A Matter of Choice (28 page)

“Lord Chardwell is not receiving yet,” the butler answered in his most haughty demeanor.

“I’ll wait.”

His eyes narrowed. “Very well. Who shall I say is calling?”

“The Marchioness of Montfort.”

His jaw dropped slightly, then he nodded his head. “If you’ll follow me.”

He led her to a small masculine study that had obviously never seen a feminine hand, and offered her a seat in one of the dark leather chairs flanking the cold fireplace.

“I’ll send in tea,” he said, his tone a little warmer than before. “Lord Chardwell will be down momentarily.”

“Thank you.” She leaned back against the chair and hugged herself. She was so very, very tired; so very worried and confused. How would she know what to believe?

The tea arrived along with a footman to light a fire in the fireplace. She welcomed its warmth.

Not long after, the door opened and Joshua’s friend stepped into the room.

He’d obviously dressed in a hurry. His sandy blond hair was still slightly mussed, his handsome face still etched in sleep. There was also a faint shadow of stubble on his face that told her he had not taken time to shave. She remembered the feel of Joshua’s face when he first woke up. The raspy feel of him against her naked flesh when they made love in the early pre-dawn hours.

Her heart suffered with a lurch.

“Lady Montfort, I wasn’t expecting guests so early. Especially you.”

She noticed a sharp edge in his tone but she didn’t have the time or the patience to let it deter her. “Is Joshua here?”

“Are you searching for him?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised.”

She lifted her chin and leveled a defiant look in his direction. “Have you seen him?”

He stared at her for a moment, then turned away and walked past her. When he reached the glowing fireplace he turned to face her. “Not since yesterday.”

“Do you know where he’s staying?”

“You care?”

She lifted her shoulders and glared at him. “Of course I care. He’s my husband.”

“I seem to recall Montfort saying you no longer wished for him to remain your husband.”

She took a deep breath, a painful breath that quivered when she released it. “I’d like to find him, Lord Chardwell. It’s important.”

He studied her a long time then shook his head. “I’ll not let you hurt him again, Lady Montfort. I’m not sure he can survive more.”

“You think he’s the only one who’s been hurt?”

His dark eyes narrowed in anger. “No, you have both been hurt.”

She stopped short. A multitude of doubts raced through her mind.

“Did he tell you he’d been drugged?”

“Yes.”

“But of course you didn’t believe him.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Montfort thinks his father was behind what happened.”

She shook her head, unable to believe any father could hate his son enough to cause such a scandal. Hate him enough to want to ruin him and take everything away that should be his.

But then she remembered the vile scene when Joshua’s father had come to see them shortly after they’d returned to London.

Chardwell walked to the long, velvet-covered window and pulled back one panel of the heavy drapery. For a long time he stood with his back to her, his silence an ominous warning. Finally, he dropped the edge of the curtain and turned. “He was not unfaithful to you, my lady. He cares for you too much.”

She shook her head, the doubts not willing to go away. Not yet. “You saw them, Lord Chardwell. Did you see something different than the rest of us?”

“No. I saw the same as you. A scene carefully orchestrated to convince us a
ll that he and Lady Paxton were having an affair.”

Chardwell poured himself a cup of tea, then leaned back in his chair. “Except, I remained with your husband after the guests left. After you abandoned him. I sat in his room for the fourteen hours it took until he woke.

“And I stayed with him when he became violently ill from the affects of the drug.” He took another swallow of tea, then leaned forward and placed his cup and saucer on the table. “And I furnished the two bottles of whiskey it took until he passed out after he’d been to see you and he realized that you’d never believe what Lady Paxton had done to him.”

She clutched her fingers around the cushions of her chair until they ached. “What possible reason can there be for Lady Paxton to involve herself in such a scandal?”

“I don’t know. And neither does your husband.”

“But you’re sure nothing happened between Joshua and Lady Paxton.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I am. But you can believe what you want. The choice is yours.”

She couldn’t fight her way through the turmoil flooding her mind. She felt as if her heart was being pulled from her chest. But Chardwell was right. The choice was hers. And whatever decision she made, it would affect the rest of her life.

She could either take Joshua at his word and trust that he’d kept his vow to be faithful to her. Or she could make the break clean and final, and never have to live with the doubts and fears and mistrust again. Never have to risk that her husband would be unfaithful and live with the humiliation when Society discovered his indiscretions.

It was all a matter of choice. Her choice.

She slowly lifted her head. “I need your help, Lord Chardwell.”

The frown on his face deepened.

“I am going to host a ball on Wednesday night. I need you to make certain my husband is there.”

His brows arched high. “Why?”

“The reasons are my own.”

Chardwell hesitated a long time as if evaluating his decision. Finally he took a deep breath that lifted his broad shoulders.

“I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”

Allison stood
at the bottom of the ballroom stairs and greeted one curious guest after another. There didn’t seem to be an end to the steady stream of nobility who’d accepted her impromptu invitation. Joshua’s London townhouse was filled to overflowing, which was exactly what she intended.

Every room was packed, from the card room to the dining room to the long gallery. Even the terrace leading from the ballroom was crowded with as many people as could squeeze out there. Not one of the
ton
wanted to miss a single moment of anything that might occur tonight.

All eyes focused on her, watching, just in case the rumors that circulated throughout the room were true and the Marquess of Montfort did arrive. No one wanted to miss her reaction. Miss what promised to be an explosive situation.

The anticipation was nearly palpable, the prevailing mood of the guests growing to a fever-pitched frenzy.

There was a carnival atmosphere in the house. As if all in attendance knew something was about to happen. Why would the Marchioness of Montfort host a ball when she was embroiled in such a devastating scandal? What would make her so brave as to face the public a few weeks after her husband humiliated her so soundly? What could she hope to accomplish by inviting such a crowd?

The answer: Revenge.

The opinion was unanimous. She wanted to humiliate Lord Montfort in return for what he’d done. And she wanted the entire
ton
to witness her husband’s debasement.

Those were the whispered comments circulating the room. Consequently, not one of the guests took the chance to venture too far from where she stood. None of them wanted to miss even one second of the spectacle they all knew would fill the gossip mills for weeks to come.

She tried to slow her pounding heart, but as each minute passed without Joshua making an appearance, her nerves raced out of control.

What if he didn’t come?

She greeted her next guests, the Earl and Countess of Fillmore, with a fixed smile on her face and a false show of bravado. She reached out a trembling hand and said the correct words, even though her legs felt weak beneath her. The roar from the growing crowd was deafening, thundering in her head, threatening to suffocate her. She’d made her choice and she needed all of Society to know what she’d decided.

What if he didn’t come?

She forced another smile to her face and looked around the room.

As if in answer to her prayer, she heard a collective gasp, then saw the looks of shock on everyone’s face as they lifted their gaze to the top of the stairs. As if on cue, the deafening roar from the crowd quieted.

He was here.

She said a silent thank you, then slowly turned— slowly lifted her gaze upward.

He stood there. Every bit as handsome and breathtaking as he’d been the first time she’d seen him. No wonder he’d earned such a scandalous reputation. What woman could resist his inordinate charm?

He’d pulled his dark hair back from his face, portraying every noble feature with stark boldness. His high cheekbones, the severe cut of his jaw, the straight line of his dark, hooded brows—every one of his distinguishing features as perfect as any God had ever created.

But there was a wariness in his gaze, a confusion. A resignation. As if he, too, had come to the conclusion that her reason for wanting him here tonight was because she intended to publicly humiliate him.

He raised his shoulders and lifted his chin.

She knew by looking at him that he would allow it. She could see his willingness to accept his punishment in front of the
ton
.

Then, his gaze narrowed and his intense expression focused on her in warning. She read his mind. Knew his thoughts.

She could do as she willed this once. Because he understood how important Society’s opinion was to her. But this would be the final concession he would allow her.

She locked her gaze with his and watched for any reaction. She saw nothing.

His face remained impassive, his long, muscular legs braced wide, his back rigid and straight, his broad shoulders set.

She concentrated on any expression she might see in his eyes, but knew he would reveal nothing.

She would have to make the first move.

With stoic determination, she lifted the hem of her skirts and took the first step.

+++

Joshua watched her make her way toward him, slowly, cautiously, step by step. There were nine steps in all and his heart pounded harder with each step she climbed. He’d never seen her look more beautiful. Never wanted to reach out his arms and hold her like he did right now. Yet, the closed look on her face warned him that his worst fears were about to be realized. He’d known she insisted he attend only because she wanted to publicly humiliate him like he’d publicly humiliated her.

He’d concede to her tonight. But never again. He wasn’t sure he could survive the degradation this one time. Let alone again.

All eyes focused on her as she neared him, the looks of anticipation obvious. As if everyone knew what she was going to do. As if everyone expected to see the culmination of one of the biggest scandals in years. The retribution of a woman scorned.

The total humiliation of one of London’s most renowned rakes.

Having an unfaithful husband had been her greatest fear. Taking the chance that Society would find out she could not satisfy her husband either in bed or out had been the reason she’d avoided marriage as desperately as she had. And he’d turned her greatest fear into a reality. He’d been the kind of husband she was most terrified of having.

She was almost to him. Two more steps and she would be level with him, standing so close he could reach out his hand and touch her. Oh, how he ached to. How he wanted to place his palm against her soft cheek and have her lean into him. How he wanted to run his fingers through her hair and let its silky weight sift through his fingers. How he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her because that was where she belonged.

He didn’t move. He stood with his hands at his side while all of London remained transfixed on the two of them.

She took the last step and stopped. Her gaze lifted to meet his.

Not a sound could be heard. Not a whisper or a sigh or the clearing of a throat. Not the clink of a glass or the plunk of a violin string or the swish of satin rubbing on silk. Not one sound. No one wanted to miss one word of the exchange between the two.

He waited.

She stepped up to him, standing so close the hem of her gown wrapped around his ankles. He tried to read her face, tried to see through the closed, hooded expression she wore. But couldn’t.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Her voice was steady and clear. Loud enough so that no one standing below could miss one word.

“I wasn’t given a choice.”