His Favorite Mistress (35 page)

“Because I can’t!” she declared, easing away from his touch. “Because I heard you say that one day you expect we’ll grow tired of each other and decide to go our separate ways—discreetly, of course.”

He gave a muffled curse under his breath.

“Well, I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering if this will be the day you decide you’ve had enough.”

A long moment of silence fell. “Perhaps I said something to that effect,” he admitted, “but that’s a long way off. Years from now. And if and when it happens, I am sure the decision will be mutual.”

“Really? What if it is not? Is that what went wrong between you and Lady Hewitt? The reason she’s so spiteful now? Did you decide you’d had enough, but she hadn’t? When you’re done, will you buy me a pretty trinket, then give me my congé like some discarded mistress?”

“You are my wife,” he said between clenched teeth. “It isn’t the same at all.”

“It will be if you send me into the arms of another man.”

His eyes flashed fire. “You will never go to another man.”

“Oh, then I must have misunderstood. I thought you said we would each be allowed to seek out our own comfort. Apparently you are the only one of us who is permitted to dishonor our vows.”

“I have been faithful to you, Gabriella. Is that what you want to know? Since long before we wed, there has been no one else, only you. If it will allay your concerns, I have no difficulty swearing that I will remain exclusively in your bed. There will be no other.” When she didn’t answer, he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand you. What is it you expect of me? What is it you want?”

I want you to love me!
she cried silently. But he did not, and had only confirmed that fact over the past few minutes—making not a single mention of the word, nor any attempt to convince her he might feel something more for her, after all. Yes, he wanted her. True, the two of them were compatible. He’d even promised to be faithful. But still, it wasn’t enough. How could it be when only one of them loved? If she accepted this uneven affection, she knew it would eat at her, nibbling away at her heart, at her very soul, one tiny piece at a time until nothing remained but emptiness and sorrow.

Oh God, what am I going to do?

For a long moment, she stared at the flames burning in the fireplace, seeing nothing but an indistinct blur of color. “What do I want?” she said, repeating his question in a soft voice. “Just one thing.”

“Yes,” he returned. “And what is that?”

Forcing her gaze upward, she looked him square in the eye. “Your Grace, I want a divorce.”

Chapter Nineteen

“
W
HAT!” HE SAID
, her words hitting him like a horse’s hoof to the chest.

She raised her chin and held her ground. “You heard me. I no longer wish to be your wife.”

Fury billowed through him with the heat of flames consuming dry tinder, his jaw muscles snapping so tight he was surprised they didn’t pop. He held himself in place, fists bunched at his sides until he forced his fingers open, fighting for control. “
You are my wife
, madam, whether you wish it or not. There will be no divorce.”

“But—”

“There are no buts!” He cut her off, his tone cold and scathing even to his own ears. “When you and I wed, it was until death do us part, and that is the way it will be. You may run from me. You may rail against me. You may even hate me. But know this—we are married, and that is one fact that will never change.” He broke off, drawing a full breath to steady his emotions. “Now, go and pack your belongings. We are returning home.”

Alarm turned her eyes a vivid hue that was nearly purple. “No! I will not go home, not with you. I do not want this.”

“I am no longer certain I do either, but such are the vagaries of fate. Pack your cases, madam, or I will see it done for you.”

She stood, trembling visibly as she searched for a way out. Apparently realizing there was none, she released a gasp of distress, then whirled on her heels and raced from the room, slamming the door behind her.

He was glad for the privacy as he sank into a nearby chair.
So she doesn’t want to be my wife?
he thought.
So she wants a divorce?
Laying his head in his hands for a long moment, he wondered how it had all gone so horribly wrong.

Neither of them spoke on the journey back home, she and Tony sitting across from each other like a pair of strangers sharing a ride. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come, the pain simply too deep for such mundane things as tears. Nor had she cried when she bid farewell to Maude, Josephine, and the children, putting on what she hoped had looked like a happy smile to calm their concerns.

But Maude had seen through her façade, giving her a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I will always be here for you,” her friend had whispered. “But don’t give up hope. Things may yet come right. Try not to despair.”

But how can I not?
Gabriella wondered, when she and Tony were so distant they could barely stand to exchange a hello?

The journey proved easy, the roads clear, the weather clement, with blue skies to guide their way. To her surprise, however, they did not go to Rosemeade, arriving in London late on the third day. Tony forced her to accept his hand as he assisted her from the coach, but he released her as quickly as possible, following in her wake as she walked up the steps into Black House.

Crump was there, word having obviously been sent ahead in time for him to transfer the household. He gave her a smile as she came inside, a footman moving forward to take her cloak.

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” the butler greeted. “Your maid is awaiting you in your room and dinner is being prepared. Will ten o’clock be acceptable to serve?”

“Hello, Crump. Actually, I would prefer to take a tray in my room this evening, thank you.”

The butler cast a glance toward the duke.

“Send her meal up,” Tony said. “It’s late. I will eat in my study.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Divesting himself of his hat and greatcoat, Tony turned and strode away.

Suppressing a sigh, Gabriella allowed one of the servants to show her the way to her bedchamber, since this was her first time staying here at the townhouse. The duchess’s quarters were lovely, though not as large as the ones at Rosemeade, the rooms decorated in pale shades of apricot and cream. Despite the soothing hues, however, she spent little time studying her surroundings, too tired and sad to pay them much heed.

A warm bath refreshed her greatly, though, as did a satisfying meal of beef soup, yeasty bread and butter, and a delicious caramel custard for dessert. Sleepy and relaxed, she crawled between the sheets.

Yet sleep didn’t come, her eyes remaining open as she waited to see whether or not Tony would come through the connecting door to exercise his marital rights. She’d considered locking it, but feared what he might do if she did. In his present mood, he might attempt anything, even tearing out the lock or knocking down the door. During the trip home, he’d stayed away, requesting separate accommodations for them on each overnight leg of the trip. But maybe now that they were back on familiar territory, he would change his mind. If he did, she wasn’t sure how she was going to respond.

The minutes ticked past, the house falling silent as the servants went to bed. Near one o’clock, she thought she heard a low murmur of male voices in Tony’s bedchamber as he spoke to his valet. Her heart pounded and she clutched the sheets. Would he come to her? She hoped not—at least that’s what she told herself.

When she awakened with a start come morning, she realized she’d had no reason to worry. His door had stayed firmly shut and her bed had been slept in by no one but herself. A tear slid from her eye as she realized this was how things were going to be between them from now on.

Two days later, Gabriella took the coach across Town to visit Rafe and Julianna. She hadn’t been sure how she would be greeted when she walked inside their townhouse, but one glance at Julianna’s sympathetic face and she had rushed into her arms, the tears she’d held back for days bursting forth. To her surprise, she discovered Lily already in the family drawing room, the two women comforting her as everything poured out.

A mutinous gleam shone in Lily’s gaze once Gabriella had finished her tale. “Ethan told me what Tony said—or at least he did once I wormed it out of him. I think it’s awful! How could he say he doesn’t love you? I wish you’d said something to me that day at Rosemeade. I realize now that must have been the cause of your sudden headache.”

“I thought about confiding in you,” Gabriella said, “but I didn’t want to burden you. Besides, what could you have done? Tony feels the way he feels and there is nothing more to be said.”

“Well, I think there is a great deal to be said,” Lily went on. “The man is obviously a fool for all that he is my friend. I just may stop speaking to him.”

“No, please do not even say that. This is between Tony and me.”

“And how
are
things between Tony and you?” Julianna queried in a gentle voice.

“Horrible. We barely speak. God, I don’t know how I can bear to keep living under the same roof with him. I would find my own establishment, but I have no money. He has everything.”

A moment of silence descended, all three of them thinking.

“Maybe he doesn’t have everything,” Lily mused. “You need a townhouse, do you not?”

“Yes, but I’ve told you, I cannot afford one.”

“You don’t have to. I own a very nice townhouse just across the square. Ethan and I were thinking about selling it, but I’ll give it to you. Or let you stay in it, anyway. No charge.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can,” Lily countered. “It’s a lovely place and going to waste sitting empty with dust covers on the furniture. All you need to do is pack your belongings and move across Town.”

Gabriella bit the corner of her lip. “But think of the talk. Tony would be furious.”

“Do you care? You said you wanted a divorce; just think of the talk then. Beside, a great many couples live apart. It won’t amount to much more than a nine-day wonder.”

She glanced toward Julianna.

“No doubt the Ton will be rife with comment,” Julianna said, “but then the Ton is always rife with comment about something. If you are determined to break with Tony, then this seems a sound way.”

Despite her friends’ reassurance, Gabriella wasn’t nearly as sanguine about how matters might proceed. On the other hand, Lily’s offer was generous and very, very tempting. The present frosty atmosphere between her and Tony was all but unbearable. If she had her own residence, she wouldn’t have to endure his glowering silences nor repine over what the two of them would never have together. And maybe she could move on with her life, finding some way to be content, if not happy, without him. Abruptly, she made up her mind. “Yes, all right, if you are sure,” she said.

“Of course I am sure,” Lily told her.

“I will need servants—”

“That won’t be a problem. Julianna and I can help you assemble an able staff.”

“But oh, I hadn’t thought. How shall I pay for the upkeep?”

“That’s easy,” Julianna declared, clearly warming to the plan. “Just send the bills to Tony. He’ll pay them, if for no other reason than to stave off further comment.”

“Come to that,” Lily interjected, “the new Season will be upon us in only a few weeks. I am sure you will need a completely new wardrobe. Once you’re moved and settled, I say we shop!”

For the first time in weeks, Gabriella smiled.

Tony scowled down at the correspondence in his hand, just one of several letters he’d received in the five days since he’d been in residence here at Black House. But it wasn’t the letter that had put the sour expression on his face—that circumstance came courtesy of Gabriella.

He supposed the two of them should return to Rosemeade, where he’d originally intended for them to stay through the winter. At least that had been the plan until she’d run away and informed him she wanted a divorce.

His hand tightened at the memory, the vellum crinkling dangerously beneath the pressure of his fingers as a fresh spurt of anger rushed through him. He’d been simmering for days, but anger he could handle. It was the swirl of emotions underneath that he found of a far more troubling nature. No matter how he might try to deny it, Gabriella had hurt him—hurt his pride and something more.

He might tell himself her desertion and disaffection didn’t matter, but it did. He’d given up his freedom by marrying her, and done his best since to treat her with kindness and respect, and this is how she repaid him.
Blast it, why did she have to overhear me talking to Ethan?
he silently cursed. Yet like it or not, the deed was done. Now all that remained was to discover a way to move on.

Perhaps he should try to talk to her, attempt to find some middle ground between them instead of living in this dreadful limbo. He didn’t know exactly what he might say, but he supposed anything was worth a try.

Thud!