‘Your bracelet,’ she heard Mrs Kenton urging her in an undertone. ‘Leave that as security until you can raise the ready.’
Still cringing at what she had led her whist partner to think, she peeled off the bracelet and dropped it onto the mound of IOU’s she had written.
‘How much is the total?’ she asked.
‘Five hundred guineas!’ Mr Peters beamed.
‘What the deuce—?’
At the sound of that voice, Heloise looked up to see Robert limping towards her, his face drained of colour.
‘Heloise, you have never lost your bracelet at play?’
‘It is just a pledge against what I owe,’ she protested. ‘I will get it back when I pay this gentleman.’
‘You will oblige me by giving me your address,’ Robert grated. ‘I will deal with the matter on the lady’s behalf.’
‘With pleasure.’ Peters grinned, scribbling on the back of a scrap of paper.
Robert did not speak to her again until they were safely tucked into Walton’s closed carriage.
‘I can’t believe you dropped that bracelet on the table like that!’
‘But I had run out of money. And I did not like to put any more vowels down. It is not as if the bracelet is all that valuable …’
‘Not valuable! You little idiot! It is a family heirloom. A totally irreplaceable part of the Walton parure!’
‘Y … yes, I suppose it would be difficult to match those funny yellow crystals …’
‘They’re not crystals, Heloise. They’re diamonds. Extremely rare, extremely fine yellow diamonds.’
‘I had no idea,’ she admitted, beginning to feel a bit sick. ‘But I have not really lost it. We can get it back when you pay Mr Peters what I owe.’
Robert subsided against the squabs, looking relieved. ‘That’s right. God!’ He laughed. ‘I wondered how on earth you had the nerve to wear those baubles at some of the places I took you to! I thought it was because you wanted to make Mrs Kenton jealous …’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘When all the time you had no idea …’ He grinned. ‘Never mind—it could be worse, I suppose. How much did you lose tonight, by the way?’
‘Five hundred guineas.’
Robert went very still.
‘What is the matter? Is that a great deal of money? I am not perfectly sure how many guineas there are to the pound, but I know it is not twenty. That is shillings …’ She faltered. ‘Or is that crowns?’
‘I had thought I could bail you out,’ he grated, ‘if you had any difficulty raising the cash. But there’s nothing for it now. You are going to have to go to Walton and make a clean breast of it. You have lost a small fortune at play, and left a priceless heirloom as security against the debt. Only a man of his means will ever be able to redeem it. My God,’ he breathed, ‘he’ll kill you. No, he won’t, though—he’ll kill me! He’ll know you’ve no more notion than a kitten how to go on in society. It’s all my fault for not taking better care of you. I’ve taken you to the lowest places, let you consort with prostitutes—and not just any prostitutes, oh, no! He will think I did this on purpose. And just when … Oh, hell.’ Suddenly he looked very weary.
‘Then we must not tell him!’ She could not let Robert take the blame because she had been such a fool. ‘There must be some other way to find the money. I have an allowance which I draw from Cummings. He might let me have an advance against next quarter!’
Robert shook his head. ‘The only way to get hold of that kind of money in a hurry would be to go to a money lender. And for God’s sake don’t do that! Once they get you in your clutches, you’ll never get out. No, there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to throw ourselves on Walton’s mercy.’
‘No,’ she moaned, burying her face in her hands. It was not just a question of the gaming debt and losing the bracelet. She knew, once Charles looked at her in that cool, superior manner of his, that it would all come tumbling out. How jealous she was of his relationship with Mrs Kenton. This was precisely what her mother had warned her she must never do—behave like a jealous, possessive wife! And she had promised, too, that she would never cause him any trouble. She had broken the terms of their agreement twice over. He would never forgive her.
The carriage drew to a halt and a footman let down the steps. Her heart was in her mouth as they entered the hall together. It seemed the inevitable end to a disastrous evening when, just as she had taken off her cloak and handed it to a servant, the door to Charles’ study swung open and he appeared in the doorway.
‘Tell him now,’ Robert murmured into her ear. ‘The sooner you get it over with, the better for all of us.’
‘Tell me what?’ said Charles, advancing on them. ‘Whatever it is you have to tell me had better be told in my study.’ He stood to one side, inviting them into his domain with a wave of his arm.
Robert limped forward immediately.
‘Care to join us, Lady Walton?’ said Charles.
She had never felt so scared in all her life. But it would not be fair to let Robert face her husband alone. It was not his fault she had been stupidly goaded into gambling away a fortune by Charles’ mistress. It had been her own stubborn pride that had done that. Not that she should have known who Mrs Kenton was, anyway. And Robert was right. Charles would blame him for that, too. There would be another fight between the two men, and the rift between them, which had begun to heal, would be ripped even wider. She could not let it happen.
Garnering all her courage, she followed Robert into the study, and joined him beside the desk.
Charles took the chair behind it, and gazed upon them with cool enquiry.
Neither of them could tell how fast his heart was beating as he braced himself to hear what he assumed would be the confession of their affair. He had not needed to question Heloise for long when he had trapped her in that box at the masquerade. She had confessed that Robert was her lover. Though she’d clearly felt guilty, bursting into tears and castigating herself for her loose morals, hearing the confirmation of his suspicions from her own lips had stunned him. He had reeled away from her in agonising pain and found himself somehow back here—waiting, as had become his habit, until he knew she was safely home.
They had both gone to Robert’s rooms, rather than parting at the foot of the stairs as they normally did. It had been some considerable time before she had emerged, with a little smile playing about her lips as she floated up the stairs. Robert had stood in the hallway, gazing up at her, with a calculating expression on his face.
‘Well?’ he rapped out, when they had stood shuffling their feet and exchanging guilty looks for several minutes.
‘I have taken Heloise to several places you would not like—’ Robert began.
‘The truth is,’ Heloise blurted out, determined not to let him sacrifice himself for her, ‘that when we went to that horrid masquerade some man assaulted me!’
Robert turned to her with a look of exasperation on his face. ‘Hang on, Heloise, that’s not—’
‘No, Robert! Let me tell this my own way!’
With a shrug, he fell silent.
‘Robert only left me for a minute or two unprotected, I promise you. It was not his fault. It was mine. I insisted that he ask a young lady to dance, since he had the idea that no woman will ever accept him with the injuries he has taken. And while he was engaged with her this man, whom I have never seen before, took me in his arms and … kissed me.’
‘Did you enjoy the experience?’ Charles enquired coldly.
Heloise gasped as though he had slapped her.
‘What sort of question is that?’ Robert put in, aghast. ‘She was naturally terribly upset! The point is, I had no business taking her to such a place …’
‘Is this all?’ Charles enquired politely, looking down at a sheaf of papers on his desk. Frowning, he moved the top sheet, as though something of interest had caught his eye. Certain that they were about to confess what had gone on between them behind closed doors, under his very roof, he
was filled with such cold fury he could not bear to look at either of them. The only hope left to him was that he might be able to salvage his pride by masking his true state of mind while he waited for the blow to fall.
‘Yes, that is all!’ Heloise flung at him, her face white with fury. ‘Come, Robert. You can see that to him it is nothing!’
She flounced out, Robert hard on her heels.
‘Heloise! Wait!’ Robert cried.
She paused halfway up the stairs and glared down at him.
‘I told you we would have to find another way!’ she whispered, aware that the door to Charles’ study was not properly closed.
‘You haven’t confessed the whole yet—’
‘What would be the point? I would die rather than tell him what happened tonight. Besides, if he finds out I have thrown away something you say he values so highly, he will banish me to the country—or put me aside altogether …’
‘No, he won’t. A gentleman doesn’t divorce his wife over—’
‘Gentleman! I do not even know what you mean by that term any more. Except that it is a nature that is cold and proud and unapproachable! I will not beg him to rescue me ever again! I wish I had not done so in the first place! Du Mauriac is dead, after all, and I would have been able to stay with my parents, who, though they think I am an imbecile, at least let me draw what I wish!’
While Robert’s brow pleated in perplexity at this statement he found incomprehensible, in his study Charles clutched his head in his hands.
He had known from the start that she should not have carried on with the marriage once Du Mauriac was out of the picture.
Stifling a groan, he went to the study door and closed it.
‘I will find a way to raise the money myself!’ Heloise declared defiantly, storming off up the stairs.
In his study, Charles paced the carpet, too agitated even to pause to pour himself a drink. It would not soothe him, anyway. Nothing could ever ease the agony of hearing Heloise declare she wished she had never married him.
He had done all in his power to reconcile her to her position. To demonstrate she need not fear him he had allowed her more freedom than even the most besotted of men would accord their bride. He had put no pressure on her to conform to his requirements, imposed no restrictions on her movements, no matter how close she had sailed to the wind. And for what?
As he passed the window, he caught sight of his reflection in the panes of glass. Could this wild-haired, wild-eyed man really be him? Within two months of being married his wife had reduced him to this?
He should never have kissed her. That had been his greatest error. Now that he knew what she felt like under his hands, his mouth, he could more readily imagine his brother’s hands shaping her breasts, his brother’s mouth plundering her soft, responsive lips.
A strangled cry escaped his throat as he whirled away from the reflection of a man whose blood was infected with a form of madness. For no sane man would experience such rage, such despair, such self-disgust! Where was the cool, untouchable man who had always believed that to give way to strong emotion was a sign of weakness?
He flung himself into his chair, dropping his head to his hands. He had to get a grip on himself.
Straightening up, he drew several long, deep breaths through flared nostrils.
He must look at this situation dispassionately. The facts were these: his wife, for whom he felt more than he had ever imagined he could feel for any woman, did not return his affection.
Second, in spite of his forbearance, she had decided to humiliate him by taking a lover before providing him with an heir.
Decided? He shook his head. Heloise was too impulsive a creature to decide upon such a course of action. She had just followed her heart. She had been brought up by parents who had eloped in the teeth of opposition, and had applauded her sister for jilting him for the sake of her ‘true love’. She had not meant to betray him. In fact, letting him know she was going to that masquerade could have been a cry for help. She had known she was on the slippery slope to adultery, and her tender conscience had been troubling her.
But as for Robert … His fist clenched on the arm of the chair. Robert was getting the perfect revenge. Cuckolding his despised brother under his own roof, secure in the knowledge there would be no divorce to expose him for the scoundrel he was. And if Heloise fell pregnant Robert’s child would inherit the property from which he had been excluded. For Walton would be obliged to acknowledge the bastard as his own if he wanted to shield Heloise from disgrace.
And he did. He lowered his head, his face contorted with anguish. He would not permit her to run off with Robert and live a hand-to-mouth existence as the whore of an invalid on a meagre army pension.
He got to his feet and strode to the door. He must tell her, and tell her now, that he would not permit that. Though she might not think so, she would do far better to give up her foolish dreams and accept her lot. She was staying with him!
He took the stairs two at a time, flung open the door to her suite, and crossed the darkened sitting room to her bedroom.
When she saw him, her eyes widened with apprehension. It infuriated him to see her draw the sheet up to her chin, as though he were the villain of the piece! Losing control of the ragged edges of his temper, he strode to the bed, ruthlessly yanking the covers from her fingers.
‘You are my wife—’ he began.
‘Yes, I know, and I am so sorry! I never meant to—’
He laid his fingers to her lips, stopping her mouth. He did not want to hear her confess what he had already worked out for himself. She had only followed where her heart led.
‘I know you couldn’t help yourself.’
Beneath his fingers, her lips parted in surprise. ‘You are not angry?’ Had Robert told him everything after she had left? ‘Oh, Charles,’ she sighed, tears of remorse slipping down her cheeks. ‘Can you forgive me?’
Cupping her face between his hands, he brushed those tears away with his thumbs. Could he forgive her? Wasn’t that asking rather too much? With a groan of anguish, he gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
And suddenly he knew, with blinding clarity, that if he could have her once—just this once—then his future would not be so unbearable. For he could make himself believe that any child she bore might be his.
And so he pushed the nightgown from her shoulders, grating, ‘Just this once. Just tonight.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed, winding her arms about his neck and sinking back into the pillows.
It was her guilt that motivated her to offer him this comfort, he was sure. But he was desperate enough to take whatever he could get. Swearing to himself that he would never take advantage of her in this manner again, he followed her down and for the next few moments let his hot need of her sweep aside all his scruples. He forgot everything but Heloise: the sweetness of her lips, the softness of her skin, the heat of her breath pulsing against his throat.
And then, searing his soul like a whip cracking into naked flesh, the sound of her agonised cry as he took her virginity.
Chapter Ten
Charles could not credit that he had been so wrong about her.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said lamely. Where was the rule of etiquette to cover an occasion like this? ‘If I’d had any idea you were a virgin …’
She had been lying beneath him with her eyes screwed shut. Now they flew open, full of disbelieving hurt, as though he had struck her.
‘Of course I was a virgin!’ How could he think she would break her marriage vows? Didn’t he know she would rather die than be disloyal to him in any way?
The shuttered expression on his face only added to her feeling of humiliation. She had imagined that he had finally come to her bed because he had begun to find her desirable.
Instead it had been an expression of his contempt. He thought she was the kind of woman who …
‘Ooh!’ she cried, pummelling at his shoulders. ‘I hate you! I hat
e you!’
He reared back, appalled at the mess he had made of things.
Pausing only long enough to snatch up his clothes, he fled from her bedroom, chastened, sickened and shaken.
He might just have destroyed whatever slim chance there had been to make something of their marriage.
He sank to the floor, his back pressed to his bedroom door, his clothing bundled up against his chest.
‘Heloise,’ he groaned. ‘My God, what have I done?’
Alone in the dark, Heloise rolled onto her side, drew her knees up, and let the tears flow.
He must have heard rumours about the places she had been, the company she had kept, and jumped to the worst possible conclusion.
And why wouldn’t he? It was only what Lord Matthison had deduced within minutes of meeting her.
Dawn found her gritty-eyed from weeping. When Sukey came in with her breakfast, her throat was so hoarse she could barely croak a dispirited dismissal.
How could she eat anything, when she’d just had her last shred of hope ripped from her? And what was the point of getting dressed and going out, acting as if her life had meaning any more? He had come to her bed. For whatever reason, he had finally decided to make her his wife in fact as well as in name—and what had she done? Lashed out at him. Told him she hated him. Driven him away.
She lay under a black cloud of despair until noon, when Sukey came back, bearing yet another tray of food.
‘I told you to leave me alone,’ she sighed wearily.
‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but His Lordship insisted you had something to eat when I told him you wasn’t getting up today.’
His feigned solicitude ground her spirits still lower. Even though he regarded her as an infernal nuisance, he would always fulfil his responsibilities towards her in the most punctilious fashion. Appearances were everything to Charles.
He would not want the servants to know there was anything amiss between them. He most definitely would not want her confiding in Sukey that she wished she had never set eyes on him.
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