To Wed The Widow (18 page)

She couldn’t seem to muster the emotion. Who could keep him out when he wanted in?

Flora said, “I came to tell her about the dinner she missed but if you’ve already been to see her, she’ll know.”

Elinor and Sinclair didn’t reply, and Flora smiled, rising. “Perhaps you had more important things to talk of. I hope you’ll be feeling yourself again soon, Elinor.”

Sinclair rose, putting a hand to Elinor’s shoulder when she began to follow. “The countess will forgive you the slight.”

Elinor stayed sitting, and again tried to be miffed at Sinclair. For taking over her household, for his high-handedness.

But all she could do was hide her shaking hands beneath her skirt and sit quietly.

When the countess had left, Elinor said, “Jones let you in.”

Sinclair sat down next to her, this time close enough to touch, close enough to kiss her lips lightly. “Of course he let me in. You look tired.”

She was tired. Tired and happy. Stupidly happy.

He lifted an arm, sliding it around her shoulders and tugging her against him. And she went, sliding down in her seat to lean her head against him.

He murmured, “The countess visits you. She’s your
if
.”

When Elinor nodded, he asked, “Is she breeding?”

“Not yet.”

Not yet.

If.

The same could be said of her. Not yet. If.

Possibly never.

A depression settled over her and she sat quietly, tucked tightly in the arms of a man she’d give everything to.

If she loved him.

Flora had gone to visit the widow, not sure at all how to share her news. Her conquest. Only knowing that if she didn’t, it would burst from her chest.

She’d seduced her husband.

And she’d had such fun, she was planning on doing it again tonight.

She smiled, alone in her carriage, and tried to stuff her secret back down where it couldn’t escape.

But she smiled. Because she loved, was in love. There was passion and fire and something
new
.

Smiled because there was hope.

She smiled as she remembered George and Elinor together, at that first flush of love. When nothing and no one else existed.

She smiled when the carriage pulled up to her lovely home, smiled at the footman who helped her down, smiled as she swept through the waiting door.

Smiled when she was told that his lordship had requested her presence as soon as she was able.

Flora’s stomach flopped and she tried to stop smiling. But she simply couldn’t help it as she wondered about seducing her husband in broad daylight. Wondered if she could lock the library door behind her, and wondered if he wanted her for the same reason she wanted him.

She floated to the library, entering without knocking and then breathing deeply when she saw Sebastian at his desk, working.

She watched him as his pen scratched across paper and she leaned back against the door.

He didn’t look up at her.

She said softly, “You summoned me?”

His pen paused, and then resumed writing. He cleared his throat.

“I wanted to speak with you. At your leisure, of course. I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear.”

She said nothing, waiting for him to look up. When he didn’t, she pushed herself away from the door and went to sit in the chair across from his desk, her smile gone, the tingles in her belly turning to lead.

He still didn’t look at her and they sat in awkward silence until she leaned over to put her hand over his, to stop the scratching.

“Sebastian.”

He looked up then and he was angry. His eyes hard.

She pulled her hand away at his look and her mouth fell open when he said harshly, “I underestimated your. . . needs.”

She had nothing to say to that.

“If there is a child, can I be certain it will be mine?”

She choked, her own anger building. “I have lain with only one man my entire life; I have loved only one man my entire life. I dare say you can not say the same.”

She stood, ready to leave, her entire body shaking.

“Flora–”

She whirled on him. “You need a son. It is my duty to give you one and you refuse me!”

“Flora–”

“A year! Alone in my bed, wondering who my husband is loving now that he is done with me!”

“Flora–”

“I loved you, Sebastian. No one luckier in all of London, that’s what I told myself. A countess, four beautiful children, saved from death itself by God’s hand. And for what?”

“Only God
could
have saved you, Flora. That’s how close you were.”

He said it so quietly that it cut through some of her anger.

She held her hands out wide, showing him her whole body. Alive.

“I didn’t die, Sebastian. And you’re the only one who makes me wish I had.”

He sucked in a breath. “Who are you, Flora? Ten years and I still don’t know who my wife is. You flirt and laugh with George–”

“And now what are you accusing me of?”

“Nothing. It’s just. . . With him, you laugh.”

“Everyone laughs with George.”

“It makes me wonder. Who is the real you? She who laughs with my brother or she who stands by my side as the perfect countess.” He said, softer, “Or she who stands in front of me right now, angry.”

She was angry, all right. Ten years and he didn’t know her at all. Ten years and he hadn’t even looked.

Her voice was hard and unforgiving when she said, “If you don’t know who your wife is, then you haven’t been listening. And for your information, I don’t have to be just one of those women. I am all.”

She swept out of the room, ignoring as he called her name one last time.

Ignoring how her anger covered the hurt.

Perhaps she didn’t love him, perhaps she never had. Perhaps what she’d thought was love was simply circumstance and she would have loved any man she’d been married to.

She left the house, stomping down the stairs and sending the footman running for the carriage that had just been put away.

She waited for a split second, then turned and began walking. She’d waited and waited, and she was
sick
of waiting.

Ten years and he didn’t know her at all.

Ten years.

What good could come from waiting any longer than that?

Miss Westin was hanging on George’s arm, being led around the room and chatting happily at him while they waited for the next set of dances to start.

She was diverting. And beautiful.

And he’d decided he would be tracking down her father tonight. George felt as good about it as any man who’d left another woman’s bedroom this morning could feel.

And he didn’t know what would happen between him and Elinor when he told her.

He was only slightly worried about what would happen to Miss Westin. Surely, Elinor wouldn’t. . .

Surely, she wouldn’t do anything to either of them. Right?

George shook his head. She’d got into his head this morning when she’d pecked his lips lightly and told him to have fun with his two dances.

She’d said it so calmly and dispassionately that the hairs on the back of George’s neck had stood up.

He didn’t think it said anything good about him that the thought of his two women scratching each other’s eyes out excited him.

But he hadn’t seen Elinor all evening. He knew she was here, somewhere. He could feel it, could feel the prickles and the sense that she was watching. Watching him woo Miss Westin.

Miss Westin, along with everyone else, had got the message. She’d shooed off her entourage and hung on him and his every word.

She was lovely, and bloody hell, he’d keep telling himself that until it was engraved on his heart.

Couples began lining up and George was steering Miss Westin toward the floor when he saw the countess sweep into the room.

George stopped and stared. Her hair hung loose and her dress was wild. A dark green heavy velvet that left her shoulders bare but draped down both arms long enough to hide her hands. There was enough exposed bosom to make him, her brother-in-law, keep his eyes glued to her face, and there was enough length to the dress that it pooled behind her like a regal train.

George thought she looked like an ethereal head floating over a wild forest. A wild and angry forest, and even Sebastian was eyeing her, clearly not knowing what to do with his suddenly ferocious wife.

George cleared his throat, trying to figure out how to tell the woman beside him that he was needed, that there was a pressing problem that looked potentially explosive.

“Er, Miss Westin–”

And then he stopped, because there was Elinor, heading straight for the countess and the earl. Her eyes met his briefly and he relaxed. She would take care of the countess, whatever was wrong with her.

He would dance his second dance with Miss Westin and then go get his brother a stiff drink. It really was the only cure for a man with woman trouble.

Elinor bowed to the earl, ignoring how the confusion in his eyes turned to anger at the sight of her. She was an easy target, an acceptable scapegoat, and she didn’t wait for him to attack. She slipped her arm through Flora’s and led her away without a word to either of them.

When they’d got away, Elinor said, “What a dress. You must tell me the name of your dressmaker.”

“Her name is hate. Her name is broken dreams. Her name is bitterness.”

Elinor laughed, saying, “How very poetic,” and Flora pinched her lips.

“You do not know, Elinor, how a man can destroy a woman just by being his obtuse self.”

Elinor said nothing because she did know it. Every woman learned it eventually.

“It does make one wonder how they manage to rule the world when they are so blind.”

“Blind! And stupid!”

Flora’s bottom lip wobbled and even if Elinor wished she could hug her friend and tell her that this would pass, she said, “Tears will ruin this look completely. Avenging goddesses do not cry.”

Flora sniffed, then tipped her chin up. “Not in public, at least.”

No, not in public. Did they cry when they were alone?

“Besides I’m proving to my husband that I am still alive. I’m proving it to myself, and tonight I will laugh.”

Flora closed her eyes and tipped her head to the ceiling, laughing like her life depended on it.

For a moment, Elinor froze, feeling head after head turn toward them and then she thought,
How scandalous
.

She tipped her head up as well and laughed, and thought that if the sound of two women madly laughing didn’t scare every man in here, she didn’t know what would.