Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (17 page)

“I'll see you in the dining room,” she said.

Chapter 16

B
lake had always enjoyed the time after lovemaking when he and his partner, sated and happy, could relax and talk about silly and insignificant things. He hoped Minerva's unwonted silence stemmed from her status as a new nonvirgin. All his lovers had been women of experience and he believed they'd enjoyed themselves. Many of course had been paid to do so, but he didn't think they'd feigned pleasure. He wasn't pleased with his own performance this evening. Once he'd entered her he should have slowed down, given her time to adjust. The wet heat of her virgin quim surrounding his cock has been too much. He couldn't ever recall losing control like that and he couldn't find the words to explain it.

If he'd hoped the consummation of their marriage would usher in a new era of understanding and harmony with Minerva, he couldn't flatter himself the golden age had yet begun. Despite his best efforts to entertain her, by midway through a dinner conversation exceptional for stilted triviality and long silences, he would have welcomed a disquisition on parliamentary tactics.

Almost. He wasn't quite that desperate.

“No luck with proving Mouchy-Ferrand a lover of Bonaparte, I guess. Too bad.” If he couldn't amuse her, he'd annoy her instead. Anything was better than indifference.

“No.”

“Never mind. With another month in Paris you're bound to find another candidate.”

She cast him a challenging look and he was glad to see she hadn't sunk into a decline. “Certainly I shall. Even though I have the disadvantage of not knowing a lot of horse-mad men.”

“Life's unfair.”

“Why did you follow me to the Hôtel Mouchy?”

“One of the horse-mad men told me the duke is famous for being unscrupulous with women. I was worried about you. Quite rightly so. I thought you'd grown out of these dangerous impulses.”

“Thank you,” she said with a curt nod. “Though I would have been fine. It didn't seem to me that the princess was unwilling. Very strange.”

“Supposing they had been plotting treason, as you hoped. Suppose they'd caught you spying?”

She dismissed the question with a shrug. “If I had been detected, I would have thought of an excuse.”

The more he considered it, the more concerned he became. Minerva had a confidence in her own powers that he envied, but one day her lack of caution might—would—lead her into serious trouble. He only hoped he'd be there to prevent it.

“I'm glad I came after you, Minnie,” he said softly with a melting look across the table.

She didn't melt. “As I said, there was no need. I'll call on Princess Walstein again. But I must say, it'll be hard to think of her in the same way.”

At last the tedious meal came to a close. “Would you like to go out this evening?” he asked. “We could try one of the other cafés. Or Tortoni's again. You liked the ices there.”

“I don't think so, Blake. I think I'll retire early. I'm very tired.” She blushed and looked away. “And rather sore.”

That was that. Not that he would have asked for or expected to have her again tonight. But he knew plenty of ways to give and receive pleasure without penetration, including one she'd already experienced. He was tired himself and would welcome a chaste and companionable night in a shared bed. He opened his mouth to suggest it, but nothing in her behavior at dinner suggested she'd welcome his company in any way.

“It's still early. May I offer you a
partie
of piquet?”

“No thanks. I'll read in bed for a while before I sleep.”

“In that case, my dear, I'll bid you good night.”

He retired to his own room with a glass of brandy and picked up Pierce Egan's
Boxiana
. Although he couldn't read in the same room as her, it gave him pleasure to be sharing her activity, especially the book she'd given him. Winning her respect required more than lovemaking.

But he couldn't summon the calm he needed to decode the words. His head was elsewhere. After half an hour he put on his hat and coat and went for a long walk in the mild Parisian night.

He returned soon after midnight with new resolve. His bride was simply going to need a bit more wooing, that was all. Tomorrow he'd devote himself to her entertainment and after an extravagant dinner at Very's, reputedly the best restaurant in Paris, he'd present her with the emeralds, taking the jewelry route to the female heart. In fact, remembering that the necklace came from a famous French jeweler, he'd go out early and see if he could find matching bracelets.

H
e'd gone out without her.

Resolutely refusing to regret she'd rejected his invitation, Minerva applied herself to her book and found it hard to concentrate. Giving up, she blew out her candles and settled back in bed, wishing she wasn't alone. It was foolish to be upset by a painful experience she'd expected to be painful. She'd allowed shock to overcome the pleasurable—extremely pleasurable—events that had preceded it. Remembering what Blake could do with his hands got her hot and far from relaxed and it must have been very late when she finally drifted off to sleep. She'd been listening for his return in the adjoining room and heard nothing.

She woke with new optimism and a measure of self-disgust. She'd let herself get into what her brother Stephen called a funk. Minerva Blakeney didn't allow
anything
to quell her. She rang for her maid with special energy.

Milord, she learned, had gone riding. He'd given orders to let her sleep and would return in an hour or two. She was sorry not to be favored with an incomprehensible note in his appalling handwriting.

She drank her chocolate and took a bath, before dressing in another new ensemble and enjoying a hearty breakfast. With still no sign of Blake, she wandered into his chamber and made straight for a particular drawer. She hadn't thought much about the emerald necklace, but now she wondered why he hadn't given it to her.

It wasn't there. Had she mistaken the drawer? No. There was the card case and the letter. Her fingers itched to open it, but no. She would not so lower herself. There were a dozen good reasons why the necklace had disappeared. She just couldn't think of them at the moment.

Her half-formed suspicions seemed absurd when Blake reappeared late in the morning, seized her by the waist and swung her round. “Put on your bonnet, Minnie,” he said, brushing a fast hard kiss on her lips. “Let's walk in the Tuileries Garden.”

The public gardens adjacent to the royal residence performed the same function as Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. The paths were full of elegant walkers enjoying a fine afternoon. They nodded to several acquaintances before being accosted by Lady Elizabeth Stuart, who complimented Minerva's new gown.

When the conversation of the ambassadress and her friends turned from fashion to diplomatic gossip, Blake excused himself.

“I see Thornton on the other side of the circle,” he said. “I'll return in a quarter of an hour.”

Lady Elizabeth had some intriguing news from London and Minerva was unaware of time passing, nor of their group's progress around the basin and into the
Grande Allée
.

She scarcely noticed the riders and carriages on the broad avenue, until the reaction of those on foot drew her attention to a particularly elegant vis-à-vis drawn by a showy white horse. The equipage drew to a halt and was quickly surrounded by half a dozen gentlemen. The occupant was a woman whose style of dress, while extravagant and stylish, proclaimed her no lady. Dressed from head to foot in white velvet (Minerva shuddered to think of keeping it clean), the only color in her outfit was red: a red feather adorning a tiny white velvet hat perched on top of gleaming black locks. And a pair of ruby bracelets over her pure white gloves. The woman was utterly ravishing and vaguely familiar. Minerva was fairly sure she hadn't seen her in Paris, so it must have been London.

“Who is she?” she asked one of her companions.

“La Bonamour. She used to be the mistress of the Marshal Saint-Victor but then she went to London, or so I heard. I didn't know she was back.”

Desirée de Bonamour it appeared, was not only a genuine Frenchwoman, she was also in Paris. With a sinking heart Minerva recognized the golden hair of one of the courtesan's thronged admirers. He'd removed his hat and was saluting his mistress's hand.

Minerva knew all about mistresses. Well, not all but quite a lot. She knew married men had mistresses, especially wealthy noblemen. She'd known Blake might not have broken with Desirée de Bonamour before their wedding, and still she'd married him, for her own reasons. At that point she'd accepted his infidelity with composure, if not pleasure, as the way of the world.

She wasn't going to accept it now. Not for one single second. She knew the proper thing for a wife to do, whether complacent or not, was to pretend public ignorance of a husband's other “interest.” Too bad. Her chest swelled and a rushing, pounding noise flooded her brain and excluded every other thought. A quick “excuse me” was all the leave she took of Lady Elizabeth before she marched over to the carriage path, just as Blake turned away from the woman. He saw her approach and guilt was written all over his face.

“Min . . .”

“Don't dare call me that,” she jabbed under her breath and then raised her voice. “My lord. I think I'd like to go home. There's a disagreeable stench in the vicinity.”

The woman actually had the nerve to laugh at her feeble insult. Never mind. She saved her best work for her husband, as soon as she had him alone. He was the one she was angry at. And she was glad—rapturous—to see him look white about the gills.

“I think that's for the best,” he said quietly. “Gentlemen,” he said, replacing his hat. She'd have slapped him if he said another word to
that woman
. “Minerva.” He offered her his arm. His sleeve beneath her glove was as welcome as a slug on bare skin.

As they walked away a buzz of chatter arose in English and French. Not a soul present would long be unaware of their identities.
How could he?

“I take it you recognized the lady. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have that happen for the world. I didn't realize you were close by and it seemed churlish to ignore her greeting. We were once . . . close.”

“Once?”

“We parted company before our wedding.”

“Really?”

“Truly. I had no idea she was in Paris.”

“I don't believe you.”

They'd left their company well behind so, not seeing a soul she knew, she dropped her arm and shook it as though it had touched something vile. Blake grabbed her shoulder and spun her round to face him. He looked gorgeous and sincere, the lying bastard.

“It's the truth,” he insisted. “Until a few minutes ago I hadn't set eyes on her in weeks.”

“Since a certain night at Covent Garden?” she said sweetly. “Three days before our wedding.”

“You heard about that, did you? I'm sorry for that too. There was a reason. Not a good one and I'm not proud of it, but that was the last time.”

Her snort expressed her disbelief. She tore away from him and marched along the path as fast as her legs could carry her, which wasn't nearly fast enough. He caught her with insulting ease. “I don't know how to convince you if you insist on disbelieving me. But you can't have any reason to think I've been seeing Desirée in Paris because I haven't.”

Did he think her a fool? “Hah! What about the first week we were here? You were out most of the time.”

“I told you. I was trying to make contacts and fulfill Gideon's mission. I got nowhere until you started to help me.” He was trying to turn her up sweet. He knew as well as she that all he'd had to do was find a few horse lovers and Orleanists poured out of the stables. “Please, Minnie. Please believe me.”

Damnably she wanted to, but she wasn't such a fool. “You bought emeralds,” she cried. “And not for me. Did you give them to her this morning?”

“How do you know that?” His eyes narrowed. “Have you been searching my room? What were you doing?”

At once she realized her mistake in mentioning the necklace. As a veteran of fraternal quarrels, she knew the importance of never laying herself open to counterattack. On the defensive, she shot back. “And now I understand why you never came to my bed. Should I respect you for keeping faith with someone, even if it's your mistress and not your wife? Have you decided now that you may as well have both?”

“No! I have not betrayed you with Desirée.”

“Then why didn't you . . . you know . . . until yesterday.”

He bit his lip. “I was angry about our marriage.”

“You think I was so thrilled? It wasn't my fault you compromised me. But I was ready to make the best of things rather than face ruin.”

“I didn't want to get you with child. I didn't want to give my father the satisfaction of an heir to the dukedom. And I'll admit I was angry with you too. It was a lesser consideration, but I wanted to deprive you of the satisfaction of carrying the future Duke of Hampton. I'm sorry. It was petty of me.”

This made no sense and her anger abated a degree in her bafflement. “Why would I care? I mean, I would expect to have children eventually, but I'm not especially anxious to do so.”

“Because only when you bear a son will you be truly accepted by the family as worthy of being a duchess. Didn't you wonder why you weren't given any of the good jewels?”

“I'm not interested in jewels.”

“But you want power, don't you? The jewels are emblems of the family's power and influence that you hoped to wield as my bride. Only when you've done your duty and produced a son will you be allowed all the privileges of the future duchess. Until then—and you'll forgive me for saying this, it's my father's view and not mine—you are merely a young woman of little fortune or birth who managed to capture me.”