Tender Torment (22 page)

Her attention was diverted from Meg by Lucy delivering a note from Richard Foxworth. “He has an important message for me and
wants to come up to deliver it.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Meg asked archly.

“No, of course not. I do not intend receiving a gentleman in my bedroom alone. Hand me my shawl, Lucy, and then you may show
the gentleman up.”

“I can’t imagine what important message Richard could have for me.”

“Well, you will soon find out, won’t you?”

After that rather snide remark from Meg the sisters waited in silence for Richard Foxworth to be ushered into the room by
Lucy. As always his dandified appearance brought an irrepressible smile to the sisters’ lips. He was wearing a lavender jacket,
pink striped waistcoat, and embroidered breeches. And as usual the starched wing collar of his shirt reached the middle of
his cheek.

“Dear ladies,” he smiled superciliously and bowed over Meg’s then Marisa’s hand. Straightening, he placed a small box in the
countess’s fingers. “For you, my dear Lady Straeford.”

“Richard, you know I can not accept a gift from you.”

“Believe me, this one you can. Please open it.”

“Yes, do,” Meg insisted and seated herself on the bed.

Puzzled, Marisa lifted the lid to discover an emerald ring winking at her, and although in her heart she knew it must be hers,
she was afraid to believe it. “Richard, is it…?”

“Yes, dear lady, it is the emerald you lost in my carriage.”

“I thought you told my sister you searched your coach and could not find it,” Meg interjected skeptically as she leaned over
and lifted the ring from her sister’s nerveless fingers. Then she slipped it on to her own hand and held it up to the light
to admire it.

“What you say is true. It was mere chance which brought it to light. Yesterday as I stepped into my carriage, I noticed the
carpeting had come loose. Naturally, I instructed my coachman to repair it. It was then that Freddy discovered the ring lodged
beneath the flooring.”

“It’s too good to be true.” Tears glistened in Marisa’s eyes. “It is the most wonderful news. Isn’t it, Meg?”

Her sister shrugged her shoulders indifferently and handed the emerald back to the countess. “In the future I would suggest
you take better care of your belongings. I would have had it sized long ago.”

“Yes, yes, I should have, and I will see to it as soon as I am over this cold.” Gratefully, she clasped Fox-worth’s hand.
“I shall never be able to thank you enough, dearest Richard.”

“Lady Straeford, do not give it a second thought. My only wish is that I had discovered its whereabouts that night and saved
you all this anguish.” He bowed deeply and then kissed her fingers.

“Fiddle dee dee, it was nothing but a tempest in a teapot,” Meg suggested petulantly. “And now, will one of you tell me how
I may attend the opera this evening?” She gave Foxworth a speculative look.

“My dear child, I would be delighted to escort you, and I will ask my cousin Madeleine to act as chaperon. That is… if Lady
Straeford consents.” He raised his monocle and looked at Marisa, but it was Meg who made a smug reply.

“Of course, she will approve. After all, you are the gentleman who just saved her from the embarrassment of having to explain
to Lord Straeford that she lost a priceless heirloom.”

Restlessly Marisa tossed about, tangling herself in the sheets. The lazy day abed had brought on a sleepless night for the
recovering countess, and the stillness of the house, after John and Meg’s departure for their evening festivities, closed
down around her. Throwing off the hot covers, she slipped quietly out of bed and into her robe. Then noiselessly she crept
downstairs to the library in search of something to read. After placing the candelabrum on a table which sat directly in front
of the window, she surveyed the room. Since Straeford had chosen it as his personal sanctuary, Marisa had rarely been inside
of it. The moderately stocked bookshelves ran the length of one wall, and a large oak desk was placed squarely in the center
of the room. The secretary arrested her attention because it was piled high with leatherbound volumes. Curious to discover
her husband’s choice of reading material she went to the desk and began reading the titles of the books strewn across it.
Disappointment was immediate, because they dealt solely with military subjects: generals, wars, tactics and campaigns. Was
that the only thing he concerned himself with? Discouraged, Marisa turned
away and caught sight of another stack of books sprawled carelessly at the foot of an armchair. Slipping to her knees beside
them, she was pleased this time to read a variety of titles on a number of topics. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.
Picking up the book lying face down in the chair, she was more than surprised to see it was Camoes’s
The Lusiad,
the national epic of Portugal. Was it possible that Justin was actually reading this? But here was proof—the opened book
lying in a chair in a room that he occupied almost exclusively. Making herself comfortable, she began to read.

Like to a daisy flow’r with colors fair,

By virgin’s hand beheaded in the bud

To play withal, or prick into her hair,

When sever’d from the stalk on which it stood.

Both scent and beauty vanish into air,

So lies the damsel without breath or blood,

Her cheeks’ fresh roses ravisht from the root

Both red and white, and the sweet life to boot.

Absorbed in the poetic beauty of the verse, Marisa was not aware of voices in the outer hall until the door was abruptly opened,
and she heard Straeford saying, “You may bring me a decanter of port, Jenkins.” Then he was standing over her—his booted feet
planted directly in front of her. “Well, what have we here?”

“Oh, my lord,” she cried and scrambled to her feet with his assistance.

“I saw the glow of the candles from the street and wondered who was in here.”

His well-intentioned explanation was accepted coldly by his wife who was remembering her outraged honor. “So, now you know!”
The frigidity of her reply immediately put him on his guard, and the rush of pleasure he had experienced at seeing her curled
up on the floor with her unbound hair cascading down about her blue-clad form was forgotten, and he retaliated.

“Why are you in here without my permission?”

“I didn’t realize this was restricted territory.”

Her sharp retort not only surprised him but angered him as she stood before him with her hands defiantly on
her hips. “It is, if I say so! These,” he said thrusting a hand out indicating the dislodged papers and books, “are my personal
belongings.”

“I wasn’t prying, if that’s what you think.” Her own doubt of the truthfulness of those words caused her to blush and noticing
it he asked suspiciously, “Weren’t you?”

“No, of course not,” she persisted in her own defense. “I simply came in here to find something to read… and I just happened
to catch sight of
The Lusiad.
I only meant to glance at it, but I became so absorbed in it that I couldn’t put it down. Did you find it that way when you
were reading it?” She forgot her anger in remembering the poem.

A slight flush rose under his cheeks before he had time to turn away and toss the book carelessly among the others on the
desk. “I only read it to discover something about the nature of the people who are to be our… allies in the coming campaign.
A mere practical interest. It had nothing to do with its poetry.”

Marisa pursed her lips. Why did she persist in trying to locate a soft spot in this man? Indignant, she turned her back to
him and walked over to the bookshelves and quickly selected something to read. She would have left him then without a word,
but Straeford had no intentions of letting the interview end.

Blocking her exit, he drawled with marked cynicism, “Not much of a greeting for a spouse you haven’t seen in weeks, m’dear.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Her sarcastic rejoinder nonplussed him, and she made good her escape.

How dare she treat him in such a cavalier manner! Here he had come back ready to resume his marital duties, and she was acting
the bitch. What could possibly be troubling her? For half a second he was tempted to follow her and find out, but instead
he stormed out of the library, startling Jenkins who was carrying a tray with the decanter of port the earl had requested
earlier.

“My lord,” Jenkins hastily put the tray on a table and scurried after his lordship, who was heading for the front door. “Shall
I call for your carriage?”

“No, I prefer to walk.”

“But, my lord, it is not safe…”

Straeford’s disdainful scowl was enough for the butler to fall silent. Shrugging his shoulders, Jenkins watched his master
disappear into the inky black night. Far be it from him to protest any decision made by that man and incur his wrath. Better
to pity the poor unsuspecting footpads who accosted Lord Straeford for they would be tangling with Satan himself. Sometimes
he wondered why he had come to work for the Straefords. If it were not for Lady Straeford, he would certainly have given in
his notice. Only she could have induced him to work in the house of such a blackguard. His unfortunate mistress needed the
loyal support of her staff, and he was determined she would have that at least. After a heartfelt sigh, Jenkins finished dousing
all but one branch of candles in the entrance hall, and then made his way downstairs to the kitchen where he would sit over
a hot cup of tea until bedtime.

Being the only occupant of Berkeley Square to retire early, Marisa was the first one in the breakfast parlor the following
morning. Left alone with her thoughts, they naturally turned to her husband. She had not planned what her attitude toward
him would be upon his return, but now that an icy calm had asserted itself, she intended it to remain so. Only let him not
seek her in bed! Knowing that he had a mistress, she could no longer tolerate such intimacy with him, even if the beau monde
found it acceptable. What a mockery the polite world made of love! How they delighted in gossiping about deceived wives and
husbands. It was such a distasteful subject to one of her middle-class upbringing. She did not fit comfortably into the fashionable
world. The earl’s reluctance for the match made even more sense to her now. Well, once John and Meg had their chance, and
the earl left for Portugal, she would retire from this kind of life. If only there had been a child from their union, she
would have been content. It would have given her life a purpose. At Straeford Park she could have taught him values she thought
important. They could have explored the countryside and read together, and she would have tempered the Straeford character
with softness. She would
have raised a son capable of compassion and love as well as strength and courage—not like the present earl, all arrogance
and cruelty.

“Good morning.” Meg smiled pleasantly as she came into the room and began filling her plate from the sideboard.

“I didn’t expect to see you up so early.”

“I accepted Terence Fairfax’s invitation to go riding.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Knowing Meg had rejected several invitations from the Fairfax boy, this was an unexpected surprise.

“He pleaded so sweetly I just had to relent, but you know I prefer older, more sophisticated men.”

That brought a smile to Marisa’s lips; however, she made no comment. Her sister would change her mind many times about the
type of men she liked before finally choosing a husband.

“Did you and Richard enjoy the opera?”

“Very much. But John must have enjoyed his evening even more since he still is not home.”

“You mean he didn’t come in at all last night?”

Meg’s answer was negative and Marisa said thoughtfully, “Perhaps I should send a note around to Marc Belvoir…”

“Don’t be silly! John is a big boy. Do you think he wants you checking up on him like some schoolboy? He’s probably with some
chere amie”

“Meg! I will not have you talk like that.”

“Oh, honestly, Marisa, you are such a prude sometimes…” She broke off as she spied the earl standing in the doorway. “Well,
good morning, brother-in-law.”

Marisa may not have known that John did not return to the house last night, but she was well aware of the earl’s homecoming.
The noises emanating from his room shortly after daylight had led her to believe he was foxed. If her suspicions were inconclusive
then, they were confirmed now. He looked burnt to the socket.

After a terse greeting, he said, “If you don’t mind, Miss Loftus, I would like to speak to my wife alone.”

“Well, I do mind. I haven’t finished eating, and I’m
famished.” His sister-in-law was affronted by such a churlish manner, and Marisa could not blame her, but the countess, seeing
the anger kindle in the earl’s narrowed eyes, prudently intervened.

“Justin, won’t you join us? The coffee is still hot.” Quickly she poured a cup of coffee and brought it to him as he seated
himself reluctantly at the head of the table. Their eyes met briefly and coolly. “I’ll fill a platter for you.” Without comment
he accepted this service from her, and she placed a heaping plate of food in front of him.

He finally broke the strained silence by asking, “Is your London season everything you anticipated, Miss Loftus? Are the young
gallants besieging you as they have your sister?”

Marisa almost dropped the knife she was holding. What caused him to make such a comment?

“I don’t know about your wife,” Meg was saying unabashed, “but I have no complaints about the amount of attention I’m receiving.”

” ‘Our Meg,’ has already been termed a diamond of the first water by Terence Fairfax.”

“Indeed!” Justin scorned.

“Oh, Terence,” Meg sneered, “he’s a fool. I’m not concerned with his comments.”

“Why, Meg, he is such a nice boy, and it is plain to see that he adores you.”

“I don’t want him to adore me. I’m not going to marry someone as insignificant as he is.”