The Luckiest Lady In London (16 page)

Louisa retreated to the window alcove in the library, to spend time with a volume on the care and proper operation of telescopes. It was a wonderful book, tailored to a novice, the explanations detailed yet clear—or at least she thought
so. She could be reading a housekeeping manual, for all she knew.

Why had he married her at all?

And was that the limit of her womanly appeal, all exhausted in a single night?

He made her miss the man who had baldly schemed to make her his mistress. At least that man had wanted her enough to take risks and damn the consequences. Whereas this man . . .

A thousand times she had cautioned herself against trusting him. But stupidly, she had been anxious only that she should not translate the physical pleasures he would give her into cascading verses of love. That he would distance himself from her during the honeymoon itself—the thought had never even crossed her mind.

The door of the library opened. The alcove was hidden behind a bookshelf that could slide along on concealed rails. It offered wonderful privacy, but on the other hand, the bookshelf, its back entirely paneled, made it difficult for Louisa to see who had come into the library.

But the sound of the gait was nothing like her husband’s. A woman, most probably. The woman made a round in the library and left after less than a minute.

A light fog had descended on the lake along with the rain, obscuring the opposite bank like a gauzy curtain. But now that curtain drew apart and Louisa found herself looking directly at the Greek folly.

A marble-columned pavilion stands by this lake
.

A quick sentence in a matter-of-fact guidebook, yet in those days when he had tormented her with the possibility of becoming his mistress, she had concocted an entire three-act play around that setting. Act I: The girl, staring longingly at the great manor from across the lake, is ravished in the shadows of the pavilion. Act II: The girl, staring longingly at her
evilly perfect lover, is ravished all across the grounds of his extensive estate. Act III: The girl, back home after a fortnight of ravishment, stumbling about like an empty shell of her former self, hears the doorbell ring at a most unusual hour.

A two-and-a-half-act play, rather: The clear-eyed realist that she was had never been able to picture opening the door of her house to
him
. The real Lord Wrenworth would not call, write, or send presents. She would just have to wait months upon months before staring longingly at him again.

Then he’d proposed, and her world had turned upside down in the most pleasurable way. And she had forgotten that around him she always needed her shield and her sword. Had walked into the dragon’s lair naked and unarmed, with nothing but the foolish conviction that the dragon would never incinerate a girl he liked.

But looking back, ought she to have been surprised? He had deliberately made her simmer in a state of arousal at the dinner at Lady Tenwhestle’s house. He had clearly enjoyed informing her that her preferred suitors were both deeply flawed. Not to mention he had never experienced the slightest qualm about enticing a respectably raised virgin to sell her body.

Why shouldn’t such a man prove himself capricious and heartless?

The door of the library opened and closed again.

“There is no one here,” said a woman. “I came through just a minute ago.”

Lady Tremaine.

“And pray tell, why is the lack of a public so important?” That serene voice belonged to none other than Louisa’s husband.

“Privacy is always nice, don’t you agree?”

He chuckled but gave no reply.

They were coming closer. There was a rustling of fabric,
the sound of a woman sitting down and adjusting her skirts. “Care for a seat, Felix?”

Lady Tremaine sounded as if she were speaking directly into Louisa’s ear.

“I will be able to better admire your toilette, Philippa, from my superior vantage point right here,” he answered.

There was a smile in his voice, a cool smile.

Lady Tremaine laughed, a sultry sound. “Look all you want, Felix.”

A long pause. Lurid images exploded in Louisa’s head. Then Lady Tremaine spoke again. She did not sound as if there were a man pressed against her. “Congratulations on your stellar results in the tennis tournament.”

“Thank you.”

“You were very, very vigorous.”

“I am a man of twenty-eight, rusticating in the country. If I didn’t abound with energy, I’d need to consult my physician.”

“You are also a man on your honeymoon. Shouldn’t you have conserved a bit of stamina for pleasuring your wife?”

“Your concern is very kind. But I am sure I will somehow gather the wherewithal to see my wife to her satisfaction.”

Liar
.

“Maybe you can, but are you? For every day of my stay, I have seen you from my window at half past four in the morning, coming back into the house.”

It was hardly news to Louisa. But that Lady Tremaine should know about it . . . She flushed with hot shame.

Lord Wrenworth did not address Lady Tremaine’s point, but instead asked, “What were
you
doing up at half past four in the morning?”

“Having trouble sleeping, obviously.”

The sound of rustling silk again, and of someone standing up. Footsteps. Louisa imagined Lady Tremaine circling Lord Wrenworth like a she-wolf about to pounce.

“I have been observing your wife. I do not believe she loves you. I do not even believe she likes you.”

He was silent for a long time. Louisa hoped he was at least chagrined that anyone would toss such a thing in his face. It was almost enough to make her embrace Lady Tremaine in friendship.

“My wife does not like to make her sentiments public,” he said at last. “What she feels, only she and I know.”

Lady Tremaine snorted at his answer. “So I’m right, then. Don’t worry; I won’t demand to know the why and wherefore of her sentiments. Or yours. I am interested only in what you can do to help
me
sleep better.”

Louisa found it difficult to remain quiet. She seemed to be able to take in air only in huge gulps. Even with her hands over her mouth, her trembling inhalations echoed in her hiding space.

“Since we are both awake in the middle of the night,” continued Lady Tremaine, “come and make love to me instead. At least you know I like you. In fact, sometimes I adore you.”

“Hmm, a tempting offer,” he said.

“One that you’d regret declining.”

“Would I?” His words were low and soft.

“You remember what it was like.” Lady Tremaine’s voice was all willful seduction. “We were magnificent together.”

“I remember.”

“Midnight, then.”

“I haven’t said I’d come.”

“You’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t you?”

And she departed on that triumphant note, walking out of the library. The closing of the door echoed in the silence.

Louisa gasped when the bookshelf was pushed aside.

“I thought you might be here,” her husband said coolly, as if he hadn’t just failed to turn down an invitation to adultery.

And what should she say in return?
Sleep with her and I will give you a concussion with my telescope stand?

“Yes,” she said, “it’s a comfortable spot. Pretty view, too.”

“I will leave you to your reading, then.”

“Thank you,” she said politely.

Then she bent her face to her book, indicating that she had nothing else to say to him.

A few seconds later, the bookshelf slid back into place, shutting her in.

F
elix remained where he was.

He wanted to leave, but his feet were rooted in place, and his hands kept reaching out to push the bookshelf aside again. Madly enough, he didn’t want to shove her against the wall and claim her with the force of an asteroid strike. In his mind, he sat down next to her and together they watched the clouds depart in the wake of the rain, revealing a clear, spotless afternoon sky.

He left only when he must, to supervise the preparation of the fire pit, with an emptiness in his heart that felt, unhappily, all too familiar.

Along with a strange anxiety.

He wasn’t worried about what Lady Tremaine might or might not do. He knew her very well: If she wanted him, it was only as a distraction—something about her Scandinavian trip had upset her.

His wife, on the other hand . . .

On bonfire nights, no formal dinners were laid out. Instead, a buffet supper was served on the grand terrace, which had been lit with dozens of lanterns suspended from a pergola set up specifically for the occasion.

His sense of misgiving doubled when she appeared on the terrace clad in the same dinner gown she’d worn on their wedding night. Without looking left or right, she went directly to Drummond, who bowed and kissed her hand.

They stood by the balustrade and chatted, ignoring the buffet supper altogether. As they spoke, with only the barest nod at subtlety, Drummond inched toward her. She seemed perfectly conversant with the game. From time to time, she would rest the tip of her closed fan against his chest, to slow his inexorable progress. And once in a while, she would slide a foot to the left, to keep a respectable distance between them.

Then, all of a sudden, not only did she stop moving away, she leaned toward Drummond. And when he lowered his head to say something in her ear, she tilted her face and gave him a sideways smile.

A smile that spoke of a Greek folly lit by torches, of slender columns that could barely conceal a grown woman, and of hot, frantic coupling in the shadows, perhaps only a few yards from those who oohed and ahhed over the display of fireworks.

In the wake of the smile, she whispered to Drummond and pointed to the very pavilion across the water, the one Felix could not look at without an echoing sense of loss.

She left Drummond with a flirtatious caress of her fan down his arm, to mix with the other guests. Felix felt as if there were a hand at his throat, choking him. He had
not
agreed to an adulterous affair; surely she could recall that. He had not turned down Lady Tremaine flat because he had not wanted to interrogate her on why she was propositioning him out of the blue, knowing that they were not truly alone.

He found Lady Tremaine and led her down to the lawn, out of earshot of the others. “Regretting it yet?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do know what I mean. You were wondering whether to have a headache or pretend to be too drunk when I showed up at midnight.”

She sighed. “Why must you know me so well?”

“I assume it’s not anything your Scandinavian lovers said
or did.” He doubted that she’d had any lovers at all; she was not the sort to sleep with a man on a short acquaintance.

She looked away. “Tremaine was in Copenhagen.”

Her permanently absent husband. “At his sister’s house?”

“No. I mean, I’m sure that’s where he was staying, but we ran into each other quite accidentally.” She exhaled. “And he had a woman with him.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s just the shock of it. I will be all right in no time.”

He touched her on her arm. “Come back at Christmas. I’ll pack the house with handsome men and you can have your pick.”

She laughed rather valiantly, her hand reaching up to adjust the scarf his valet had draped about his neck against the eventual chill of the night. “That’s right—instead of the ugly men you usually host.”

Her barely-beneath-the-surface pain reverberated inside his own chest. He was feeling too much these days—and no longer knew how to stop.

He squeezed her hand. “I will even get rid of the homelier footmen, just for you.”

They both laughed rather valiantly at that. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Felix.”

And of course his wife would choose that moment to look his way, her gaze hardening into daggers.

A
t ten minutes to midnight, Felix walked into the folly.

His wife was already there, her hand on a pillar, looking toward the bonfire on the opposite shore of the lake. He still couldn’t quite believe it—that she had arranged a rendezvous with a man she actively disliked, just to spite him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, this house?” she said without glancing
behind her. “I used to study a tiny picture of it, and imagine how it would look in person, lit up like this, impossibly majestic against the night.”

He had come to tell her that he had already dispatched Drummond—by letting it be known that a man to whom Drummond owed a large gaming debt would be among those coming to watch the fireworks at midnight. Drummond had fled almost before Felix had stopped speaking, rather to Felix’s disappointment. He would have preferred to enjoy the man’s panic for a bit longer.

Her head tilted up. “And such stars. Have I ever told you of my interest in astronomy? I have always been intrigued by the night sky, ever since I was a child. To think that there is a vast universe out there, full of deep, marvelous unknowns.”

She had never told him, directly, of her fascination with the stars. Never allowed him to share her sense of wonder.

“But you didn’t come to hear me prattle on. Please proceed with what we’ve agreed upon.”

He felt a burning in his throat.
What we’ve agreed upon
.

What
had
they agreed upon?

He meant to speak, to let her know that Drummond had vacated the premises. Instead, he found himself standing directly behind her, his hands on her cool, bare arms.

She trembled. With disgust—or desire? How could she feel anything for that dunce, whom Felix tolerated only because he was nephew to Felix’s former guardian?

He kissed her hair, the lobe of her ear, the side of her neck, his fingers spreading over her collarbone.

“Such a workmanlike approach, sir. No praise for my slender throat or my velvety skin?”

He bit her shoulder in response, not hard, just enough for her to emit a sob of arousal.

“Did you bring the blindfold?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

His hand tightened. That, too, was a fantasy that belonged to them. She couldn’t have displayed a little originality and found something different for Drummond to do?