The Husband Trap (32 page)

His body reacted of its own accord, instant lust priming him the way the scent of a ready mare would a stallion. He clenched a single fist and fought to maintain an impassive facade.

“What is it?” Deliberately, he made his tone sound bored and disapproving.

She halted, hesitated. “I saw your light. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s late. You should ring Agnes, have her bring you some warm milk.”

She took a few steps forward. “I don’t want warm milk.”

“Some brandy, perhaps.” He grabbed his own empty snifter, rose from his chair, crossed the room. His back turned, he reached for a fresh glass, poured a large splash of liquor inside each.

He downed his own portion in a couple of healthy swallows. The alcohol burned its way along his throat, into his stomach, where it spread like fiery coals. He prayed the potent draught would deaden his senses, dull his carnal appetite.

He turned, held her glass out at arm’s length, careful to keep his eyes averted. “Here.”

“I remember the last time you plied me with liquor.”

He remembered too, and wished he didn’t. It made their current reality all the more painful to bear.

She moved closer. “What I need tonight isn’t spirits.”

“Take it anyway and go.”

“Adrian, what is it? What’s wrong?” She rushed forward, slid her arms around him, pressed the warm, pliant curves of her body against his. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

Head buzzing from drink and desire, he stared into her eyes and began to drown. Without thought, without caring, he crushed his lips to hers, gave himself over to the hunger raging in his blood. The brandy snifter fell from his hand, liquor soaking into the carpet as the glass rolled away.

He poured all the need and want and frustration he’d been living under into his kiss, savaging her mouth in a hot, greedy mating that took more than it gave. She met and matched him, sighing beneath his touch as he stroked his hands everywhere. He lifted her, dying to be inside her where she was warm and wet. He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t deny himself what he had to have worse than his next breath.

They sank together onto the bed. Her hands caressed him, sleek and knowing, her mouth gliding over his neck and face and chest.

“Adrian,” she whispered. “Adrian, I’ve missed this. Missed you. I love you.”

He froze, desire dying in an instant. Memories beat viciously inside his mind. Finding the letter. Knowing she’d lied. Seeing her wrapped inside his brother’s arms. Imagining them together as she spoke those very same words to him.
Kit, I love you.

What was wrong with him? How could he be touching her? How could he want her? Yet he did, even now, even knowing what she was. Worse, he loved her, despite her hollow lies, her treachery. He was disgusted by them both.

“Get out.” He rolled away from her, his words low, raw in his throat.

“What?” She reached for him again.

He flung himself off the bed. “Get out. Leave. Be gone.”

“But Adrian, I don’t understand—”

“Don’t you? What is there to understand? I don’t want you. Is that plain enough for you to comprehend, madam? I am no longer interested in sampling your fine feminine wares.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, one coursing down her cheek. “Why? What have I done?” she pleaded.

“Please, don’t persist in this charade,” he said with obvious distaste and derision. “You gave it a good try, but it’s over now. I
know
about you. I
saw
you.”

He expected her to break, confess.

Instead she sat up on the bed, confusion heavy in her gaze. “Know about what? What did you see? I don’t understand.”

God, what an actress she was. “I found the note, the one from your lover.”

Her face blanched.

“Ah, so you remember that, do you? You threw it in the fire, but it didn’t burn. I found it and I read it.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it? I followed you that night, to the party. I saw the two of you together. I saw you in his arms.”

He stalked away, to the fireplace, where he leaned an arm against the mantel, stared blindly into the flames. “How could you do it? How could you betray me with my own brother?” A sad, aching sickness filled him, a sorrow unlike any he’d ever known.

“Is that why you’ve been so beastly to both of us this past week? Because you believe I’m having an affair with Kit?” Astonishment rang in her voice.

“What else am I to believe?”

“He’s my friend, nothing more. He gave me a hug that night. He wasn’t…embracing me, not the way you think.”

He whirled, confronting her. “Then what about that note? Someone sent you that damned note. If not Kit, then who? Who in the hell is K?”

She linked her hands together, lowered her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He charged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Tell me who he is. Who is your lover?” he demanded at a near shout.

With one final furious glare, he wrenched himself away, afraid he might actually do her physical harm.

She rubbed her shoulder and climbed off the bed. “Adrian, please, I know it looks bad, but it isn’t what you think. I—I don’t have a lover. You’re the only man I’ve ever—”

“No more.” He threw up a hand. “I won’t listen to another word. I’ve heard enough of your lies. Get out.”

When she didn’t move, he yelled at her, “Didn’t you hear me? I said get out. Get out. Now!”

She flinched. With silent tears streaming over her cheeks, she raised her chin, looked him in the eye. “You’re wrong. I haven’t betrayed you. Please let me—”

He took a menacing step forward.

She swallowed the rest of her words, then fled, slamming the door behind her.

He crossed the room, leaned over to pick up the forgotten brandy glass. The carpet would need to be cleaned, he thought unimportantly.

He stared at the glass for a long while, until anguish rushed up inside him, burning and bitter as gall. With a shout, he flung the snifter into the fire, where it splintered into a hundred pieces. Something else to be swept away, put to rights.

If only their lives could be so easily restored.

Unutterably weary, he sank into the armchair. Sleepless, he listened to her sob till the wee hours of the morning.

Chapter Eighteen

They left for the country two days later.

Christmas would soon be upon them, and per tradition the entire Winter family, even distant relations, would congregate at Winterlea to share the holiday season.

News of the birth of Sylvia’s newest baby had arrived in London only a few days before. To everyone’s delight, the child was a girl. Despite being only recently out of childbed, Adrian’s sister was determined to show off her prized infant. The dowager duchess would, of course, be returning with her daughter, Sylvia’s husband and their sizable brood in tow.

Violet had received a note from her parents. They would be driving up from their estate in Surrey to join the celebration. Darrin planned to arrive from Scotland, where he’d been sharing a hunting box with friends. However, Great-aunt Agatha and “Violet” would be remaining on the Continent until spring. At sixty-five, Agatha’s bones were simply too brittle to be subjected to the damp and cold of an English winter, even for the sake of Christmas.

And it was cold, blustery, with a few snowflakes twirling a giddy dance in the air. Violet watched them fall as she stared out the coach window, pulling the blanket higher on her lap to protect against the chill. She sat alone inside the coach. The men had decided to ride in spite of the weather. Though from what she could see, neither appeared to be enjoying the exercise.

Since that dreadful evening when she’d gone to him, she and Adrian had barely spoken to each other, passing less than a handful of minutes in each other’s company. Given the things said that night, what remained?

He believed she was an adulterous liar. And to be fair, he was half right.

She was a liar.

She wanted to defend herself, prove to him she hadn’t been unfaithful, but how could she? Not without giving away her other secret. In order to disprove one falsehood, she would have to reveal too much about the other. Like a loose thread in a tapestry, once picked free, the whole piece would soon come unraveled.

Perhaps she should simply admit the truth, confess her identity and end the charade. Then Adrian could decide to which of his many estates he would prefer banishing her. Or would he divorce her instead and simply turn her out? She shuddered at the horrifying prospect, knowing she was damned no matter which path she chose. She sighed, watched more delicate snowflakes wing toward the earth.

Outside, Kit rode beside his brother. After nearly two hours of silence, he was fed up with being ignored. He’d rather be traveling inside the coach with Violet. It would certainly be a damned sight more comfortable. But once he climbed inside, he knew Adrian would insist upon joining them. Leaving the three of them knee to knee in misery for the rest of the journey.

Enough was enough, he thought. How many times did a man have to explain himself?

Violet had told him about Adrian’s accusation the morning after the Carters’ ball. He remembered his jaw literally dropping open at the news. The idea of a liaison with her was unimaginable. The pair of them were like brother and sister. Anyone with eyes could see that. Anyone, that is, except a lovesick fool too blinded by his own jealousy to recognize the truth.

The evidence—Markham’s letter and Adrian’s unfortunate witnessing of Kit embracing Violet—were damning indeed on the surface. Adrian demanded proof of their innocence, and with his own less than full explanation of events, his older brother’s suspicions remained. Twenty-two years of familial trust, it seemed, weren’t enough to sweep away a single night’s worth of misunderstandings and falsehoods.

But he refused to unmask Violet.

He’d made a promise to her and unless Adrian asked him point-blank about her identity, he wasn’t going to break that vow. He’d spent his whole life admiring his brother. Right now he just wanted to knock him a good one on the head.

“What a fool,” he mumbled under his breath.

Adrian’s head swung around. Kit’s soft words had apparently carried on the wind. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his words as frosty as the air.

Kit squared his shoulders, raised his voice. “I said you’re a fool. You’re making yourself and everyone around you miserable over nothing.”

A muscle ticked in Adrian’s jaw. “You believe adultery is nothing?”

“She and I have both told you nothing happened. It’s the truth, if you’d simply care to see it. As undeniably beautiful as Jeannette is, I don’t find her even remotely appealing, not in a romantic sense, that is.”

“How reassuring. Now, if you are finished—”

“I’m not finished.” He plunged ahead, not stopping to wonder at his nerve. “That woman loves you, though God knows why, and you’re cutting her out of your life over little more than a misconception.”

“Misconception? Would that be the love letter I misconceived or seeing her wrapped in your arms?”

“I’ve already explained about that. I was giving her a hug, a brotherly hug, nothing more.”

“And the letter? You haven’t seen fit to explain about that yet, have you? If you aren’t the missive’s author, then who is? If Jeannette is an innocent in all of this, why the deception? The half-truths? The lies? What are you hiding? Who are you protecting?”

“That isn’t for me to say. Ask your wife.”

“I did ask, and she ‘can’t say’ either.”

“You ought to trust her nonetheless, no matter how things may appear.”

A haunted shadow passed through Adrian’s eyes. “Trust? I am to trust but not the other way around? I am to accept the weak excuses and convenient answers the both of you have provided me, all the while knowing you’ve been less than completely honest?”

“Adrian—”

“That is quite enough,” Adrian commanded, his tone as chill and bitter as the wind. “There will be no further discussion of this matter, do you understand? We will not speak of it again.” His horse, Mercury, trotted a few steps to one side. Adrian reined him in, moved him gently back into place. “When Christmas is over, you will return to University, and you will see to it you acquit yourself admirably, is that understood?”

Kit nodded. “Fully.”

“As for Jeannette, how I choose to conduct my relationship with my wife is a private matter, and no concern of yours. I will tell you this, however.” Their eyes met, challenged. “If you weren’t my brother I would already have put a bullet through you. If I catch you with her again, brother or not, I will.”

Adrian spurred Mercury into a canter, thundered ahead.

Kit watched them disappear into the swirling snow.
Well,
he thought,
that went splendidly.

What an utter mess the three of them had made amongst themselves. If only he had the smallest idea how to make it come out right.

Huddling deeper inside his coat, he rode onward.

The house was a noisy hive of people. Children and adults scattered into bands of determined revelers. Amid much frivolity, Adrian had overseen the lighting of the Yule log in one of the older sections of the house, where the fireplace was large enough to accommodate the great length of wood. According to tradition, the log would burn for a full twelve days. Reduced to ashes by the conclusion of the holiday celebration on Twelfth Night.