Tender Torment (23 page)

“Of course, we expect you to marry someone you can admire and love.”

“Fiddle dee dee, ‘admire and love.’ I want what you have, sister, a title!”

At her sister’s crude remark, Marisa stiffened with shock while the earl sat back with an expression of cynicism on his face.
His mocking gaze and Meg’s insensitive hauteur almost sent the countess fleeing from the room, but she managed to control
the urge.

“Meg, how could you?” Marisa whispered in a constricted voice.

“What did I say that was so terrible?”

Marisa could not reply, but it was unnecessary. The earl spoke with cold derision, “You are the complete ‘cit’,
Miss Loftus—what is known in the polite world as a ‘mushroom’. With your want of conduct you’ll be back in Bloomsbury before
the end of the season.”

Meg gasped, rising to her feet. “Why you hateful beast! I shall not speak to you again unless you apologize to me.”

There was a bark of scornful laughter which pursued Meg as she raced out of the room.

In the hush that followed the outburst, husband and wife regarded each other warily. Marisa was at a complete loss for words
while Justin was wondering why he had chosen to defend his wife in the confrontation with her sister.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten rid of her for the moment, perhaps we can talk.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“Yes, it is my expressed wish!” he said sharply. “I was at White’s last night, and I have learned a few interesting details
about your… affairs during my absence.” Marisa felt her stomach lurch. “It seems you have been the belle of the ball cavorting
with any number of young bucks, and if that were not enough I was also informed that you have been seen every day for the
past two weeks in the company of Lord Relington.”

“What if I have?” She bristled.

Her defiance only heightened his own feelings of hostility. “I don’t like it, and I expect you to put an end to it at once.”

“Ohh,” Marisa trembled with anger. “You… dare to… You hypocrite! You can spend a week in the country with Amanda Relington…”

“What?” he shouted in astonishment. How did she know that that woman followed him to the country, and he had to send her packing?
There was one obvious answer.

Seeing his surprise, Marisa grew hopeful. “You… you weren’t with her?”

“I suppose Relington told you that I was.” He knew the workings of that man’s mind. Relington wanted his wife, and by suggesting
he was having an affair with Amanda, he hoped to achieve his aim. “Don’t see Relington again! Ever!”

Marisa could not accept the fact that he could demand that she stop seeing Relington when he chose to ignore her question
concerning his own behavior with Amanda. “Does that apply to you and Amanda as well?”

“Why you witch!” He reached for her, but Marisa expected just such a reaction from him and fled into the hallway where Jenkins
was closing the door on Meg and Terence Fairfax.

“Ah, Jenkins, is my carriage ready?”

“It is, my lady.”

“You will have to excuse me, my lord, but I must rush, or I’ll be late for my shopping expedition with Lady Maxwell.” She
skirted around the butler who was holding her shawl, but Straeford was not to be outfoxed. “Here let me,” he said, relieving
Jenkins of the shawl. Smiling wickedly, he stepped up to Marisa and slowly slipped the shawl about her. Maintaining a hold
of her shoulders, he whispered, “I can wait, my lady. Enjoy your morning with Lady Maxwell. It may be the last for some time.”
Only then did he let her go.

Although Marisa was frightened by her husband’s threat, she had no intentions of cancelling her drive in Hyde Park that afternoon.
Some perversity of will drove her to keep the engagement.

When she returned from shopping with Lady Maxwell, she was relieved to discover that the earl was not at home. Relington’s
arrival presented no undesirable confrontation, and Marisa was able to keep her resolve to disregard her husband’s order;
however, she was totally disconcerted when. Straeford, upon his sleek black stallion, accosted them in the park.

“Ah, Straeford, heard you were back in town,” Relington addressed him.

“And I just heard that you talked Kennington out of blowing your head off for your latest indiscretion in the boudoir.”

“Oh, I say old man,” Relington blustered, “someone’s been pitching you gammon.”

“Indeed?” Straeford raised his black brows.

“Nothing but a misunderstanding. Mountain out of a molehill. Talked myself out of that one easily enough,” he laughed nervously.

“How lucky for you. I wonder how successful you would be at talking me out of it?”

“Justin!” Marisa whispered frantically, aware of the crowded park filled with members of the haute monde just waiting for
some new scandal to titillate them.

“Deuce take it! Don’t fly into a pucker, my good fellow.”

“I’m not your ‘good fellow’, Relington.”

“Yes, of course,” Relington said soberly. “But really, Straeford, my behavior has been perfectly innocent. A perfect gentleman.”

“Glad to hear it because I have a devil of a time listening to anything when I’m in a passion. By the way, old man, just how
many men have you killed in duels?”

“Here now…” A lump in Relington’s throat made it difficult for him to speak. “I ain’t ever killed a man.”

“Haven’t you?” Straeford cast him a frigid glare. “You become used to death after the first half dozen or so.”

“Are… are you threatening me?” Relington asked unsteadily while Marisa held her breath.

“Threatening you? What reason could I possibly have for threatening you?” Straeford queried as he allowed his cold emerald
eyes to rest meaningfully on his wife. “Well, I’ve detained the two of you long enough. Enjoy your ride.” The gleam in his
eyes belied the feigned cordiality of his words. Then as he turned his horse away, he said to his wife, “I shall see you at
home, my dear.”

His warning was implicit and she was frightened. It was evident that Relington was having similar fears, for when they reached
Berkeley Square, he excused himself from their drive on the morrow and made a hasty departure.

It was a relief to her to hear from Jenkins that Mr. Angus Loftus had arrived only moments earlier asking to see her, and
that he was in the drawing room with the earl. Justin’s wrath would have more time to cool down, and for this she was grateful.

“Father,” Marisa held out her hands to him and moved into his arms, ignoring Straeford who stood before the fireplace. “What
is it, dear?” she asked as they sat together on the sofa. “You look upset.”

“What do you know about this?” He thrust a paper
into her hands which she read quickly. “I received it about an hour ago.” At Marisa’s silence, he accused, “You don’t seem
surprised by it.”

“No, I think I was expecting something like this from John.”

“For God’s sake, girl, why didn’t you tell me?”

“What could I tell you, Father? That John was unhappy? That he was resentful of your… interference in his life? These were
things you already knew. Besides, he did not confide his plans to me. Even if I did know, I couldn’t have informed on him.”

“I expected more loyalty from you! I could have stopped him.”

“How? By bullying him^into a life he does not want! Father, be happy for John. He has married the woman he truly loves. Let
him follow his heart.”

“He can follow whatever he damn well pleases from now on! I wash my hands of him. Let him see what it is like to fend for
himself.” Abruptly he got up and started across the room.

“Father,” Marisa hurried after him. “Don’t make any decisions while you are so upset.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I warned him just as I did you and Meg. He knew how it would be.”

“Don’t go like this.” She grasped his hand but her eyes searched over her father’s bent head for Straeford, and silently she
pleaded with him for his support. “Stay for dinner. I don’t want you to go home alone and brood.”

“What you need is a good stiff drink, sir,” Straeford said as he poured some whiskey into a glass.

“If I stay, you won’t change my mind.”

“And I for one would not expect you to,” Straeford stated emphatically, looking at his wife. “It was your son’s choice. Now
let him live with his decision. Marisa, why don’t you go change for dinner? I’ll see to your father.” He placed a firm hand
under her elbow, propelling her toward the door.

“But…” Marisa resisted. She was not giving up on her father that easily.

“Don’t push your luck, my girl,” Straeford whispered as he thrust her out into the hallway. “You may
pick up the cudgels on your brother’s behalf another time if you must. You might learn the techniques of when to attack and
when to withdraw if you live with me long enough.” He gave her a sardonic look before stepping back into the drawing room
and closing her out.

Wearily Marisa trod her way along the hallway to her bedroom. It had been a horrendous day. First there had been the trouble
with the earl. Next came the news of John’s elopement, and tonight it was Meg’s outrageous behavior at the Fairfax soiree.
She had flirted shamelessly with Marc Belvoir, driving his fiancee into hysterics, and if that were not enough, she had encouraged
the attentions of the Marquess of Alden again. Even Lady Maxwell’s stern lecture about propriety had not daunted Meg, for
no sooner had they left the good lady at her home than Meg declared her intentions of continuing her flirtation with the Marquess.

All thoughts of her family deserted her as she came into the bedroom and saw the earl standing before her in the dim candlelight.
“Why, Justin, you frightened me.” She clasped her hands to her breast to quell her racing heart.

“And frightened you best be, madam! For I have come for your reckoning.” He snapped a riding crop across his hand and took
a menacing step toward her.

Gasping, she backed away from him, all the while staring at the whip in his powerful hand. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? You defied me at your own peril. I’ve been far too lenient with you!” The riding crop lashed against a gutting
candle and sent it toppling to the floor, and a wicked smiled played across his lips. “There’s no escape this time. No running
away. No servants to the rescue. I’ve seen to that.”

“Don’t do this, Justin,” she whispered as she cringed against the wall.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I have done nothing to deserve such a punishment.”

“What do you call defying my order not to see Relington again?”

“I couldn’t just cry off. There was no reason…”

“Reason!” he shouted. “There was every reason!” He closed in on her, and instinctively Marisa turned her back to him waiting
for the cruel blows to fall, but nothing happend. A deafening silence stretched between them, and suddenly it was apparent
to her that he did not intend to use his weapon. His threats and bullying were meant to frighten her into submission. Slowly
shifting her position so that she could see him, Marisa could read the indecision written across his face.

“Will you not trust me, Justin? I have never given you reason not to. Why must there be this constant torment between us?”

In chilling derision he claimed “Because no man can trust any woman.”

“Not
any
woman—do you condemn us all?”

“Indeed I do, madam.”

“But that’s so unfair. Surely you have known some good women…”

“None, I say. From the first woman in my life there has been nothing but infamy and lies.”

His mother again. He is so convinced, Marisa thought hopelessly. What had that woman done to him? But this was no time to
broach that forbidden topic. Best discuss their own personal relationship.

“Couldn’t you give it a try at least?” He eyed her suspiciously. “I mean… why not give me your trust until I give you some
reason to doubt my… faithfulness.”

“Ha!” he snorted. “Do you think I am some dupe to be fooled by a soft wheedling voice and pretty speeches about fidelity from
some hussy?”

“Oh,” she cried recklessly. “And what of you? Impugning my good character when I have every reason to doubt your own faithfulness!”

A murderous light came into his narrowed green eyes, and he struck blindly, bringing the riding crop across her shoulder.
She screamed, swerved away from him and grasped the bedpost for support. The taut silence that followed was finally broken
as he threw the crop across the room and strode out of the chamber.

She slipped to the floor and let silent tears course down her cheeks. She hated him! Hated him! Never would she feel one ounce
of sympathy for him again.
Whatever had taken place between him and his mother surely had to be all his fault.

She remained in her crouched position for some time, until she had finally exhausted all her tears and venomous feelings.
Then Marisa relighted the candles, removed her dress, and inspected her bruised shoulder. A red welt burned across it. To
ease the painful sensation, she held a damp cloth over the tingling flesh. Weary from emotion, she dragged her aching body
to bed.

The first light of dawn was creeping into the house when Justin wove his unsteady way upstairs to stand beside his wife’s
bed. Focusing his blurry eyes on her damp lashes and glistening cheeks, an unfamiliar feeling of compassion welled up in him.
He brushed aside the sleeve of her nightdress to reveal the livid mark on her white shoulder.

Instantly she was awake and even in her dazed state she struck out at him. Grasping her flaying arms, he threw himself on
top of her and buried his face in her hair.

“Didn’t want to hurt you. Never touched Amanda. Want you.” His speech was almost incoherent.

The more she struggled to free herself of his enveloping arms the more tightly they coiled around her. His mouth searched
for hers in the semi-darkness but she twisted and strained her neck to refuse him. His lips brushed her ear, then her neck
and back again to her turned cheek as she continued to resist him. Finally his lips found hers, and her anguished “no” was
barely audible under the pressure of his hungry mouth. It lingered against hers for what seemed to be an eternity, and she
tasted the heavy spirits on his breath.