His Lady Mistress (24 page)

‘Something bothering you, Verity?’

‘No,’ she lied. And made her move. The only one left. Straight into the trap.

‘Checkmate.’

Her king paid the price for her pre-occupation.

Richard gave her a careful look and began to set out the
pieces again. ‘You usually play better than that. Your father’s teaching?’

She forced a smile. ‘Yes. We played a great deal. How is your leg feeling now?’

‘Bloody. It’s probably going to rain later. And don’t change the subject. You never talk about your father. You clam up whenever he’s mentioned. And I’m a nosy, interfering brother-in-law. All I know about your father is that he could wipe Max off the chessboard—no mean feat, I might add—lost his arm saving Max at Waterloo and died two years later.’ He frowned. ‘Max said he shot himself. I’m sorry, Verity. That must have been hellish for you.’

‘Yes.’

Despite the warmth of the sun on the terrace, she shivered uncontrollably. She began to help Richard with the pieces, forcing herself to concentrate on setting them out. She had never dared to ask her father about his arm. He had saved Max. At last she understood why Max had felt responsible, for her father, for her. Her shaking hand knocked Richard’s queen over. Dear God. If she’d known, if she’d only known…she would never have risked going to Max.

Richard’s hand closed over hers. ‘Verity?’

She met his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon. That was dreadfully clumsy of me.’

‘Your father never told you how he lost his arm, did he?’

‘No.’ She couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice as she tried to draw her hand away.

Richard frowned, but he kept his grip on her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Verity. If you didn’t realise…’

Suddenly she saw what he was thinking. ‘Richard, no. I don’t blame Max. How could I?’ She shuddered. Remembering some of the things she’d seen as a child, when she and her mother followed the drum. Her hand turned under his and she clasped his fingers. ‘It…it could so easily have been the other way round. Would you have blamed my father?’

He shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘No. But your situation is different. Losing his arm and then destroying himself because of it.’

‘Did Max tell you that?’

He stared. ‘Isn’t it the truth?’

She hauled in a breath. ‘Not quite. There…there were other…other…’ She faltered as memory clawed at her.
Other things Max knew nothing about.
Her father’s return from Waterloo. Maimed. The day after the funeral for her mother and the tiny, longed-for son. His disbelieving rage. And his despair. Especially when he looked at his daughter…

‘Not quite,’ she whispered. The headache and nausea she had been ignoring threatened to swamp her. She scrambled to her feet and found the terrace swinging about her giddily. One uncertain step…she grabbed for her chair.

‘Verity!’ Richard’s voice seemed to come from a distance, but strangely he was there, holding her, steadying her against his shoulder. ‘Gently now. Are you feeling unwell? Come. Let’s get you out of the sun.’

She felt his arm slip around her waist, supporting her. Breathing deeply, she fought the nausea. The terrace steadied. ‘I’m…it’s all right. Thank you. I just felt dizzy for a moment.’ She turned slightly and pushed gently on his chest. ‘I’ll be all—’

‘How very affecting.’ The bitter voice cut into her.

Her throat seized as she turned, still in Richard’s arms, and saw Max standing at the far end of the terrace. He looked as magnificent as ever, long powerful legs encased in buckskin breeches and top boots, his coat slung carelessly over one arm. She could see that he was hot. His shirt moulded wetly to the broad shoulders.

The brilliant amber eyes blazed into her. He was furious. He strode towards them, his face contemptuous. ‘Playing off your tricks on another fool, my lady?’

She flinched as though he had struck her.

Richard’s arm tightened. ‘For God’s sake, Max!’ he
snapped. ‘Listen to yourself! I may not have quite your reputation to live down to, but at least give me credit for enough
nous
to pursue the seduction of your bride somewhere a little less public!’ Fury harsh in his voice, he added, ‘That is, if you can’t credit me with the decency not to attempt it in the first place!’

‘No, Ricky. I don’t think you would.’ A bitter smile touched his mouth. ‘I
know
you wouldn’t. But she is another matter.’

His savage gaze swung back to Verity, spearing her. ‘Tell me, madam wife—did you really think to seduce my brother? Did you think to persuade him to give you what I would not?’

She fought the redoubled churning of her stomach, the dizziness as his disgust flayed her. What was he talking about? What had she done? She dragged in a breath, tried to speak his name, but only a dry husk came out.

His lip curled. ‘Perhaps Drury Lane might be the best venue for your manifold talents, Lady Blakehurst. They are quite out of place here. Spare us the impersonation of wounded innocence. It’s worked on me twice. Three times is once too often.’

Understanding broke over her in icy waves as she realised what he was thinking. And just how deeply he despised her, how little he trusted her. Shaking, she pulled away from Richard. She could deny it. Surely he would believe her…or, if not her, Richard.

He went on, relentlessly tearing her apart. ‘You were quite out in your calculations, madam, if you believed that my physical pleasure in you would addle my brains. As far as I am concerned our marriage has been consummated. I can see little point in any further congress between us.’

Nausea turned her cold, clammy. ‘You…you mean…’ Her voice shivered into silence.

‘That I shall seek my amusements elsewhere in future.’

Verity took several deep, careful breaths that threatened to
rip her apart.
His amusements. Elsewhere.
The truth of the past week seared her with shame. She had thought he cared for her as his wife. Instead he had
sought his amusements
in her bed. He had used her as his whore. Did he hate her that much?

His granite-hard face and clenched fists gave her the answer.

‘You don’t want children?’ The moment the question was out, she regretted it.

He gave a crack of scornful laughter. ‘The last thing I require of you, madam, is an heir. Richard will remain my heir. I never intended otherwise.’

The meaning of his cold words slammed into her with brutal force. She had disgusted him so deeply he would rather see the earldom pass laterally to his brother than to an heir of his own body. She had thought that he had come to care for her a little, had comforted herself with the thought that at the very least he would want children, sons certainly. And there might have been a daughter or two. A family she could love. A family who might even love her a little. Now even that dream had been stolen from her. He had never intended to give her a child. Truly now she had nothing left to lose.

He proved her wrong. ‘Of course you may think the arrangement a trifle unfair, madam.’ Glittering topaz bored into her. ‘While I, of course, am free to pursue my amusements as I please, you are not.’ He went on. ‘Under certain circumstances a gentleman might overlook his wife’s infidelity. Take a lover by all means, madam, but rest assured, if you ever cause a public scandal you will regret it.’

‘Max! Stop it!’ Richard stepped between them. ‘Listen to me, you damn fool!’

Fear that they might fall out spurred her. She couldn’t bear that. ‘No, Richard! Don’t interfere.’ And then anger, burning away the fear. Every breath tearing deep inside, she faced Max, her chin up. ‘No doubt you would divorce me if I re
fused to abide by this.’ She felt as brittle as her voice, as though she might shatter at a touch.

‘A little public,’ he observed. ‘A deed of private separation absolving each of us from any further claim on the other would spare me the trouble and scandal of proving your adultery. The only instance in which I would proceed as far as divorce would be if I found you to be bearing a child.’

She could not speak, shuddering protest strangled in her throat as she willed the tears not to fall. He thought her
that
base. And he was waiting, waiting to hear her response. If she opened her mouth again she would be sick. Every breath hurt a little bit more, like breathing glass, but it was all that kept the nausea at bay.

If she didn’t leave now…Very carefully she took a step. Everything seemed distant, misty. Her knees shook, but she was
damned
if she’d cling to the chair for support. Blindly, she turned to go. One step at a time. She could manage one step, and then another…if only the flagstones would stop shifting in that odd way. Stubbornly she forced her eyes to focus, ignoring the pain tearing her apart at each fresh breath. She had set the trap herself. And now it had crashed shut. There was no point in denying it or explaining his error. In the end, he believed it because her behaviour made it credible.

‘Verity…’ His voice sounded queer, distant.

She kept going. Just one more step…and again…

‘Verity!’ He caught her wrist. With a broken cry she swung around and jerked herself free.

‘Don’t
touch
me!’

His touch scalded her. Shamed her. When she thought of how she had behaved, the liberties she had not merely permitted, but enjoyed…begged for…And now she understood. He had never intended to let her bear his child. Instead he had used her.

‘Don’t ever touch me again,’ she whispered. ‘You said you would seek your
amusements
elsewhere. I…I would…prefer
that…to being your whore.’ Her stomach heaved uncontrollably and she turned frantically for the balustrade. Somehow she reached it and clutched it, breaking her fingernails as she was sick into the garden.

For a gut-wrenching moment Max couldn’t move as the enormity of what he had done slammed into him. The betrayal was his. Not hers. ‘My God,’ he whispered as he went to her.
What have I done?

He could do nothing except support her as she retched, an arm over her shoulders as paroxysm after paroxysm racked her slight form. He glanced up as Richard came to her other side and glared at him.

‘You bloody idiot, Max! Are you blind? She’d be as likely to betray you as attempt to fly off Beachy Head!’ His lips thinned. ‘She felt faint and I grabbed her! That’s all!’

He knew that now. Should have always known it. What in God’s name had possessed him? Had he been so desperate to ease his nagging conscience? With shaking hands he stroked her shoulders, holding her steady. He ought to cut his own tongue out.

Finally it was over. She hung limp and shivering over the balustrade. He fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped her mouth clumsily. She struck his hand away with a cry of loathing, put both fists against his chest and shoved with all her strength. He stepped back and faced her, prepared for blistering rage, hurt, condemnation.

Her face was grey and blank, the eyes shuttered, as if the cry of pain had never been. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’

All the breath rushed out of him at the quiet, emotionless words. ‘Verity…’ he whispered. Her family had spent five years trying to break her. He had come very close to succeeding in as many minutes.

‘You have made yourself quite clear, my lord. There…there is no need to say more.’

‘Verity…listen to me. I was wrong…it was a mis
take…forgive me.’ The waxy pallor of her face appalled him. ‘Sweetheart…’

She flinched, shutting her eyes and turning away. Instinctively he reached for her, grasping her shoulders. The shudder that ripped through her tore into him. Sickened, he released her and forced his arms back to his sides.
Don’t touch me.
He had all but destroyed her. And right now he was the last person on earth who could help her. Silently he watched as she walked away from him and down the steps into the garden.

‘For God’s sake, Max! Go after her!’

A discreet cough interrupted them.

Swearing, Max turned to find Harding hovering at the doors into the library. ‘Yes, Harding?’

‘Beg pardon, sir, but your lawyer, Mr Covell, is here with a colleague.’

Max blinked. ‘What? I didn’t send for him…Ricky?’

Richard shook his head. ‘No. Must be a mistake. I’ll see him. You go after Verity.’ Max winced at the cold note in his voice.

The man at the doors, Harding, persisted. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Richard, but I understood that Mr Covell had sent for himself, as it were. And he was quite set that he must see his lordship.’

Max exchanged a blank stare with Richard. What the devil should he do? He looked at the slight figure almost running towards the woods. What did she need? Not him. Anything but him. Sickened at his own brutality, he acknowledged that. ‘Ricky, I’ll see Covell. Would you…’ Nearly choking on his shame, he lowered his voice. ‘If you can find her, take her up and ring for Henny. I’m not being callous. The last person she wants near her is me.’

Richard’s jaw tightened. ‘Very well.’

His brain still numb, Max went back into the library and waited. Despite the warmth of the day, he felt chilled to the
marrow with fear. The devastation on Verity’s face haunted him. His father’s quiet voice after Richard’s accident—
‘If you must fire a pistol…’
He had aimed all too well.

The little framed sketch of Richard sat accusingly on his desk. Entwined initials blurred in front of him. Would he never learn the consequences of rash words? He had caused Richard’s accident with that foolish dare. Now his unthinking fury had torn Verity apart.

‘My lord?’

He looked up and forced a greeting for the two lawyers. ‘Good afternoon, Covell. And, er…?’

Covell flushed. ‘My lord, this is my colleague, Mr Wimbourne.’

Max nodded. ‘Will you not be seated, gentlemen?’ He indicated chairs and sat down behind his desk.

Covell cleared his throat. ‘My lord, I realise that this is quite irregular, but when Mr Wimbourne approached me—well, the matter struck me as being so serious that I thought it had better be laid before your lordship immediately.’

Max nodded assent. ‘Very well. Go ahead.’

To his surprise Mr Wimbourne spoke up. ‘I believe that your lordship married recently?’