The Marriage Trap (21 page)

By the time they were ready to leave, Ellie's head was spinning. Ash and Madame had discussed and handled her as though she were a tailor's mannequin with no mind of her own. Her indignation was short-lived. How could a lady object when she heard herself spoken of in such flattering terms?

“It is a pleasure to dress someone who is so perfectly proportioned.” That was Madame.

“This apricot shade is perfect on her. It adds a blush to that fine-pored complexion.” That was Ash.

“Her hair is wrong. It's too long.” Madame.

“I beg to differ. The style is too severe. Let's soften it a little around her face. Where are the scissors?” Ash.

“But . . . but . . . I've always worn my hair this way.” That was Ellie.

“Ah!” That was Madame, when Ash let down Ellie's hair. “That color! So rich, so silky. Truly a woman's crowning glory. You are right, monsieur. It is not too long. I think it is her best feature.”

This was all very heady for a lady who had spent the last number of years living in the shadow of brighter lights than she. Not that she had cared. Looks and fashion had never been highly prized in her family and she wondered what Papa and Mama would say if they could see her now.

She doubted they would notice the difference, but they would applaud her desire to be a credit to her husband.

Ash came to stand behind her at the cheval mirror. “All ready to make your grand entrance at the Clarendon?”

She was wearing a creamy tissue gauze afternoon gown in the current mode—low bodice, high waist, and puff sleeves. It was the attention to detail that lifted it above the ordinary. The neckline and hem were embroidered with tiny rosebuds in gold threads.

When she nodded mutely, Ash held out the apricot merino wool pelisse for her and she slipped into it. Madame came forward with a high poke bonnet that tied under her chin with satin ribbons to match the pelisse.

“Tell me the truth, Ash,” she said. “How did you get Caro to forgo Frances's literary get-together to have dinner with me?”

“I told you. The lure of meeting
the
Beau, what else?”

“You're an unscrupulous schemer,” she scolded and laughed.

“I've never denied it.”

Boxes were packed and stowed. The odd gown still had to be hemmed, but Ellie assured Madame that her maid, Alice, was a competent seamstress and could be trusted to do the task well. Thanks were expressed, then they were on their way to the Clarendon.

Jack was in his study with Robbie's tutor when Ellie arrived home. He heard her lilting laugh and Ash's voice as they passed his door. He tried to pay attention to what Mr. Barrie was saying, but he could not drum up any interest in Robbie's problems with Greek grammar. He'd heard it all before. Besides, his mind was on other things.

He glanced at the clock. She wasn't expecting him to be home at this hour. He'd left the House early with some idea of taking Ellie to the theater, just the two of them, only to be told by his butler that no one was home with the exception of Frances, and she was hosting her literary soiree in the drawing room. He took that as a warning and shut himself up in his study to wait, with diminishing patience, for his wife to come home. And it was in his study that Mr. Barrie found him by chance when he came by with a book for Robbie.

She'd been with Ash for close to five hours. It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd come home when it was still light. But this was February. Dark came early. The candles were lit. Where had they been? What had they been doing? And why was he behaving like a sulky schoolboy? He'd sanctioned these outings. He knew they were innocent. What rubbed him was that Ellie was spending more time with Ash than she did with him. A husband ought to have a few private moments alone with his wife throughout the day.

They were never alone unless one counted their early morning rides in Hyde Park, but even then, they hardly exchanged more than a few words. Ellie spoke more to her horse than she did to him.

He had a base, salacious imagination. He would watch her pet Blackie as she bounced up and down on the saddle and the most lurid pictures would flash in front of his eyes. It didn't stop there. He would watch in fascination as she bit down on a piece of dry toast and delicately licked the crumbs from her lips. It went on and on. She wasn't to know that she was driving him crazy.

If he'd known that this is what came of celibacy, he would never have handed her that key, never have uttered those challenging words. He needed no invitation to enter her bedchamber. He was her husband, and a husband had rights.

He didn't want to exercise his rights. He wanted a warm, willing woman in his bed. And in spite of the lack of opportunity to be alone with her, he sensed he was making progress. She laughed at his jokes, listened to his opinions, and seemed genuinely pleased to have him around. Besides, he knew she was a woman of warm emotions. How long could she go against her own nature?

A paper fluttered in front of his face and he looked up at Mr. Barrie. He was a retired schoolteacher, came highly recommended, and was so much in demand that he could spare Robbie only an hour or two every day.

“Perhaps this will explain what I mean,” said Mr. Barrie. “If Robbie would only master the subjunctive, we could move on to the optative.”

Jack looked at the paper that Robbie had completed for his tutor. He could barely remember the Greek alphabet himself, much less the conjugation of Greek verbs. He couldn't help pitying Robbie. This must be torture for him. If Ellie's heart hadn't been set on a university degree for her brother, he would have told Robbie to give it up. There were plenty of things he could do to earn a living without a degree. And Jack had influence. He would help him.

To the tutor, he said, “Leave it with me. I'll make sure Robbie does this over.”

“He'll need help,” replied the tutor dubiously.

“That won't be a problem.”

He was aware that a new respect glowed in Mr. Barrie's tired eyes. The gentleman said, “Not many gentlemen keep up their Greek. It's gratifying to know that there are some who appreciate what we teachers have done for them.”

“Quite so.”

He saw no need to correct Mr. Barrie's false assumption or bring Ellie's name into the conversation, and with a haste he hoped was not unseemly, he showed the tutor out.

Before ascending the stairs, he stopped for a moment in front of a pier glass and studied his reflection. He scarcely ever thought of his clothes. That was his valet's job, but he wondered, fleetingly, if perhaps he was a tad too conservative in his tastes. That was what Ash thought.

Pushing that irritating thought aside, he began to climb the stairs. He thought Ellie might have gone to her room to tidy herself, but there was only one place Ash could be and that was in the drawing room. He was tempted to leave him there as punishment for keeping Ellie out so long, but his conscience wouldn't allow it. No one should have to suffer through one of Frances's tedious literary affairs.

When he entered the drawing room, he came to an uncertain stop. There was no sign of Ash or Ellie among the group of chirping ladies who were taking tea.

When Frances rose and came to greet him, the chirping died away.

“Jack,” she said in her well-modulated voice, “what a pleasant surprise. Do stay and have tea with us. Mrs. Tuttle is about to share her latest piece on . . .”

She glanced over at a plump, disorganized lady who promptly replied, “The purpose of the chorus in Greek drama.”

Greek again! Jack suppressed a shudder, politely declined the invitation, and said for Frances's ears only, “I thought I heard Ellie come home. Was I mistaken?”

Aqua eyes smiled into his. In a voice that carried to every corner of the room, she replied, “The last I saw of her, she went driving with Lord Denison, but that was more than five hours ago.” She sucked in a breath. “I hope there has not been an accident.”

The ladies behind her gave a collective gasp.

Five hours with another man. That was what Frances wanted everyone to know. He wanted to shake her. Instead, he feigned dismay.

“Good grief! I was to meet them at Madame Clothilde's. It slipped my mind. I suppose they are still there waiting for me.” And like any distracted husband, he left them all staring.

He knew damn well that Ellie was in the house somewhere. He couldn't be sure about Ash. He might have slipped away while Jack was with the tutor.
Five hours alone with Ash.
Frances had done her work well.

He found them in the corridor outside Ellie's bedchamber. Ellie had a dreamy expression on her face and Ash was kissing her hand.

“Ellie!” said Jack in a voice like thunder.

She jumped back with a guilty start. Ash turned to face Jack, wearing his usual sardonic expression. “Talk of the devil,” he said. “You're home early.” He cocked his head to one side. “I can tell by the expression on your face that you're the bearer of bad news. Don't say we've declared war on France again!”

As sardonic as his friend, Jack replied, “Worse than that. I've been talking to Robbie's tutor, but we'll get to that later. If I'm home early, you're home late. Five hours is a long time to leave your horses standing out in the cold, Ash. I thought you were more careful of your cattle than that.”

“My ‘cattle'?” Ash frowned faintly. As enlightenment dawned, the frown vanished and he looked as though he was smothering a smile. “So that's it! I'm sure my horses will be touched by your concern, but it is quite unnecessary. You see, I sent them home when your grandmother offered to take us up in her carriage. We've been at the Clarendon, lingering over a scrumptious dinner. Time has a way of flying when one is enjoying oneself, doesn't it? But here we are, and no harm done to my horses.”

“You were with my grandmother?”

“And Caro,” said Ellie, color high on her cheeks. She was beginning to grasp that there was a subtext to this conversation, and she did not like it one bit.

Jack's gaze shifted when his grandmother and Caro appeared in the doorway to Ellie's room. Caro's eyes were shining. His grandmother's held a knowing twinkle.

Caro could hardly contain herself. “We met your friend, Mr. Brummel, and he promised to come to my ball. All my friends will be green with envy. And . . . and Lord Denison has promised to take me to Madame Clothilde's to have my ball gown made up.” Her voice became reverent. “Ellie's things are so lovely.”

“And
expensive,
” added the dowager with an air of satisfaction. “Only the best is good enough for our Ellie, though I'm not sure that marrying my clod of a grandson is the best she could do.”

Jack said nothing. He was beginning to feel sheepish for having misjudged the situation.

“Grandmamma!” protested Caro. “Jack could have his pick of any girl he wanted.” Her sunny smile vanished and she threw Ellie a resentful look.

Her ladyship snorted. “A girl who is there for the asking isn't the sort of girl a man wants. Take a leaf out of Ellie's book. She didn't want your brother at any price. No. No more debate. Let's leave these two children to settle their differences about . . .”—the twinkle in her eye became more pronounced— “. . . horses.”

Ash said something indistinct. The dowager laughed. Shaking her head, she propelled her granddaughter along the corridor, Ash following in their wake.

Her spine as straight as a ramrod, Ellie marched into her room. Jack hesitated for a moment, but when she looked back at him with raised brows, he took that as an invitation. After entering her chamber, he shut the door.

There were opened boxes on the floor and garments in various fabrics and colors were draped over the bed and chairs.
This
is what he wanted for her, the finer things that had been out of her reach when she'd become the sole support of her little family. She deserved the best and he was determined that she should have it.

His eyes shifted to Ellie and his smile died. In the dimly lit corridor, he hadn't noticed what she was wearing, but several candles were lit around the room and he saw her in startling, scandalous detail. She looked like every man's deepest, darkest fantasy.

“Is that one of Madame Clothilde's creations?” he asked abruptly.

The reference to her new gown mollified her considerably. This is what she'd been waiting for—Jack's reaction to her transformation. She couldn't help preening.

“It is. Do you like it?”

His voice rose a notch. “You wore that to go shopping?”

Her smile trembled, then vanished. “I changed into it at Madame Clothilde's and wore it to the Clarendon. It was Ash's idea.”

“‘Ash's idea'!” If his friend had been there, he would have had him by the throat. The bodice was so low that one little tug would have exposed her nipples. “I expected better of him, and better of you. The skirt is practically transparent.”

These were not words she expected to hear. She said tartly, “Stuff and nonsense! Your grandmother said my gown was ravishing and Caro wants one just like it. Frankly, I don't understand you. This style is all the rage. Everywhere you go, you'll see ladies in these transparent gauzes.”

“You're not every lady. You're my wife.”

She threw up her hands in sheer frustration. “That's my point. I didn't ask for this.” She swished her skirts. “You told me to trust Ash's judgment and I did. He says I'm an Incomparable. He says that my garments are in the height of fashion. He says that every lady will be green with envy when I enter a room.”

It was what the men would think that set his teeth on edge. He knew his sex only too well. “I wouldn't believe everything Ash tells you.”

He knew he sounded ungracious, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He felt restless and edgy and was coming to regret that he'd agreed to allow Ash to bring Ellie up to snuff. He wasn't jealous. He knew Ellie and Ash better than that. What he objected to was that he, her husband, seemed to have been pushed to the far edge of her life.

Trying not to sound boorish, he said boorishly, “Ash is an inveterate flirt. He can't help himself. Don't let him turn your head with empty compliments.”

This was adding insult to injury. The triumph she had anticipated when Jack saw the changes she'd made to make him proud of her had turned to ashes. Nothing of this showed in her expression. She said sweetly. “You should study Ash, Jack. Take a leaf out of his book. He knows how to treat a lady.”

Tears of mortification were burning her eyes, so she turned away and began to fold the gowns on the bed so that she wouldn't betray how crushed she felt.

“Any fool can string pretty words together,” he said moodily. “Even I.”

She gave a soft, derisory laugh. “You're missing the point. It's not the pretty words that count, but the sincerity behind them. Ash understands that.”

Too late, she realized that she was deliberately goading him. She should apologize at once.

And she would, when he admitted that he was a jackass.

When he advanced upon her, she took a quick step back and put out a hand as though to defend herself. There was a dark, brooding look in his eyes that told her her gibe had found its mark.

Now why did that please her?

His voice was husky. “You want sincerity? I'll give you sincerity. I don't care what you wear. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't wear anything at all. I want you naked in my bed. I want to make love to you. I can't speak plainer than that.”

Her eyes were wide, her jaw was slack. “Wh . . . what?” she stuttered.

Deliberately, he lowered his head to hers, delighting in the glaze in her eyes and the warmth of her breath on his lips. “If you were really mine,” he murmured, “Ash wouldn't be a problem.”