Love's Promise (24 page)

“I’m so happy that you’ve returned safe and sound.” Rebecca forced pleasantness into her tone.

They were away from the party and strolling down a garden path, the lanterns reflecting off her diamond necklace and golden gown so that she glowed.

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Michael said.

He glanced over at her, and her jaw was clenched so tightly that he was surprised she could open her mouth to speak.

He hadn’t intended to make an appearance at the soiree, but somehow, Rebecca had learned he was home. Anne had sent a frantic note upstairs, informing him that Rebecca was asking after him, and Michael hadn’t been able to think of a valid reason
not
to come down.

Though she was trying hard not to show it, Rebecca was enraged, and he couldn’t blame her. For all her snobbish ways, she was only twenty—
the same age as Fanny
, a devilish voice reminded him—and barely beyond adolescence.

She should have had all the grandeur and romance a girl deserved with the approach of her wedding, and he wasn’t such a scoundrel that he’d revel in denying them to her. He wished he could fix the rift that had developed between them, or that he could explain why he was suddenly so distracted.

He felt as if he’d metamorphosed into a man he didn’t recognize—a man with two identities and two separate lives. He was marrying a woman he scarcely knew and didn’t like while he was carrying on a torrid affair with another whom he adored.

“Your brother always enjoyed walking in the garden.”

It was the very worst thing she could have said, the most insulting comment she could have made. In his view, the number one point against her was that she’d been betrothed to John first.

He could hardly keep from snapping at her.

“And he loved parties,” Michael stated. “He loved to dance.”

“He certainly did.”

They continued on, silent, miserable.

Ultimately, she ventured, “Where have you been? I was worried.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

There was a hint of sarcasm in her query that had him wondering what was behind it. Had there been rumors? Was she probing into his private life? He was about to marry her. Wasn’t she entitled?

“I had business at Henley Hall.”

“Nothing disastrous, I hope?”

“No.”

He’d been suffocating in the house, and when she’d suggested they take the night air, he’d jumped at the chance, but the mansion was getting farther and farther away, and he yearned for the crowd so he wouldn’t be stuck alone with her.

“I heard the strangest story,” she broached.

“What is that?”

“I heard you took Miss Carrington with you.” She peeked up at him. “Did you?”

He sucked in a deep breath, held it, let it out. He felt as if he was perched on a high cliff and about to leap off into space.

“Yes. I decided it was best to get her out of London.”

“Is she staying at Henley Hall?”

The residence was about to be Rebecca’s home, and she was aghast.

“No, she’s not at the Hall. I simply escorted her to the country. She’s visiting... relatives.”

“I wasn’t aware that she had any.”

It was a question and an indictment, but he didn’t answer it.

“How are the wedding plans proceeding?” he asked, desperate to divert her.

“It’s been a bit hectic, what with the short lead time, but my father will pull it off. He’s competent that way.”

Michael thought of the drunken, slothful man who was about to be his father-in-law, and he felt ill. “I’m sure it will be marvelous, whatever you’ve arranged.”

“It’s just been difficult having you gone so much.” She drew him to a halt, and she peered up at him. “I suppose I oughtn’t mention this, but it’s embarrassed me. I’ve had to make so many excuses for you, and I’ve run out of lies to tell. People have been talking...”

Her voice trailed off, her spurt of bravado waning. Despite how she craved a frank conversation, she wouldn’t dare allude to any facts, and he wasn’t about to dispel the gossip. His infidelity was a discussion they would never have.

“What have
people
been saying?” he goaded, merely to rattle her. “And why would you assume I care?”

He was being condescending, when he hadn’t intended to be, but he was just so angry. He wanted to throttle the Duke with his bare hands. He wanted to shake his sister until she stopped flitting around in the shadows and clucking her tongue like a mother hen.

His world was spiraling out of control, and he wished he and Fanny and Thomas could sail off to a deserted island where no one knew him, where no one expected anything from him.

The snide remark had hurt Rebecca, and her blue eyes blazed with a fury that she hastily tamped down.

“Why are you being so cruel?” she quietly said, making him ashamed.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a stressful few weeks. I apologize.”

“It hasn’t been easy for me either.”

She looked petulant and aggrieved, and her perfume was choking him. He dropped her arm and stepped away to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree.

“What would you have me say, Rebecca?”

“You needn’t
say
anything. I’m merely curious as to what’s happening with you, and as you’re about to be my husband, I believe I have the right to ask.”

“First,” he started, reining in his temper, but wanting to be very clear, “as you’ve reminded me, I
am
about to be your husband, so you should understand that I will never be at your beck and call. I will go places and do things, and I won’t seek your approval or permission. Nor will I allow you to interrogate me about my activities.”

“I see.”

“If you were anticipating a different sort of relationship with me, you will be sorely disappointed. While I will be kind to you, and will show you the respect and courtesy you deserve as my wife, I will always behave exactly as I please, so you need to re-evaluate your vision of what is possible between us.”

“You don’t want to marry me, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m just warning you that I am not the man you think I am.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Viscount Henley. Someday, I’ll be Duke of Clarendon. That’s who you’re marrying.”

“But I don’t know anything about you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She gaped at him as if she’d suddenly realized that he was practically a stranger.

“John used to kiss me out here in the garden,” she said. “He used to kiss me all the time.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t share details about you and my brother.”

“He...he
liked
me. He liked me very much.”

Michael had no reply. It was a futile conversation.

“You’ve never even tried to kiss me,” she pointed out. “Why haven’t you?”

“I’ve heard enough.”

He reached for her, desperate to return to the party, when she absurdly wailed, “You don’t love me.”

“Rebecca...”

She studied his eyes, searching for a fondness she would never find.

“Could you learn to love me?”

How was a man to answer such a question?

“Let’s go back to the house,” he insisted, but she didn’t move.

“I want you to kiss me,” she demanded, “this very instant. I want you to kiss me like you mean it.”

He sighed, wondering how they’d arrived at such an embarrassing impasse. Would it always be like this between them? Would he forever enrage her? Would she forever be disillusioned by him?

“It’s not appropriate for us to be out here alone like this. Your father is probably looking for you.”

“My father is drunk, and you know it. He doesn’t care where I am.”

“Well, I care that Anne’s guests might gossip.”

“Do you not
want
to kiss me? Am I repugnant to you? Is the notion distasteful?”

“No,” he lied.

“What is it then?”

There seemed no hope for it, and why shouldn’t he kiss her? All too soon, he would have to do much more than kiss her. Why not proceed?

Linking their fingers, he drew her close, an arm gliding around her waist. While he’d intended an innocent embrace, she snuggled herself to him, her entire front pressed to his, supplying evidence that John had—in fact—taught her how to dally with a man.

He kissed her, tentatively, then more vigorously, and she joined in. She was taller than Fanny, and she felt different, all willowy and lithe in a way that Fanny was not. He trifled with her, growing accustomed to the shape of her, to the smell and heat of her.

It wasn’t chaste, by any stretch of the imagination. Their tongues sparred, their loins rocked together, and her nipples poked into his chest.

He kept on for a long time, much longer than he should have, but he was trying to light a spark that wouldn’t flare. All he could think was that he was cheating—cheating on Fanny with another woman, and cheating on Rebecca by denying her what was rightfully hers.

Eventually, he pulled away, and she appeared to be satisfied with the attempt. She was smiling, content with what she’d wrought.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she inquired.

“It was very nice,” he agreed.

“Will you kiss me again in the future? I hate it when you ignore me. I won’t spurn your attentions. I want this from you. I’m...I’m...eager to do my duty.”

At the mention of her doing her
duty
, he nearly groaned aloud.

“We’ll get on just fine,” he told her. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I won’t.”

She took his arm, and they returned to the ballroom. As they entered, she was preening like the cat that had eaten the canary, and he was positive every person there was furtively grinning, having guessed precisely what they’d been up to out in the dark.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“He’s gone again? You must be joking.”

The Duke glared at Rebecca and shrugged. “He went back to Henley Hall.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t want to stay in London.”

“But we came to an understanding. Everything was fine.”

He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to figure it out, but she was too young and too naïve to grasp that Michael would always gambol and copulate with a reckless abandon. The words
fidelity
and
loyalty
weren’t in the vocabulary of a Wainwright male.

“My father’s party is tonight.”

“It certainly is.”

“Michael and I are the honored guests.”

“Yes, you are.”

“My wedding is four weeks away!”

“I’m aware of the date, Rebecca. It’s written on my calendar.”

He stared her down, his expression carefully blank, but on the inside, he seethed with fury.

Michael had forgotten the cardinal rule of dabbling with loose women: It was only fucking—nothing more, nothing less—and he’d let his heart become engaged. He imagined that he...he...
loved
Fanny Carrington.

If it hadn’t been so pathetic, it would have been downright laughable.

“Will there be anything else, Rebecca?” he queried. “If not, I’m very busy. Anne is home if you’d like to chat with her.”

He riffled through some papers, indicating that the meeting was over, but maddeningly, she didn’t depart.

“What’s really going on?” she demanded. She pulled up a chair and sat across from him, and it appeared that a long, unpleasant conversation was about to commence.

He sighed. While he had no desire to be the one who disabused her of her foolish notions, if necessary, he would.

“What are you asking, Rebecca?”

“Michael has been gone since the day he offered for me. He’s shown no interest in the wedding, and he’s deliberately absented himself from nearly every festivity. Why?”

“You’ll have to take it up with him—next time you see him.”

“Am I about to be jilted?”

“As far as I know, he still intends to marry you.”

“As far as you know! Am I supposed to be comforted by such a tepid reassurance?”

“Michael is a strong-willed, thirty-year-old man, Rebecca. He will always act precisely how he pleases. I suggest you get used to it, or I can guarantee you’ll be miserable for decades.”

“You’re trying to tell me something, but I’ve never been adept at deciphering riddles. What is it? Spit it out.”

“You’re beautiful and rich, yet he’s avoiding you like the plague. What would you guess is happening?”

After several seconds of pondering, the awful truth sank in.

“Are you saying he’s...he’s...involved with someone?”

“I’m not saying anything. You may make any inference you choose.”

“I’m his fiancée. He’s embarrassing me before the entire world!”

The Duke leaned back in his chair, hoping he’d hurt her, hoping she’d go away.

“How would I know what he’s up to?”

“Who is she? Am I acquainted with her?”

“Honestly, Rebecca, how would I—“

“Who is it?” she hissed, exhibiting such vehemence that he almost felt sorry for Michael. With his affair revealed, there’d be hell to pay.

The Duke pasted on an enigmatic smile. “I have no idea.”

“It’s that Miss Carrington, isn’t it?”

The Duke was silent, neither confirming nor denying her deduction.

“Would he cry off because of her?”

“Who can predict what a fellow might do?”

She was stunned, but resolved, and he had to give her credit. She was no shrinking violet. A more timid female would have collapsed in a bout of hysterics.

“What would you advise?” she asked. “How should I proceed?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“I assume that we have the same goal.”

She was regally staring down her pert nose at him in a way that showed she’d someday be an excellent duchess.

“And what would that be?”

“We both want him wed before the year is through. We both want the dukedom secured with an heir.”

“You’re correct: We are in complete accord.”

“So let’s make a deal.”

“No.”

“Fine, then.” She stood to go. “I will talk to my father and have him contact you about canceling the marriage contract. Goodbye.”

At the notion that she might run off with all her money, he leapt to his feet. “Hold it right there, little missy.”