When Marrying a Scoundrel (11 page)

“That was the worst.”

“And yet you made it look so easy.”

Damn her for sounding so nonchalant, so flippant. “Actually, the worst day was when I came home and discovered my wife had left me.”

That killed her dismissive act. Her spine stiffened. “You left me first.”

“I told you I’d come back, Sadie.” It was true. He remembered his exact words as though he’d said them but a day ago. “I came back. You didn’t even leave a forwarding address.”

“You were gone for two years, Jack!”

“I sent you money. I sent you letters—many of which you didn’t even open because the landlord gave them back to me when I came in and found our empty apartment!” That came out louder than he had intended, but it felt good to shout.

Fists clenched, shoulders forward, she came at him like a harpy ready to claw his eyes out. She stopped short, as though the idea of touching him, even to do violence, appalled her. “Those letters were few and far between in the end. You didn’t want me to find you, so how could I know you were really going to come back?”

“Because I promised you I would!” he shouted, his face inches from hers.

They stared at each for what seemed like eternity. “Your promise,” she said, voice quivering, “isn’t worth the breath used to speak it.”

His brow lowered. “You made promises too, Sadie. I assume those weren’t worth anything either.”

“I kept my promises a lot longer than you, Jack.” She spoke through clenched teeth. Her face was so close he could count her eyelashes. He’d forgotten how long they were.

“No,” he whispered, “you didn’t. Because I came home and you were gone.” And there they were, back where they started. She believed he had left her and he believed she left him, and neither seemed to have a convincing enough argument to sway the other.

“I needed you.” Her eyes glistened wetly. “I needed you and you weren’t there.”

A hard lump formed in Jack’s throat. “I’m sorry for every day we were apart, Sadie. But I left so we could have a better life. You have to know that.”

“What I know is that even though you swore to me that I was more important than your family and money, you jumped at the first chance you had to make a fortune and get away from your inferiorly bred wife.”

If she had clocked him with her own boot, he wouldn’t have been more shocked. “I never thought you inferior.”

“No? You certainly regretted marrying me. You couldn’t wait to get away.”

“I left because I didn’t want you pulling flimflam schemes to make money. I’m rich now, Sadie. Rich. I would have given you anything you wanted.”

“My own shop?” she challenged.

“You don’t need a shop.” As soon as he spoke, he knew he shouldn’t have said it, no matter how much he truly meant it.

“Because you think what I do is a ‘flimflam’ scheme, right?”

Straightening, he threw a hand into the air. “Oh, come on! You don’t really believe a person’s fate lies in the bottom of a frigging teacup, do you?”

Her mouth tightened and her eyes hardened. “I make a good living doing this, Jack. People make appointments months in advance for my insight.”

“Don’t you feel the least bit guilty for it?”

She shook her head “No. I do not.” Something inside Jack slumped in disappointment. Where had his Sadie gone? What had happened to his darling girl? Was it all his fault? Had marrying him destroyed her sweetness?

“What if I said I did believe that a person’s fate could lie in the bottom of a teacup?” she challenged.

Jack couldn’t hide his regret. “Then I’d call you a fool.”

She smiled—a twisted sad thing that made murky jewels out of her eyes. “Of course I am. I married you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “You did.” And something in that declaration awakened something deep inside him. Whether it was the tone of her voice or the pained glint
in her eye, he didn’t know. But something made him reach out and cup his hand around the back of her neck and haul her closer.

Sadie’s hands braced against his chest, pushing to no avail. Jack stood his ground. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Let me go.”

“No,” came his simple reply as he lowered his head. “Not yet.” And then his mouth covered hers. The touch of her lips to his was like waking up from a deep and dreamless sleep. Awareness washed over him, filling him. The flavor of her set his heart pounding and he pressed harder, forcing her to open to him so that he could taste her more deeply, fiercely.

She kissed him back, fingers digging into the wall of his chest. There was nothing soft or gentle or remotely loving about their embrace, and yet it was wonderful in an out of control kind of way.

And then she shoved, breaking their bond and stepping away from him to press the back of her hand to her mouth as though she might wipe all traces of him away.

“Do
not
,” she began in a quivering, angry voice, “think that you can leave love bites on Lady Gosling and then presume to make love to me.”

Jack’s eye brows shot up. “You think I bit Lady Gosling?”

“I know it.” The accusation in her gaze was terrible—and hurt.

Jack had never bit a woman in his life. Well, perhaps the odd nibble, but he certainly hadn’t done so to Lady
Gosling. It seemed his wife thought him the worst kind of scoundrel.

“I didn’t.” Why he felt the need to explain himself was a mystery. “Lady Gosling and I aren’t lovers, but even if we were, don’t you have your artist
friend
?”

“Leave Mason out of this. He’s a good man.”

Meaning they hadn’t slept together. He shouldn’t care, but he did. He cared very much, even now when he ought to wipe his hands of this creature and get on with his life.

“But I’m not.” Why in God’s name did he set himself up like this? He already knew her answer.

“We’ve been apart a long time, Jack. I can only imagine the legions of lovers you’ve had over the years.”

So only bad men had lovers? If she only knew. But what would be the point? She wouldn’t believe anything he said. She didn’t want to, and that…that made him feel oddly pathetic. The only thing he could do now was leave, while he still had a shred of dignity left.

“You’re right,” he informed her coolly, as he approached the door. He stopped at the threshold and glanced over his shoulder at her expressionless face. “You
are
a fool.”

T
he next few days were almost normal for Sadie. She gave a few private readings, ordered paint, wallpaper, and linens for her shop, went shopping with Indara—whom she finally confided in about her past with Jack—and last night she spent a lovely evening at a salon in Chelsea with Mason and some of his artist friends. She’d stayed out until dawn. It was almost noon and she was still abed, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against her skin and the surprisingly warm sunshine streaming through the window.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Jack at all. In fact, she might have succeeded in not thinking about him at all if not for the kiss. It haunted her beyond reason, sneaking into her thoughts at the worst moments, such as when Mason kissed her good-bye that morning.

It wasn’t as though she had never kissed Jack before, but none of those had lingered with her like this, none but the first. She supposed she’d taken his kisses for granted after that, so often she experienced them. It made sense
in a way that this one should stick with her. With lips as perfect as his, how could it not?

Damn him, for reminding her of what they’d once shared. Damn herself, for responding as she had. Kissing him had been like a stiff drink on an empty stomach. It had gone straight to her head, and afterward left her feeling slightly dizzy and queasy.

What was wrong with her that she could react to him with such enthusiasm after he abandoned her? How could she be so weak? He insulted her, proved to her that he never believed in her—and she had clung to him like ivy to stone. Thank God she’d come to her senses and pushed him away before things could go further than a kiss.

And it would have gone further, of that she had no doubt. She would have taken him to her bed and kept him there until neither of them could move. It would have been amazing, and she would have hated herself for it come morning. Not just for succumbing to his kisses, but giving herself to a man who thought the worst of her.

As for Jack, he would probably have no qualms about sleeping with a woman who thought the worst of him. It was obvious that both of them blamed the other for the failing of their marriage. It was also obvious that neither of them was willing to accept that blame.

And why should she when she’d done nothing wrong?

A knock at her door thankfully kept her thoughts from venturing any further into unwanted territory. It was a
beautiful morning and she would not allow thoughts of Jack to ruin it.

Indara slipped into the room, bright and summery in a bottle green day gown. “Finally, you are awake. Did you have a good evening?”

Sadie pushed herself upright, resting against the headboard. “I did.” She noticed the letter in her friend’s hand. “Is that for me?”

Immediately the slim package was offered to her. “It’s from Ireland. I thought you would want it straightaway.”

Her fingers trembled a little as Sadie took the letter and saw the familiar scrawl of Mr. Brown, the earl’s secretary. The old man couldn’t even write a letter on his own. “You were right. Thank you for bringing it up.”

Indara nodded. She stood there a moment, watching with unveiled curiosity, obviously waiting for Sadie to open the missive and share its contents. As much as Sadie wanted to tear into it, she didn’t want to share. Had no intention of sharing something that concerned such a private part of her past.

Her friend took the hint seemingly without offense. “I’ll have breakfast sent up.”

Sadie thanked her with a sincere smile, waiting until the door was closed once more to open the letter. It was short and to the point:

Under consideration? What the hell did that mean? She balled the letter between her palms and tossed it in the bin beside her writing desk. What else could she expect? She’d done what she thought was the right thing by writing Jack’s grandfather because the old man had been surprisingly kind to her at the time when she’d desperately needed kindness. But the Earl of Garret had never liked her much and approved of her even less.

She’d done what her conscience required, she allowed as she tossed back the covers and slipped out of bed. Whatever the earl did with it was up to him. She fulfilled her part of their arrangement and now she could wash her hands of the situation. She had more important things to occupy her thoughts and time, such as preparations for her shop. Now that she knew it was finally going to be hers, there was much work to be done.

She shrugged into a silky orange wrapper and sat down at her vanity. She hadn’t braided her hair before bed and it was a tangled mess. She was still brushing the knots out when her breakfast tray arrived. She paused in her toilette long enough to eat her toast and drink a cup of coffee. She nursed a second cup as Petra helped her dress.

Just over an hour later she walked into her shop on Bond Street and began the task of making note of what needed to be done first. She’d made several similar lists in the past, but now that the papers were signed and the property was officially hers, she wanted to start fresh.

She had just finished jotting down how many teapots, cups, and saucers she would need and a note to buy a variety of china patterns, when the door opened. Her
head jerked up at the intrusion, but any annoyance fast turned to pleasure as her gaze fell upon Mason’s handsome face.

“I hope that smile’s for my benefit,” he said as the door closed behind him.

Sadie’s lips curved even further as they moved toward one another. “I suppose it must be. I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.”

“The surprise is a pleasant one, I hope?”

“Of course.”

They met in the middle of the floor and Mason, mindful of the large window through which anyone might see them, settled for kissing her cheek rather than her mouth as Sadie hoped he would. Perhaps he could erase the lingering taste of Jack upon her lips.

She should feel more guilt for having kissed that bloody scoundrel with a man such as Mason paying court to her, but all she felt was annoyance.

“So,” Mason arched a dark brow as he glanced around the open space, “is this large enough to host your legion of followers?”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “I would hardly refer to them as legion, but no. I rather hope that it’s not large enough and that a table here is in constant demand. I want to turn ladies away in droves.”

He smiled at her determined tone. “And you will. That far wall has no windows. A perfect canvas for a mural.”

Sadie’s heart skipped a beat. Mason’s paintings were in demand among the elite, and he charged them a fortune
for them. To have his work—an original—displayed on her wall would be a coup in itself, but to have him paint the
entire
wall…

“I cannot afford your fee,” she said lightly, but it was true. She would never be able to afford him.

He slid her a sideways glance, full of amusement and something else—heat. “I’m sure we can work out some form of compensation.”

She smiled, but a knot of unease tightened in her stomach. Was it lying not to tell him about Jack? Mason had never asked about her past, nor had he offered information about his. They were simply two adults who enjoyed each other’s company, working toward something more intimate. Surely she didn’t need to complicate that?

“The location is excellent,” he commented, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. Once again, his ebony gaze took in the entirety of the space. “I suspect you will do quite well here, luv. Quite well indeed.”

She preened at his prophecy. “From your lips…” She didn’t finish, because that’s when his gaze dropped noticeably to linger on her mouth. He slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her toward the kitchen entrance, where they couldn’t be seen by passersby.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he informed her with that rakish grin of his.

“I’m going to let you,” she replied with a smile of her own. And then he did kiss her and for a moment he did erase all thought of that
other
kiss. Here was a man who enjoyed her. Respected her. Mason Blayne was the kind of man who didn’t give himself lightly, because once
committed he gave himself wholly. He would never run away from her to prove himself to a miserable old man. He would never call her a fraud.

So why didn’t his kiss make her feel as though she was slowly melting inside?

Later, after they’d broken apart and talked some more about her plans, those thoughts continued to haunt Sadie, and she finally gave voice to them.

“Mason, you believe in what I do, don’t you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her from where he stood, measuring the wall he intended to use as his canvas. “I’ve seen you be right enough not to doubt your ability.”

It wasn’t quite the declaration she’d hoped for, but it was good enough.

“Although,” he amended, bringing a slight slump to her spine as he jotted down the numbers on a small pad, “I believe our destinies are what we make them. Human nature is often changeable despite our predilection for the predictable.”

Sadie silently sighed in frustration. Was the problem with her, and the kind of man she was drawn to, or was it merely that men in general had no imagination? No romance in their souls, nor hope that there might be a plan for every living being?

“I don’t just make predictions for the future,” she informed him. “Sometimes I discover a person’s past without ever having any knowledge of it.”

He slipped the pad and pencil inside his coat. “I’m sure you do.” He didn’t move, but she could almost hear a
shrug in his words—the mark of a man who knew when to keep his opinions to himself, but wasn’t quite talented enough to conceal them entirely. “I assume you will be reading at Madame La Rieux’s soiree this evening?”

Bollocks. She’d almost forgotten. Sadie glanced at the watch brooch pinned to her lapel. If she left now she’d have enough time to visit the drapers and china shop before returning home to prepare for the evening.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Amusement lit Mason’s fathomless eyes, erasing any displeasure she might have felt toward him.

Her smile was sheepish. “I did, yes. And now I must attend to some business before returning home. You will excuse me, won’t you?”

He took one of her hands in his, gently massaging her fingers. His flesh was warm against hers, his touch soothing. A tiny spark of guilt blossomed in her gut for enjoying it. “On the proviso that you will allow me to accompany you to Saint’s Row tonight.”

A coy smile curved her lips as she vanquished any accusations of being an unfaithful wife from her mind. “Of course. I’ll be ready at eight.”

“Excellent. I understand the famous Jack Friday will be in attendance. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”

All the moisture evaporated from Sadie’s mouth. “Why?” She rasped, her heart pounding despite there being no way Mason could possibly know about her and Jack.

“He’s expressed interest in my work. I’m in hopes that he’ll commission something.”

“I don’t believe he plans to remain in London for long.” And why hadn’t she realized Jack would be at Vienne’s that evening? She should have made an excuse not to attend. The idea of introducing Mason to him made her stomach clench most uncomfortably.

“Then perhaps he’ll buy a painting I’ve completed. I do have a couple that you posed for. You said before that you wouldn’t object to me selling them.”

Sadie managed a stiff smile. “Of course not.”

She hadn’t the nerve to tell him not to get his hopes up. Jack Friday would no more buy a painting of her then he would have his tea leaves read.

Never.

When Jack walked into Saint’s Row that evening, heads turned. During his short time in London he had caused something of a stir. It was completely unintentional, but he had something of a reputation as a man who knew how to make money, which made gentlemen seek his acquaintance. And he had been charming and flirtatious enough that the ladies sought him out as well. He took a certain pride in having attracted this much attention based on his own merit. If society knew who he really was, they would have kowtowed to him immediately, and where was the pleasure in that?

But there was one person who knew who he truly was and didn’t give a rat’s arse. He could be the king of bloody Persia, and Sadie would still look at him as though he was dog shite on her bootheels.

He could lie to himself and say that anticipation of
her presence at tonight’s affair had nothing to do with his impeccable appearance, but why bother? Despite their history, there was part of her that was still attracted to him, just as he was to her, and he had no qualms in exploiting that. He wanted her despite knowing that it would be best for both of them to stay away.

There was no rational explanation for the thoughts squirming around in his head, so for at least tonight he was going to stop trying to explain.

He’d taken great care in getting ready. His black evening attire fit perfectly. A lot of hard work had given him this physique and he was proud of it, rather than ashamed as most noblemen would be. He carried himself straight, making the most of his good height. His jaw was smooth, his hair perfect.

And Sadie was nowhere to be seen as he entered the spacious, but still intimate salon. Soft lights glowed from polished brass sconces lining every wall, warming the creamy walls. Delicate plasterwork added an extra touch of distinction, along with rich, dark blue drapes and matching furniture. The carpet was plush beneath his feet, vines of the same blue, green, and a vibrant wine entwining on the pale background.

Groups of people clustered throughout the room, the men all clad in black, the odd touch of color in their cravat or waistcoat, while the ladies fluttered like exotic birds in every color conceivable. Surely there were hues there Jack couldn’t even begin to name.

The air was scented with perfumes and colognes, some heavier than others, but a cool breeze from several open
windows kept the room fresh, and kept the guests from wilting under the heat of so many bodies.