Maggie didn’t so much as look behind her. Her shoulders were rigid, and she was stomping toward the back door, clearly upset; he doubted it was because of a losing hand in faro.
Bloody hell.
Either his wife hadn’t heard Winthrop’s continued squawks of indignation, or she didn’t care. She changed course abruptly, heading toward the same staircase Tony was moving down. He’d intercept her in a moment.
37
“You.”
The words thundered behind her again. It was Winthrop. She hoped if she ignored his presence he would go away and plague someone else. After his persistent courtship, Margaret should have learned her lesson. What he hoped to accomplish by confronting her in her husband’s club, she’d no idea. Nor did she care. Margaret didn’t have the energy or time to be concerned with her previous suitor; she was too busy trying to hold her broken heart together. And decide whether she would kick or toss Lady Isley’s voluptuous form down the stairs. Winthrop and his sweating mass could go hang.
“I’m speaking to you,” he threatened behind her.
Margaret turned, the rustle of her skirts hissing dangerously around her ankles. Marching directly over to Winthrop, she didn’t bother to conceal her abhorrence for him. She ignored the stares and whispers of Elysium’s members, some of whom had paused, cards or dice in hand, to watch the scene unfolding.
No doubt it will be all over the gossip columns tomorrow.
The only question was whether it would take precedence over her husband’s amorous attentions to Lady Isley.
“What is it you want, Lord Winthrop?” she demanded. “Speak. Unless you wish to continue our merry chase through the gaming tables.”
The rubbery lips pursed before he wiped them with his sweat-stained handkerchief. He frowned, brow wrinkling to scowl at her. When Margaret didn’t so much as flinch he stammered, “You”—his sweaty face crumpled—“were supposed to marry me.”
“Was I?” Her hands went to her hips. “I don’t ever recall agreeing to a match with you. In fact, I believe I tossed up my breakfast at the very thought when you proposed, right into my aunt’s rose bushes. Did you take that as my agreement?”
Snickers came from the roulette table to her side.
“We were to be married,” he stated again, puffing out his chest, which made his much fuller bottom stick out. “Your aunt promised you to me.”
“Then perhaps you should take up your complaint with Lady Dobson.”
His large hands clutched at his sides, the malice in his gaze thickening to hatred.
Maggie marched closer to him and watched with delight when he took a small step back.
“I’m so sorry you won’t receive my substantial dowry, Winthrop. You behave as if you were entitled to it for some reason. Oddly enough, it seems my wealth has ended up in exactly the same spot it would have if I’d accepted your proposal. Here. Elysium.” She glowered at Winthrop, daring him to contradict her. “Probably at the very faro table I’ve just vacated. I understand you play abysmally.”
A series of shocked gasps echoed around her. Margaret ignored them all.
Winthrop’s mouth popped open at her diatribe, no doubt expecting timid Miss Lainscott, a girl who couldn’t even meet his eyes during his pathetic courtship. Margaret was no longer playing at being a mouse to navigate a society and an aunt she detested.
I have never been that girl.
I see you, Maggie. Welles had always known. Her heart gave a painful lurch.
“Now if you will excuse me, Lord Winthrop,” her eyes took in his sweating mass, the derision clear in her tone. “I am needed upstairs. I plan on engaging in fisticuffs with Lady Isley for having the audacity to kiss my husband while I was occupied playing cards.”
The whispers around her grew louder at her declaration. As if she gave a fig.
“I bid you good evening.” Margaret tilted her chin, challenging Winthrop to say more. She’d thought about fleeing Elysium, but halfway across the gambling floor, she changed her mind. Her husband may not love her despite Georgina’s remarks. But he cared for her. She was Lady Welles. He had come back to her. Margaret would not tolerate Lady Isley’s disrespect and would make her feelings abundantly clear to the red-haired harlot.
Her fingers curled into fists. She was relatively sure she could throw a decent punch.
Turning on her heel, intent on her mission, Margaret was halted by a familiar wall of muscle, clad in indigo and smelling of the outdoors and leather.
She winced as another odor invaded her nostrils.
There was also a trace of what had to be Lady Isley’s perfume. What a cloying scent.
“Brava, Lady Welles,” the wall of muscle rumbled. “Fisticuffs with Lady Isley? Over my honor? I’d no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”
Margaret ignored his teasing remark. She was angry and might burst into tears. “My lord.”
Welles looked down on her, one dark brow raised at her clipped greeting, but the corner of his mouth ticked up.
“Do not,” she said in a serious tone, “mock me.”
His eyes glittered in the light of the chandeliers. “I would not dare to do so, Lady Welles. At the moment, you’re rather frightening. Do you require my assistance?” He looked over her head at Winthrop, who was wheezing behind her.
“No. I’m doing quite well on my own, thank you. But I am ready to return home, my lord. Will you be staying to escort Lady Isley?”
Welles frowned. “I will be leaving with you.” Taking her gently by the shoulders, he positioned Margaret behind him. “Stay put,” he said for her ears alone. “Good evening, Winthrop. Is there something you’d like to say to my wife? If there is, pray continue.”
Winthrop shifted back and forth, drawing attention to his choice of footwear this evening. Brown satin with gold buckles and a tiny bit of a heel.
Margaret cringed just looking at him. Now that Welles was here, her anger was rapidly being replaced by mortification at the scene she’d caused. The entire gambling floor had heard her threaten Lady Isley.
“I was not compensated nearly enough,” Winthrop sputtered.
Margaret’s hand tightened on the back of Welles’s coat. Compensated?
“Indeed? My solicitors made an error? Or are you inferring I’ve been dishonest with you?
“Of course not.” Winthrop paled, craning his neck around, suddenly aware he had become the center of attention in a most unpleasant way. “But—”
“I understand. You had a verbal agreement with Lady Dobson to marry her niece. You’ve missed out on her very substantial dowry.” The low rumble of his voice became dangerously polite with a distinct chill.
“There was a contract.” Winthrop looked down at his ridiculous shoes, then back to Welles, his face ugly.
“Which you neglected to sign because you took issue with some of the wording, I believe.” Welles gave a graceful flick of his wrist.
“I had agreed.” He pointed a finger at Margaret. “She agreed.”
“Yes, I believe Lady Welles puked out her response to your proposal.”
Laughter burst from the surrounding crowd.
Winthrop’s jaw tightened. “I want what is due to me for her loss.”
“What you are due?” Margaret hissed from behind Welles before his arm snaked around to squeeze her hip, asking her to be silent.
“I wiped your debt clean at Elysium, Lord Winthrop, and settled a sum on you for any misunderstanding that you were to wed,” he paused, “my wife.” His deep baritone went frosty, his body beneath Margaret’s fingertips taut.
Welles took a step in Winthrop’s direction. “If I didn’t know better, Winthrop, I would think you were accusing me of cheating you.”
The tables around them had quieted. All of Elysium had quieted. Peckam and several of Leo’s runners circled them.
Winthrop turned a horrific shade of purple. “No, my lord.”
For the first time, Margaret caught a glimpse of the power Welles wielded within the ton. He was alread
y every inch the duke he would one day be.
“I thought not. You’ve misunderstood. Let me make things clear to you. I’d hate for you to go running about making such outlandish claims again.” Welles crooked a finger in Winthrop’s direction, a cold smile on his lips.
Winthrop swallowed and leaned in.
“I know exactly what Walter Lainscott bequeathed to his only child. Every penny you and that conniving harpy thought to take from her. You’d already contacted several businessmen to sell her shares of the mines, a bit prematurely, I might add.”
Margaret pressed her forehead into Welles’s back, inhaling sharply. My God, was there no end to her aunt’s deviousness?
Winthrop’s cheeks puffed out alarmingly. “It was perfectly acceptable, my lord. A wife’s assets belong to her husband.”
“Walter Lainscott didn’t think so.” Welles took a step back and pulled Margaret beneath the security of his arm. “Do not ever approach my wife again or I will take it as a sign you wish to settle the dispute in another way. One which you will like less. Do you understand?”
Winthrop was pale and sweaty, the strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. “I do.”
Welles smiled brilliantly. “I bid you a good night, Lord Winthrop.” His voice boomed across the gambling floor, as he gave an almost imperceptible nod to Peckam.
“I’ll have Mr. Peckam show you to your carriage, Winthrop. Consider your membership at Elysium to be permanently revoked.”
38
“Maggie.”
Her gaze was fixed on the street outside the carriage window after having wedged herself into the corner to avoid touching him. Once he’d ushered her through the remainder of the gaming tables and out to the private garden, Maggie had shaken off his hand before climbing inside and settling herself against the leather with a puff of distress.
“Maggie,” he said softly. “Please talk to me.” Her declaration over engaging Lady Isley in fisticuffs explained why she’d left Georgina at the faro table. His wife had seen Lady Isley’s attempts at seduction and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Annoyance flared. Why would she assume such a thing?
Why would she not?
“You will eventually need to speak to me, if only so that you can instruct me to position my tongue correctly or—”
One small, slender hand slapped sharply against the seat. “I am not in the mood for your blatant sexual innuendo. It ceases to amuse me. I have several things to ask you about Winthrop but first, let us discuss Lady Isley.”
“Of course.” He tried to take her hand and she twisted her fingers away.
“I saw you on the landing.”
“What do you imagine you saw?” Maggie didn’t trust him. Expected, but still painful.
“You were kissing Lady Isley.” A muffled sound came from her.
“I was not. The lady in question kissed me.” It wounded him that Maggie thought him unfaithful.
“Were you flirting as you…tend to do?”
“Flirting with her as I do? What the bloody hell does that mean?” He took off his hat and tossed it across the carriage. “No, I did not flirt with Lady Isley, nor encourage her.”
Maggie’s entire body shrank back a bit more. “Your reputation precedes you, my lord. Is she your mistress? I would know now, Welles.”
Tony fell back against the squabs, for the first time truly ashamed of the sexual exploits he was well known for within the ton. Maggie knew of his reputation. Christ, everyone did. There was no hiding all the immoral, improper things he’d done; for God’s sake, he owned Elysium. But he’d never considered how his past might hurt his wife someday, mainly because he’d never planned on having one.
“Lady Isley is not my mistress.” He took a deep breath, knowing Maggie would sense immediately whether he left something out. “She and I shared an encounter or two at Elysium long ago. Well before our marriage.” Truthfully, he’d not touched another woman since asking Maggie to play the piano for him in her chemise.
“In the private rooms on the second floor?”
“Yes.” His wife made a small sound of pain. “But nothing more. She wished to…rekindle our previous association, which I declined. Maggie,” he said, trying to draw her against him, “it will be hard to attend virtually any event in London without running into one of my previous lovers. You know of my reputation. My past. I can’t change it.”
Margaret turned her head to the window again.
“The street outside is more interesting than I am?” He slid across the squabs until she was trapped between the wall and his body.
“I have not been unfaithful to you,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the delicate skin beneath her ear. “Not in mind or body.” Nor did he intend to, which was surprising. “It’s rather shameful, I admit, to be brought to my knees by a woman half my size who is terrible with names no matter the number of times you are introduced to a person.”
“Untrue.” She slid a little closer to him.
“You can’t remember any of the names of our staff. You referred to Peckam earlier tonight as Peachum.”
“I know Fenwick’s name.” She sniffed.
“I hope so. He’s our butler and runs our household.” Welles wrapped an arm around her. “And you eat all the currant scones, no matter how many Cook makes even though you are aware currant is also my favorite. I’m left with crumbs and nothing but insubstantial tea sandwiches.”
“I wasn’t aware you liked them so much. I’ll try to leave you one or two in the future.”
“My forgetful, scone-eating wife who,” he kissed the corner of his mouth, “begged me only last night to turn her in such a way that—”
“Enough, my lord.” She finally turned in his direction and grabbed the edge of his coat before one slender hand rubbed absently up and down his thigh.
“You’re quite wanton, Lady Welles.”
“I’ve been corrupted,” she murmured into the folds of his coat. “I was merely a young lady avoiding marriage to a waddling pear when you came upon me.” Her head fell to his chest. “You paid Winthrop to go away, didn’t you?”
Tony took her hands and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I did. He kept flinging about having a verbal agreement with your aunt and alluded to a contract, though I could find no evidence they’d actually agreed on one. Winthrop is greedy. But I understand now why you were so determined to have Carstairs. He would never have delved into your finances or taken control from you. No wonder you wanted an unintelligent husband.”
“I failed miserably at that. You meet none of my parameters.”
“I don’t suppose I do.” He held her tightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Winthrop, but my mind was elsewhere. Quite frankly, I’d forgotten all about him and his stupid shoes until tonight.”
Tony had been trying to come to terms with the emotional turmoil caused by his marriage. But he’d made sure, against his solicitor’s recommendations, that no matter what happened, Maggie was to be given what was hers.
“There is a bit more, I’m afraid. Your aunt, in return for throwing her support behind Winthrop to overturn that portion of your father’s will, was to receive a large chunk of your dowry. Did you know your father supported your aunt for years? Probably out of guilt for the scandal he created when he married your mother. And Lord Dobson left her in dire straits when he died. I suppose she felt she had no choice.”
Maggie grew very still. “Everyone has a choice. No wonder she wanted me to marry him.”
“I took care of Winthrop. And I settled a sum on your aunt, with the condition that she never contact you again. You may change the terms if you wish.”
“No. I don’t wish.” She snuggled closer. “Thank you, Welles.”
“I will never touch what is yours, Maggie. If you wish to start your own bloody orchestra and pension off every ancient accordion player at Covent Garden, I will not object, but please, I prefer they not all practice in my study.”
“My con
servatory,” she corrected him with a smile.
“You could buy dozens of pianos and put one in every room of the house. Or you could donate the entire sum to Mrs. Anderson. The money is yours and will stay yours.”
“I feel much better now, my lord.” Maggie took his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before placing it to cup her cheek.
Welles’s heart contracted painfully in his chest.
“You are a good husband, Welles.”
He blinked, surprised at the compliment. How the ton would roll with laughter to know the jaded rake Lord Welles would do anything to hear such praise from his wife. “I hope to be.” Voice thick with emotion, Tony brushed his lips against hers, gratified when she attempted to climb into his lap.
“I’m sorry I don’t meet all of your requirements for a husband,” he said into the curve of her neck. “But I can take up horse breeding or something and attempt to ignore you.”
“I suppose that’s something.” She tilted up her chin for another kiss.
As the carriage pulled up in front of his house, Tony helped her out, tucking her into his side before leading Maggie upstairs directly to his room. Since his return, Tony had insisted she sleep next to him at night, claiming he often grew cold without her. It was the most ridiculous of excuses. The truth was he liked waking up with her next to him.
“Daisy,” he called through the door to the maid who was waiting in Maggie’s room. “You’re dismissed for the evening. “I’ll assist my wife tonight.” He shut the connecting door, after assuring his valet he could see to his own needs as well.
“Daisy must wonder why she never has to make my bed.” Maggie’s eyes were luminous in the candlelight, like brushed velvet.
“She will continue to wonder. I grow cold at night without you.” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry about Lady Isley and every other woman in the future who may challenge your patience.”
“I know.” Her head tilted as she ran a finger down his jaw.
He spun her around and began to slowly undo the row of tiny pearl-shaped buttons at her back. After the first three, Tony pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her spine, breathing in her scent.
The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 1) Page 23