“Why, of course,” Mrs. Holt said at once. “Lady Daxton, allow me to present Sir Jeremy Leigh.” She tapped Sir Jeremy’s forearm with her fan. “Behave, or Dax will shoot you.”
“So, you are Daxton’s bride,” Sir Jeremy observed, bowing over her hand with perfect grace as Mrs. Holt wandered off to greet yet more guests. “Now I understand perfectly.”
Willa narrowed her eyes. “What is it you imagine you understand, sir?”
“How Dax was tempted away from his determined bachelordom. And why he did it so quickly before the rest of us could get a look-in.”
“I don’t care for flattery, you know. Are you also a friend of my husband?”
“I’m not sure I can claim friendship, though certainly we have spent several convivial evenings in the same company. I’m afraid I have neither the youth nor the stamina to move in Daxton’s closest circle.”
“Most people don’t,” she agreed without thought, for her eyes were darting around the room in search of Dax.
Mrs. Holt’s greeting implied he was not there, but she did not trust the woman. Feeling Sir Jeremy’s gaze upon her, she dragged back her gaze to find his amused regard on her face. “What?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s refreshing to encounter a bride with so few illusions about her new husband.”
“I like Dax,” Willa said dangerously.
He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Everyone likes Dax! Very likeable chap—unless you get on the wrong side of him,” he added as they passed her cousin Ralph, glowering at her from his conversation by the drinks table. A small, timid looking young lady was gazing up at him worshipfully, which gave Willa few qualms. Had Ralph found himself a new heiress to court? She just hoped he would treat her with respect…
Sir Jeremy’s voice broke in to her uneasy reflections, perhaps seeing the direction of her gaze. “May I offer you champagne? Lemonade?”
“Champagne, if you please,” Willa said recklessly.
In one of the inner rooms, chairs had been set out in rows and the bed, pushed against the wall with cushions to make it resemble a large sofa.
“This must be where the readings happen,” Sir Jeremy observed as they wandered in with several other people.
“Ah, yes. Mrs. Holt did mention poetry.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“For the most part, yes,” she began.
“Then I hope you will enjoy mine,” someone said beside her—a frail-looking, willowy young man with a pale complexion.
“Mr. Yoeville,” Sir Jeremy murmured. “One of Mrs. Holt’s favored poets. Yoeville, this is Lady Daxton.”
Mr. Yoeville regarded her, apparently entranced. “Beauty to his beast, light to his darkness,” he said. “My lady, you speak to my muse.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said tartly, since she didn’t quite care for the implications of his words. “I shall endeavor not to do so in the future.”
“You cannot help it. You possess the most beautiful, speaking eyes I have ever seen…Does she not, Walter?”
Walter turned out to be another poetic-looking gentleman, clearly a bosom friend of Yoeville’s, who vied with him to recite the best verse to her beautiful eyes. Sir Jeremy then joined in, waxing lyrical on the subject of her nose until her laughter drew the attention of other gentlemen who approached and quickly joined in the game of improvising poetry to her beauty. It varied drastically in quality, but since Willa took none of it seriously, she thoroughly enjoyed the repartee.
Thus, without intending to be, she was the teasing center of an attentive group of young men when she suddenly caught sight of Dax.
She was already laughing at some nonsense of Sir Jeremy’s, but as soon as her eyes met her husband’s, her smile widened spontaneously. And Dax swung back to Mrs. Holt as if he hadn’t even seen her. His attention was rivetted on his mistress.
Something inside Willa broke into a thousand pieces.
But he’ll never know. None of them will ever know.
At that moment, she didn’t think her pride would last longer than enough time to get her out of the room, but somehow, she kept smiling and then Mrs. Holt announced that Mr. Yoeville would read his new poem and everyone began to file into the rows of chairs.
Almost blindly, Willa did so, too, with Sir Jeremy ushering her along. She sat, gazing expectantly toward the lectern where Mr. Yoeville was setting out his notes.
Sir Jeremy nudged her, and when she glanced at him quickly, he nodded significantly to her other side. She glanced around and her heart turned over, for her husband sat beside her, eyeing the front of the room with pronounced misgivings.
“Dax,” she exclaimed.
“Dash it, Will, have I been inveigled to a poetry evening?” Dax demanded. “I know that fellow, don’t I?”
“Mr. Yoeville,” she murmured faintly.
He sat forward. “Quick. If we squeeze out now, no one will notice.”
On one level, it was funny, as a couple of surreptitious grins around him testified. Willa had to fight back half-hysterical laughter. But at the same time, she suspected Mrs. Holt of doing the inveigling, and refused to be dragged away just because her errant husband suddenly wished to go.
“Oh, no, Dax, I want to hear it,” she said. “But I shall be fine, so go if you wish.”
She expected him to do just that, even if it was only into the main room with Mrs. Holt in attendance. But, scowling, he settled back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. She caught a whiff of wine from his breath as he sighed and closed his eyes as though about to enjoy a nap.
Although inventive, Mr. Yoeville was not the finest poet alive. In fact, some of his imagery and more obscure word choices made Willa want to giggle. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Dax whose shoulders were shaking, apparently in his sleep.
She nudged him and he opened one eye so full of wicked laughter that she had even more trouble controlling her own.
*
“You managed that very ill,” Helena Holt murmured to Leigh. The first poetry reading was over and her guests were mingling once more. Since the Daxtons were both still in the reading room, she’d accosted Leigh while she could. “You were meant to bowl her over with your overwhelming charm and have her eating out of your hand. Instead, you made her the center of an admiring court! Dax couldn’t have been more pleased when he walked in.”
“I don’t know that he was. He tried to take her away immediately, only she dug her heels in. As for the rest, she’s hardly as foolish and naive as you gave me to understand.”
“If it’s too difficult for you, I’ll give the task of ruining her to someone else,” Helena retorted.
Leigh’s smile was twisted. “Oh, no, it will be my pleasure. But it will not be accomplished in an hour by anyone. He has a hold on her, as he has on you.”
Leigh strolled away, leaving her fuming. How dare anyone suggest a mere man had a hold on her? Men were interchangeable, like gloves, and she was damned if she would let a mere glove cast her off. Even without Lady Romford’s encouragement, she wouldn’t have let Dax off the hook so easily.
There was, of course, a certain cachet in having the wild Viscount Daxton as one’s privately acknowledged lover. Besides which, maddening and volatile as he could be, he was by far the best lover she’d ever enjoyed. If she were to be honest, she missed him. And she would not give him up to a mere wife. Certainly not to an innocent, naïve nobody…
“Mrs. Holt,” Sir Ralph Shelby said, accosting her as she made her way across the room. “What a charming party. A most pleasant change in this rather dull little town.”
“One does one’s poor best,” she drawled. She was about to pass on, when she remembered who he was, the new Lady Daxton’s cousin. What’s more, there was some kind of enmity between him and Dax. She stayed where she was. “Besides, I find Blackhaven a most…surprising place. Where else would I encounter Lord Daxton with a bride in tow? Your cousin, no less. You must be thrilled
by the match.”
Tactfully, she did not mention the unorthodox nature of the wedding.
Shelby’s smile was somewhat fixed. “Unutterably. It is, of course, a more brilliant match than we could ever have hoped for, but we feel very let down by the manner of it.”
Open hostility, she thought with astonished glee. How marvelous. Aloud she said comfortingly, “Oh the world will make allowances for Dax. It always does. No one will refuse to receive Lady Daxton.”
“I’m afraid my mother will. Certain items of hers vanished the night my cousin ran off.”
“Really?” How interesting. Perhaps Leigh was right. And perhaps the girl was not the innocent Helena had believed her. Of course, she’d never been good at reading women. Men, on the other hand, she knew very well, and Shelby, she guessed, was out to damage both Dax and his wife. And she was more than happy to help him with the latter.
Laying her hand on his arm, she began to promenade around the room. “How terrible.”
“Well it was. My mother took her in when her own mother died, and brought her up as though she were her own daughter. To have housed such a viper is clearly devastating for my mother, for my whole family.”
“I can imagine…”
Chapter Eleven
Willa and Dax left before the second poetry reading, mainly because Willa was starving and the champagne she’d drunk made her head spin just a little.
“Thank you for a charming evening,” Willa said to Mrs. Holt as they left. It wasn’t even disingenuous. She knew she’d been a social success, and it was, besides, the first she’d accomplished on her own, without either Dax or the benefit of his friends looking out for her.
“What were you thinking of?” Dax demanded as they made their way along the passage and downstairs toward their own rooms. “Going there without me?”
“Well, you weren’t here to go with me,” Willa said reasonably.
He blinked, clearly forced to acknowledge the truth of that, if not the logic.
“Besides,” she admitted as they approached their door. “I thought I might find you there already.”
He paused, staring at her for an instant before pushing open the door and almost yanking her inside by the wrist. Fortunately, there was no sign of Carson or Clara, for he kicked the door closed behind them and spun her against it, towering over her. Her heart lurched, with more than a hint of fear, for she’d never been on the receiving end of his anger before.
“You know who she is?” he said abruptly. “What she was to me?”
“I guessed,” she managed. She took a deep breath “The necklace you gave me—you bought it for her, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But we had one quarrel too many and I never gave it.”
Still, Willa could swear Mrs. Holt had recognized it.
“Throw it away,” he said impatiently. “I never expected to encounter her here. There seemed to be no harm in your wearing it.”
“Is there harm in it now?” she blurted. “Will it offend her?”
Dax frowned. “I don’t care,” he said deliberately and bent his head, swooping to catch her lips with his.
It was an invasive kiss, hungry and possessive. She clutched his shoulders, then slid her fingers up into his hair, opening to him as he demanded. His hips pushed into her, pinning her to the door while he devoured her mouth. Nothing in the world had ever been so thrilling as his kiss, his hard, urgent body against hers, his hands in her hair, then roaming wildly down her side from breast to waist and thigh.
“When I kiss you,” he said huskily against her lips, “I could almost imagine you loved me, just a little.” He raised his head. “Do you?”
Already befuddled from his kiss, she almost blurted out the truth. Of course I love you. I always have, and now it’s so overwhelming it frightens me. But her tongue wouldn’t move. She could only stare up at his hot eyes, darkened with lust, and his beautiful, sinful mouth.
A rueful smile flickered across his face. “Of course, you don’t. You have no idea what binds a man and a woman. I think it might be time I took you to bed and showed you.”
Another wave of heat thrilled through her. She stood on tiptoe, pulling his head back down to reclaim his lips. His body caressed hers as he kissed her, and she thought she might burn up in bliss and need that she barely understood.
And then a loud knock thundered in her ear, making her jump and gasp. Half laughing, Dax whisked her up in his arms and strode with her into her bedchamber, where Clara waited, openmouthed with shock.
This was a situation Willa had never even thought of. What did one do with one’s maid when one’s husband visited?
“Go away,” Dax growled. “Her ladyship will ring for you.” He didn’t appear remotely embarrassed. In fact, he didn’t even wait for the door to close before he buried his mouth in Willa’s and lowered her to the bed.
He came with her. There was an instant when she felt his full, glorious weight upon her. He groaned, lifting himself a little so that he could kiss her throat and shoulders. Beyond the sitting room, the urgent knocking at the outside door stopped abruptly.
Willa was glad. Trembling and desperate, her fingers tangled in her husband’s hair. Somewhere, beyond the pleasure, she was aware of Clara’s voice denying Lord and Lady Daxton to their caller.
“I know they’re at home, so stand aside,” Lord Tamar’s voice said. And then, closer. “Dax? I know you’re in there. Come out.”
Dax raised his head, swearing beneath his breath. A violent conflict raged in his eyes. Then, reluctantly, he eased himself off her. “I’ll get rid of him,” he muttered, standing and straightening his coat before he strode out of the room.
Willa sat up slowly. She could still feel the imprint of his kisses and his hands on her shaking body, but at least without his overwhelming presence she could think again. Was this truly the time to become his wife in every sense? He’d spoken of love, but it was hers, not his, he’d been concerned with.
She’d never expected him to bring up the subject of love, certainly not this evening when they’d just come from his mistress’s rooms. And even if he truly imagined he was finished with Helena, it didn’t seem to Willa that Helena was finished with him.
The door opened again and her eyes flew to Dax. She knew at once he wasn’t staying, for he didn’t come in, merely stuck his head around the door.
“Sorry, Will, I have to take care of something. Why don’t you order us a light supper? And I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Of course,” she said easily. She should have been relieved, but in truth, she was horribly disappointed.
*
Leaving Willa at that moment was one of the hardest things Dax had ever forced himself to do. It had been a spontaneous rather than a planned seduction, but her instant, melting response to his kiss had inflamed him almost to the point of no return.
But perhaps Tamar’s intervention—damn him—was for the best, for though Dax no longer felt drunk, he had been drinking all afternoon and one was not at one’s sensitive best in such a condition. For Willa, he should take account of such things. He’d never had a virgin before. All his lovers—and since he’d been in his teens he’d known them from all classes—had been experienced women of the world, skilled in physical love. Willa, he was afraid of hurting with his lust.
In any case, he couldn’t ignore what Tamar had just told him.
“I’ve just come from Helena Holt’s. No, I wasn’t invited, but she claimed she would have sent me a card if she’d known I was in Blackhaven these days. I suppose I’m still a marquis, albeit a poor one. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much wrong with her health. She was quite thick with that Jeremy Leigh chap.”
“Yes, he was sniffing around Helena in London,” Dax remarked. “He’s probably her latest flirt, to call it no plainer. He was also very attentive to Willa. I’m not sure I like that.”
“I don’t,” Tamar agreed. “For I think your Helena’s up to something. She spoke
quite a lot to Shelby, and to his mother and sister. And they are still spreading the story of Willa stealing from them. The purse is no longer mentioned, just missing items which disappeared with Willa on the night you eloped, making it sound as if the purse—which everyone knows Shelby lost to you—was just one of those items.”
“An alliance between Helena and the very proper Shelbys? Who’d have thought it. I suppose I’d better go and call Ralph out.”
“You’re very casual about it,” Tamar observed, as Dax swept up his hat and gloves and strode to the door. “And Dax? You really don’t want to drag your wife’s name into it.”
“Since when did you become this model of propriety?” Dax demanded.
“I suppose I must have absorbed it somehow,” Tamar said thoughtfully. “Though to be sure, I never pay a blind bit of attention on my own account. Never been married or likely to be.”
“It does make you stop and think,” Dax said ruefully. “Which in my case, is probably a good thing. I was pretty much going to the devil.”
“According to most people, you’d already gone,” Tamar contributed.
“Oh no, one can always go further. But I can’t really drag Willa with me. Wouldn’t be right.”
Tamar’s lips twitched. “No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed gravely.
Dax eyed him without favor. “Stop laughing at me or I’ll shoot you, too. Where is Shelby? Still at Helena’s?”
“No, he left just after you did. My guess? Pinkie’s place.”
“What the devil is Pinkie’s place?”
“The brothel,” Tamar said candidly. “We met outside it last week. Pinkie won’t like you picking a fight, though.”
“Oh, I’ll be discretion itself,” Dax said savagely.
*
Pinkie’s was aptly named. The Madam, presumably, was called after her favorite color which was reflected in her gown and in the décor of the establishment. Apart from that, the public room into which Dax and Tamar were shown, could almost have been some society drawing room.
A young woman in a flounced yellow gown played upon the piano forte and sang rather beautifully, while several other women circulated amongst the gentlemen, refilling glasses and making conversation. As Dax sat, taking it all in, one gentleman rose with the lady beside him and discreetly left the room. A moment later, another middle-aged gentleman came in and sat down with a smile upon his face. Dax had rarely seen anyone look so pleased with themselves.
The Wicked Husband Page 14