by Emily Royal
If anything, his eyes showed a hint of disappointment before he relaxed his grip and stepped back. She gestured toward Lady Elizabeth.
“Go and join your partner. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”
He sighed and turned his back on her, resuming his place in the dance. What did she care? Let him dally with the premier bitch of the season and secure his reputation with his own behavior. But he couldn’t force her to watch.
She slipped into the main hall. A faint rustle of fabric whispered an echo as the servants straightened their postures and stood to attention. One stepped forward and bowed.
“May I be of service?”
“Would you ring for Lord Ravenwell’s carriage?”
“Is his Lordship leaving?”
“No, but I am.”
The servant’s face colored. “Forgive me, but I can only order the carriage at his lordship’s request.”
“Then I’ll walk. Fetch my cloak.”
“But my lady, the streets aren’t safe…”
“Now!”
He gestured to another servant, barely older than a boy, who scuttled off and returned with her cloak.
“What shall I tell his lordship?”
“That his wife has gone home. But don’t disturb him now. I have no wish to spoil his enjoyment while he’s so pleasantly occupied.”
The rush of cold air tightened her skin as the door opened and she drew her cloak around her. A fog had descended, the damp air beading against the woolen weave.
Not safe, indeed! If Henry thought to contain her through fear, she’d relish the opportunity to disappoint him. Unlike the fragile ladies of his class, she wouldn’t be cowed by the dark. The only hazard she might encounter on her way home was an angry husband, and she wasn’t afraid of him.
*
“Ravenwell, you’re a damned fool!”
Having deposited the odious Lady Elizabeth with her mother, Henry found himself intercepted by Oakville, his friend’s usually jovial face pale with anger.
“What are you prattling about, Rupe?”
“Whatever you think of your wife, should you display your cruelty so publicly? Flaunting your seductions in front of the whole room?”
“She’s hardly innocent. I saw her scurrying outside for a tryst with De Blanchard.”
Rupert made an explosive sound of outrage through his nose. “That old lecher? You should give your wife more credit. If you’d taken the trouble to observe them more closely, you’d have seen his nose was swollen and her gloves were stained with blood.”
“What are you implying?”
“Must I spell it out? You abandoned your wife, leaving her prey to men such as De Blanchard. And for what? To enable her to earn the title society has bestowed upon her?”
Was Oakville delivering a lecture?
“Oakville, you’re quick to forget that were it not for your plot to seduce her, she’d never have set her cap at me.”
Oakville shook his head. “We’re a merry pair, are we not? You regret having offered for her hand. I’m beginning to regret that I didn’t.”
“If you think so highly of her, why aren’t you by her side?”
“She refuses to have anything to do with me. Besides, she’s disappeared.”
“Indulging in another liaison on the terrace.”
Oakville held up his hand. “That’s enough! She left by the main entrance, not the terrace doors. If you will continue to insult her, find another audience.” He creased his mouth into a sneer. “Perhaps Lady Elizabeth would be more obliging. Her behavior toward your wife is matched only by your own.”
Who’d have thought Oakville would find some moral compass at last? What had Jeanette done to convince him to be her champion?
Henry pushed through the door to the main hall. The servants stood to attention and Henry addressed the older of the two.
“Have you seen Lady Ravenwell?”
“She’s gone.”
“You sent for my carriage without my permission?”
“No, my lord,” the younger of the two interjected. “She left on foot.”
“She what?”
“When she realized we couldn’t send for your carriage, she asked for her cloak. She told us to tell you she had no wish to spoil your enjoyment…”
“…while you were so pleasantly occupied,” his companion added.
“How long ago was this?”
“About an hour.”
Rather than seek him out, she’d ventured into the night.
Good heavens! Had he humiliated her to the point where she’d thought it better to risk her life wandering about the streets of London? Didn’t she know what happened to women alone on the streets? Women disappeared or worse, were murdered, their bodies tossed aside as if they were worthless.
Worthless. Wasn’t that how he’d described her? His Jeanette, outside in the cold. Alone. Defenseless.
Prey for murderers.
“Fetch my carriage! Immediately!”
Chapter Fifteen
The front door swung open before Henry had even stepped out of the carriage. Jenkins waited in the hall, his face smoothed into the expressionless mask he wore so well.
“Her ladyship is in her chamber.”
An undercurrent of disapproval resonated in the butler’s words. Henry almost missed it as his lungs deflated at the news she was safe. The fear which had almost paralyzed him in the carriage dissipated, causing pinpricks to break out all over his skin.
Jenkins’s eyes narrowed. Ever perceptive, he’d caught Henry’s reaction.
“She looked unwell, sir. I took the liberty of sending one of the chambermaids up with some tea. But that was an hour ago. I believe she’ll be more receptive to an audience in the morning.” He delivered a stiff bow. “Will that be all?”
So, beneath the stoic servant, who in five years had never displayed anything but bland respect for his master, was a human being. Was he as smitten with her as Oakville?
What did Henry care for a servant’s opinion? They answered to him.
As did she.
“Jenkins, bring me a candle.”
*
Henry pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked. The candle threw a soft, yellow glow across the bedchamber, highlighting the gold thread in the embroidered coverlet which rose and fell in a gentle, rhythmic motion.
His wife’s face seemed almost childlike in sleep. Her eyes were closed, thick lashes almost brushing her cheeks, yet furrows strained across her forehead.
Setting the candle down, he sat beside her. The bed dipped under his weight, and her body shifted toward him. He brushed his knuckles over her cheeks. When he’d first touched his wife, her skin was smoother than he’d expected. Her country upbringing had led him to believe it would be as coarse as her unbridled laugh. Yet his fingers glided across the contours of her face from her eyelids to her nose and finally those plump, lush lips. Lips he had kissed the day he’d sealed his fate but had not ventured to claim since he’d married her.
She parted her lips and a rush of warm breath tightened the skin of his fingers. Her mouth creased into a smile. Who did she dream of?
“Henry…”
The creases in her brow disappeared and her chest expanded in a deep sigh. The smile on her lips broadened, tempting, inviting…
He bent down, his mouth almost touching hers, and she opened her eyes. She stared, pupils dilated so they were almost black.
His loins flooded with heat and he caught his breath. Her eyes narrowed, and she flinched as a new expression formed on her face.
Fear.
Oakville was right. Henry had demanded she not dishonor him at the ball, but it was his behavior which had been lacking.
She drew out a hand to ward him off, and he caught it. Dark bruises marred her knuckles, the skin broken, adorned with brown patches where the blood had dried. Blood to match that on De Blanchard’s nose. It mirrored Sanderson’s hand, the marks of one who lived in t
he world of brutality and savagery. Jeanette had no place in such a world. At all costs, she must be kept safe from it.
She tried to sit, but he pushed her back.
“No, don’t get up.”
She pulled her hand under the covers. “What do you want of me?”
“Nothing.”
The candlelight picked up a bead of moisture in her eyes. He placed his palm on her cheek again. “I only mean that you need to rest.”
Images invaded his mind, bodies floating in the Serpentine, women torn to pieces, abducted, never to be seen again. He forced his voice to become harsh to disguise the fear which Jenkins had spotted underneath his veneer of aristocratic indifference.
“You were a fool to leave the ball unattended.”
“I had no wish to trouble you for the carriage.”
“Don’t you know how dangerous it was?”
A spark of flame pulsed in her eyes. “I’m no weak-bellied lady.”
“Lady or pauper, you endanger your life, not to mention your reputation, wandering the streets unescorted.”
Her lips thinned into a hard line.
Stubborn fool!
“London isn’t the countryside, Jeanette. It’s a dangerous place for a woman on her own.”
“Aye.” Her eyes dulled over. “I am on my own.”
He curled a finger under her chin. “You’re not alone. For all that our marriage is one of circumstances and convenience, I have no wish to place you in danger. But you’re a marchioness now. Appropriate behavior is expected of you.”
She blinked, and the bead of moisture swelled into a tear and fell onto her cheek.
“I can’t help not knowing what you expect of me.”
“You’ll learn.”
She turned her head away. “I’ll never learn, never belong.”
Guilt prodded at the back of his mind. Wasn’t that what he’d said to her?
“Society will always accept a woman of rank.”
She fixed her gaze on the wall. “Like they and you did tonight?”
He wiped away the tear but she remained still, her attention focused on anything but him.
“Get some sleep,” he sighed. “Matters will improve in time.”
She closed her eyes, not even reacting when he stood and moved to the door.
What was happening to him? Women, wives in particular, were supposed to be obedient. Why had he succumbed to an irrational sense of guilt? Was it the doe-like eyes she’d flashed at him or the hand she’d injured defending her honor when no one else was there to defend it for her?
Why should he, Lord Ravenwell, feel guilty for behaving in the manner to which he’d been born? Heaven above, he’d even turned down Lady Darlington’s offer of a tryst tonight. Though he relished the idea of keeping his wife in line by making her believe he turned his attention elsewhere, his conscience forbade him. A stoic little angel had sat on his shoulder, wearing Grandmamma’s face and speaking in her voice.
Henry, my boy, a young man might sow his wild oats across every patch of arable land he can lay his hands on, but the time must come for him to settle upon a single estate and confine himself to it.
Grandmamma—dear Lord! Only that morning her letter had arrived, her clear bold hand and frank words expressing her disapproval of his choice of wife. He’d been a coward, only informing her of his hasty marriage after the event. The woman was over eighty, by God, and he was bloody terrified of her.
As for his wife, curse the woman! What possessed her to make him feel such guilt? He’d already drawn attention to himself by marrying so far beneath him. He couldn’t afford to attract further notice. He placed himself in danger with each prostitute he questioned and each tavern he visited. But society would never suspect they were being spied on by a man incapable of civility toward his wife. An arrogant soulless rake would not possess the compassion to help the less fortunate.
A man who was not in love with his wife…
Dear God, where had that notion come from? He didn’t love her and never would.
Are you certain?
To keep Jeanette away from danger, he would have to curtail the treacherous voices in his head and tighten her reins.
Tomorrow he would begin again.
*
Matters will improve in time.
Henry’s words echoed in Jeanette’s ears as she approached the breakfast room where he sat at one end of the table. He stood and gave her a stiff bow before resuming his seat.
She helped herself to a plateful of devilled kidneys and sat at the opposite end of the table, nodding to the footman who approached with the tea. Brown liquid splashed up to the rim of her cup, obscuring the floral pattern inside.
The silence extended into discomfort, the only sound the scraping of cutlery on the plates. At length, Henry pushed his plate forward, ignoring the footman who plucked it from the table.
Jeanette set her teacup down with a clatter, and he looked up, frost in his eyes.
“Ought we to talk, husband?”
“About what?”
“Last night. If matters are to improve, perhaps we should discuss it.”
“Very well,” he sighed. “I suggest we start with your behavior. I’m not minded to grant you freedom if you’re disposed to roam the streets unaccompanied. But when you have fulfilled your primary duty, I may reconsider.”
“My primary duty?”
He narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “To beget an heir. Once you’ve performed satisfactorily in that respect, I may give you some concessions depending on how you’ve been conducting yourself.”
Cheeks flaming, she turned her attention to the plate in front of her.
“You must furnish me with an heir as soon as possible. Given my efforts since the day we married, I expect my labors to bear fruit soon.”
Choking on the mouthful of food which had turned to dust on her tongue, she gestured toward the footmen.
Henry gave a scornful laugh. “My servants act with discretion. Perhaps they could teach you a thing or two, for your class is lacking in that particular quality.”
She slammed her fork on the table. “At least we have compassion! We possess the ability to consider the feelings of others. At least we are capable of love.”
“And that is your greatest weakness. Where would your compassion have got you wandering around the streets of London with a ruined reputation? No protector of courtesans or patron of bawdy houses wants compassion, I can assure you of that.”
“And you, my lord, are the authority on such matters.”
“My behavior is not under discussion.”
“But…”
He raised his hand. “I’ve heard enough! Like it or not, the rules apply differently to women because they bear the fruits of any liaison. I have no intention of being saddled with an unwanted child, particularly when I have been saddled with…”
“What?” she cried, fury bursting into a flame. “An unwanted bitch? Is that what you were going to say? Rest assured, husband, my ears aren’t as delicate as those of a lady. An upbringing in the farmyard has rendered me immune to the language of the gutter.”
Her body jerked with fright as he slammed his hand on the table. He stood, his chair scraping against the wooden floor.
“This conversation is over.”
He pushed the chair aside and moved to the door.
“Where are you going?”
He turned, the slow, deliberate movement contrasting with the earlier flash of anger. Fury flared in his eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth, emphasizing every word.
“I’m not answerable to you.”
The door slammed behind him, and his quick, sharp footsteps faded into the distance. After she could no longer hear them, she stood, holding the table for support. Looking anywhere but at the servants who’d witnessed her humiliation, she followed him out of the breakfast room, seeking the solitude of her bedchamber.
*
“You have a visitor, my lady. Shall
I show him in?”
Jeanette turned her attention from the view outside to the butler standing before her, one hand outstretched, a silver salver balanced on his fingers. She plucked the card from the tray and read the inscription.
Rupert Beaumont, Viscount Oakville.
“Are you sure he’s not here to see Lord Ravenwell?”
“He asked particularly that he might be granted an audience with you. Shall I fetch some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Her guest bowed as soon as he entered the room.
“Lady Ravenwell, what a pleasure…”
“Sit down, Lord Oakville.”
He moved to the chair she’d indicated and waited for her to sit, a ridiculous ritual where a man must never sit if ladies present were standing. What a pity such proprietary didn’t extend to seducing women in public. He perched himself on the edge of the seat, stretching his legs in front of him.
Jeanette poured the tea and handed him a cup. Thanking her in a soft voice, he took it. His fingertips brushed against hers, and she snatched her hand away.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Lord Oakville? You must have better things to do, people to see who are more suited to your tastes.”
The charming, confident exterior seemed to have dissolved. Crossing and uncrossing his ankles, his gaze shifted to the floor, then darted around the room until they settled on her.
“I’ll come straight to the point…”
“Yes,” she said, “you seem to prefer the direct approach.”
“I want to apologize for Dray, Lord Ravenwell. A husband should treat his wife better. You deserve better.”
She raised a hand. “Stop. Who are you to discuss my marriage after your behavior? You’ve no right to speak badly of my husband.”
“Even if what I say is true?”
“I won’t tolerate rudeness.”
He nodded toward her hand where bruises adorned her knuckles.
“I’ve seen how you treat men who behave poorly. I, for one, am delighted De Blanchard has been given a lesson on how to behave appropriately toward a lady.” His mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “You’ve done your sex a service. If we lived in a fair world, you’d be revered for your courage.”