“Everything. History, science, botany. I tried to learn Latin as well.”
He rolled his eyes. “I detested Latin. But when I misbehaved and they sent me to see the headmaster for a thrashing, I went to the local pub instead.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not surprised.”
“Ah, but it was a useful education. “I learned to gamble, so when Granddame cut off my allowance for failing Latin, I had money.”
“For women?”
“For pork pies and cider. Growing boys are always hungry.” He took a healthy bite of roast chicken. “Women came later.”
“Why did you join the army?”
He shrugged. “Second sons must do something. I had no interest in the church.”
She laughed out loud, and he looked at her, his brows raised. She put a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, but I cannot imagine you as a churchman.”
“Nor could I,” he said. “And you? What did you imagine your life would be?”
“Marriage to a churchman,” she quipped, and he chuckled.
“You would have been a dreadful minister’s wife.”
“Too much of a hoyden,” she said, and he shook his head.
“You’d kill him in bed.”
She felt hot blood fill her cheeks, and had no idea how to respond to that.
He changed the subject. “Your father bred horses, didn’t he? Is that where you learned to ride?”
“My father kept dainty palfreys for us, and we were not allowed to go faster than a trot over smooth ground.”
“You don’t ride like a lady used to palfreys.”
She toyed with her green beans. “I did not always do as I was bidden.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She sent him a sharp look, but there was no rebuke in his eyes. “My father sold the horses before his death to pay his debts, and it still wasn’t enough.” She shook off the memory. “That’s why I enjoy riding Devil’s Whim. He reminds me of the Wycliffe hot bloods.”
“Who bought them?” he asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know. A friend of Papa’s I understand.”
“You needn’t have suffered as you did. You could have come to London once your mourning was done, married well.”
“Rose might have. She’s pretty, but we didn’t have the money or the connections to give her a debut season.”
“So Lord Bryant arranged for Rose to marry privately?”
“Hector? Not at all. He’s a bachelor. He knows nothing about debuts or matchmaking. Your grandmother’s visit was quite unexpected.”
“Who suggested you take Rose’s place, Maggie?”
She lowered her hands to her lap. “I’m afraid I’m to blame. It was entirely my idea.”
“Why?” he asked.
“For Wycliffe, for my family.” She raised her chin. “And I did not want to become a governess.”
“You would have been a terrible governess.”
“No worse a governess than you would have made a churchman.”
He lifted his glass in salute to her wit.
“It took courage, I’ll give you that.”
“I must apologize. I had no thought of how my deception would affect you. I thought you would not care, since we had not met. You made no effort to see Rose.”
She watched his hand tighten on the delicate stem of his glass, and winced, waiting for it to snap. He let go slowly, and met her eyes. “We are still essentially strangers. This time I will make my own proposal.”
Her throat closed. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I propose that we take the time to get to know each other.”
“Start again,” she agreed. “What if it turns out that we simply do not suit?”
His mouth twisted. “Then we shall live like most other married couples of the ton, I suppose. At least we have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?” she breathed, her heart beating faster at the look in his eyes.
“Desire.” He cupped her chin when she lowered her gaze. “No, don’t look away. You know it’s true. And yet . . .” He stroked her skin, leaned closer. “I think we must live without it for a time, until we know each other.”
Did knowing a person, loving their thoughts and ideas before anything else, make a bond stronger? Her father had disliked her boldness, her intellect, as much as he despised her looks. Meg swallowed, searched his eyes. “When do you wish to begin?”
He withdrew his hand from her face and shifted in his seat, closing his eyes. He was counting again. “Now,” he said. “At least, I think we just have.” He couldn’t recall enjoying a conversation more with anyone, man or woman.
As the clock struck midnight, he led her to the bottom of the staircase. He kissed her forehead. She shut her eyes, turned her face up for a better kiss than that, but he stepped back. “Good night, Maggie,” he murmured. “Meg.”
He stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched her go up alone.
Chapter 33
The theater glittered with jewels and silks as Nicholas escorted her to the Temberlay box. Meg’s stomach knotted as a hundred pairs of opera glasses snapped open and turned upon them like birds of prey.
First, shocked silence descended at the incredible sight of the Devil Duke of Temberlay actually sitting with his wife.
Then a whisper began, rose, and made its way around the theater like fire. She opened the program, pretended to study it. Her heart melted.
Angelique Encore, Temberlay’s famous mistress, was playing the lead.
She slid her eyes to her husband, but he was studying the crowd and looking bored in the extreme. Did he know? Surely he must.
She gazed around the boxes, filled to capacity since it was the height of the Season, and searched for a friendly face. Delphine waved her fan and grinned. Flora fluttered her handkerchief.
There was nothing to do but smile as if the whole world wasn’t waiting for her reaction to being in the same room with her husband’s lover. She closed the program and folded her hands over it, resisting the urge to tear it into pieces.
Nicholas swore silently. If he’d known Angelique was performing tonight, he would have taken Meg to the opera, or stayed home. He hadn’t seen Angelique in weeks, not since the wedding. He hadn’t even thought of her. He supposed he should have ended it officially before it came to this. He wanted to lean over and tell Meg, but she was staring out into space, her expression placid under the scrutiny of the ton, but he was close enough to see the pulse point hammering in her throat, making the Temberlay sapphires glint. A slow blush rose from somewhere beneath the low bodice of her ice blue gown and crept upward over her breast and face to disappear under her hair.
He would explain later. He had a gift for her—a diamond bracelet set with rubies. He’d planned to give it to her this evening, in the coach on the way home, before he took her to bed. He’d discovered he liked his wife. He enjoyed talking with her almost as much as he liked talking to Stephen, and infinitely more than any kind of conversation with Sebastian.
Perhaps conversation with Meg would be even more enjoyable if he wasn’t constantly thinking how much he wanted to make love to her. He supposed they were facing a conversation of a different kind tonight, and his mistress was going to be the topic of discussion.
He reached for her hand, but her fist was clenched, her fingers icy. She refused to look at him.
The sapphires winked at him as she drew a shaky breath. When she appeared at the top of the stairs, the fabulous necklace was the last thing he noticed. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world as she floated down the steps to his side. If this is what it felt like to be a duke, he was content at last, as long as Meg was his duchess.
The theater darkened and the curtain rose, and Angelique took the stage. The play was a clever Italian comedy. No one paid attention to the story. Every eye in the house swiveled between the blond actress, her lover, and his wife. Nicholas did his best to look bored.
He
usually enjoyed watching Angelique perform, since her talents on stage were as mesmerizing as her skills in bed. She caught his eye now, winked, and eyed Meg coolly as she performed a bawdy little song. She performed it for him. Every gesture, every roll of her hips emphasized the double meanings, was meant to entice him. A mistress could hardly demand her protector’s attention. She could not call on him, or demand his presence. She could only wait for him to come to her. He really should have ended it when he knew—knew what? That he preferred his wife to any other woman, actually liked her?
He glanced at Meg. She was smiling serenely, laughing in the right places, but the program was crumpled in her gloved hands.
He shifted again. Was the damned song not over yet? Angelique wouldn’t be lonely long. After this performance, there’d be a dozen men willing to take his place as her lover. The audience applauded wildly as the last suggestive trill died away, but she took her bow for him, giving him a long look down her bodice.
Meg made a small strangled sound.
At long last, the curtain came down for the interval.
“Meg—” he began, reaching into his coat for the bracelet, but Delphine rushed into the box.
“Wasn’t that positively decadent?” she asked, grinning. “Nicholas, how wicked she is!” She slid into the seat beside Meg, and looked at the crowd. “Everyone is here tonight—Augustus Howard even brought his wife. And look, she’s wearing the necklace.” She leaned closer. “They say that’s how he got her to marry him, by promising to wrap her in jewels!”
Nicholas stared across at the young girl by Howard’s side. She looked like she belonged in the schoolroom. The lavish jewels detracted from her beauty, rather than enhancing it. While Meg carried the magnificent sapphires, Claire Howard wore her jewels like a shackle.
A footman entered, bearing a tray of champagne. “Miss Encore’s compliments, Your Grace.”
Meg reddened, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the golden liquid.
Delphine tittered.
Nicholas rose. It was time to put a stop to Angelique’s hopes that he would return to her. He’d found someone else, someone whose charms would never pale in his eyes as Angelique’s had.
And all because of a deception, and the art of conversation.
He had to speak to his mistress now, stop her from making fools of both of them, or the second half would be more torment for Meg.
“Would you excuse me?” he said stiffly, and left the box.
Chapter 34
“Oh, the boldness of her!” Delphine said. “I daresay she means to fight you for him, Meg!”
It wouldn’t be much of a contest, Meg thought. She’d managed to keep her expression flat throughout the breathtaking blond actress’s performance. Angelique Encore’s bountiful curves put her own willowy body to shame. The actress had a seductive way of moving that ensured every eye was riveted to her lush hips. Her eyes were so brilliantly blue they put the Temberlay sapphires firmly in the shade. Meg wanted to tear them off her neck.
She smiled at Delphine as if it didn’t matter, but the pain in her chest was awful.
“Of course, she’s already lost him,” Delphine purred. “Nicholas wasn’t watching her. His eyes were on you.”
“He was probably wondering if I’d make a scene,” Meg said. She smiled brightly, forced a laugh, and looked around the room as if none of this mattered.
Delphine sobered. “There’s no doubt the ton is waiting to see if you’ll throw a tantrum in public. But you won’t, will you?”
Meg raised her chin. “Never.” She had her pride, though Angelique had infinitely more than pride to keep her warm. Did men love their mistresses? Perhaps they did, if they were more beautiful than their wives, more talented.
The lights dipped, and the curtain rose, Nicholas hadn’t returned yet. She studied her gloves, willing away tears. Was he with her?
A cry rose from the audience and she looked up at the stage.
Her heart dropped to her slippers.
Chapter 35
Nicholas made his way backstage. He nodded to the cast and crew, all of whom knew him well, from other nights, other visits to Angelique’s dressing room. They moved aside to let him pass. He knocked on the familiar blue door and entered.
Angelique was waiting for him, as he knew she would be.
“Devil!” She lit up with a seductive smile. She was changing her costume, and she let the half-buttoned garment fall open to reveal her breasts. “How naughty you are. I haven’t seen you for weeks. You’ll have to hurry. The curtain is going up in a few minutes.”
He stayed where he was, leaning on the door. After a moment she pulled her gown together and fastened it. “Has your wife got you on a short leash?” She turned to the mirror to fix her makeup. “She’s pretty.”
She looked at him in the glass, then rose to put her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. “Break free and come play with me after the performance!”
He looked down at her. She wore brilliant rouge on her cheeks and lips, dark kohl around her eyes. He’d once found her fascinating. Now he felt nothing.
“No, Angel. I only came to tell you that I won’t be back.”
She gave him a teasing look of disbelief.
“Places!” the stage manager called, and Angelique, ever the professional, slipped her arm through his and moved toward the wings.
“You know you don’t mean that, Nick,” she said, her tone seductive, playful. “You’ll be back.”
She took a breath, making note of her mark, already distracted. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“I do mean it. It’s time this rake reformed.”
The smug confidence in her eyes dropped away. A few tears, real ones, perhaps, sprang up, and he quickly reached for his handkerchief before her makeup ran. She took it and dabbed her eyes.
He reached into his pocket again. It was customary for a man to give his mistress a parting gift. He hadn’t considered that. He held up the bracelet. Her eyes lit up. Angelique loved the perks of sex.
“Oh, Nick, it’s beautiful!” He watched as she quickly estimated the bracelet’s value. “It is good-bye then.” She sighed.
She stood on her toes and kissed him. “I’ll miss you. There’s no one else like you.” She put her arms around his neck. “Change your mind, Devil. Stay with me.” His eyes flicked to her lush cleavage, now pressed to his shirtfront. She noticed the glance, of course. “Change your mind,” she murmured again, an octave lower.
“Curtain up!” the stage manager called.
“Good-bye, Angel,” he said, kissing her forehead as he reached up to untangle himself from her arms.
He saw the harsh gleam of the footlights as they caught her bright blond hair, watched the light race toward them. He heard the gasps, the titters, then the roar of the audience.
He looked up across the width of the stage, right into the Temberlay box, and straight into Meg’s eyes.
Angelique shoved him out of the way without missing a beat, and moved upstage to say her first line. Meg was retreating, scrambling backward into the shadows. The crowd was on its feet, hooting.
He had to get to her. To go around backstage would take too long. The shortest route would take him straight across the stage. Of course, that would cause even more scandal.
He didn’t care.
Angelique stepped aside as Temberlay raced across the stage, his eyes on the empty Temberlay box. The old Nicholas might have paused, taken a bow, stolen a kiss. Her heart sank at the loss of him. She had never had a better lover, or a more handsome one, but she reminded herself of who she was, and where she was—and the house was filled with potential protectors to take his place.
As Nicholas bolted offstage, she waved his own handkerchief after him, let the bracelet sparkle as she blew him a kiss, and gave her delighted audience a saucy wink.
Chapter 36
Meg heard the laughter, saw Angelique in Nicholas’s arms in front of the whole thea
ter.
She had to get away, find some air to breathe before she choked. She picked up her skirts and ran headlong down the marble steps, with no idea where she was going.
Hands caught her sleeve, gripped her shoulder, and she struggled, pulled away.
“Take your hands off me!” The words rang through the marble foyer.
“Meg, for heaven’s sake, it’s me, Hector!”
She scanned his face, read the angry concern. She collapsed into his embrace. “You saw?”
He nodded against her hair, and put his cloak around her. “Let me take you home. I sent your mother out to the coach already. She wanted to climb out of the box and challenge Miss Encore to a duel. Hat pins at dawn!” he tried to joke.
Meg felt her lips tremble, and tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
In the coach, Flora alternated between sobs and fury. “A curse upon his adulterous, lecherous, misshapen head!”
“It’s not misshapen, Mama,” Meg murmured.
“It will be when I get through with him. You will come home to Bryant House tonight, Marguerite. Hector, you will arrange an annulment first thing in the morning. That may have been impossible before now, and would have caused our shame, but now the shame will be entirely on him. How dare that man do this to me—not to mention Marguerite—in public, with that strumpet of an actress! Marguerite, did we sell your father’s dueling pistols?” She dissolved into tears, and Hector pressed his handkerchief into her hand.
“What do you want to do, Meg? Shall we take you to Bryant House for tonight?”
Meg thought of what had happened the last time she’d gone home to Bryant House. This time, everyone would be watching to see what she would do.
She shut her eyes against the pain that went beyond scandal this time. He’d spent time with her, talked to her, smiled at her. She was beginning to think he was content to have her for a wife after all, that someone at last wanted plain Marguerite. How foolish she was. Men like Temberlay might talk to ugly women, but they made love to beauties. Her father’s philosophy had tried to make that clear, but she’d failed to listen. The lesson was clear enough now. Shame heated her cheeks in the darkness.
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