The Harem Bride (23 page)

But, of course. How could she have been such
as fool as not to have thought of the possibility of encountering
her husband’s mistress in the park? No wonder he had not wished to
make the introduction!

“
But, my dear, how charming you are,”
beamed the wicked beauty. “So unlike the dastardly rumors. Truly,
one would never guess.” With a throaty laugh, which added to
Penny’s envy as well as animosity, Daphne Coleraine addressed the
earl. “You must bring her to my soirée on Wednesday next, Jason.
Indeed you must. I am certain we will all be great
friends.”

The congestion eased. With the road in
front of him clear, the earl whipped up his horses, leaving the
barouche behind with nothing more than an abrupt nod to the woman
who had kept him well entertained for the past two years. As he
pointed his horses toward the gate nearest Cavendish Square, his
inner rage was great. Daphne Coleraine’s temerity in forcing an
introduction to his wife took second place to the
ton
’s treatment of his
countess.
How dare they?
How
could they treat the wife of an earl in such a manner?

Yet he had known how cruel the
haut monde
could be. Though he had
not mentioned the matter to Penelope, this was the primary reason
he had come to town—to attempt to unravel this mess before she was
cast into it, sink or swim. Lord Elgin had dug his own pit with his
obsession with Greek marbles, but little Penny Blayne was an
innocent, a child wronged, her reputation lost through no fault of
her own.

And yet he had taunted her for her propriety.
For her obvious efforts to erase the scandal of those few weeks in
Constantinople. He was a beast. He should be flayed alive.

Deuce take it, he had, in fact, so
successfully avoided the burden of having a wife that he had
allowed her to be totally ruined. If he had come back from
Constantinople with a bride, nothing more than a raised eyebrow
over the age of his wife would have marred their marriage. By now
his nursery would be full . . . and his wife looking around for a
lover . . .

Hell and damnation!
He’d been quite right to attempt to drown his sorrows. There
was no proper solution to this impasse.

“
We will not go to the opera, I think?”
Penny ventured after they turned off busy Oxford Street.

“
You would wish to expose yourself to
further calumny after what you have just endured?”

Her face was turned toward him, wistfulness
plainly written upon it. “I-I have never been to the opera, at
least not in London. And I should not care to disappoint Madame
Madelaine, who is counting on me to display her fine designs,” she
added judiciously.

Incredulous, the earl retorted, “You would
risk censure so you may be seen in a new gown?”

“
Pray do not be ridiculous, my lord. I
love the opera, and I promised Madame her garments would be seen
everywhere. Then you tell me I must return to the wilds of
Shropshire on the instant. Yet you wonder why I would risk the cut
direct from a foolish few in order to be let out of my cage for a
single night! You are—”

The earl silenced her with a wave of his
palm. “Very well. If you can bear the scrutiny, we will indeed
attend the opera,” he consented dourly. “If you have an evening
gown as fine as your carriage dress,” he added on a grudging note
of satisfaction, “for I should like the devils to get a good look
at a true lady.”

“
Oh my,” Penny murmured, “was that a
compliment?”

“
I believe it was.”

“
Thank you.”

“
You forget,” the earl replied coolly.
“I am nearly the only person in existence who knows for a surety
how false those vicious rumors are.”

“
Again, I thank you, for, truthfully,
even you do not know the whole of it,” his wife responded, most
obscurely.

“
I beg your pardon?” It was fortunate
they had arrived at Rocksley House, for the earl came close to
dropping his reins, an error of shocking proportions seldom
committed by even a rank beginner.

There was no reply, as his countess was
descending from the curricle, with the aid of a footman who had
rushed out from the house. Jason sat high on the curricle bench,
like the veriest idiot, while his wife swept up the walk, up the
shallow steps, and through the door being held open by Stackpole.
Grimly, he recalled his vow earlier that day to see that she filled
his nursery before he let her turn to another man, as Lady Elgin
had done.

He could, of course, divorce her. Marry
again, start fresh. As Lord Elgin had done.

But he would not. Because he had no grounds.
Because thoughts of young Penny and her innocence and of Gulbeyaz,
who had been so eager to please, had come back to haunt him,
filling his days as well as his nights, reminding him of what he
had missed by being so hellbent on his freedom. So self-satisfied
with his gallantry in Constantinople that he had smugly slithered
out from under his long-term obligations, leaving his bride to
wither on the vine.

In the end, he had grudgingly offered her a
position at his side, all for sake of an heir. It was a wonder she
had not torn a strip off him. Instead, she had seized the reins in
her own capable hands and transformed herself into at least a
semblance of the woman she thought he wanted. While he embalmed
himself in brandy, even as he assured himself he was making valiant
efforts to restore the reputations of both Lady Rocksley and Lord
Elgin.

Boiled in oil. That was the punishment Selim
the Third might have ordered for the reluctant earl. What a fool he
was.

“
My lord?” Jason’s groom was standing
at the horses’ heads. Slowly, the earl climbed down. Stackpole’s
eyebrows twitched as Lord Rocksley walked through the still open
door. Today, the earl feared, afternoon tea would have a decidedly
bitter flavor.

~ * ~

The house on Cavendish Square—built
outside the bustle of fashionable Mayfair, yet fitted out with
every elegancy a noble gentleman’s townhouse should command—had
been the sole extravagance of Jason’s father, the seventh Earl of
Rocksley. The sweeping staircase, suspended over the entry in a
veritable miracle of design was, his lordship decided, the perfect
foil for his wife’s stunning beauty as she descended the stairs
that evening, garbed in full regalia for the opera. Her
high-waisted half-dress of white gauze, embroidered in silver and
studded with brilliants, opened over a gown of soft peach. Her hair
was dressed high and entwined with silver cord, one softly
unwinding curl falling in front each ear. As she caught his eyes
upon her, she deliberately—or so he hoped—allowed her silver mesh
shawl to droop, revealing a swell of softly mounded flesh
considerably greater than she had displayed at sixteen. Though not
a whit more enticing, Jason admitted, as heated thoughts of that
long-ago bridal night engulfed his mind.
Devil a bit!
He’d invited Brawley and Dinsmore
to join them at the opera when all he wanted to do was rush his
wife back upstairs and—

Enticing feathers do not a
willing woman make
. He was unsure who had said that,
but the words popped into his mind like a canker. This woman had
been nothing but trouble from nearly the moment he met her. Tonight
was merely one more ordeal to be gotten through as lightly as they
could. Both now . . . and later. For, after they returned to the
quiet house on the outskirts of the city, the earl had
Plans.

His wife, too, had plans. Though Penny was
unsure if she could carry them out. The stern discipline by which
she had lived the last ten years in an effort to eradicate her past
was so ingrained, she feared the best of intentions could not
conquer it. So now—at least for the moment—she would be content
with small things, such as riding in a shadowy carriage, hip to hip
with her husband, inhaling the scent of him—was it sandalwood or
simply essence of Jason? She sat very straight and tried not to
touch him, but her efforts were to no avail when he removed a slim
velvet case from his inside jacket pocket and said, “I took the
liberty of consulting with O’Donnell about your gown, my dear. I
trust you will find these a satisfactory complement.”

Penny found herself unable to move, gaping at
the jewel case as if she had never seen one before. The earl
flipped open the lid to reveal a delicate necklace of diamond
filagree, nestled in a bed of white satin. “Allow me,” he murmured,
removing the necklace from its case. He paused expectantly,
obviously waiting for her to turn around.

As her husband’s fingers touched the back of
her neck, Penny was taken by a shiver that rocked her all the way
to her toes. As well as a few other nameless places in between. She
did not breathe as he pushed her artfully arranged curls aside and
affixed the first of the matching earbobs with a skill so deft she
could not help but be reminded of his vast years of experience with
women.

Not that it mattered.
Nothing
mattered but that they were
together now, tonight, and that he would be returning to Shropshire
with her on the morrow. Let the
ton
do its worst. Jason was right. By next Season the
on dits
about Lady Rocksley would
have been replaced ten times over by even more shocking
scandals.

Yet as she was frozen in place, holding her
breath and thinking of better times to come—while her husband’s
face hovered nearly as close as his hands—the inevitable occurred.
The Earl of Rocksley had no sooner fastened the second diamond
earbob in place than he cupped his wife’s chin between his palms
and bent his lips to hers. Though each had reached the conclusion
that their marriage must take the inevitable final step, neither
was prepared for the hot flare of emotion that leaped at them the
moment their lips touched. Panic-stricken, Penny shoved hard, then,
discovering the earl’s chest as immovable as a boulder, pounded on
him with her fists, finally breaking away to back herself into a
corner of the burgundy velvet squabs. The earl, breathing hard,
flung himself into the other corner. Across the few feet separating
them, they glared at each other, shock vying with anger.

“
I beg your pardon,” Penny gasped when
she finally found her tongue. “That was most improper of me. I–I
can only plead that it was most unexpected—”

“
After ten years of marriage, you are
shocked when your husband kisses you?” The earl’s tone was filled
with such cool sarcasm his wife was tempted to deliver a good solid
yank to the dark lock of hair that fell so intriguingly across his
brow. But that would mean touching him again . . . and unleashing
emotions that terrified her. She could not, simply could not, love
him again. Could not survive another heartbreak like the
last.

“
I beg your pardon, ” Penny declared.
“I am aware I leave a great deal to be desired in a wife. I have
caused you nothing but trouble—” If only he knew she had lost her
way in the bazaar because her mind had been filled with visions of
the youthful and oh-so-charming Jason Lisbourne.

“
We will discuss this matter later,”
the earl pronounced austerely as his carriage joined the line of
other vehicles outside the Royal Opera House. “Later tonight,” he
added most ominously, just as the footman opened the door and let
down the step.

Dear God
,
Penny thought, stumbling and being saved from the muddy gutter only
by the strong arm of the liveried footman. Surely her night at the
opera could not have had a more inauspicious beginning.

Yet, at first, the evening was not the
ordeal Penny had feared. Yes, the buzz in the great house increased
threefold when she took her seat at the front of the earl’s box.
Every quizzing glass in the vast tiers of boxes, and in the pit as
well, was turned in her direction. But at acting a role Penny had
long since proved her skill. She sat, erect as a queen, and allowed
them to look. Thanks to Madame Madelaine and her own rediscovered
inner strength, she had never looked better in her life. And at her
side was one of the
ton
’s
best-known peers—her husband—supported by Lord Brawley and Mr.
Henry Dinsmore, whose reputations might be as rakish as the earl’s
but who were as eagerly sought after by hostesses of the
haut monde
.

Penny was so enthralled by the spectacle of
the vast opera house and its glittering patrons—in spite of their
rude perusal of her person—that she ignored the three gentlemen
sharing the box until Mr. Dinsmore hissed into the near silence
between the orchestra’s tuning-up and the first notes of the
Overture: “Oh, I say, Rock, look at this!” And proceeded to wave
the playbill under the earl’s aristocratic nose.

Penny saw Jason’s face, already set in stoic
lines, visibly pale. Lord Brawley, leaning over his shoulder to
read the playbill, uttered a word so frightful, the countess
gasped. The earl merely dropped the offending playbill to the
floor, crossed his arms, and stared at the great gold-fringed
velvet curtain as if it were the most fascinating of spectacles.
While the orchestra played the lively Overture, Penny turned,
hiding behind her fan, and took a look at Gant Deveny, who was
seated behind her. His face, however, revealed nothing as it was
always pale, though the humor that usually graced the perpetual
cynicism of his green-flecked hazel eyes seemed to be missing.
Something was wrong, something other than the blatant scrutiny she
was receiving, yet she could not imagine what it could be. Annoyed
by this phalanx of male secrecy, Penny turned her attention to the
stage, where the curtain was going up at last.