Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (36 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

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BOOK: Lessons From a Scarlet Lady
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Later Colton lay in the dark, cradling his wife in his arms. Brianna slept warm and lax against him, her naked body all feminine curves, her breath a light drift against his throat.
He loved her, and not just with his body.
By God, he
loved
her.
Whatever he had expected of marriage, it wasn’t
this
.
How could she respond to him with such sweet enthusiasm, their bodies in such perfect harmony, he marveled, if she had betrayed him? How could she gaze at him with such innocence in her eyes if she was in truth a Jezebel? How could she cling to him and kiss him with open abandon if she yearned for someone else?
He didn’t think he was so besotted he’d be fooled by a façade, but he’d never been in such a situation before. It was true, at dinner she had looked astonished over his behavior, not guilty. Hurt, not wary.
If they hadn’t had the argument, would she have told him she was pregnant? That was the question that hung at the back of his mind. To solve their differences, she’d gladly taken him to her bed. His physical hunger for her was a weakness—had she exploited it to divert his attention?
God, how he hated this inner war.
Brianna stirred and then subsided back into peaceful slumber. Colton toyed with a golden curl, testing the silk of it between his fingers.
Though he was tired as hell, he had a feeling sleep was going to be elusive yet again. At least he had the pleasure of holding her, he thought, shifting her closer. It was a simple thing, but now that he recognized the depths of his feelings, an important one.
He just hoped falling in love with his wife wasn’t the worst mistake of his life.
Chapter Twenty
When it comes to social intrigue, do not underestimate men. They may remark on how females take too close an interest in the lives of others, but men can be just as observant, just as interested—and just as capable of meddling. Trust me on this point.
From the chapter titled: “Rumor, Gossip, and Innuendo, and How They Work for You”
 
R
obert hadn’t followed Damien’s advice and waltzed with Rebecca. Touching her, even in such a socially accepted manner, was a dangerous idea.
So he’d completely lost his mind and waltzed with her mother instead.
“I do so love this new tune, don’t you, my lord?” Lady Marston smiled at him pleasantly, as if unaware that the sight of the notorious Robert Northfield dancing with a middle-aged, married woman had more than one tongue wagging. Not that Robert didn’t dutifully ask one of the dowagers upon occasion, but most often they were relatives of some kind, or the hostess of the event. Lady Marston was neither.
It had taken some fortitude to make the request, for he had to brave the ranks of the matrons, usually ensconced together in a formidable mass so they could gossip and chat while keeping a keen eye on their daughters, nieces, or wards. His approach stilled more than one conversation, and when he bowed over Lady Marston’s hand and asked her for a dance, mouths literally hung open.
It was clearly a deranged moment. Yet here he was.
“It’s pleasant, I suppose, but not at all as impressive as the music we heard at Rolthven.” He swung her into a graceful swirl.
“Yes.” The reply was neutral. “You’ve mentioned several times you enjoyed Rebecca’s performance.”
“She is as talented as she is beautiful, which is high praise indeed.”
Lady Marston looked up at him, her mouth pursed. “I am aware of my daughter’s interest in you, and I am sure, with your level of experience and sophistication, you are aware of it also.”
Though he tried not to analyze his motives in dancing with Lady Marston, he supposed he wished to test the results of his visit the other day. He was still not sure whether Damien’s diabolical interference had been helpful or the worst idea possible, but he’d done nothing but think about it. In his current state of disquiet, he couldn’t sleep or concentrate on even mundane tasks.
What if I could court her?
“I’m both flattered and at a loss,” he said with rueful sincerity. “And I am sure
you
are sophisticated enough, my lady, to understand why.”
“With my daughter, you don’t have your usual options.” She added in a dry tone, “That is both an observation and a warning, my lord.”
“Do I have
any
options?” he asked bluntly. “I’ve wondered.”
“It depends on your level of determination, I suppose. When you arrived the other day and I realized it was not just the random social call your brother intimated it to be, I admit I was taken aback.”
Her low level of enthusiasm had been duly noted at the time, though he was too polite to mention it.
At that moment the music came to a halt. Robert had little choice but to release her hand and bow. In return, she gave him a gracious inclination of her head and a level look. “I think what happens next is up to you. Weigh the strength of your interest, and if it is sincere enough, for my daughter’s sake, I will help you with Benedict.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him standing with what was probably a very surprised look on his face. Aware of the avid stares around him, he composed his expression and strode off the dance floor.
Weigh the level of your interest.
He went into one of the card rooms and sat in on several games, but his inattention was obvious, and when he won the last hand, the gentleman next to him had to give him a nudge to collect his winnings. Bloody hell, he might as well face it, he thought as he rose from the table and made his farewells; he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was hard to believe, but he’d even pictured what it would be like to walk down the hallway of his home and hear the sound of a pianoforte being played skillfully in the background.
The result of all the moody introspection seemed inescapable.
He might not want to court anyone, he might not wish marriage, but he simply couldn’t quite put Rebecca Marston out of his mind. He wanted her—wanted to taste her lips again, wanted to feel her warm and willing in his arms, but it wasn’t
all
he wanted.
Making his excuses, he left abruptly, and headed toward some place that wouldn’t remind him of the woman who had him so distracted.
 
Fifteen minutes later Robert alighted from his carriage, noted the lights blazing in the house in front of him, and grinned at one of the other arrivals. “Palmer. How are you?”
Lord Palmer swayed a little, obviously foxed as he came up the walk. “Doing deuced well, Northfield. Thanks. Sounds like a capital party, eh? I hear Betty is sending some of her best girls for this one.”
Robert tried to look noncommittal. Now that he was there, he really wasn’t interested in a troupe of Cyprians, to his dismay. “Sounds diverting.”
A diversion was what he desperately needed.
“Well, there’s nothing like gambling and women to entertain a man, is there?” Palmer clumsily elbowed Robert in the ribs as they went up the steps. “I know you agree.”
Perhaps he
used
to agree. The only reason he’d chosen to leave the ball and attend this particular event was that it was the one place he could think of where he couldn’t possibly run into Rebecca. If he went home and spent the rest of the evening alone with his thoughts, he would drive himself insane. A mindless evening of debauchery sounded like just the ticket. He’d attended bachelor affairs like this many times before, and they always involved a great deal of flowing champagne, the purchased warmth of willing women, and bawdy entertainment.
“Yes,” he murmured and preceded Lord Palmer through the door held open by a liveried footman.
The next hour passed with excruciating tedium as he attempted to make merry when he wasn’t merry at all.
It was a damnable exercise. He didn’t want to sit at home and brood. He couldn’t attend any of his usual entertainments lest he see Rebecca. He obviously didn’t want to be here either.
A drunken voice called out that the girls had arrived, and a buzz of anticipation filled the room.
It was probably best, Robert decided, given his restive state of mind, if he left now. He really wasn’t in the mood to watch half-naked women drape themselves over a bunch of drunken fools. Whatever had made him think in the past that this passed for entertainment? He asked a footman for his greatcoat, quelling the need to tap his foot as he waited.
Sure enough, the door opened and a mass of giggling young ladies entered the townhouse. Betty Benson ran the most upscale brothel in London and her employees were always clean, disease-free, and at the least pretty, but usually gorgeous. This group was no exception. Blondes, brunettes, at least two striking redheads strolled in the door and were immediately offered champagne. The din of the party rose to new heights as the men began to single out their partners for the evening. Robert watched the proceedings with a jaundiced eye as he waited for his coat. All of the men in attendance were unmarried with only a few exceptions, the girls would be treated and paid well, and when in the hell had he acquired the morals of a bishop anyway?
Suddenly, he froze in the act of accepting the garment from a servant, not quite certain he could believe his eyes. The last girl to trail in the door was not dressed at all in a suggestive manner, her gown modestly covered by a dark blue cloak, her sable hair upswept in a ladylike style than made him want to yank the pins from it and feel the warmth as it tumbled over his fingers.
What in the devil was
Rebecca
doing here?
And why had she arrived with a bevy of prostitutes?
He stood there, aghast. What on earth was she playing at?
Once his muscles unlocked, he grabbed his coat, dashed across the foyer, and took hold of her arm with more force than intended. “You can explain later. In the meantime, I am going to get you out of here. I swear if you argue, I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you out like a sack of potatoes.”
 
Rebecca stifled a gasp. Robert’s hand clamped on her arm so tightly it almost hurt as he more dragged than escorted her down the front steps into the cool night.
The expression he wore when he spotted her arrival was something she would remember the rest of her life.
He’d been horrified. It had been stamped on his handsome face, a caricature of surprise and dismay, unmistakable—and not very flattering, considering the trouble she’d gone through to get there.
Why?
Because she’d arrived alone? Well, not precisely alone—a carriage had pulled up just before the hack she hired had rolled to a halt in front of the brilliantly lit townhouse, and quite a few young women had alighted. She’d wondered how to enter without an invitation anyway, and following them inside had been easy.
“My lord—” she began to say.
He cut her off ruthlessly. “I have no idea why you are here, but until we are safely away, don’t say another word and for God’s sake pull up your hood.”
She’d risked censure and her parent’s displeasure to slip out of the ball and come to find him in the first place. If she hadn’t felt the desperate need to talk to him, she wouldn’t have done it.
He practically tossed her into his carriage, rapped on the roof sharply after he clambered in, and they rocked away. He stared at her from across the small space, his brows drawn into a taut line. “Do you mind telling me,” he said through his teeth, “just what you were doing showing up at Houseman’s gathering? I know for a fact you were not invited. Weren’t you safely with your parents at the Tallers’?”
Rebecca opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. “I watched you all evening.” His blue eyes glittered. “You must have danced with every gentleman in attendance.”
“You didn’t ask me.” Her voice was quiet.
“Of course not.”
Of course not
. Those three words stung and she lifted her chin.
But he had danced with her mother. Surely it meant something. That single act had given her the courage to follow him.
Robert went on, forestalling anything she could have said, though she wasn’t sure she even knew how to reply. “As for your arrival a few moments ago, in case you didn’t notice, the other ladies in attendance are from a slightly different walk of life than you are. Let’s just pray no one saw you.”
It was true, she hadn’t recognized any of them, but they’d been dressed in sumptuous gowns and. . . .
Oh.
No.
Comprehension dawned.
“Yes.” He correctly interpreted her appalled expression and inadvertent gasp. “That is exactly what I mean. They make their living a certain way and were hired as, well, I don’t need to say anything more. Rebecca, why were
you
there?”
She crushed her fingers together in her lap so tightly the bones actually hurt. “I overheard several gentlemen discussing this party. They mentioned your name as one of the invited guests and that it was your probable destination when you left so abruptly. I didn’t realize. . . .” She faltered.

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