The Seduction of His Wife (21 page)

His clothes were rumpled, as though he’d slept in them. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, waistcoat wrinkled and improperly buttoned, his hair unwashed and greasy. Stubble lined his angular jaw … Was the man fraying around the edges? Or was this just overindulgence from the night before?

She cleared her throat. “I made it clear you weren’t invited here. I’d rather not make a scene by having the servants physically remove you.”

“Touché, darling.” He swirled a glass of amber liquid. “Touché.”

Obviously, he also thought he could help himself to the decanter. She changed her mind about her husband finding her in the company of another man; she wished Richard would walk in. But then, Richard still didn’t know anything about her paintings. And of course, she couldn’t trust that Waverly wouldn’t state his reason for being here.

Hands clasped tightly in front of her, she gave him a stern glare. “What do you want, Waverly?”

“To chat.” Stupid man that he was, he shot her his snake smile. He was goading her, pricking at her ire intentionally. She’d not give in to his cruelties so easily this time.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve set out to blackmail me. Not something a
friend
would do.”

“Ah, but you’ve assured me we are no longer friends.” He drank the rest of the liquor in his glass and set it on the floor since there wasn’t a table nearby. “Perhaps you’d like to come and sit on my knee.” He patted his hand to the place he wanted her to sit. “We could play it very differently that way.”

The blackguard! She would not show her discomfort at this whole situation.

“Why are you doing this? We were friends.”

“We were never friends, love. You were a means to an end. I’ve just needed to move things along a little faster after an unexpected turn in events.”

What was he talking about?

Waverly stood from the chair and prowled closer to her, eyeing her as though she were potential prey. She held her ground and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze defiantly.

“Never understood your devotion to your marriage. Had you fallen for my charm early on, we’d never have come to this pass in our relationship. Things would be entirely different.”

“I do not understand what you mean.” Emma crossed her arms in annoyance. “How did you obtain the painting?”

He laughed. A horrid, awful crowing sound. “Would you believe I received a letter from Vane yesterday evening? Blighter thought to purchase a painting that he heard was in my safekeeping.”

His fingers reached out and caressed the length of her arm. She could not hold back the shiver of revulsion that ran the length of her body from his touch. “Tell me, sweet, sweet Emma, was that painting for your lover? Did you paint it for Vane?”

She didn’t flinch at the accusation. Most would think precisely that.

Waverly didn’t deserve the truth: She’d painted it for herself.

That painting had been done at a transition in her life. A time when she realized she was no longer a girl but a grown woman. A woman with her own desires, her own needs to accomplish something for herself. The painting had been a bitter reminder of what she was missing in life. With its creation came the consciousness that she was like the trapped creatures she painted—that society only saw a shell of who she was, not the real woman beneath the polite facade of a countess.

How dare Waverly take that away from her! How dare he!

“What is it you wish to accomplish by revealing that painting to the world?” She dared to take a step closer. She would not be cowed by him. “Ruin me if you will. I care not what society thinks. You are wasting your time trying to expose me as the artist.”

“I could not care less what society thinks of you, dear.”

His hands grasped onto her arms, the force bruising. Trying to dislodge his hold, she was yanked against his lanky frame. She turned her face away so he couldn’t force a kiss on her. Never again would she give him that opportunity.

“You think mighty highly of yourself. You’ve always put yourself on a pedestal. The ice-cold, untouchable Countess of Asbury.” He shook her when she refused to look at him. “I know your secrets. Secrets I’m sure you want hidden. Otherwise, everyone would know about your little pastime, wouldn’t they? I guarantee your husband hasn’t a clue what you do in your spare time.”

The mention of her husband had uneasiness creeping into her mind. What did her husband have to do with Waverly? Emma wanted to ask Waverly, but didn’t dare—he’d only tell her lies. She pinched her lips together and held herself rigid in his grasp.

The stubble on his face scratched her cheek and neck. He licked the length of her neck. She jerked her head farther away from him, a sound of distress passing her lips. His hold on her arms only tightened. The last time she pushed him away he’d become more aggressive. Unpredictable. She would not allow that to happen again.

“I don’t care if you expose me,” she hissed.

That was a complete lie. But what else was she supposed to say when he threatened her? She had to believe that Vane would retrieve the painting by any means necessary. Waverly would be out of her life once and for all.

“If you don’t release me and leave, Waverly, I
will
call the servants and have you removed.”

He chuckled against her throat, the sound low and intimidating. He jerked the sleeves of her gown down, tearing the material and exposing her from her shoulders to the top swell of her breasts. “And what if they should find you in a compromising position?”

The way he held onto the torn material left her immobile. She could not pull from his hold. Could not raise her hands to push him away. She had underestimated this man’s daring. This man’s lack of restraint once his rage hit its peak.

“I don’t care.” She spat the words in his face, finally daring to meet his eyes. It was a mistake. She’d known it would be. But she was running out of options to stop Waverly from doing something horrible.

His hands grasped the edge of her gown at the sides of her breasts and made to tear it right off her body. She squeezed her arms tight. Not allowing the material to budge.

“It’s to be like that, is it?” Waverly said.

She just needed an unguarded moment to make her escape. She daren’t call the servants. It was too late for that option.

“Let. Me. Go!” she whispered.

Waverly laughed, cruelly.

Emma was yanked back—away from Waverly—so fast she lost her footing and fell onto her rear. All the air rushed from her lungs with the impact to the floor. When next she looked up, Waverly was sprawled on his back, holding his bloody face and laughing maniacally.

She gathered up the material at the front of her ruined dress and looked at the man who stood beside her. Her husband. Tears leaked down the side of her face. Silent tears because there were no hysterics, no sobbing. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. To apologize. Beyond Richard, she saw Mr. Lioni. Grace tripped into the room behind him.

The sight did not help quell her tears. They flowed more freely. More abundantly.

Consternation lined her husband’s expression. Mr. Lioni was tense. His actions defensive. Waverly pushed up onto his feet. Swaying where he stood. His right cheek was split open where her husband had hit him. Blood ran down the side of his face, splattered across the white collar of his shirt.

“Why, hallo, Grace.” Waverly snickered. “Come to renew our
friendship,
too?”

Mr. Lioni stepped in front of Grace, his fists clenched at his sides, his stance strong and menacing. Even the muscles seemed to strain in his neck as he visibly tightened his jaw and clenched his mouth shut, his lips a tight, thin line radiating anger.

*   *   *

Richard shook with rage. To think what could have happened had he arrived a few minutes later. Had he not heard the commotion …

His fists tightened at his sides. He was ready to strike down Waverly again if need be. How dare that man accost his wife!

Emma was visibly distraught, her color almost waxen and her hands shaking where she clutched the torn material of her gown.

Grace came to his wife’s side, wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulders, and helped her stand. He should be the one looking after his wife. But he couldn’t. Not with Waverly in his home. The man needed lessons in how to treat a woman.

His eyes met his wife’s. He’d talk with her later. Find out how she knew Waverly and find out why Waverly had been pawing at her. The man looked ready to rape her. Had been about to, had he not …

He was going to kill Waverly.

When the women exited the room, Richard breathed a sigh of relief. Waverly wasn’t a steady man. This was a fact he’d known for many years. A long bout with opium smoking had ruined Waverly’s mind, and filled it with paranoia and madness.

“Why are you here, Waverly?”

Waverly sneered. “Unfinished business with that pretty wife of yours.”

Richard took a menacing step forward. He’d beat the man into the ground for such slander. His wife had no business with Waverly. End of story.

“My wife is no longer here. As I see it, you now have unfinished business with me.”

Waverly eyed Richard’s midsection, approximately where the knife had bitten into his side. The glance told Richard one thing: There was no question as to who had arranged the love slice that had nearly taken Richard’s life.

Waverly was the mesmerized asp waiting for the shift in music to come out of his trance. Waiting for the moment to strike down anyone unlucky enough to get in his way. That had been a good quality in the man years ago when they’d initially taken up trade in a cutthroat business. One never knew what side of the knife you’d get with Waverly.

“Do stop posturing, Asbury. You’ve stolen the business out from under me. You had no right.” His mad gaze turned to Dante, his eye twitching on the side of his face that was swelling up. Waverly stood on unsteady feet. “I want our old empire back.”

“You signed the papers releasing your rights in trust for fair value,” Richard pointed out.

“You caught me unaware. You knew damn well what you were doing to me.”

Yes, he’d known what he’d done to Waverly. He had no regrets. Especially since it seemed his old friend had tried to have him killed and then tried to hurt his wife.

“What were you doing here with my wife?”

Waverly rubbed at his temple and shook his head like a dog come in from the rain. “Headaches come and go these days. Strange thing. What was I thinking, now? Hmm…” As though he had flipped some mental switch in his mind, he turned into a different man. His eyes appeared foggy, all lucidity gone.

“Your pretty wife. She owes me something. Mayhap you should ask her what she’s been up to while you’ve been away.” Waverly chuckled, obviously thinking himself clever. “She’s a most interesting woman. More interesting than the plump one.”

Dante took a step forward. His lips were tight, nostrils flared; the throbbing vein in his temple indicated he was liable to strangle Waverly at any moment. Richard shook his head and intervened. “Whether he deserves it or not, you cannot kill a lord of the realm, no matter your social standing in Italy.” He cared not that Waverly heard the threat. It took a lot of control not to lash out at the man himself.

“You”—Dante pointed at Waverly—“I let live because I remember a time when your mind was intact.”

“This is the last time I’ll ask, Waverly. Clearly state your business with my wife.” Richard’s patience was growing thin.

“You know, I previously set my eyes on the dark-haired one. She’s a widow. Fair game, don’t you think?” Did Waverly babble as a way to avoid answering the question? “But your wife, on the other hand … she’s a pretty piece. Full of passion, if you catch my drift.”

“Stick to your own wastrel, half-drunkard kind,” Dante growled.

“Feeling a bit defensive, aren’t you, Dante? Have you a vested interest where the dark beauty is concerned? Or have you had a taste of Richard’s wife, too?”

It took everything in Richard’s willpower not to pummel the man. He had no idea why he held back. Waverly had it coming to him.

Dante cracked his knuckles. “I’m happy to show you the error of your thoughts.”

“We’re done, Waverly. We might have spent our formative years together as the best of chaps, but those days died the day you stopped bothering to pick yourself up and out of the harlot-filled opium dens you made a home of. Do you even realize you’ll never be quite sane again?”

Waverly clucked his tongue and shook his head as though he were about to scold a child. “Don’t sound so glum, Richard. I’m quite content with how things turned out. I’m of sounder mind than you’re willing to give me credit for.”

They could go back and forth with this banter all day.

“You’ll have your funds from the sale. Piss them down the gutter if you so wish it.”

“I don’t care about the funds. The two of you have pulled the rug out from beneath my feet. I was more than willing to continue on as we were. We owned that part of the world.”

“You are too busy living in an opium haze to see the new dangers we were facing. Unlike you, we have a care for our futures. Feel free to watch yours roll farther down into murk. Your life has long been worthless.” Dante uncrossed his arms and looked down his great Roman nose at Waverly, as though the man were no more than a pestilent insect.

A shame they couldn’t squash the irritation as easily as squishing a bug.

“We’re done,” Richard announced.

“Trying to scare me off, are you?” Waverly wobbled where he stood, his hands visibly shaking. Waverly waved them away when they stepped forward to grab him should he fall over. “Bugger off. Happens from time to time. I don’t need no one’s help. Especially from you two. We were all friends. Now you’ve gone and ruined everything.”

“You ruined it yourself.” Dante grabbed the other man’s arm and manhandled him to the double doors.

Once in the hall, Richard beckoned over the butler. “Tell the stable hand to have the horses harnessed and the carriage ready to go in ten minutes.”

“It’ll get done in less time than that, my lord.” The man plodded quickly off. He must have sensed the unease congesting the air with their unwelcome visitor.