Trust Me (24 page)

“There have always
been riots, revolts and violent uprisings in England and yet here you and I
still stand. Have we not our titles and estates still intact?”

“Yes.” She nodded,
the logic of what he’d said sinking in slowly. Then she winced inwardly. How
stupid she’d made herself look by not thinking along those same lines herself.

But she just wasn’t
thinking clearly lately.

“Maybe a king or a
queen here or there had their head severed. But,” he chuckled softly, “you and
I, the dukes and earls and barons and their ladies, we are the backbone of
civilization.”

Of course. He was
exactly correct.

“I daresay, the fires
of the occasional short revolt here and there have tempered England to a point
of resilience to outright rebellion such as occurred in France.” He glanced
about the ballroom. “I see no sign of your lord.”

“I suppose he has
retired to the card room already.”

“Tell me, Anne, what
does he think about Peterloo? Does he think it spells the end of nobility in
England?”

To reveal Jon’s
privately shared, liquor-fuelled opinions seemed the ultimate betrayal. She
looked down quickly. “I am very thirsty. Couldn’t we have a drink?”

“Yes, I think some
claret is definitely in order after such a weighty topic.”

God, she’d adore
claret at the moment. Guiltily she glanced towards the direction of the card
room. She bit her lip.

“Shall we have
claret?”

“Jon doesn’t like for
me to—” The words had slipped out. Damn, she felt too comfortable with her cousin.
She flicked a glance up at him.

He was staring at her
with his lips softly parted. “Ruel is your husband, not your father.”

“Yes,
of course.”

“But?”

But she didn’t want
to betray Jon’s trust.

Sebastian laughed softly.
“I shall assume full responsibility.” He turned to a servant and held up two
fingers. “Claret.”

Sebastian handed her
the glass.

Guilt warred with the
terrible temptation.

“I really do not care
to have any claret, I–”

“You little liar.
You’re practically drooling for it.” He lowered his voice. “I won’t tell.”

She took the goblet.

She felt worldly,
wicked, to be standing in a Mayfair ballroom holding a glass of claret. She
lifted it to her lips and took a drink. God, it was lush. Rich. Divine.

When she’d drained
the glass, he took it. “We’d best hide the evidence as soon as possible.” He
set the glass down on the sidebar.

Guilt lay heavily
upon her. But relaxed warmth spread into her muscles with each beat of her
heart, easing the tension she’d felt since the carriage ride.

“Wherever did you get
the idea to wear such an exquisite gown?”

“Jon selected it.”
She remembered, without warning, that she wore her black satin chemise and
stockings.

Wicked.

She had thought it
wasn’t her.

It was
exactly
her.

Drinking claret
behind Jon’s back. Conspiring to hide the fact.

“He dresses you, does
he?”

“Here in Mayfair,
yes.” She sighed. “I am very nervous about Society and fashion, I mean I am
hopeless at such matters and he promised to help me.”

“He certainly knows
how to bring out your best side.” His gaze lowered to her bosom. “You look
positively ravishing in that gown.”

She caught her
breath. That was definitely crossing a line—wasn’t it? Or was she seeing and
hearing something born of her imagination alone? Should she simply thank him
and pretend nothing was amiss?

He couldn’t be
faulted for staring at her bosom, could he? She was practically ready to burst
from it. Jon had selected the gown, reckless bodice and all. Surely he’d
intended to provoke this very reaction from other gentlemen.

****

Three cups of strong,
steaming-hot tea had cleared Jon’s head considerably, and now the evening
seemed to drag. Christ, what was the matter with him today? He couldn’t maintain
himself in a foxed state now that he was married to Anne. Regardless of
whatever black clouds hovered on his horizon.

He had made the
rounds in the card room but, curiously, the wagers and male bragging and gossip
had quickly lost its appeal. So he had come looking for his wife once more.
However, with Anne and the Duke of Saxby engrossed in a debate about who was
the biggest dandy of the Greek gods, Jon felt wholly superfluous. He began to
mull over in his mind the things he wished to discuss with his man of business
before they left London for Scotland.

“Do you mind if I
join you, my lord?”

Maria’s polite,
perhaps a bit sugary tone penetrated Jon’s uncharacteristically introspective
thoughts. He was bored. He wanted to return home. But, for the first time, his
wife was enjoying herself at a social function. Even more importantly, everyone
was seeing her enjoy herself. She appeared as normal in her temperament as any
other young lady.

Like any other bored
husband, he had ensconced himself here on a hideous green and mustard coloured
settee in the corner where he might be unobtrusive yet still keep an eye on his
beautiful young wife.

God. Had it already
come to this? Without looking up from his steepled hands in his lap, he
replied, “It would be impolite of me to refuse, wouldn’t it?”

Maria sat beside him.
“My, my, you’re still angry with me?”

Turning to focus on
her, he noticed, as if for the first time, how her skin seemed stretched too
tight and was slightly pitted beneath a softening layer of rice powder.

So, too, were her
manners a thin, softening veneer. Many things about Society he had taken for
granted. Had accepted them as just the way things were. Now it all seemed so
increasing ugly.

He had once
considered her to be very beautiful. He’d considered her as a bride partly
because he wished to have beautiful daughters and he wished to earn the envy of
his peers for having such a stunning, formidably fashionable wife.

However, the hard,
cold truth was inescapable.

Maria was ugly.

Her cruel streak made
her so. Maybe she couldn’t help it. Maybe it was just her nature. She’d been a
friend for a very long time. He owed her honesty. “Yes, I am not only angry,
but deeply disappointed in you.”

“Disappointed in me?
La, you censure me with such strong words, my lord.”

“I had not credited
you with such a lack of emotional control.”

She flinched slightly
and returned his stare blankly for several moments. Then her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, always so cool, so superior, aren’t you? Despite my loss of your title, I
cannot express what a pleasure it has been to see you, of all people, lose your
vaunted control over such a trifle as love.”

Acid bitterness laced
her words, the strength of which made him question how he’d ever developed the
idea that she was a rational, reasonable woman. She likely would have made his
life a royal battle and a living hell. He’d made a very narrow escape, truth
told. Still, in the name of their long friendship, he would be completely
honest. “I had to tell her everything about the rumours, including the more
unsavoury parts about her possible insanity. Because of you.”

Maria rolled her
shoulders slightly. “She would have heard sooner or later. You cannot blame
me.”

He stared at her
levelly. “I can if I choose to.”

“Your grandmother
would have told her.”

“Yes, but I wanted to
give Anne a few days before I told her. I wanted her first contacts with
Society to be free of that deeper anxiety. You certainly ruined that plan.”

Maria cracked open
her fan and began to wave it slowly in front of her face. “You cannot protect
her. Not always. Life will deal her some hurts.”

“Life has already
hurt her. Too much.”

She lowered her fan
and her dark auburn brows, so painstakingly plucked into an artistic-looking
arch, drew together. “And you feel you must always protect her?”

He folded his arms
over his chest and glanced to where Anne stood, talking with Saxby and his
circle of friends. Her face glowed in warm gold tones from the candlelight and
her lush, deep-red mouth was curved into a rather sensual smile. The one she’d
been flashing all night.

For no particular
reason, his skin seemed to bristle and he was no longer comfortable. He shifted
his weight to ease the tension but to no avail.

“You did not want
this.”

Maria’s contralto voice
cut into his observations, increasing his sense of unease.

“What?” He heard his
own snappish tone and frowned.

“You did not want
this marriage. You told me about your mother, remember?”

He scowled and cut
Maria a stern glance.

She returned his stare
calmly. “I thought you wanted a wife who would stand up for herself.”

“I have the wife I
want.”

“Imagine, if Anne is
afraid of a few whispers, whatever shall she do when she faces your
grandmother?” Maria caressed the string of pearls at her neck,

He glared down the
bridge of his nose at her.

She laughed softly,
cruelly. “All your inferior women, and I was prepared to tolerate them . But
you never respected any of them. You wanted a woman with backbone for a wife.
For your countess.”

“Enough, Maria.”

“A gentleman,
especially a titled nobleman, should indulge a carnal fancy. But you don’t
marry it. Oh, you’ve made a disastrous mistake.” Her pale-grey eyes went hard
as flint. “You’ll resent Anne. You know I am correct.”

 
“What a first-rate bitch you are, Maria.”

Her expression
crinkled into an exaggerated empathetic frown. “I understand, Jon, I do. It was
the accident. You felt pity for her. She reminded you of your mother and it
made you want to protect her.”

Her words hit him
like a rain of nettles. He felt his nostrils flare and his jaw tighten. “Anne
is nothing like my mother.”

His words came out
grittily, revealing far more of his inner emotion than he would have liked.

Amusement, like that
of a cat trapping a mouse, lit Maria’s eyes.

“She’s not anything
like my mother,” he repeated, calmer this time.

“Why? Just because
she reads the philosophers? Intellectualism can be as much an escape as any
other pointless pursuit.”

“She just needs
time.” He made his tone icy. Firm. Final.

Thankfully, Maria
seemed to take the hint. She quieted.

He watched Anne lay a
hand over the glittering diamond necklace, right above the twin swells of her
bosom. Saxby’s eyes were directed there as well. They were obviously speaking
of the necklace.

Jon damned himself
for having purchased it. More uncomfortable than ever, he crossed one leg over
the other and braced his hands on a knee.

“She’s such a plump
little pudding, isn’t she?” Maria laughed softly. “But then, she wears those
extra pounds well, doesn’t she?”

“She wears them exceedingly
well.”

“She is stunning in
that black gown with the gold trim. On any other woman, I think it would look
terribly garish, but she has the dramatic colouring to carry it off. You
selected it, didn’t you?”

“Aye, Maria,” he
drawled in a purposely disinterested tone. But her words drew his attention to
the glistening jets on Anne’s bodice—had he really commissioned a gown with a
neckline that low? Had he been insane? Or had the dressmaker taken artistic
liberty? With each breath, those abundant mounds appeared ready to burst from
the confines of black velvet.

Was he sweating now?
With effort, he resisted the urge to retrieve his handkerchief and wipe his
brow. He shifted his weight once more. Just his luck to have found the most uncomfortable
place to sit in the whole ballroom.

“You think I am
resentful,” Maria asked.

“I know God-damned
well you’re resentful.”

“Maybe I was at
first. But I do sympathize. Truly I do. Her exotic beauty, those absolutely
gorgeous breasts, that maddening otherworldly look in her eyes… Yes, I fancy I
am half in love with her myself. But she’s wrong for you.”

He turned to Maria
and fixed her with a cold stare. “I
almost
married the wrong woman.
Thank God I saw the error before it was too late.”

Maria’s eyes flashed
and she compressed her lips. “You’re just baiting me now.”

He shook his head.
“It is the truth, Maria, you and I would have had a disastrous union.”

“I see Anne—”

“She is Lady Ruel to
you. She’s higher in status than you.”

Maria’s composure
slipped. Her mouth fell open and she blinked at him several times. “I can’t
believe you’d lord that over me.”