“We’re not yet wed,” she said, flushing at her hypocrisy. Even as she was trying to contrive a better excuse, Thomas was collecting himself.
“We are not—yet,” he said stiffly. “All the same, it is not improper to embrace the woman one has solemnly pledged to wed.”
“That is so, and I do not mean to be missish, Thomas. Yet I cannot be comfortable—that is, do recollect it has been many years since... since I was a wife.”
He seemed to understand then, because he apologised for his haste. Still, the edge of vexation in his voice warned this was not the end of the matter.
Lilith could not blame him. Neither, however, could she bear his touch—not now, not so soon. She’d endure it once they were wed, as she was obliged, but not before. She hadn’t misled him, she told herself. She’d never pretended passion, never even mentioned love. She’d never been given to displays even of affection... with one appalling exception.
“Modesty, naturally, is always becoming in a lady,” he was saying in his considering, Parliamentary tones. “You are quite right. We are not yet wed—though I assure you I had no intention of anticipating our conjugal vows. In all fairness, I must admit I have not been lover-like. I suppose I have shocked you this night. Let us hope you will not be shocked in future when your husband-to-be wishes to embrace you. I have been preoccupied of late. Nevertheless, I trust you understand our life together will not be entirely taken up with matters of state.”
Lilith nodded and forced a smile.
“Believe me, my dear, I look forward to the peace and intimacy of domestic life,” he went on sonorously, “and to the growth of mutual affection which provides man his greatest happiness. Mutual affection and, of course, such tokens of that esteem as Providence sees fit to bless us with.”
He had no need to say more. Lilith understood him well enough. For all his decorousness, he was a man, with a man’s needs. This man also wanted children.
He left soon after. She bid him a polite farewell then returned to the library to pour herself another glass of wine. Wine perhaps would deaden the vile clamour in her brain.
What of us? Angry, pleading. Against that voice, which made her heart pound even now, the tones of her intended husband, judicious, yet annoyed. Disappointed, impatient—as he had a right to be.
Perhaps it was wrong to marry Thomas. Perhaps he wanted more than she could give, and she’d make him unhappy.
No, of course she wouldn’t. She’d chosen for herself this time. No one had coerced her. She’d known exactly what she was choosing and why, and she’d make the best of it. Thomas would never know a devil possessed her heart.
The devil was not abroad this night. He watched the play at Wader’s for an hour or so and drank a glass or so, and was in his own bed by two o’clock in the morning. At three o’clock, Lord Brandon woke from a disagreeable dream and found himself in process of throttling the pillow—not, as he’d thought, Sir Thomas Bexley.
“By God, woman,” he muttered as he jammed the pillow back into place, “you shall pay for this, and dearly. To keep a man from his proper repose—”
He fell back upon the pillow, his green eyes wide, staring at the canopy above. “Believe me, I will return the favour, Lilith Davenant. Before the week is out, I vow.”
Having vowed so, Lord Brandon ought to have been easy in his mind, but his gaze remained fixed upon the canopy.
He hadn’t meant to speak as he had. It was a tactical error to press her when he’d only begun to win her trust. He’d promised himself he’d keep away from her this night, to make her wonder... and worry. But he’d watched her move, so proud and graceful, through the crowd, talking with her friends. He’d observed the other men as well. He was aware how their eyes lingered upon her imperious face, and dwelt longer still upon her slim, supple form. He’d recognised the instinctive masculine drive to conquer and possess. He’d not very much enjoyed seeing his own feelings reflected in a dozen other men’s faces.
Unbearably restless, he’d gone to her. Then the words, wholly unprepared, had spilled from him, and once begun, he couldn’t stop himself. Some fiend indeed must have taken hold of his tongue. It could not have been his own heart produced that lovesick speech.
Well, he’d never been a saint. Why should he have the patience of one?
Frustration, then. Nothing to be alarmed about. As to the speech itself—there was no harm in seeming lovesick.
She’d left him, true, with a rebuff. Nonetheless, she’d not heard him unmoved. He’d read her inner struggle—a painful one—in her eyes. Even as he raged at her, he’d known she was weakening. Which made him rage all the more within. She wanted what he wanted. Why not yield and be happy? Why should not two adults find pleasure in each other’s arms? And why must those troubled eyes haunt him? No, he corrected, that was only his frustration with her.
It would end soon. The serpent in the garden, she’d called him, unwittingly revealing that she, like Eve, was tempted. Would she fall? She must.
All the same, for all his confidence, Lord Brandon’s eyes did not close again that night.
Chapter Fourteen
On the following day at breakfast, Lord Brandon made a remark regarding what Hell hath no fury like. Though several more specific comments were needed, Lord Robert eventually recollected the long-suffering Elise.
Before noon, Robert was with his mistress. He brought her a bouquet, a box of chocolates, and an exquisite midnight-blue silk shawl.
Elise gazed at these sadly and told him he was too extravagant.
“Not at all,” he said, neglecting to add that Julian had provided the money. “I should shower you with diamonds, you’ve been so patient and understanding.”
“Yes, but I must be. I know you make the sacrifice for me. I never see you now, but for a few hours at a time. Every night you must go about with your friends and be so bored and lonely—and all for me,” said Elise, smiling bravely.
“Yes, hideously bored. But I do bear it for your sake—for ours, I mean.”
She took up the shawl and draped it over her shoulders. “So beautiful, Robin. How lovely it will be with my gown— the wine-coloured one, you remember?”
Lord Robert nodded enthusiastically, just as though he did remember, which he didn’t. His mind was taken up lately with pastel muslins.
“Of course you remember. It is your favourite,” she said, stroking the shawl. “You are so good to me. I think tonight you must have some reward for all your sacrifices. Why do we not go to the theatre? I shall wear the gown and this beautiful gift.”
Panic shot through Lord Robert. Miss Glenwood would attend the theatre this evening, and he’d promised to be there. She was a remarkably open-minded girl. Her aunt, unfortunately, was not. To be seen tonight with Elise was to invite permanent exile.
“I can’t,” he said, thinking rapidly. “Promised to dine at Holland House, don’t you know? Julian begged off at the last minute, and Lady Holland pounced on me so quick I couldn’t think.” This was not actually a lie, Robert told himself. Lady Holland had invited him.
Elise sighed. “Well, it is unfortunate, but I know you cannot be rude to the lady. Still, it is wearying to remain always at home.”
“Perhaps you could visit some of your friends,” Robert suggested. “I think Julian mentioned Bella Martin was having one of her soirees tonight. You like Bella.”
“No, there will be too many gentlemen, and it is so tedious always to be saying no, no. They do not understand I am not the Elise I was. My heart is not free now.” Her smile was tender, but the sparks in her dark eyes made Robert nervous.
“I think I shall go all the same,” she went on. “I shall take my maid. It is better that way. The play will distract me, and I shall not feel sorry for myself.”
His heart sank. If she couldn’t be got to change her mind, it must be Holland House for him after all. Ahead, instead of Miss Glenwood’s lively company, lay a stuffy, stupid evening—not to mention being forced to jump up and
down a dozen times, because Lady Holland was inclined to revise seating arrangements straight through dinner.
Although Robert did not leave his love nest for several hours, nothing he said or did could sway his mistress. As he made his lachrymose way down the street, he wondered why he hadn’t noticed before how obstinate Elise was. Furthermore, something must be done about her taste in perfume. A man ought to be able to breathe in his own lodgings.
The marquess arrived at the theatre earlier than was his custom, and headed immediately for the Enders box. He found Lady Enders, Bexley, Cecily, and Mrs. Wellwicke, but no Lilith. Assuming she must have stepped out with Lord Enders, Brandon lingered. Consequently, he had to endure Bexley’s opinions of the King of Denmark at numbing length. He listened, the time passed, and neither Enders nor the widow appeared.
Finally, minutes before the curtain was due to rise, Bexley paused to catch his breath, and Cecily spoke up.
“Was there a great crowd in the corridor as you arrived, my lord?” she asked. “Lord Enders very kindly offered to fetch me a glass of lemonade, though I would have been happy to wait until the interval. I do hope he won’t miss the opening scene on my account.”
“In such a service, Miss Glenwood, any gentleman would gladly forgo the entire drama,” Brandon said gallantly. “Still, if I spy him, I shall convey your anxiety.”
“There is no need for alarm,” Lady Enders told the girl sharply. “Enders will be along any minute.”
“Yes, how silly of me. I am just uneasy in general, I daresay, on account of my poor aunt. Perhaps I should have stayed home with her after all. It isn’t good for her to be all alone, whatever she says.”
Lord Brandon shot the girl a glance, but she had turned her attention to the stage.
Moments later, having expressed appropriate sentiments regarding Mrs. Davenant’s ill health and feigned fascination with Bexley’s imbecilic explanations for her headaches, Lord Brandon was striding rapidly down the corridor. So intent was he upon his plans that he did not observe Elise’s approach until it was too late.
“A moment, milord,” she said, taking hold of his arm.
He was about to shake her off, but a glance at her face stopped him. Her dark eyes glittered an angry warning.
Fortunately, the corridor was empty. Leading her to one side, so that he could keep watch on the stairs for late arrivals, he politely asked how he might serve her.
“You might serve by keeping to our agreement,” she snapped. “It was simple enough. But you play another game as well, I think.”
“There is only one game I am aware of, mademoiselle.”
“I am not blind, milord. Little passes in your Great World that does not reach me. I comprehend what you have done. Our bargain, you find, is not so simple as you thought, so you arrange to win another way. You keep Robert from me, and use as bait that pretty child with her golden curls and so-blue eyes.”
“I see you have been spending too much time alone, brooding,” said his lordship. “Otherwise you would not have persuaded yourself that a mere girl—pretty or no—gives you any reason for alarm, or that I have any need to hedge my bets.”
“Do you not? How long is it now? Nearly five weeks, I think.”
“You were so generous as to give me eight. I see no reason for haste.”
“But reason for other precautions, no? Is this your honour? I trusted your word as a gentleman. Why did you tease me with a bargain you never meant to keep?”
“I fully intend to keep it,” he said, controlling his swelling anger. “Do you call me a liar, mademoiselle?”
Though he’d kept his voice level, the tart must have sensed she was treading on thin ice. “I only wish to be assured,” she said in lighter tones. “Can you blame me? To win our wager, you need only seduce Madame Davenant. Why do I see Robert kept from me meanwhile? That was no part of it.”
“I have done nothing to keep him from you,” he said as patiently as he could. “If you believe he’s playing you false, you must deal with that between yourselves. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going.”
For all her assurances to Cecily, Lady Enders was not at all easy in her mind about Matthew’s tardiness.
It was Matthew who’d hastened to Lady Violet Porter’s assistance during the battle at Redley Park, and Rachel had not at all approved the assiduousness of his attentions.
Forced to relinquish Lord Fevis to his wife, Lady Violet was free to pursue other game. This evening, Lady Enders had perceived the smile the woman threw Matthew when she arrived. Consequently, Rachel little doubted it was Lady Violet her husband was reconnoitering, not lemonade.
This was why, as the curtain was rising, Lady Enders left her box and stepped into the corridor.
Thus she saw Lord Brandon lead the demi-rep round the corner by the staircase. Judging by the woman’s tones, she was in a temper.
Rachel told herself she had no interest in their discussion. This was a public corridor, and she had as much right as anyone to walk there. She needed to drop a hint to Mr. Porter, didn’t she? And wasn’t his box that way?
Just before the comer, however, she stopped dead. The tart’s words rang perfectly clear now. Perfectly, monstrously clear.
Lady Enders did not wait to learn more. Trembling with shock and indignation, she turned and hurried back.
Lilith, who had every sort of trouble but the headache she’d claimed, was bent over her desk, reviewing accounts, when she heard the tap at her study door. Expecting Cawble with the tea she’d ordered, she didn’t bother to look up when she bade him enter.
“Is this a new cure for the headache?” a low, familiar voice asked.
She jumped from her chair, knocking over a stack of papers. “How did you get in?” she gasped.
“Bribed the footman. Your butler was otherwise occupied, thank heaven. He is lamentably incorruptible.”
This evening, a deep-blue coat made Lord Brandon’s hair glint blue-black. His linen was blinding white, nearly as dazzling as the diamond that shot sparks from the folds of his neckcloth.
His tall, broad-shouldered figure made the small, cluttered room seem a narrow cell. Lilith herself felt like a peasant. She wore an old grey muslin day dress whose right sleeve bore a spattering of ink stains. It was her working costume.
Stunned at his entrance and embarrassed by both the room’s and her own appearance, she could only watch helplessly as he gathered up the papers. To her dismay, he did not return them to the desk, but commenced perusing them.
“These are scarcely two days old,” he said reproachfully. “It is bad ton to pay one’s creditors before one has been dunned twenty-five times at least. I must warn you against the practice. The upper orders are obliged to set proper examples for their inferiors.”
“I see no merit in driving to bankruptcy tradespeople who serve me in good faith,” she said. “Nor do I see how this is any business of yours. You will please to give them back— and leave this house.” She put out a shaking hand for the papers.
He turned away from her and continued to thumb through the stack. “Ye gods,” he said. “This is only the past month’s? Thank heavens I leave all that to my secretary. I should never have time for anything else. Why don’t you leave it to Bexley? What’s the point of marrying a rich man if you don’t let him pay your creditors?”
“I have no intention of presenting my betrothed with a pile of debts. May I also repeat, this is none of your concern. Nor have you any right to invade my privacy—particularly at this unseemly hour.”
He did not even look up as he answered. “I know you’re angry with me, my pet, but I wish you wouldn’t make stuffy speeches. It spoils my concentration and— Aha!” He spun round, holding aloft the pawnbroker’s ticket. “What is this? Have you played too deep at piquet, wicked girl?”
Heat tingled in her cheeks. “Even the most well-regulated households at times have need of ready cash.”
“Ah, yes. An unplanned expense. What was it? That ghastly co
rset? Or perhaps a provocative negligee—black lace, I hope—for your wedding night?”
It was scarcely a cry, more a painful catch of her breath, but he heard it, for he dropped the papers on the desk and moved to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he asked gently, “What is it?”
“Let go of me. It is no great matter. The blue silk... some alterations... Madame—well, she did it all practically overnight. I wished to pay at once, in thanks for her trouble.”
“So you pawned your silver? Higginbottom didn’t tell me matters had reached such a pass.”
“I will have something at the end of the month. I have enough now—or nearly—but I’d rather keep it in reserve. Cecily may need stockings or ribbons—or her fan may break, or some catastrophe.”
If he did not take his hands away soon, she would be stuttering. As it was, she had to stare hard at the diamond stick pin to maintain any composure.
He released her. “I see.” He stepped back to the desk, picked up the stack of papers, and thrust them into his coat. “This is utterly absurd,” he said. “You should not be tormenting yourself with creditors. Why should you not have new gowns if you want them? Why should you not have whatever takes your fancy? What have you done to deserve penury?”
“I am not tormented. I don’t want any new gowns. And I most certainly will not permit you to pay my debts. If I would not permit my betrothed—”
“Don’t preach at me, Lilith. It’s bad enough I must see you shackle yourself to that staid Parliamentarian. I will not watch you pinch and scrape in the meantime.”
There was again the barely contained anger she’d heard the night before.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t speak this way.”
He moved to her again. “What does it matter what I say? Who’s to hear it? Is it so villainous that I don’t wish to see you suffer? Come, my love,” he said, lightly touching her cheek. “I have so few real amusements. This is amusing, truly it is. To keep a woman for my rival will be a novelty. I’ve never attempted such a tiling before, you know, and we are told love makes men do the oddest things.”