The Marriage Bed (8 page)

"Forgive me if your contempt from on high always brings out the worst in me."

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten that the sorry state of our marriage is
all my
fault."

"No, it is not all your fault. Nor is it all
mine
." He was serious now, and earnest, no sarcastic edge to his voice, no razor-sharp wit attached. He actually sounded sincere, the cad. "I wish you could see that. I have."

"Have you, indeed?"

"Yes."

She watched him lean closer to her, resting his hands on the polished rosewood top of her desk. She looked down at her husband's long, strong fingers and wide palms. She remembered how it felt when those hands had caressed her. She also knew how it felt when she imagined his hands on some other woman's body. Even now, after all he had done, it still hurt to think of it, and that was why she hated him. By all rights it should not hurt anymore. Her icy shell began to crack.

"I am not the one who was unfaithful," she choked. "I am not the one who lied. But I am the one who has spent eight long years alone."

"Just because a man has a mistress, it doesn't mean he isn't alone, Viola."

Was that supposed to make her feel some sort of empathy for
him
? She stared at his hands, and pride came to her rescue, as it so often had before. She sat down and returned her attention to the papers spread out before her. "Then go find yourself a new mistress. I'll wait to read about how
alone
you are with her in the society papers."

"Here we go again," he muttered with a sigh. He moved around her desk to stand just behind her chair. "This is what always happens when you and I are in the same room for more than ten minutes," he said. "We start finding fault, placing blame, bringing out the worst in each other. Five minutes ago I almost made you laugh, and now we're at each other's throats. How do we manage to do that?"

She bit her lip.

He moved closer. His hip brushed her shoulder. "I do not want us to spend our lives finding endless ways to tear each other apart. It takes too much out of me."

"I do not want that, either," she said quietly. "But nor do I want to live with you again."

"You have made that quite clear over the years, believe me. Saying it yet again is not necessary."

Whatever she said was the wrong thing, it seemed. "Do you intend to honor my request or not?" she asked as if it were a matter of supreme indifference to her either way.

"You are only postponing the inevitable."

"Perhaps."
She turned her head and looked up at him.
"Perhaps not."

"I am not going to walk away, Viola. Not this time."

Of course he would walk away. He always did. It was just a matter of time before he left her. Then the pretty face or shapely figure of some woman would draw his attention, catch his desire, and she would have to sit across from that woman at some party.
Again.

He saw her thoughts in her countenance. He raked a hand through his hair. "How much time are you asking for?"

The rest of our lives
.
She thought about how long it would take him to give up and walk away and leave her in peace. "Three months."

"Not a prayer." He walked back around her desk and faced her. "I shall give you three weeks."

"You are not serious."

"Three weeks, Viola. And during those three weeks, we are going to be spending a great deal of time together."

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "That is not possible. We both have commitments, engagements—"

"We shall be forced to rearrange some of them.

We are going to spend time with each other."

Panic swamped her.
"Time to do what?
We have no mutual friends.
Except for Dylan and Grace, of course, and only because they refuse to take sides.
We have no shared interests, nothing to talk about, nothing in common."

"We used to find plenty of things to talk about.
And plenty of things to do.
Remember?"

There was something almost tender in that last word. She ignored it. "We do not even go to the same parties. We move in utterly different circles."

"That is going to change. It won't be long before Lord and Lady Hammond begin receiving the same invitations about town. I shall see to it."

"Oh, heavens," she said, appalled. "I was right. You
do
live to torture me."

"If there is ever going to be a truce between us, it starts with being together, whether we are living in the same house or not."

"I don't want a truce. I don't want to be together."

"But you do want time," he pointed out. "You want those three weeks, you agree to the terms. Otherwise, I will petition the House of Lords right now and you and I will be sharing the same house and the same bed in about two days."

He meant it. When
John
got that amber-hard look in his eyes, there was no moving him. She had learned that from bitter experience. "Very well," she said, capitulating even as resentment filled her that she had no choice but to do so.

"Three weeks it is. But I warn you, Hammond, I am going to do everything I can to make you see this attempt at reconciliation is futile and that it would be better to abandon it altogether."

"I am warned, then. Be ready Wednesday at
two o'clock
."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to my house in
Bloomsbury Square
."

She eyed him with suspicion and a hint of alarm.
"Whatever for?"

"No need to look so distressed, Viola. I'm not kidnapping you. I simply want you to see the place. If you choose that as our
London
residence when the three weeks are up, you might wish to make some changes to it beforehand."

"I doubt it."

"You may spend whatever you like."

"T
hank
you so much for your generosity,
Hammond
, in putting my income from Anthony at my disposal, but—"

"And my income as well," he interrupted. "The estates and investments of the
viscountcy
are highly profitable, and that is t
hank
s to both of us."

She hated it when he was reasonable. That made her feel some stupid sense of obligation that she had to be the same, and she did not want to be reasonable where he was concerned. "I appreciate your offer to allow me to redecorate your house." she said with complete insincerity, "but to my mind, it is an exercise in futility."

"Your unwillingness to take on this project baffles me," he said. "I fail to understand why you are not overjoyed at the prospect."

"Overjoyed?" She looked up at him, saw a teasing gleam come into his eyes.

"Yes," he answered. "You love to redecorate. You always have. And this provides you with the perfect excuse to go shopping at my expense. Given such an offer, any other man's wife would be jumping up to shower him with grateful kisses."

"You only wish."

"Indeed I do. I live for the day. Of course, when that day arrives, I shall probably be overcome by the shock and expire on the spot. And then you'll be sorry you didn't shower me with kisses long ago."

Don't tease me. Don't. Just go away
. She drew in her breath and let it out slowly. "I can never make up my mind which side of your wit I dislike more," she said. "The razor-sharp kind that can cut others to
pieces,
or the clever, amiable kind that others find so charming."

"There was a time when you loved them both. The irony is that neither of them
have
ever expressed my deeper nature." With that enigmatic comment, he bowed and walked away.

"I mean it,
Hammond
," she called after him. "We are not reconciling!"

"The odds of it do look slim," he agreed. "I must place a bet for my side at
Brooks's
. I shall rake in a substantial sum when I win."

She felt a pang of dismay. "They are betting on our reconciliation at
Brooks's
?"

He stopped and looked at her with surprise at the question.
"Of course.
And White's.
And Boodles, too, I understand. Will Lady Hammond return to the marriage bed before the season is over? And what will
Hammond
do if she doesn't?"

She gave a moan of mortification. "God save us poor women from gentlemen and their clubs."

"Buck up, Viola," he advised, grinning. "It is quite a compliment to your stubbornness and strength of will that the odds are currently favoring you by a substantial margin."

"Only because all the men think I am such a shrew you won't be able to stick it," she said dryly.

He
laughed,
the wretch. Leaning one shoulder on the doorjamb, he folded his arms. "I will not discuss what is said in the clubs. No woman should ever know what men talk about among themselves. Your sex would be so appalled that we should never enjoy the pleasures of your company again."

"A great loss to women everywhere."

"It would be a great loss, for the human race would die out." He turned and disappeared through the doorway, but his voice echoed back to her as he walked down the corridor toward the stairs.
"Wednesday, Viola.
Two o'clock
."

He always managed to have the last word.
Hateful man.
Spending time with him was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, it was better than living with him, and she did gain a three-week reprieve today. She just hoped waiting him out was a strategy that would work, for she had no other options.