The Earl's Untouched Bride (17 page)

Nor had he expected the searing pain that left him gasping for breath.

For a few moments he gripped the edge of the mantel, leaning his forehead against the cool marble and taking deep, steadying breaths, while his heartbeat gradually returned to something like normal.

Why in Hades was he so upset?

It was not as if he was in love with Heloise. It was a proprietorial thing. That was all. He had always felt the same disgust when one of his mistresses had shown affection for another man while under his protection.

Had he made it clear to Heloise, when laying down the terms of their union, that, while he was willing to let her lead her own life, he would not tolerate her taking a lover? At least not until after she had given him an heir.

It probably hurt all the more that it was his own brother who had so effortlessly breached the defences he had lain siege to weeks ago. He laughed bitterly. All he'd had to do was trim his hair, put on clean linen, and take her to watch some fireworks!

He strode to the salon door and flung it open. The scene he had witnessed was only the opening round in the dance that went on between a man and a woman. He would have to make Heloise understand that it must progress no further, he thought, as he pounded up the stairs to her room.

He gave only a peremptory knock before striding into her bedroom. She was not yet in bed, but standing by her dressing table in the act of disrobing.

At his entrance, the maid uttered a little shriek, her hands flying to her cheeks. Heloise's gown, already half undone, slithered to the floor, leaving her standing in just a flimsy chemise. She had already removed her shoes and stockings.

He had never seen so much of her. Slowly, his blood thickening, he examined every perfect inch of her
—
from her flushed cheeks, down her slender arms, past her shapely calves and ankles to the ten naked toes she was curling into the soft blue carpet. She was exquisite. And he wanted to stake his claim right now.

'Sukey,' she said in a reedy voice, 'hand me my wrap, then you may leave us.' Whatever Charles wanted must be important for him to be displaying such an uncharacteristic lack of manners.

His eyes flicked upwards. She was fastening the belt tightly, with fingers that trembled.

Moodily he paced to her desk, looking blindly at the sheets of paper scattered on it, seeing only the anxiety in her eyes when he had invaded the sanctuary of her bedroom.

'I am writing a letter to my sister,' she said, breathy with panic as she gathered the loose pages and stacked them neatly together before he got a chance to glimpse any of the sketches she had been working on lately.

Stuffing the pages into a drawer, she turned to him warily.

'You did not forbid me, so I have written several times. I suppose that now you will tell me I must stop?' she finished gloomily.

She still thought of him as a tyrant, he realised, reeling from her. Hadn't he made any progress with her at all? If she still believed he would forbid her contact with her family, no wonder she turned to his brother for comfort.

'Heloise,' he ground out, seizing her by her shoulders, 'didn't I tell you that all I want is for you to be happy as my wife?'

'N...no, you didn't,' she stunned him by stammering.

'Of course I did!' He paced away from her, running his fingers through his hair. He had made it absolutely clear, on more than one occasion. Hadn't he? 'Well, I am telling you now!' he exclaimed.

Why, when he had just told her he wanted her to be happy, was she shrinking from him like that?

There must be something he could do to drive that scared look from her face. Perhaps he could begin by reassuring her that he did not, as she assumed, frown on her corresponding with her sister.

'If you want to write to your sister, of course you may. Has Felice replied to your letters?' he said, in as calm a tone as he could muster. 'How is she?'

'She reached Switzerland safely, and
—
' she swallowed, loath to be the one to break the news '
—
she has married Jean-Claude.'

Charles struggled to find something else to say. How did a man go about gentling a nervous female? He didn't know.

He only knew that he had to get out of here before he tore the damned wrapper that she was clutching to her throat like a shield from her perfect, enticing young body, and proved conclusively that he was the monster of her imagination.

Muttering an oath, he beat a hasty retreat.

'Whatever has got into His Lordship?' Sukey said, as she emerged timidly from the dressing room, where she had taken refuge. 'I've never seen him in such a pucker.'

'I have no idea.'

All she did know was that for the first time since their marriage he had not kissed her goodnight. No. Tonight, with thoughts of Felice running through his mind, he could not bear to touch her at all.

He was probably already on his way to his Mrs Kenton, to seek the solace his unappealing wife was too naive to know how to offer.

'No idea,' she repeated dully.

'I do not agree!' Heloise returned her soup spoon to the bowl, the consomme untouched.

Robert glowered at her across the table. 'I suppose you think all the other European nations should just let Bonaparte take up where he left off, then?'

'That was not what I said!'

It was at moments like this that she was at her most attractive, Charles reflected, sipping his wine. And he only ever saw her this animated these days when Robert was around.

On the few occasions she could spare time from her increasingly hectic social life to accompany him to a ball, or rout, she behaved with extreme modesty and decorum.

He got the 'public' Heloise.

Not this vibrant, intelligent woman who held such passionate views.

She picked up her spoon again, her mind so fully locked in the tussle with Robert she didn't notice that she spattered droplets of consomme across the snowy damask tablecloth.

'I just meant that there might not need to be another war. There has not been any fighting in France...'

'Only because anyone who might have opposed Bonaparte's return has turned tail and fled. Why do you

think he's amassing an army, you silly goose? Do you think he means to march them up and down the Champs-Elysees to entertain the tourists?'

'There are no tourists left in Paris,' Charles pointed out pedantically. 'They have all run for their lives.'

Heloise and Robert turned to stare at him, his wife's face creased with frustration, his brother's lip curling in contempt.

Flicking his finger to Giddings, Charles indicated it was time to remove the cooling soup and bring on the next course.

To all intents and purposes things could not be progressing better. He had wanted Heloise to make her own way in society. He had wanted Robert to get well.

He had not imagined the two events, taken in tandem, would make him feel like an intruder in his own home.

'There was no need for the tourists to flee,' Heloise said to him carefully. 'Your Whig politicians are pressing to make the treaty with Bonaparte...'

'While the allies gathered in Vienna have just declared him an outlaw!' scoffed Robert.

Charles frequently heard them bickering like this when they returned home of an evening. He was growing increasingly resentful that it was Robert with whom she felt easy enough to speak her mind. But that was nothing to what he felt when he heard them laughing together.

What kind of fool resented hearing his wife enjoying herself? Or watched his own brother's return to health and vigour with a sense of dread?

His lips twisted in self-mockery as he dug into a dish of lamb fricassee.

Heloise took only a small portion of the stew, which was on tonight's menu so that Robert would have at least one dish from each course that he could manage for himself. She glowered at him as Linney spooned onion sauce onto his plate. She wished Charles would not invite Robert to dine with them quite so often. He ruined all her attempts to impress her husband with her increasing grasp of British politics. She had spent hours poring over the newspapers and questioning Cumrnings, to no avail. Robert took her up on every point, arguing with her until she became hopelessly enmired and tripped herself up. Confirming her husband's opinion she was the greatest idiot he had ever met. She only had to see the mocking way he was smiling now to know what he thought of her intellectual capabilities.

Well, she would soon wipe that smirk off his face!

'So
—
this masquerade you take me to at the Opera House this evening. Will it be very disgraceful?'

She had the satisfaction of causing Robert to choke on his wine. He had lectured her at length upon the importance of
not
telling her husband where they were headed tonight. Charles would strongly disapprove of his wife disporting herself at a venue where ladies of quality simply did not venture, he had warned her.

'Of course it would be,' he said hastily, 'if anyone was to find out you had gone there. But I've taken all the precautions necessary to protect your reputation. We will both be wearing masks and cloaks, and travelling in a plain carriage.'

Though he addressed the last part of this to his half-brother, Charles' face remained impassive.

'I say, you don't mind me taking Heloise there, do you?' Robert put in uneasily.

'If it amuses her to go to such places
—
' he shrugged '
—
who am I to deny her? I have told her she may enjoy herself exactly as she pleases.'

She felt as if he had slapped her. Robert was always saying how generous it was of her husband to leave the

Walton coach and driver at her disposal, but she knew better. He didn't care how many servants he had to pay to keep her out of his hair. Oh, he went through the motions of squiring her to at least one event 'every se'en night or so', as he'd put it, 'for form's sake'. But she knew, from the very way he carried himself on those occasions, that he was not enjoying her company.

'Well, then,' she said, rising to her feet and tossing the napkin to the table, 'I shall go and fetch my cloak. Tonight, Robert, you will get the proof that all I have been saying is correct.'

Charles went cold inside. Had he just inadvertently given his wife the go-ahead to commence an affair with Robert by saying she could do as she pleased?

He heard Robert's chair scrape back, heard him mutter that he would wait for Heloise in the hall, but all he could see was her face
—
the defiant look in her eyes as she said, 'Tonight, Robert.'

Sweat broke out on his brow.

Tonight.

Around him the footmen were clearing away the dishes, removing the cloth, pouring the port.

He had instinctively known they couldn't be lovers. Not yet. Apart from the fact Robert was scarcely fit enough, Heloise was not the kind of woman to break her marriage vows so quickly.

She had never been able to deal in deceit. Her father had said it was because she was too stupid, but he liked to think it was because she was too honest.

But if he didn't do something to put a spoke in Robert's wheel it would happen. How could Robert not desire her when she turned those flashing eyes up at him, or laughed at one of his sarcasms? She was so full of life. It was all any man could do to keep his hands off her. And she was clearly growing increasingly fond of him. It was only natural. They were far closer in age, their tastes seemed to mesh...

He was damned if he was going to sit at home and let his brother seduce his wife out from under him!

Leaving his port untouched, he rose from the table and, like a man on a mission, made his way up to his rooms. He had purchased a domino and mask for a private masquerade himself, the previous autumn. If his valet knew where to lay his hands on the outfit, he would track his wife and brother down at the masquerade and observe them undetected. The grotesque devil's mask that would cover his upper face was of red satin, matching the lining of the black velvet domino. He would look nothing like his usual civilised, conventional self in that disguise. Hell, he scarcely recognised himself any more. What kind of jealous fool stalked his wife and spied on his half-brother?

After the dire warnings Robert had given her, Heloise was surprised to discover the Opera House was not the shabby, ill-lit lair of her imagination, but a rather elegantly appointed theatre. Four tiers of boxes, decorated in white and gold, surrounded a stage upon which people in a variety of disguises were dancing.

'It's still not too late to turn back,' Robert urged her. 'So far you have not stepped over that invisible line which separates you from scandal. But if you set so much as a toe across it, I warn you, you will unleash consequences so dire...'

She tossed her head. 'I am no coward, to cringe at the threat of these vague consequences! But if you are afraid...'

Robert drew himself up. 'If I am wary, it is not on my own account, I assure you.'

'Isn't it?' she taunted. 'Isn't it truly the prospect of the rejection of females that has you quaking like a blancmange tonight? For I cannot believe you are suddenly afraid of what Charles might do
—
not after some of the places you have been taking me to...'