Tender Torment (20 page)

“Why should she do that?”

“You mean Lydia didn’t fill you in on the details?” he jeered. Leaning back he placed his elbows on the arms of the chair
and steepled his fingers.

“No.” Marisa began to feel guilty for having listened to Lydia Clarkson at all.

“Well, my lady, it’s an old story, one best forgotten.”

“Apparently they have not forgotten.”

“No,” he laughed mirthlessly, “Lydia would not forget. Let it suffice to say she thinks she has an axe to grind.” He stretched
his long legs out in front of him and closed his eyes.

Marisa thought he looked tired. Was he that concerned about his chances of receiving a commission, or was it something else?
Had he been with Amanda Reling-ton last night?

Straeford opened his eyes to catch his wife regarding him intently. “Is anything the matter?”

Marisa shook her head negatively. “I was just thinking… about the weekend.”

“It was a mistake! Never again!” he declared emphatically.

Seeing his wife’s eyes darken with anguish, Straeford realized she had taken it as an insult to her ability as a hostess.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he snapped, rising from the chair and striding across the room and back again. “I was referring
to my own stupidity. Arranging a social gathering to further my career. I don’t know why I let myself be talked into it.”
Then he added more for his own benefit than hers, “If I don’t merit a command on my ability as an officer, I don’t want it.”

Although Marisa was relieved to know that she had not failed him, she was concerned for his self-reproach and tried to soothe
him. “It’s only natural to want to gain favor with those who can fulfill your most cherished desires.”

Her solicitude touched him, but his pride made him resist it all the more. “And what do you know about my ‘most cherished
desires’?” he asked sarcastically. “A man desires many things.” His bold gaze raked his wife, causing her to tense visibly.
“Of course, a command for me
would also be nice for you, too. It would free us from one another without throwing you to the gabblemongers.”

Her chin tilted with hauteur—any tender feelings she was experiencing toward him were erased by his unkind words. “Then I
should pray very hard that you receive it.”

“Pray it is not before you and your sister are launched into society,” he taunted, although underneath it all, he was unaccountably
hurt by her rejoinder.

“Since the season is about to begin,” she said wishing to offend him as deeply as he had offended her, “and we are both anxious
to put an end to this… honeymoon, I see no reason why we should not leave for London immediately.".

He stiffened at her rapier thrust; nevertheless, he managed to bow extravagantly and smile cynically. “As you wish, madam.”

Lady Maxwell inspected the Straefords approvingly as they stood before her in the morning room of her town house. The earl
was superbly attired in buff pantaloons and a blue double-breasted coat by Weston, while the countess was exquisitely clothed
in a high-waisted morning dress of mauve cambric edged with piping of green velvet. They were such a striking couple—Justin
with his dark, chiseled features and autocratic bearing, and Marisa with her flawless ivory complexion and regal carriage.
They were bound to be much admired as well as envied this season.

“Sit down, sit down,” snapped the old lady in some exasperation. The recent gossip which had reached her ears spoiled her
joy in them.

“I presume this summons was important enough to drag us here on our first day back in town,” Straeford demanded as he seated
his wife opposite his grandmother.

“Sufficiently so, I trust. Rumors are flying and I thought it my duty to tell you. What is this nonsense Lady Relington is
spreading about the two of you?” She
watched the expressions change on each of their faces. Marisa looked alarmed while Justin scowled.

“Since you seem to be in possession of some information we are not, perhaps you would be good enough to explain.”

“Humph, so I will!” There was a lengthy pause before she continued. “Gossip has it that the two of you make your dislike of
one another quite evident. I hear you are always stiff and formal with one another—when you are with one another; that you
never deem to use each other’s christian names… Need I go on?”

Blushing scarlet, Marisa cast her eyes downward, and Straeford, a thunderous look on his face, shifted uncomfortably in his
chair. “The jade,” he hissed.

“Fortunately for the two of you the town is still light of company, and Amanda’s had few opportunities to spread her malicious
lies.”

“Then there is no need to fuss since little harm has come from her tale-pitching.”

“Only if you behave more naturally with one another in the future. Oh, I know I can rely on Marisa to do her part.” She reached
across the intervening space to pat Marisa’s hand. “It is this scapegrace of a husband of yours I’m concerned about.”

“Grandmother!” Justin cried in mock horror. “Have you ever known me not to heed your advice? You know you are the only woman
who commands my compliance and devotion.”

“Then the bigger fool you, my boy,” she retorted, meaningfully throwing the trio into an awkward silence which was only broken
when the butler announced the arrival of the Fairfaxes, the first callers of the day.

Immediately Straeford bolted out of his chair prepared to make his departure, but his grandmother forced him to abandon his
plan of escape by reminding him of the words he had uttered just moments earlier about compliance. Fuming, he subsided moodily
into his chair, and introductions to the Fairfaxes were made. The party soon increased in number, and the earl found himself
surrounded by eager faces wishing to make the acquaintance of the handsome nobleman with the dangerous reputation. With gritted
teeth he bore it until he was rescued
by Lady Maxwell, who asked him to escort her to the library.

He had barely begun a speech of thanks for his deliverance when his grandmother cut in and began berating him for his conduct
toward his bride. Was he deliberately trying to hurt the girl by leaving her open to ridicule? Returning to the city without
her, bringing guests to the country when they were supposedly on their honeymoon. It was unforgivable.

Her tirade continued until Straeford hissed in a scarcely controlled voice. “I need not explain my behavior to anyone, my
lady. Not even to you!” With that he slammed out of the room.

Seeing the look on her husband’s face when he returned to the morning room, Marisa did not question his decision to leave.

Hastily she said her goodbyes and followed her husband into the hallway. There they encountered a pale, shaken Lady Maxwell.
Her appearance completely deflated Straeford’s wrath. Encircling his grandmother’s shoulders with his arm, he ushered her
back into the library. After pouring her some Madeira, he knelt beside her chair, took her hand gently into his large, strong
one, and whispered an apology. When the color returned to his grandmother’s cheeks, he kissed them both.

Later the scene replayed itself in Marisa’s mind. She had never witnessed this side of his nature before. His display of compassion
and tenderness moved her deeply, and although she dared not tell him so, the idea nestled in her memory, and she treasured
it in the days to follow.

Sitting in bed and drinking her morning chocolate, Marisa thumbed through a number of invitation cards that had arrived that
morning. Ever since Lady Maxwell’s soirée three weeks ago, it seemed everyone was mad to take her up. She was mindful of a
deep sense of gratitude toward the dowager who had generously sponsored her introduction to the
ton.

There was an abrupt knock on the door, and Justin strolled into the room, dressed for riding. “Good morning,
Marisa.”

His pointed use of her first name these days caused
her some discomfort, which she tried to ignore. “Good morning, Justin.” The intensity of his magnetic gaze from those splendid
green eyes brought her to a blush as she remembered the night she had just spent in his arms. It had left her confused. The
thrill of his touch, his lips upon hers, their bodies melting together as one had aroused a passionate response in her. Then
all tenderness disappeared. Smiling coldly at her, he had whispered, “Ah, my Lilith,” and taken her ruthlessly.

Looking away from his disconcerting gaze she asked, “Would you care for some chocolate?”

“No, I have already breakfasted and been riding.” He seated himself on the edge of the chaise longue.

“Riding,” there was a wistfulness as she spoke, “I have not been on a horse since we came to London.” She hoped he might take
the hint and offer to take her, but instead he countered, “Too many late nights, I suppose. I see your tray is full of more
invitations.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, and I don’t know which ones to accept.”

“Complaining, my dear? I thought this is what you wanted.”

“I’m not complaining. I just wish the pace were slower.”

Marisa tossed her golden tresses and slid out of bed, affording him a view of her shapely body in a sheer night dress before
she pulled on a peignoir.

How quickly they learned the feminine wiles, Straeford thought. Last night she had enjoyed their sexual activity a little
too much. In no time one man would not be able to satisfy her. Lady Maxwell’s impassioned plea of a few weeks ago had almost
made him doubt his own estimation of his wife, but last night she had reaffirmed his original beliefs. Sitting back and crossing
his arms, he eyed her smugly, and Marisa wondered just what he was thinking now.

“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked abruptly.

“There is a small card party at the Fairfaxes this evening, and then tomorrow we are promised to Lady Claridge…”

“No, not I, my dear, I have attended enough society functions in the last three weeks to last me a lifetime. You are well
launched into the
ton
and can go on credibly without me at your side now. My defection will hardly be noticed.”

“But… I… have already accepted the invitations in
both
our names.”

“Then that is your problem. Doubtless you will manage. I am going out of town for a few days.”

“Out of town? But… Meg is coming… and there is the ball we are to give.” She was following him across the room and had laid
a tentative hand on his arm. The unhappy look in her eyes gave him a moment’s pause.

“Be assured I shall return before then.”

The slight thawing of his tone gave her courage to ask, “How shall I get in touch with you? Where are you going?”

He stiffened and his eyebrows snapped together. “Where I go and what I do is no concern of yours!”

His belligerent statement hurt and angered her, and she turned her back to him. With that he stomped out of the room.

Why was he so cruel and unpredictable? These past three weeks he had been obliging and courteous, escorting her to the theater,
a rout party, Vauxhall Gardens, and several other affairs. Then, when she was growing accustomed to his presence, expecting
his support, he simply deserted her. Very well, she would manage on her own. Richard Foxworth would be only too happy to escort
her to the Fairfax and Claridge parties. And she would also accept Relington’s offer to ride with him in Hyde Park tomorrow
after all.

“Would you care to handle the ribbons, Lady Straeford?” Relington asked as he tooled his horses through the park.

“Oh, I think not.”

“I’m not such a Corinthian, my lady, that I would mind your driving my cattle.”

“But I never have.”

“Then it’s time you did.” Promptly he placed the
reins in her hands. “Steady does it,” he encouraged as he leaned closer to her, but she was concentrating too hard on his
instructions to notice. “Shorten the ribbon a trifle for the direction you intend going. Good, good. You have a light but
firm touch, all to the good.”

“I hope your tiger is not too nervous with me holding the reins.”

“Hawley? Never consider him,” he stated with insolence. “Ah, another curricle is approaching. Let us move to the right.”

The approaching conveyance carried Carol Fairfax and her fiancé, Marc Belvoir. Drawing rein, the two couples conversed pleasantly,
exchanging the gossip of the day, and then moved on only to stop again as more of their friends and acquaintances hailed them
along their route.

The hour passed quickly and soon they were on their way back to Berkeley Square. As they approached her home, Relington returned
to a topic which had been mentioned earlier.

“So, the earl is out of town, and you will be attending Lady Claridge’s ball alone.”

With some indignation she replied, “ I assure you I will not be alone. Richard Foxworth has kindly offered to take me.”

“Ah, and I was just about to offer myself as your escort.”

“That is kind of you, but I’m sure your own wife would prefer you accompanied her.”

He shook his head negatively. “That is impossible, dear lady, since Amanda left for the country quite suddenly yesterday.”
A meaningful look accompanied his unexpected words, causing a sudden chill to invade her entire being. With great effort she
strove to control her chaotic feelings. Unconsciously, she twisted the straps of her reticule until Relington’s hand rested
on her agitated fingers, forcing them still. Unable to meet his gaze or speak without betraying her emotions, she continued
to stare at their interlocked hands.

“My dear, it may be painful for you, but you must accept the truth…”

“No, I refuse to listen! Please say no more on the subject.” She spoke in short, choppy sentences as she tried to collect
her thoughts. “Thank you for the drive. There is no need for you to see me to the door. Good day, Lord Relington.”

Relington watched her go. He was quite pleased with himself and this day’s work. Already his words were having an effect on
her.

Shaking with rage and humiliation, Marisa paced her room like a caged animal. So, her husband was with Amanda Relington! Soon
every gossip in London would hear of it. Why had Justin chosen that vixen of all women to be his mistress? His mistress! Dear
God, her husband had a mistress! And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.