her hand, he led her between the dancers to the opposite side of the enormous room, then through a curtained alcove. A dimly lit hallway opened onto at least a dozen rooms, most with doors ajar. The sounds of low conversation and laughter came from more than one of them.