Barbara Metzger (25 page)

Eleanor’s nostrils flared. “If I were a man I would call you out.”

“If you were a man I would throw you out.”

Alissa’s head was swiveling between these two nobly born combatants. Just how well did they know each other, after all? A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that it was a poor idea, indeed, to bring Lady Eleanor to Henning House.

Eleanor was saying, “That would be just like you to throw us out, to turn your back on your own brother’s wife and children, your own responsibilities. You never were one to face up to your duties, were you?”

Like showing up for his own wedding, Alissa very much feared. Oh, Heavens, she prayed, let her get Eleanor out of here without bloodshed!

“I…I?” his grace sputtered. “You never knew your place in the world, never accepted a woman’s role. It is just like you to stick your oversize nose in affairs you do not understand. Well, I will not have my family name dragged through the muck and mire you have made of your reputation, not even by association. Two scandals in one family are enough.”

He turned on Alissa then. “The actions I was forced to take twenty years ago might have created a stir”—Lady Eleanor made a rude noise—“but so did yours with that hasty wedding to William before he was dry behind the ears. I will not have my dirty linen aired again, and I will not have more scandal touching the House of Hysmith, do you hear? So you can take your questionable brood, your disreputable sister-in-law and, yes, your hole-in-corner marriage to Rockford, and leave my home. If I were not a gentleman, I would not have admitted you in the first place.”

Alissa was pulling Eleanor’s arm toward the door. “I will go, and gladly,” she said, “but you, sir, are no gentleman.”

“Hah! What does a jade like you know of gentlemen? No gentleman marries a woman of your sort.”

“Your brother did,” a deep voice said from the doorway, “and I did. Are you calling me less than a gentleman or my wife less than a lady?” Rockford’s tones were quiet, measured, but dangerous. They all recognized the threat in his dark look.

Alissa had never been so happy to see the earl. She could not imagine what he was doing there, but his solid presence gave her confidence and his defense of her warmed her heart. She took a step closer to his side and raised her chin. “There is nothing dishonorable about my sons’ birth, your grace, my valiant sister-in-law”—whose arm she still clutched, lest Eleanor throw something at the duke—“or my marriage.”

Rockford merely asked, “Do you disagree with my countess, Hysmith?”

“Stubble it, Rockford,” the duke replied. “You are not about to call me out, not if you ever want to see any of your womenfolk accepted in society, which is doubtful in itself. I am not fool enough to accept your challenge, not over past issues, not over present inconveniences.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“What, when your sister and I decided we would not suit?”

Eleanor did throw something. She tossed her gloves at the duke’s head, but missed. “Not suit? Is that what you call leaving me at the altar?”

Hysmith ignored her outburst, speaking only to Rockford. “You were nothing but a boy.”

“And you did not accept my challenge then either.”

“What, kill a youth? You could not have been more than fifteen. My sons are older than that now.” The duke picked up Lady Eleanor’s gloves and slapped them down on an end table. “I would have needed to flee the country. Your title would have gone to some distant cousin.”

“It might not have gone that way. You did not give me the chance, leaving for Scotland the way you did.”

“My family deemed that the proper course. Now I make the decisions about what is fitting for the dukedom.”

“And my family does not meet your lofty standards?” Rockford’s voice dripped venom.

“Come, Robert,” Alissa said, transferring her arm to Rockford’s, to tug him out of the room before more violence ensued. “You were right. My sons have a father now. They do not need an uncle.”

She might have been trying to move a boulder.

“Hysmith?” Rockford’s glare could have pierced an elephant’s hide, or a duke’s.

“What, do you think I believe that moonshine about Lady Eleanor chasing down a thief and then succumbing to influenza at your aunt’s house in Wales? That is just the kind of thing the ridiculous female would do, go haring off across the country without thinking of the consequences, but she was seen leaving with the bailiff, you know, so that won’t wash.”

Alissa was ready to throw her own gloves at the duke, and her reticule too. “She went along to lull his suspicions until the magistrate came. With her maid for chaperon,” she hastily added.

He ignored her, looking only at Rockford, as if to judge whether he should put more distance between them. “As for the tale you told in the clubs about your marriage being based on a long understanding, waiting for Mrs. Henning’s mourning period to come to an end, I say balderdash. You have been married, what? Less than a month, and you were here in London the entire time. You did not even have a honeymoon, or wait for your so-called sick sister to return from Wales for the nuptials you had a year to plan. When the grieving widow finally did arrive in town, what did you do? You spent the night with your foreign mistress!”

Now Alissa wanted to toss something at her husband instead of at the duke. She’d suspected Rockford’s whereabouts, but did not need this insufferable prig to give reality to her fears by saying it aloud.

Hysmith was not finished. “You barely acknowledge your wife’s existence, Rockford. Why should I?”

“You go too far,” Rockford said, and then he did, in fact, throw something: his fist. “There,” he said after hauling the duke up from the floor by his neckcloth. “I have been wanting to do that for almost twenty years.”

Lady Eleanor stepped over, balled her fingers into a fist, and struck Hysmith on the other side of his jaw. “So have I.”

The duke looked at Alissa. She shook her head. “I have not been waiting nearly so long, only since your brother died and you did not respond to my letter. You are not worth soiling my gloves, your grace.” She raised her chin and walked out of the room, not caring if her husband followed her across the square to Rothmore House or not.

How could she be angry at Hysmith? He was only speaking the truth. Rockford did not respect her. He did not even bother to fulfill his promise of being discreet. She was a fool to think she could make something of this marriage, and a fool to think she and her family could be accepted into Rockford’s circles. Most of all, she was a fool to come to London. The city was full of soot and snobs and spoiled dreams.

“Claymore, start packing.”

Chapter Nineteen

There ought to be a rule: People should mind their own business, keep their opinions to themselves. When the Earl of Rockford needed anyone’s advice, blast it, he would ask for it!

Who did Hysmith think he was, anyway? His title was higher, he was older, he was a respected member of Parliament, and he had been, it was said, a faithful husband and a good father. So? So he was right.

Rockford knew there was talk of his wife around the clubs. Once she had been seen at the opera in his box, the town bucks had been quick to speculate about the latest jewel, and they were not speaking of the Rothmore sapphires she wore, either. His absence did leave Alissa open to conjecture and her reputation subject to slander. His sister’s presence fueled the gossip. His continued relationship with Princess Helga fanned the flames.

Rockford hated to admit it, but the Duke of Hysmith was right. Confound it, he should have hit him harder.

It was a conundrum and a quandary. No one was going to show respect for his countess until he did himself, and somehow, he found, he cared that Alissa be treated as the lady she was. Of course, none of this would have mattered if the blasted female had stayed in the country where she belonged—and where she was assaulted by bumpkins instead of Bond Street beaux. Damn!

He never wanted another wife, but now he had one. He never wanted to be personally involved with Alissa Henning; now he was. He never wanted to want her, and now he was counting the minutes until she kissed the children good-night and it was his turn. Somehow she seemed to have acquired another boy, somewhat older and with his arm in a sling. He would not demand an explanation, not until tomorrow. Tonight he had to make her forget about the duke’s words. He had just the method in mind, too.

When he heard noises in the adjoining chamber Rockford went to open the door, but found it locked. There it was, the conjugal key. Blast, he knew he should never have bedded the female! Sex gave women power, and they grabbed it with both hands. Make a man jump through hoops like a trick dog, then give him a reward. If he did not please you, turn the key, lock him out, make him pant for the promised treat. Bedroom blackmail, that was what it was.

The Earl of Rockford was not going to pay. He was not going to grovel outside any woman’s door. The world was filled with females eager to share his favors. Just because he was not interested in any of them did not matter. He had not been interested in this one either, at first.

He turned and tried to decide what to do with his evening, now that his plans had been knocked to flinders. Then he recalled the duke’s words. Deuce take it, she was his wife. He went back and knocked on the door.

She did not answer.

“Alissa, open the door. I am your husband.”

“And I am packing.”

“What do you mean, packing?” he asked through the still-closed panel.

“I mean I am filling my trunks. I am going home to Rock Hill, just as you wanted me to do.”

He heard the sound of something—shoes, perhaps—being thrown into a case. “Well, you cannot.”

“I came without your say-so. I can leave without your permission.” More thumps and thuds.

“No, you cannot return to Rock Hill. Sir George Ganyon is no longer at home at Fairmont.”

“Good. That is all the more reason why I should leave. I will be safe from his unwanted advances and…anyone else’s.”

He ignored the last. “You misunderstand. He did not leave because I threatened to have him drawn and quartered. He never got my message. The groom came back late last night. He said Sir George’s man would not tell where the baronet had gone, but the villagers say he tore off in a rush, with Fred Nivens driving his coach.”

“Good riddance to both of them, then.” The sounds indicated she had gone back to her packing.

“No. You are not safe until we know where they are.”

“Nonsense. He would not—”

“We both know he might. Lud, the man must be unhinged to think we would let him court Aminta. But think of her, Alissa, and her danger.”

There were no more noises from the countess’s room for a moment. Then she said, “Very well. I will not go yet. But how will I know when it is safe for us to leave?”

“I hired Bow Street to find him. That is
where
I was this morning, interviewing Runners, giving them his description and Fred’s. Then I came to find you at the duke’s house, to make sure you had ample escort and protection.”

“I was only across the square,” she said with a sniff. “But did you really care enough to come after us?”

“Yes.” Damn it, was that groveling? “Now open the blasted door. I am getting tired of speaking to a plank of wood.”

The key turned and the door opened. Alissa stood holding the knob, but she did not step aside to let him enter. She had tears on her cheeks and reddened eyes. Of course. Tears were the grease that oiled the blasted lock women used to get their way. He sighed and handed over his handkerchief. Instead of weeping on his shirtfront, though, sobbing until he promised her the moon, Alissa merely dabbed at her eyes, said, “Thank you, good night,” and handed back his handkerchief. She started to close the door.

“Wait! May I please come in?” Now
that
was groveling indeed. Rockford did not care. She needed comforting. He needed to hold her.

“No. I need my rest. It has been a difficult day.”

He was having a difficult night. “I, ah, read the book.” He had, a long time ago, so that was no lie.

“I am sure Princess Helga will be delighted. Perhaps you will get your silly treaty signed after all.”

He winced at the mention of the Austrian heiress, and wished he had knocked out a few of Hysmith’s teeth while he was there. “Devil take it, we had an agreement.”

“No, my lord, we had rules. Your rules, remember? I was not to notice your activities, and you were not to embarrass me. You broke the rules and broke your marriage vows, but you shall not break my heart. Like your sister and Hysmith, I will not love a man who is unfaithful.”

“Dash it, leave Eleanor and the duke out of this. They would have killed each other years ago, if they had managed to tie the knot. Who is talking about love, anyway? I am talking about—” He realized his error immediately. He could hear the conjugal lock’s tumblers clicking shut. “That is—”

“I know what you are talking about, and I will not share my bed with a man who does not share my values. I am not a light-skirt, Rockford, selling my favors for your money and title, no matter what you, Hysmith, or all of London thinks.”