Gayle Buck (27 page)

She did not struggle against him nor utter a sound of protest.

Lord St. John’s senses were disordered. He felt anger and hard desire. He wanted to punish her. But with the feel of her in his arms a bewildering tenderness welled up in him, turning awry his purpose.

Rosethorn...

He had never been more content than when he was with this woman who had become his wife. Her openness, her giving nature, her dignity, had all come to rest in the space of his very soul. Of their own volition, his hands began to gentle.

Then he tasted the salt of her tears.

With an oath he thrust her from him and she stumbled. She caught herself on the settee, turning her pale face up to him. The firelight glinted on the streaks of her tears.

White-faced, his hands in fists, he stared down at her for a heartbeat, breathing quickly. From between clenched teeth, he savagely ground out, “Damn you!”

He turned on his heel. The force of the door slamming behind him resounded in the sitting room.

Mary straightened. Mechanically she smoothed her disheveled gown. Her mouth felt swollen, violated. She could taste blood where her lips had been cut by her own teeth. But she focused on none of these things.

Instead she recalled the haunted look in the viscount’s blazing eyes when he had pushed her away, the hopelessness that had flitted across his face before the rage had again erased it.

Time swirled aside and she heard once more the confession of his soul. “The fevered vision of a fool... returning to Rosethorn to find waiting for me a beautiful woman holding the hand of a child ....”

Certainty flooded her being. At last she knew that she had established a place in her husband’s heart. Now all that was left to her was to teach him to acknowledge it.

Mary gave a dry little laugh at the very enormity of the task.

Chapter 25

A startling rumor swept the
ton.
The Duke of Alton had taken the unprecedented step of divorcing his duchess of three months. Infidelity and false representation were cited as the justifiable causes.

Mr. Underwood was the first to carry the tale to Lord St. John. “There will be the devil of a dustup,” he predicted.

“Perhaps,” said Lord St. John indifferently.

Mr. Underwood said disgustedly, “Aye, pretend that you are not thrown into agitation by the news, when it could well mean that you will be reestablished as the duke’s heir.”

Lord St. John gave his twisted smile. His eyes gleamed. “That would be fortune’s hand, indeed, Carey. I do not look for it, however. You forget the unborn child.”

Mr. Underwood made a dismissing gesture. “There’s something havey-cavey about that. I always thought so. You said yourself that you doubted that Alton was the sire.”

Lord St. John gave a harsh laugh. “All doubts aside, Carey, the brat is still considered to be Alton’s heir. I do not forget that, my friend. It would be folly to allow one’s thinking to be clouded to the issue.”

“I suppose you have the right of it. Damn, Sinjin! The business leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” said Mr. Underwood.

“No more than it does mine,” said Lord St. John, his countenance grim.

The rumored divorce was swiftly confirmed as fact. The scandal was tremendous and was exclaimed over wherever the
ton
gathered, especially when it came out that the old duke had discovered his wife
en flagrante
with her lover. Numerous speculations went the rounds but no one seemed to have any other details to add to what was already known.

It was Lord Heatherton who conveyed the sober intelligence to his friends that, in the heat of the ensuing scene, the duchess had declared the babe’s father to be someone other than the duke.

“An ill-advised, rash statement on her part,” he said, shaking his head. “Naturally his grace had no other recourse open to him than to repudiate both her and the babe.”

“Where heard you this, Nana?” asked Mr. Underwood, astonished that of all people Lord Heatherton would have access to such sordid knowledge.

Lord Heatherton lowered his heavy brows in patent disapproval. “M’mother is an old acquaintance of the duke. She posted down to lend her support to his grace in his time of trial. The house servants were still full of the terrible row and filled her maid’s ears with the details.”

“Backstairs gossip will always spread one’s most carefully guarded secrets. One can almost feel pity for the blow to the duke’s pride,” said Mr. Underwood. Since he was grinning, it was obvious that he spoke with at best a spurious sympathy.

“For myself, I sympathize with Lady Heatherton,” murmured Lord St. John.

Lord Heatherton threw the viscount a startled glance. With Lord St. John’s apology, the breach between them had become a thing of the past. “How did you know, Sinjin? M’mother returned to town positively livid. The old gentlemen sent her off with a flea in her ear. It ain’t been comfortable to be around her, I can tell you.”

“I am not at all surprised, myself being all too well acquainted with his grace’s character,” said Lord St. John on a laugh. “Besides, I’ve heard a few asides of my own. The duke is said to have insulted a fair number of well-meaning friends who had journeyed to commiserate with him over his loss by cursing them all roundly.”

“A rare joke, indeed,” said Mr. Underwood with a hoot of laughter.

“It is all very well for you to laugh, Carey.
You
have not got to escort m’mother about,” said Lord Heatherton gloomily.

Shortly thereafter, the Duke of Alton died of apoplexy. The duke’s death fired speculation whether it would mean another change in Lord St. John’s fortunes. The viscount had provided grist for the gossip mill for months. The
ton
had never been more entertained.

In one particular quarter, amusement was the remotest reaction imaginable. Instead, astonishment was swiftly superseded by fury and determination.

* * * *

The message that her presence was urgently enjoined was relayed by one of the footmen to Mary in her private sitting room. She gazed at some length at the name embossed on the calling card before lifting her eyes to the waiting servant. “I shall go down directly,” she said quietly, and rose. The footman bowed and proceeded her downstairs. He opened the drawing room door for her and stepped aside.

Mary paused in the doorway, surveying her visitor.

The lady stood in front of the huge gilt mirror on the mantel, intently studying her own reflection as she smoothed the satin ribbons of her bonnet. She presented a stylish appearance in a walking dress of palest blue which accented a perfect figure.

Although no more than a word or two had ever been exchanged between them, Mary knew much of the lady by reputation. Lady Althea had been pointed out to her on a number of occasions by not-so-friendly personages as Lord St. John’s former fiancée. It had been related to her more times than she cared to count that but for the viscount’s reverses in fortune, his lordship would have wed the beauteous Lady Althea.

Mary had wondered what sort of woman would spurn the gentleman of her choosing upon learning that he could no longer aspire to a grand estate. She had heard that Lady Althea, and indeed all of the Cowlterns, had more than their share of pride. But surely, where there was respect and affection, there must also be loyalty.

Mary advanced into the room, hardly aware when the door was closed quietly behind her. She held out her hand in a friendly fashion. “Lady Althea? How kind of you to call on me.”

Lady Althea had turned around. Her eyes raked the viscountess in appraisal. Almost disdainfully she allowed her gloved fingers to touch those of her hostess. “It is a call made from necessity only, I assure you.”

Mary felt the snub. However, she had learned all too well through the past few months not to allow her expression to betray her. She continued to smile and said gently, “Indeed, Lady Althea? Then I shall not keep you overlong by offering you tea. But pray do be seated.” She seated herself.

Lady Althea’s large blue eyes flashed at the riposte. She followed her hostess’s example and sat down on the edge of the settee. “You must wonder why I have chosen to call upon you.”

“I am certain that you shall divulge it all in good time,” said Mary dryly.

“You are a pert, ill-bred baggage,” said Lady Althea, her lips thinning.

“Your opinion is of supreme indifference to me, my lady. Is that all that you wished to convey to me? For if it is, I can only say that you have wasted your time in coming here,” said Mary.

“Yes, I certainly believe that I have. However, perhaps you shall not think so when I say that I have come to warn you, madam!” said Lady Althea dramatically.

Mary raised her brows. “Really? How utterly extraordinary of you. However, I assure you that your intentions are looked upon with just the measure of gratitude which they deserve.”

Flags of color flew into Lady Althea’s face. She was now thoroughly in a temper. “You shall not be so superior when I tell you that I have come on Sinjin’s behalf. Oh, that pricks your interest, madam? I thought perhaps it might. I felt the greatest reluctance to come to you, but I see now that it was just the thing to do, for you must be made to understand.”

“And what is it that you deem of such importance. Lady Althea?” asked Mary.

For answer, Lady Althea opened her reticule and drew out a pair of man’s gloves. “This, madam!” she said triumphantly.

Mary looked at the gloves. She shook her head. “I am sorry, but I fail to understand your point, my lady.”

“These belong to Sinjin. He dropped them in my boudoir when last he visited me.” Lady Althea paused to gauge the effect of her words. “I shall spare your blushes and mine by not revealing the circumstances.” She made a show of casting down her gaze in seeming modesty.

There was a moment of silence. Mary looked at the gloves, then raised her thoughtful eyes to Lady Althea’s face. Lady Althea had abandoned her pose of decorum in order to watch her hostess’s expression. There was an expectant glint in the lady’s hard blue eyes.

Mary knew that however those gloves had come into Lady Althea’s possession, the lady hoped to use them to her present advantage. Unfortunately for Lady Althea, Mary was not so easily manipulated that she would grant her the satisfaction of a scene. “Indeed, Lady Althea. You surprise me. However, I fail to see the connection between these gloves, whomever they might belong to, and your warning to me.”

“You dimwitted Cit! Must I spell it out for you?” exclaimed Lady Althea, enraged. “I am saying that Sinjin dropped these gloves in a moment of passion. There! Is that not clear enough? Your husband is in love with
me,
madam!”

Lady Althea was astonished when her hostess went into a peal of laughter. Dull red entirely suffused her ladyship’s face, quite transforming her beautiful features. “He is!” she declared, incensed. “And I shall have him, too, for he wants me!”

Mary shook her head, the small smile on her face somewhat pitying. “My dear Lady Althea. Even if what you say is true and my husband did indeed leave those gloves at your residence, I very much doubt that he made love to you and vowed his everlasting adoration. No, do not speak, my lady, for you but make yourself the more ridiculous. You see, I understand my husband’s character very well. He may have once been affianced to you. He may even have cared for you. But he would
never
return to anyone who had spurned him as you did. His honor and his pride would not permit it.”

Lady Althea’s eyes glittered. “You are so certain, madam!”

Mary sighed and made a slight gesture. Gently, she said, “I am, after all, the gentleman’s wife.”

There was silence, fraught with tension. The animosity in Lady Althea’s expression had quite destroyed any pretense of beauty that she had.

Mary rose and pulled the bellpull. “I know that you must have other calls to make, Lady Althea,” she said quietly.

The door was opened by a footman. Lady Althea stood up. Without word or glance, she sailed out of the sitting room. The footman looked inquiringly in Mary’s direction. She shook her head, then stayed the footman’s departure with a quick gesture. “Pray deny me to any other callers, William.”

“Very well, my lady.” The door closed softly.

When she was alone, Mary walked slowly over to the gloves, which had spilled from Lady Althea’s lap when she had taken her abrupt leave. Mary picked up the pair. She knew before she even checked the stamped monogram inside the edge of one that the gloves were indeed her husband’s. For an instant she raised the smooth leather to her cheek, breathing in the rich smell.

She had told Lady Althea the truth concerning her understanding of Lord St. John’s character. However, there had been a small seed of doubt planted by Lady Althea’s malicious visit.

Mary sighed, for she was acutely cognizant of the fact that she had “married up.” Hers had been a contracted marriage of convenience. However much of a business arrangement it had been, however, her beliefs and the love that she had for her husband would never allow her to think less of the sanctity of her marriage. The same might not be true for Lord St. John, who was, after all, born of a class that was notorious for infidelity and casual affairs. Lady Althea’s claims might have been spun out of whole cloth, but the original thread could have had some truth attached to it. For several long moments Mary stood lost in reflection.

* * * *

Lord St. John received the news of the loss of his relative with apparent calm. The somber solicitors waiting upon his lordship could detect nothing in his expression beyond polite attention.

One of the solicitors offered his condolences.

There came an expression into his lordship’s icy gray eyes that made more than one of the gentlemen wish that the conventional words had not been uttered. “Absolve me of hypocrisy, sir. I scarcely bleed for the duke’s demise; nor would he have regarded my own death with anything more than passing indifference.”

A short uncomfortable silence fell, to be broken tactfully by Mr. Witherspoon. “I believe that we may move on, gentlemen.” There was a murmur of agreement and the rustle of papers.