Now she couldn’t possibly care what happened to him. This new Abby, the one with the poised smile and the elegant damned turban, had no heart. “I could easily wake up tomorrow morning to find her gone. That would certainly start tongues to wagging.”
Blakely arched an eyebrow. “It’s not the possibility of scandal that bothers you, I suspect.”
“Of course it is.” But it wasn’t, and that realization rocked him to his boots. He wanted Abby to stay. He wanted her here because he needed her here. Even if she remained aloof, even if she never teased him again, he had to have her with him, and not just as his sham wife, either. Despite all his efforts, he’d lost the battle to resist her. Bloody, bloody hell.
“You’re worrying over nothing,” Blakely said. “Abby wouldn’t leave you hanging just because she got a few pounds in her pocket. Besides, didn’t you offer her a great deal of money to stay until the end? She’d be a fool to throw that away.”
True. But she’d threatened to do it once already, and he’d only kept her here by unwittingly raising her hopes for the future. Now that he’d dashed them, she had no use for money except to escape him.
And now the marchioness was handing Abby some other piece of paper, which his bloody wife was tucking into her reticule, cool as you please. Probably another bank note she could use to run away.
“Damn Lady Brumley to hell,” he muttered under his breath.
Blakely clapped his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Come on, stop taking this all so seriously. What you need—what we both need—is a good bottle of stiff brandy, mon ami.” Blakely called a footman over and made his request. The servant scurried off to do his bidding. “Our wives will probably be otherwise engaged for some time. So we might as well make the best of it.”
Chapter 19
Never argue with an intoxicated lord.
Suggestions for the Stoic Servant
Night had already fallen by the time the crowd of women around Abby and Lady Brumley thinned. Two or three were quizzing Clara, but Abby was finally getting a chance to relax. “Phew!” she murmured under her breath to Lady Brumley. “I can’t believe how enthusiastic these ladies are about a perfume.”
“Didn’t I tell you they would love it?”
“They love it because you told them it was fashionable to do so,” Abby said dryly.
“Nonsense. The scent stands on its own. Though I like to think I did what I could.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help,” Abby said. “If Heaven’s Scent succeeds, it will mean more to me than you can imagine.” She would no longer have to worry about what might happen if Nat was never found.
Lady Brumley waved her hand dismissively. “You need not worry, my dear. I shall be much amazed if it isn’t an instant success. The ladies are probably already speculating that your fabulous scent was what snagged you a rich husband like Ravenswood.” She glanced beyond the ladies talking to Clara. “Speaking of your husband, I believe that’s him headed this way.”
Abby swung her gaze around to find a grimly determined Spencer stalking toward them. Captain Blakely followed close behind, shoulders slumped.
“Ravenswood looks angry,” Lady Brumley added. “You did tell him about this, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” Abby set her lips. “Pay him no mind. He’s been such a grump lately I hardly know what to do with him.”
“Men are simple creatures, my dear. Keep them well fed and well pleasured, and they are content. Since I doubt you have to worry about the former, you must concentrate on the latter. Take him to bed. That always brings a man right out of the doldrums.”
Shocked by her ladyship’s forthrightness, Abby could think of no answer but the truth, and she could hardly tell the woman that.
Besides, by then Spencer had reached them. “It’s late, Abby. Time to go.”
“Late?” Lady Brumley smirked at him. “Why, my dear Lord Ravenswood, it’s only seven o’clock. Why the rush to get home?”
He fixed the marchioness with a glittering gaze. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you, Lady Brumley.”
His voice carried to the other women, who fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Abby said in an undertone. “Her ladyship has been most kind to me.”
“If you can call it that.” Spencer stepped close to grab Abby’s arm. Though he seemed steady enough, he reeked of brandy. Which might explain why he went on speaking loudly enough to be heard by those standing nearby. “I call it meddling in other people’s affairs.”
Lady Brumley’s smirk vanished, replaced by a steely anger that brought high color to her heavily powdered cheeks. “Perhaps, Lady Ravenswood, you should go home with your husband after all. He seems to forget the courtesy he owes a hostess.”
“I owe you nothing,” Spencer grumbled, and now Abby could hear the faint slur to his words. “My wife owes you nothing.”
“Ravenswood, old fellow, you’re going about this all wrong,” Captain Blakely muttered.
“He’s clearly foxed,” Abby retorted. “I suppose I have you to thank for that, Captain Blakely.”
“Probably.” Clara took her husband’s arm. “Come now, my dear, let’s go home. You’ve done quite enough for one night.”
As Clara drew the protesting captain away, Spencer said, “I am not foxed. I meant every word, Abby. She’s taken advantage of you quite enough. Come on, we’re going, too.”
“Taken advantage—” Abby wrenched her arm free. “That’s an unfair assertion, and I’m not going anywhere with you until you apologize.”
He glowered at her. “I refuse to apologize to that rumormongering—”
“Go on, my dear,” Lady Brumley put in, her smirk returning. “There’s no point to arguing with a man in his cups.”
Spencer whirled on her. “I am not in my cups, I’ll have you know. And furthermore, madam—”
“You’re right—we should go,” Abby muttered. All too aware of the curious ladies who remained nearby listening to every scandalous word, she dropped her voice. “I can’t imagine what’s possessed you. But we’re leaving before you can make us a laughingstock.”
“You’re bloody right we’re leaving.” Wrapping his arm about her waist, Spencer towed her toward the house and thankfully lowered his voice. “And you’re never to come here again, do you hear? That gossiping witch is not to be trusted.”
Abby rolled her eyes. What on earth had brought all this on? What had happened to the calculating spymaster, the cautious statesman? Glancing back to the marchioness, who waved her off as gaily as if mad husbands routinely dragged their wives from her breakfasts, Abby called out, “I’ll pay you a visit tomorrow!”
“You are not paying that woman any more visits,” Spencer ordered as he hurried her through the house. He nearly stumbled in a corridor, the only indication that he wasn’t quite in command of his faculties. But he caught himself quickly enough to continue their ridiculous march. “Not tomorrow, not ever.”
“You’re insane.” As they halted in the foyer, Abby wrenched her hand from his grasp. “I may be your pretend wife, but that gives you no right to choose my friends.”
“Watch your tongue, for God’s sake,” Spencer hissed, jerking his head toward the footmen standing nearby.
“Why? You certainly aren’t bothering to do so. At least I’m speaking sense.”
With a sullen scowl, Spencer ordered a footman to call for his carriage, then turned back to Abby. “I’m merely looking out for my wife.”
“By embarrassing her before the world? Tell me something, Spencer. If Lady Brumley is such an untrustworthy gossip, why on earth would you give her something to gossip about by behaving like a complete madman in front of her?”
He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it. Good. At least the idiot had enough sense left in his brandy-soaked head to realize she was right.
A footman helped her on with her pelisse, while another edged close enough to offer Spe
ncer his coat and hat. Spencer grabbed both and clapped his hat on his head, but he dropped his coat. When Abby reached for it, he glared at her as he bent to snatch it up himself. Surprisingly, he didn’t overset himself, but he fared less well with getting it on.
He finally threw the thing over his arm with a mumbled “It’s not cold enough for a coat.” When she merely raised an eyebrow, he added, “I’m not foxed, I tell you.”
“No, of course not,” she said primly. “Eau de brandy is all the fashion these days.”
A profound change came over him. He looked wild, almost desperate. “What have those women done to you?”
She blinked at him. “What women?”
“Lady Brumley. And Clara. You used to be so—”
“Your carriage is here, my lord,” the footman said.
Spencer nodded, then offered his arm to Abby. “Come on then.”
Abby hesitated. “What about Evelina and Lady Tyndale?”
“They got tired of waiting for you and found another way home.”
The implied criticism sparked her temper again. Only with difficulty did Abby hold her tongue until they were inside the carriage.
But the minute they were in their seats and headed home, she tore into Spencer. “Isn’t it enough that I’ve spent half my time learning the waltz and how to curtsy and a thousand other ridiculous rules that I’ll never use after this? Must I also put up with your bad moods and your controlling ways and—”
“I don’t give a damn if you learn to waltz. But you promised to see our sham marriage out to the end, and I won’t have you breaking your promise.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lady Brumley and the money she gave you.” He leaned forward, his fierce gaze lit by the carriage lamps. “I know about the fifty pounds. And whatever other funds she handed you tonight.”
Abby gaped at him. “She didn’t hand me any other funds. She did give me a fifty-pound note last week, but that’s all.”
“She gave you something tonight, too,” he persisted. “You put it in your reticule.”
As it dawned on her what he meant, she opened her reticule. “It wasn’t money.” Finding the papers Lady Brumley had given her earlier, she thrust them at him. “It’s a contract with that apothecary who’s selling Heaven’s Scent. She wanted me to look it over before I signed it.”
When he unfolded the sheet to find that she was telling the truth, he seemed only slightly mollified.
She snatched it back from him. “And anyway, it’s none of your concern what she gives me.”
With a steely glint to his eyes, he grabbed her hand before she could put the contract away. “I thought you said half of the business belongs to me as your husband.”
“You said you didn’t want it, remember?”
“And you said you’d see this out to the end. But now you think to get enough of your own money to buy passage to America and sneak off before I can even stop you.”
So that was what had set him off, making him behave like a complete idiot. He still worried about his stupid scandal. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not sneaking off anywhere. What would make you think that?”
She tried to tug her hand free, but he refused to let go. “You didn’t tell me about the fifty pounds.”
“Why should I? It had nothing to do with you.”
Setting his shoulders mutinously, he extricated the contract from her hand and shoved the folded paper into his coat pocket. “Then you won’t mind if I show this to my solicitor. To make sure Lady Brumley and this Jackson fellow don’t cheat you.”
Of all the low, controlling—“I can handle my own business affairs, thank you very much. And since I’ll have to do so eventually, I might as well start now.” She held out her hand. “Give it back to me, Spencer.”
“After he’s looked at it. After you’ve fulfilled the terms of our agreement.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable, you know.” Preparing herself for a fight, she stripped off her gloves and stuffed them into her reticule.
“I am not.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t know Lady Brumley like I do.”
“And you don’t know me like you think you do either. I’m not the naive little incompetent you persist in seeing me as. Lady Brumley isn’t taking advantage of me, I assure you. And furthermore—”
She broke off when the carriage shuddered to a halt. The footman swung the door open and Spencer leaped out, then turned to help her down. In the moment when his hands gripped her waist, she reached inside his coat to grab the contract. Then she hurried up the stairs, confident that she could outstrip him in his current state.
But he surprised her by overtaking her at the top. “Damn it, Abby, give me that,” he said, grabbing for her arm.
Thrusting her elbow into his ribs, she spared only a glance to see him stumble back a few steps before she hastened inside. Ignoring his low oath behind her and the footmen’s astonished expressions, she breezed past them, tucking the folded paper down inside her bodice. Spencer would certainly not go there for it, not when he was so determined to stay free of her temptations.
She headed straight for the stairs, hoping to escape to the safety of her room, but Spencer caught up to her on the second step. Swearing under his breath, he seized her by the waist and hauled her back toward his study.
“Stop it!” she protested, digging in her heels. She hadn’t entered his study since that horrible night last week. “I’m not giving it to you, no matter how you browbeat me.”
Spencer halted. “Unless you want me to grope inside your bodice right here in front of the servants,” he warned in a low voice, “you’d best come along like a good girl.”
Abby glanced back to see three footmen and McFee gaping at them. She blushed. “You wouldn’t dare act so scandalously.”
“After what I just did at the breakfast, do you really think I’d hesitate to act scandalously in front of my servants?”
She swallowed. Good point. This time when he tugged, she went willingly. But as soon as they were inside the study and he’d shut the door, she broke free.
Spencer watched in fury as his wife backed away from him. All right, so he was behaving like a besotted ass, but between the brandy fogging his brain and the nagging fear in his gut that she’d flee to America the second his back was turned, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
As he stalked toward her, she crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes alight with anger. “Don’t you dare try to get this by force.”
“Then give it to me.” Holding out his hand, he approached her. “I won’t have you taking the proceeds of your scent and scurrying off to America when I’m not looking.”
She darted behind his desk. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”
“That was before,” he said as he edged around the desk, “when you thought I would stay married to you. Now you have no reason to stay.”
To his surprise, anger exploded in her face. “Except my promise. Which you apparently think means nothing. I’m only a frivolous American chit, right? I don’t believe in honor or principle or—”
“That’s not what I meant. Where the hell do you get these maggoty ideas?” He rubbed the back of his neck in acute frustration. “I only meant that…well, I know you hate me now. After what I did to you here in this very room—”
“I don’t hate you for that.” Warily, she slid around the opposite end of the desk. “You did me a favor by showing me the futility of my hopes.”
“Ballocks.” Good God, he really was foxed to use such crude language with her. But her dishonesty infuriated him. Abby had never lied to him before. “You’re formal and distant with me…you put on airs as if to mock me—”
“Mock you!” Shock warred with anger in her face. “You warned me off, and I took you at your word. I’m only doing what you wanted.”
“I didn’t want you to turn into this…this…” He scoured her with a contemptuous glance. “This coldhearted creature
who never gives a genuine smile and sneaks around behind my back.”
“How dare you!” Color stained her cheeks as she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Yes, I acted without consulting you, because you wanted that. You wanted me to stay out of your way and not to bother you.”
She had him there. “Yes, but—”
“And as for my airs, you complained when I was the naive foreigner with the thoughtless tongue, trailing after you like a…a lovesick puppy. So I worked hard to make myself the perfect pretend viscountess you thought was necessary to your plans.” To his horror, tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away fiercely. “But that didn’t please you either. It seems nothing is good enough to please you, Lord Ravenswood.”
Two things hit him at once. One, she’d actually thought that he wanted a perfect viscountess. Two, she still cared enough to want to please him. “I never complained about what you were, only what you wanted from me.”
“It’s the same thing. I wanted to be your wife in truth, and that didn’t suit you. Today I even figured out why. You thought I was just like the stepmother who left you—foolish and reckless and all those things you didn’t want in a viscountess.”
She’d taken everything all wrong. And Liverpool’s stupid words had only made it worse. “You were nothing like Dora, do you hear?” he said firmly. “There was nothing wrong with how you were. You were perfect from the beginning.”
She glared at him. “Certainly. I was so perfect that you went to extraordinary lengths to shatter my hopes for our marriage. I was so suitable to be your wife that you…you humiliated me and threatened me.”
Bloody, bloody hell. All this time, he’d been so focused on keeping himself from seducing her that he hadn’t stopped to think how she might see his adamant refusals. “I swear that your suitability had naught to do with it. I told you from the first—”
“Oh, yes, your career prevents you from marrying.” Her bitter sarcasm cut him to the heart. “I’m not an idiot—we both know it has nothing to do with it. In August, Parliament will no longer be in session and you’ll have time to settle in with a wife. If you want to, which you don’t.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “At least not with me.”
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