The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV) (13 page)

He looked down at his wife, her mouth open,
her eyes glazed with lust. No, taking her would only complicate
matters. He did not love her. He may want her, but he would not,
could not have her. She would ruin all his plans for the
future.

He slid off the bed and stood. “Fiona, I
think it is for the best that we stop now. You’ve had a terrible
fright this evening and you must rest. I hope my kiss will have
eradicated Stockton’s from your mind. I will see you in the
morning.”

He strode to the connecting door, placed his
fingers on the handle, and opened it. He fought the urge to turn
and look at her one last time. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t
leave. He slipped through the doorway and walked to his own room on
shaking legs.

Fiona lay in her bed, bereft of Robert’s
warmth. What had happened? How could he have kissed her with such
passion one minute, and then walk away as if she were nothing more
than a distasteful meal the next? No wonder he did not want to
consummate the marriage. If that were only the beginning of
intimacy, then whatever came after would bind them together
inseparably. ‘Twas a frightening thought, to have that kind of hold
over another person, though she admitted that now, Robert had it
over her. She would never be able to look at another man without
comparing him to Robert.

Fiona slept restlessly, her dreams pitting
Robert and Stockton against each other. The last time she had
looked at the clock it read half-four. She lay in the darkness and
listened to the birds wake outside her window. At seven Fiona rose.
She did not want to miss the opportunity to see Robert before he
disappeared for the day. Not bothering to wait for Merry and her
hot chocolate, she bounded out of bed, washed, dressed, and went
downstairs to the breakfast room.

Robert looked up from his newspaper as she
entered the room. What Fiona thought was a good idea five minutes
ago, didn’t seem such now.

“Good morning, Fiona,” Robert said. His voice
seemed as dry as the toast.

“Good morning, my lord.” She presumed he
meant for her to use his given name only in company.

He snapped the newspaper and arched a brow in
her direction.

She went to the sideboard and prepared a
small plate. Sitting down at the table, she noticed Robert’s
swollen hand. She reached out her fingers, gently placed them under
his palm, and lifted it so she could take a better look.

“My lord, how is your hand? Have you placed
it on ice?”

He flexed his fingers stiffly. “It has felt
better. I missed the opportunity for ice last night.”

She did not want to ask why. “No, that is not
true, it has only been a few hours.” She turned to the footman.
“Ask Cook to prepare a small bowl of ice, with some flannelling.”
Fiona brought his hand closer to her and inspected the bruising.
She looked up and met his eyes. “Thank you again for rescuing
me.”

“You are my wife,” he said. The words seemed
to stick in his throat.

She couldn’t help it. She said, “Thank you
again for your kindness to me afterward.”

“Yes, well, I did not think the memory of
Stockton was anything that you should have to bear.” He removed his
hand from hers and went back to reading the paper.

The footman came back with the ice chips and
toweling and Robert stood from the table.

“I have a very busy schedule today, Fiona,
and shall not see you until the ball this evening. I trust you will
make an appointment with your modiste.” He looked down at her.

“Yes, of course, my lord.”

“Robert,” he said sternly.

Fiona smiled. “Yes, of course, Robert.”

He nodded, took the bowl of ice and toweling,
and departed the room.

Fiona looked at her eggs and toast. Less than
appealing, she ate it anyway. Picking up the newspaper, she saw
Robert had folded one corner over. She flipped to the page and saw
the gossip column. She did not have to look for the article. It was
there, at the top, in bold print.

Dashing Duke Rescues Lady Wife From Would Be
Attacker at Berringbourne Ball

The Duke of Cantin raised his fists last
night to save his beautiful wife from an attack on her person at
the Berringbourne Ball. Eyewitness accounts place Lady Fiona on the
terrace taking in the refreshing night air enjoying a glass of
lemonade, when a Peer of less than sterling character assaulted
her. The Duke of Cantin rushed to his wife’s aid, where he engaged
in fisticuffs with the lecherous Lord. Lady Fiona collapsed from
her fright and the heroic Duke carried her from the Berringbourne
manse. No one can deny Lady Fiona’s spectacular beauty, however,
with her obvious lack of social etiquette, is there any way her
husband may get through the rest of the Season unscathed.

Fiona set the paper down. Mired in scandal on
her very first night on the Town, she wondered if the paper was
right. Would Robert make it through the Season without being
killed? She would definitely have to do something about that.

*****

Robert laid his hand upside down in the bowl
of ice. He was lucky he hadn’t broken anything. Stockton should
have known better. Fiona should have known better. Well, she would
tonight, and every other night she attended any function. He would
remain by her side, and he would decide with whom she could dance,
as well as where and when she could have her damnable lemonade.

He grunted as the ice froze his knuckles. The
one thing he had not wanted – scandal – surrounded him. He prayed
William was right and that something else would take his place
tonight. Perhaps he could pay someone to do something foolish. Not
bloody likely. Society tried to avoid scandal like the plague.
Those lucky enough to survive it were still forever marked. Just
like the damned Black Death. Ten years from now, he would still
hear the dowagers clucking, “Oh look, there goes Cantin. Remember
the night he rounded poor Stockton over his ill-suited wife?”
Robert cringed at the thought his life had come down to this.

He wondered if Fiona was right and they could
avoid ballrooms for the rest of the Season. Also, not bloody
likely. His mother would be heartbroken. He couldn’t wait for her
to awaken so he could show her the gossip column. Perhaps she might
look at Fiona in a whole other light. Again, not bloody likely.

His mother seemed to care for Fiona a great
deal. Why, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the uncommon air that
hung about her, made her stand out, whether Fiona wanted to or not.
He’d presumed his mother had wanted him to marry a woman like
herself – obedient, practical, accomplished. Why she insisted he
stay married to Fiona, with her temper, nonsensical attitude, and
obvious lack of talents, he couldn’t fathom. It could not only be
about her exceptional beauty. There were other women just as
lovely, well, almost. But why Fiona? What was so damned special
about her?

Robert dried his hand and flexed his fingers.
Still tight, but in working order. He wondered how Stockton fared
this morning. Not that it mattered. He’d gotten what he’d deserved.
About time too. Stockton had been seducing unsuspecting wives for
years, although a husband had never caught him until last night.
Maybe now that he’d been exposed for the cad he was, he would stop.
Alas, not bloody likely.

Robert heard footsteps in the hall and
glanced at the clock – eight-fifteen. He waited for Edwards to
appear and when he did not, Robert returned to the papers on his
desk.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard several pair
of footsteps. Robert paid them no heed. By nine o’clock, it seemed
as if the entire household marched outside the study, fore and aft,
from the front of the house to the back. Robert got up from his
desk, strode to the door, and flung it open. He startled two
footmen who carried large bouquets of flowers.

“What are you doing?” Robert asked.

“Edwards told us to place these in the salon,
Your Grace.”

“What are they?”

“Flowers, Your Grace,” James, the Younger
said.

“I can see they are flowers. Who are they
for?”

“Not my place to know, Your Grace.”

Robert snatched the card from inside the
bouquet and read –
I hope these help you over your fright from
last night. We are not all monsters. Looking forward to dancing
with you again. Culpepper, Earl Greenleigh

Robert put the card back and followed the
footman down the hall. The green salon looked more like a florist
shop. Bouquets of every imaginable size and color adorned every
flat surface, including the floor. Robert read several more cards.
It seemed his wife was all the rage.

Robert called for Edwards who appeared in
seconds.

“Your Grace?”

“Edwards, where is my wife?”

“I believe she is walking with her maid, Your
Grace.”

“When she returns, show her to my study.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Robert returned to his desk, the paperwork
forgotten. His hope of never entering another ballroom – quashed.
Fiona was now the darling of Society.

*****

Fiona and Merry entered through the kitchens
and ascended the servants’ stairs to her rooms. Donning a simple
calico morning gown, she wondered if Robert remained vexed over the
gossip in the paper. Naturally, he would be. He remained vexed over
their marriage. She descended the front stairs and met Edwards in
the hall.

“His Grace would like to see you in his
study, your ladyship.”

“Of course he does, Mr. Edwards,” she
muttered. Of the last nineteen days living at Cantin House, she had
been summoned to Robert’s study on eleven occasions. Why should
today be any different? Especially after last night.

She found Robert pacing in front of the
windows.

“You requested my presence?” she asked.

“It seems you have set the
ton
on
fire.” He looked displeased. “Have you been to the salon?”

“No. Edwards said you wanted to see me and I
came straightaway.”

“Come with me.”

Robert led her from the room, down the hall
and into what she had formerly known as the green salon. It now
resembled a garden.

“Gracious me, has your mother seen these?”
Fiona asked.

“Why should my mother wish to see your
flowers?”

“
My
flowers? Whatever do you mean?”
She sniffed at a bouquet of yellow roses.

“Fiona, it seems the incident at the
Berringbourne’s last night has made you
la célébrité
extraordinaire
.”

Fiona stared at him. “My lord, I hope you
realize I never expected this attention, nor do I wish it. As I
said last night, if I never step foot in another ballroom, it shall
be too soon.”

“Be that as it may, we must indulge your
admirers. If you do not at least acknowledge them, they will turn
on you and you will find, after our annulment, there will be no
husband forthcoming. I suggest you learn from this experience and
set the precedent as to who will take my place when our marriage
ends. There are some very fine prospects listed among your
paramours here. You would be wise to cultivate their interest.”

“You cannot be serious!” Aghast, Fiona could
not believe Robert had said such a despicable thing.

“I am most serious,” Robert said.

“Even after what you did for me last
night?”

Robert cleared his throat. “What I did was
nothing more than to erase a bad memory. At your request. That will
never happen again. However, from now until the end of our marriage
you will not be allowed any more freedom in the ballrooms. A
chaperone shall be by your side every night. If it is not me, the
chaperone shall decide with whom you may dance, and if you wish to
walk on any more terraces, they shall accompany you.”

Fiona could not believe the audacity.
Throwing last night back in her face, deciding how she would go on
in the ballrooms was madness.

“Why do not
you
pick out which of
these men
you
think I should marry. It seems I cannot be
trusted to make any decisions on my own.” She turned and fled the
room.

*****

Deuce take it! Did the chit not realize what
an excellent opportunity lay at her feet? She did not have to go
husband hunting. The husbands were hunting her!

Robert left the house and strode to his club.
He checked his watch – half-ten. Damn, too early for a drink.
Perhaps a quiet coffee then, in the library where he wouldn’t have
to smell the cloying aroma of so many flowers.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. As soon as
he entered his club, his friends set upon him in what could only be
termed congratulations.

“About time someone took Stockton to
hand.”

“You’ve done us all a great favor,
Cantin.”

“He would not dare show his face to Lady
Fiona after that thrashing.”

Robert glanced around the room. Thankfully,
he saw Davingdale in the far corner.

“If you would excuse me, gentlemen, I have
pressing business to attend.” Robert left his admirers and stalked
off to where the earl sat. Throwing himself in the chair, he
slumped against its back.

Thomas Merrit, Sixth Earl of Davingdale said
nothing, but looked at him with a quizzical brow.

“Nineteen bouquets of flowers have arrived at
the house” Robert said without preamble. “It seems my wife has made
a bit of an impression.”

“You knew it was bound to happen.”

“Yes, but I thought I would be able to ease
into it. I had no idea the fops would take to her so quickly.”

“As you said yourself, she is an uncommon
beauty. Why should they not?”

“Yes, well, the rules have changed. I will
not be defending her honor in such a manner again.” Robert signaled
a passing waiter. The hell with coffee. “Brandy,” he requested.