Love's Reward (16 page)

“Why does it have leather thongs on its legs?”

“Because it was brought here from Belgium. Don’t let go, or it will fly home across the Channel.”

She clutched the bird to her breast. “Did you want to see Fitzroy? He isn’t here.”

“But he will be.” Quentin’s tone was casual, but he watched her closely. “I wondered if he was still enamored of Lady Carhill.”

Joanna looked at him blankly, the pigeon quivering in her hands as it opened its eyes.

“Lady Carhill?”

“The lovely countess, Elizabeth. Her husband neglects her, an open invitation to a rake. While you and I were racketing north on your ill-conceived escape from Miss Able’s Academy, Fitzroy was being entertained in her private boudoir.” He winked. “I have it on the best authority. News of our flight must have interrupted their little rendezvous. No wonder he was so evil tempered at the Swan!”

“Here!” Joanna held out the pigeon. “You had better put it back.”

Quentin took the bird and released it into its cage.

“So does he still pursue an interest there? It would be a trifle outré for brothers to share a mistress, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Joanna replied. “You must ask him.”

The green eyes smiled at her. “You have no opinion of Fitzroy Mountfitchet, Lady Joanna? Good God! Everyone else seems to feel very passionately about my brother, one way or another.”

“Do they? Because he likes to be impossible, I suppose. But all of this quivering emotion seems to be getting in the way of anyone seeing him clearly, doesn’t it?”

She turned and marched away through the trees, brushing away a trace of angry tears.

So Fitzroy had a mistress? It was what she expected, wasn’t it? Lady Joanna Acton had entered a marriage of convenience, as her mother had. Surely she could develop that same worldly, uncaring attitude?

Yet why couldn’t she understand him any more clearly than all those others?

Joanna closed her eyes. The artist had seen something that the lady couldn’t fathom. She was sure that it wasn’t pleasant dalliance with a mistress that occupied his days. He was doing something dangerous and exhausting, something that was a burden to him—a burden he apparently didn’t share with anyone.

There was no reason at all, of course, why he should share it with her.

“The bays, George, right away! In the phaeton.”

Joanna stopped dead.

Fitzroy’s voice!

She had walked blindly through the garden and was almost to the stable. Several loose boxes stood in rows around two sides of a cobbled yard. Horses peered out over their half doors. A cottage crowded up against the stables and the carriage house, obviously home to Fitzroy’s head ostler, George, and his family, for a woman peeked from the window at the sudden clatter of hooves.

George ran to obey his master’s instructions, giving his own to a handful of stable lads.

Sheltered by the trees Joanna watched Fitzroy swing from the back of a lathered gray. He looked harassed and tired, but he gave the horse a pat. As a lad took it by the reins and led it away, Fitzroy paced the cobbles, swinging his riding whip against his boot.

The door of the cottage opened. The woman, large with child, smiled and spoke a soft greeting to him as she held out a tankard.

To Joanna’s amazement Fitzroy grinned, took the tankard, and drank.

As he began to hand it back to her, a small boy, still in short skirts, ran from behind his mother and launched himself at Fitzroy.

“Well, now, Master Tom!” Fitzroy picked up the child and swung him high in the air. “And how do you do today?”

“Horses!” the boy squealed, giggling. “I give ‘em an apple?”

“Ah, you like my gray, then, Tom? But see, your papa is bringing out my team.”

Fitzroy turned so the child could watch his father harness two magnificent bays to the phaeton. Tom confidently wrapped his plump arms around the viscount’s neck and giggled again.

“Ready, my lord,” George said.

“Here, Tom, go to your mama, for I must be away.”

Fitzroy swung the boy into his mother’s arms. She blushed and curtsied.

“Thank you, ma’am. Your lad’s a credit to you.”

George gave his master a huge grin. “It’s very kind of your lordship to notice the youngster.”

“Notice him!” Fitzroy replied. “I could quite easily adopt him, if I thought that his mother would give him up. Don’t stint on apples from the store, now, will you?”

Fitzroy exchanged his short crop for the driving whip that George offered, and swung himself into the phaeton.

As he gave his team their heads and swept out of the yard, he still took the time to wave and smile to the little family.

Joanna walked away, then dropped onto a marble seat near the lawn.

She could almost hear his implacable voice:
I most particularly don’t want children.

Why? Why had he said it? What on earth was she to make of him? It seemed the most unlikely attribute for Fitzroy Monteith Mountfitchet, but he was obviously wonderful with children and liked them.

So why did he not want his own?

The only answer that came to mind was that he didn’t want children with her, and of course he would never sire bastards.

Joanna leaned her head onto her palms and forced herself to face it.

Her art was the most important gift in her life. But something had changed in her since she had made that absolute statement to her mother. She had shed tears over baby Elaine because a strange longing had seized her heart and would not let go.

She did want to paint, but she also wanted babies.

It was a strange and desolate revelation.

* * *

Fitzroy spun his bays around the corner of his property, only to be forced to pull up sharply. One of the horses reared a little, and took a firm hand to bring back under control.

His brother, mounted on a black gelding, blocked the road.

“For God’s sake,” Fitzroy snapped. “I’m in a devilish hurry.”

Quentin swung his horse out of the way so that he could ride alongside the carriage.

“You’re always in a damned hurry. I want but one word from you. Lady Carhill? May I pursue her?”

“Chase any lady you like!”

“I rather thought you had a proprietary interest. You don’t wish to court her?”

“Devil take it,” Fitzroy said. “I do not. If there is any lady that I would really like to woo, it’s my wife. Make what the devil you like out of that!”

Fitzroy whipped up his team, not caring that Quentin was left staring after him as the phaeton disappeared in a cloud of dust.

* * *

Joanna wore her wedding dress to Lady Reed’s ball. Mrs. Price had made some alterations to it, taking out the lace insert at the neck, so that it swept low across her breasts, shortening the sleeves, and trimming the ivory silk at neck and hem with an elegant border of chocolate piping.

Her new dresses weren’t ready yet, and her life at Miss Able’s Academy hadn’t prepared her with many ball gowns.

Fitzroy did not take her.

She had not seen him since he had driven his team of bays from the stable yard.

He had not joined her in Lady Mary’s drawing room later that day. Instead his sister received a bouquet of flowers and a charming note of apology.

So Joanna traveled with her mother, though she and Lady Acton discussed nothing but fashion during the journey. They were on their way to a society event, that was all. As the new Lady Tarrant, Joanna must put in an appearance.

If Joanna’s mother had either concern or curiosity about her daughter’s hurried marriage, she did not express it.

Fitzroy was already there. Joanna saw him as soon as she entered Lady Reed’s ballroom. He was taller than most of the men, with an easy, commanding presence that could never be overlooked.

As if drawn to notice her in exchange, Fitzroy glanced in her direction. He gave her a quick, impersonal nod, his gaze bleak and his face rigid, then returned his attention to his companion.

He was engaged in a very obvious flirtation with a petite redhead, apparently their hostess.

Lady Acton’s eyes narrowed a little, but she said nothing as she took her daughter about to introduce her to the company.

Joanna had no reason to care, did she? Theirs wasn’t a real marriage. Fitzroy could flirt with any female he liked, and he had even given her permission to take lovers, as well, if she wanted.

However, Joanna had no desire to take a lover, though it wasn’t long before her dance card was filled. She moved through the dances with a succession of young men, some of them old friends of the family, some total strangers.

She could not imagine beginning an affair with any of them.

Through all of it, she watched Fitzroy. His flirtation was growing more serious.

A shameless intimacy was developing in front of everyone there: a touched hand, an inclination of the head, a certain way of smiling. Lady Reed seemed to be melting, as if she were a small planet spinning too close to the sun.

Fitzroy dropped his dark head to the flame of her hair and laughed at something she said.

Joanna closed her eyes. Of course he had mistresses. That had been understood from the beginning. But he could not! He could not do this so publicly!

She glanced back. Lady Reed had allowed him to slide an arm about her waist. Fitzroy touched one finger to her lips and let it linger there for a moment, then he led her from the room.

The eyes of most of the crowd watched it happen, before some of those eyes moved to stare at Joanna with curiosity, or sympathy, or heartless glee.

As soon as she could, without it being obvious, Joanna left her partner and the ballroom.

The intense, angry humiliation of it burned in her heart, though she didn’t want to care. What an outrageous betrayal! He had promised to keep up appearances in public, hadn’t he? Obviously this was his idea of maintaining his reputation—that of a rake—and he had no concern whatsoever for hers.

She entered the small powder room set aside for the ladies and sank into a chair, afraid she might cry, bawl like a child, and determined not to do so.

The door opened behind her.

“I’m not sure whether to envy or pity you, dear child,” a woman’s voice said.

Joanna looked around. A beautiful blonde was smiling archly down at her.

“I am Elizabeth, Lady Carhill, a particular friend of your husband’s. All of us adore him, of course, though it’s very hard to imagine being married to him. I’m sure we can’t understand why he should wed a girl fresh from the schoolroom at a moment’s notice. Should it fill our hearts with covetousness or compassion? What’s he really like—is it glorious or dreadful?”

Joanna sat frozen in her chair.
What on earth was this?

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Lady Carhill opened her fan and toyed with the silk tassel on the handle.

“A man like Fitzroy? On your honeymoon? Of course you know what I mean. But when he was so desperately in love with his Spanish wife . . . It must be very difficult for you.”

“No, not at all,” Joanna replied. “Why should it be?”

Lady Carhill laughed a little unsteadily. A slight odor of wine colored her breath.

“Well, we can all envy someone who has the right to claim the brilliant Lord Tarrant as her own. But, alas, it’s rather sad to see the little wife so obviously neglected, while he disappears into private quarters with Lady Reed. Lady Reed, of all females! I was told she would be next. But perhaps she has the headache and he merely comforts her?”

“Perhaps the pain is his,” Joanna said sharply. “And she comforts him.”

“No doubt she does.” Lady Carhill gave a deep sigh, tilting her blond head ruefully to one side behind her fan. “And if Fitzroy wants a woman with enough experience to do it right, I suppose Lady Reed has plenty of comfort to offer. He was mine the last time, and he will bed Lady Kettering next Friday. It’s all arranged.”

Joanna stood up.

So this is what they mean when they talk about a man being a rake? A different woman every week, and in public, with no shame at all!

She wanted to go home. Not to Fitzroy’s house, but to King’s Acton, back to the safety of her childhood and a life lived in innocence, now forever shattered.

Leaving Lady Carhill nervously folding and unfolding her fan, she marched back into the hallway.

* * *

“Do you think he is down to her petticoats by now?” someone asked with a hint of petulance.

Joanna turned to find Quentin grinning down at her. He was clearly three sheets to the wind.

He winked at her like a conspirator.

“I imagine the petticoats were shed some ten minutes ago,” Joanna said, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t you want revenge?” Quentin stepped closer. “I should, if it were me—even though I didn’t love her—if my wife did that in front of the entire
ton
.”

Joanna felt hideously vulnerable, though she was determined not to show it.

“What kind of revenge?”

Quentin touched her cheek with his fingers. “What’s sauce for the goose is an entire feast for the gander, I should think. How he would hate it, if you paid him back in the same false coin!”

Joanna had very few reserves left. She was afraid she would shatter and make an embarrassing scene. The temptation to allow Quentin, or anyone, to take her in his arms and hold her was almost overwhelming.

From some deep well she dredged up another few moments of courage.

“Are you offering yourself? You think I should start an affair with my husband’s brother? If it’s outré for brothers to share a mistress, surely it’s unseemly for them to share a wife. Fitzroy was forced into this marriage to save your neck, for heaven’s sake. He never claimed to love me. Good Lord, why does everybody hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him.” Quentin brushed his folded knuckles over her earlobe. He was still smiling, very handsome and a little disheveled. “I just hate to see what he’s doing.”

Joanna pushed his hand away. Humiliating tears still threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“Do you? I’m sure I don’t see why.”

“By God!” His eyes narrowed as he enfolded her fingers in his strong palm and held tightly to her hand. “Don’t say that you’ve fallen under his spell, too, in spite of his malevolence? For God’s sake, my dear girl, he’ll break your heart!”