The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (22 page)

Finally, although her heart pounded and a
cold flush of discomfort washed through her, she managed to reply
calmly, “I am sure I do not know, for I do not associate with
anyone in the demimonde.”

A haughty lift of the woman’s brows signaled
she would not be so easily put off. “That is surprising, as I have
heard Lord Atherbourne favors such women. Most recently, a certain
Mrs. Knightley, if I am not mistaken.”

The gasps upon hearing the name Knightley
spoken in polite company suggested the woman must be quite
notorious, even if Victoria had never heard of her.

“And, of course, there are the circumstances
surrounding your …
marriage
. Forgive me if I have drawn a
conclusion that, while obvious to those with higher standards of
conduct, is perhaps too presumptuous.” Disdain fairly drizzled from
Lady Colchester’s thin, downturned lips like the blood of prey on
the muzzle of a wolf.

Anger tightening the muscles around her
spine, Victoria sat straighter and raised her chin as the daughter
of a duke was wont to do. “I daresay you know very little about
Lord Atherbourne and nothing at all about my marriage, Lady
Colchester.”

“I know what occurred at the Gattingford
ball, as I heard it from Lady Gattingford herself. Such an incident
has a way of illuminating one’s character quite well, wouldn’t you
say?”

Victoria had long hated the viciousness of
the nobility, the sharp knives one must either avoid or parry at
every turn. Until Lucien, her defenses had consisted of an
impeccable reputation and avoidance of cruel harpies like Lady
Colchester. But, as she was now learning, when the enemy changed
tactics, one must consider alternative weaponry.

Shaking her head and clicking her tongue
against her teeth, she said, “’Tis a shame true love is such a
rarity in most society marriages. Particularly of the, shall we
say,
older
generation.”

Both Lady Colchester and Lady Rumstoke
stiffened at the dig. “True love?” Lady Rumstoke scoffed, looking
down her alarmingly long nose at Victoria. “Is that what you call
it?”

Victoria’s smile was deliberately secretive
and knowing. “Indeed. Oh, I suppose Lord Atherbourne and I could
have chosen differently. We could, even now, be trapped in unions
with no real affection, and certainly no passion.” She met Lady
Rumstoke’s eyes directly. “Dry. Cold. Lifeless.” She shifted to
Lady Colchester. “
Barren
marriages.”

The woman flinched, her nostrils flaring and
eyes narrowing ominously.

“Thankfully, we have found happiness in one
another that is, well …” She dropped her eyes modestly, picturing
Lucien as he’d been the night of the Berne dinner. Inside the
carriage. Between her legs. “… astonishing.” This last word she
uttered breathlessly, with a blush.

Their reaction was everything she could have
hoped. Both women sputtered wordlessly, swallowed hard, and looked
nothing short of bitterly envious.

Before either could continue her attack, Lady
Wallingford stepped in. “True love is delightful when it results in
so fine a match as yours, Lady Atherbourne. While I cannot
recommend high-flown sentiment for every young miss, I must say it
has proven its worth in this instance. Besides, Lady Gattingford is
prone to exaggeration. Why, if she were to spy a kitten on her
doorstep, she would declare it a lion simply to weave a spectacular
tale.”

Lady Berne, watching the exchange with wide
eyes, blinked as though suddenly realizing she was to participate.
“Yes! Did she not several seasons ago insist she had grown not only
lemons but also pineapple in her orangery? To be sure, she could
not even grow oranges there, as the glass was to be replaced that
year.”

As the four matrons continued their
discussion of Lady Gattingford’s rather flexible definition of
truth and moved on to decry Lord Gattingford’s appalling taste in
waistcoats, Jane nudged Victoria and leaned closer to murmur, “You
handled them superbly. I am in awe.”

Victoria gave her a brittle smile, still
shaking inside from the confrontation. “Thank you for saying so. I
hated every minute of it, but it was necessary.” She dropped her
gaze to her hands where they twisted in her lap. “How I wish it
were not.”

Jane was quiet for a moment, then said,
“Strange fits of passion I have known …”

Victoria turned a startled look upon the
young woman’s serene countenance. Had she missed something? A
sudden turn in the conversation? Victoria freely admitted she
tended to get lost in her own thoughts at times.

“
And I will dare to tell, but in the
lover's ear alone, what once to me befell.”
Jane noticed
Victoria’s confused frown and clarified, “Wordsworth.”

Victoria simply looked at her blankly.

“No? Well, no matter. Suffice it to say you
cannot explain love or passion to those who are bereft of both and,
consequently, more sour than Lady Gattingford’s lemons.”

Shaking her head and chuckling, Victoria
whispered, “That sour, eh?”

Jane grinned mischievously, revealing a pair
of dimples. “Seems to defy the laws of nature, but yes. Have you
tasted her lemonade?”

Victoria rolled her eyes and puckered her
lips in a dramatic representation of a “sour” face. This set both
of them to giggling. When the laughter trailed off, she turned to
the spectacled young woman beside her and gave her a grateful
smile. “I do believe we could become great friends, Jane.”

Jane grinned back, her eyes sparkling
prettily in her plain face. “I do believe you are right,
Victoria.”

*~*~*

Chapter Seventeen

“
Heavens, boy, who attends the theater to watch a
play? The real entertainment is not found on the stage. Everyone
knows that.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her son,
Charles, upon his inquiry about a recently attended production of
King Lear.

While the luncheon had gone much according to
plan, later that evening, Victoria’s spirits were troubled once
more. All because of Lucien.

Quite simply, the man confounded her. For the
last several days, he had been all she could have hoped for in a
husband—amusing, solicitous, protective. She kept him company in
his study while he finished correspondence with his solicitor. He
made her laugh with his tales of boyhood pranks and a furious maid
wielding a large laundry paddle. They dined together, strolled in
the park together, conversed quietly together—it was the kind of
comfortable companionship she’d sorely missed since being cut off
from Harrison. Of course, her feelings toward Lucien were the
furthest thing from sisterly, but still, the last few days had been
surprisingly … nice.

Then, he spoiled it.

Seated beside him in a box at the Drury Lane
Theatre Royal, Victoria studiously ignored her husband and focused
on the riveting performance of Edmund Kean as Richard the Third.
The famed actor was brilliant, pacing the stage with vigor and
delivering Shakespeare’s words with a subtlety few had ever
achieved.

But she scarcely noticed. All she could think
of was Lucien’s irritating, intractable, overbearing,
unreasonable
behavior.

“Are you going to be vexed with me all
night?” he inquired, his tone nonchalant.

The lummox. He would do well not to speak at
all.

Without looking his way, she held her palm up
to signal her desire for silence.

He sighed loudly. “I can see you are
determined to be unreasonable.”

Immediately, her hackles were reignited into
a veritable blaze. Wide, furious eyes met his. “I am unreasonable.
I
am unreasonable?”

With a half-grin and an arrogant nod, he
replied, “It is good you understand.”

“If anyone is
unreasonable
, my lord,
it is you,” she spat in a fierce whisper, glancing around to be
sure their argument was not overheard.

Across the theater, Harrison sat in a box
with Lord Dunston and Dunston’s sister, Mary. She could not tell
whether he had spied her with Lucien yet, as he had not looked
their way. A lump formed in the middle of her chest, sadness
surrounded by a hard shell of anger. It was one thing to avoid her
brother sight unseen, another to see him in person and be prevented
from speaking with him.

“It is entirely
expected
that I would
wish to visit Harrison’s box—”

“Equally so that I would not,” he said
grimly.

She shook her head in exasperation. “Then,
why should I not go alone?”

His eyes glittered, his face hard and
unsmiling. “You know the answer to that. Besides, even if, by some
magical spell, you convinced me to change my mind, I would not
allow my wife to wander about a darkened theater without
escort.”

“Then
escort
me, for the love of
heaven. Why must you be so difficult?”

He stared at her for a long time in the dim
light. For a moment, she thought perhaps he was reconsidering, but
he said nothing more, instead turning back to watch the play. She
released a hiss of frustration and shifted angrily in her
chair.

Their argument—a repeat of one they’d had
upon arriving—ended with silence, thick and suffocating, which only
fueled her anger and drained whatever drops of enjoyment she might
have had from the outing.

The night had begun with such promise, too.
She’d surprised Lucien with her new evening gown of sea-green silk,
designed with a low, square neckline and elbow-length sleeves.
Knowing how it brought out the green hue in her eyes and hugged the
swells of her breasts, she had fought helplessly against shivers of
anticipation as she had imagined his reaction. And he had loved it,
his dark eyes flashing and flaring as he watched her descend the
stairs. Unable to look away from her bodice for a long while, his
jaw had flexed visibly before he finally offered his arm.

Fortunately, he had not pressed his advantage
on the way to the theater, behaving with perfect propriety, and
their journey had been most pleasant. But, upon arriving and seeing
her oldest brother sitting opposite them, an aching sense of
homesickness had overwhelmed her. So strong was the emotion, in
fact, that she made up her mind to approach Harrison, whether
Lucien liked it or not. And their argument had ensued. Now, she
battled tears of both indignation and heartache. She
missed
Harrison. Until her marriage, he had been her guardian, her friend,
the one who loved her without question.

She did not know if Lucien cared a whit for
her. He had never said so. She was reasonably certain he wanted
her, and perhaps enjoyed her company on occasion. But, was he
concerned that she was unhappy? Clearly not. At least, not more
than he hated her brother. She could understand his resentment,
really she could. Harrison had shot someone Lucien held dear. It
was natural to want to avoid such a person. But did he believe she
would agree to this forever? The very idea was laughable.

She sniffed and swiped at a tear with her
gloved hand.

On the stage below, Kean’s Richard knelt
before Lady Anne, inviting her to stab him with his own sword
rather than continue to rage at him, declaring her beauty the
reason for his murderous impulses.
Clever man, appealing to her
mercy and her vanity in the same breath.

Lucien was every bit as clever, she thought,
wooing and charming her into compliance. Was she, Victoria,
similarly being played for a fool? In the darkness, she slid her
gaze sideways and studied Lucien’s profile: Gentle lips that had
sent her to heights of pleasure she hadn’t imagined possible.
Strong, sculpted jaw that reflected his determination and
stubbornness. Dark eyes, which could fill with storms of passion,
light with twinkling humor, or soften with a lazy smile. Try as she
might, she could not simply dismiss him as a villain and toss him
aside.

He had offered friendship, and she had
accepted, hoping that, in time, she might convince him to set aside
his hatred, his need to punish Harrison. Obviously, at present, he
had no such intentions. His stubbornness made her want to hit him.
Scream at him, too. Force him to admit he was wrong. Her anger
still burned in her stomach, her fists clenching in her lap.

But he simply sat there, stone silent.
That
was infuriating.

She glanced again at the blond head of her
brother, just visible in the faint glow from the stage, now tilted
slightly to hear what Mary Thorpe whispered to him. Harrison
nodded, then he straightened and stilled, seeming to peer directly
ahead at the box opposite his.

Her
box, or at least, the one she was
currently sitting in.
Oh, God.
Did he see her? Would he want
to speak with her? If he made the journey across the theater to
visit her, then Lucien could not prevent it from happening. It was
the perfect solution, if only he would—

Harrison’s face angled back toward the stage,
giving no sign of recognition or acknowledgement of her presence.
Not so much as a wave or even a nod. Victoria’s heart fell. Either
the duke did not see her—unlikely, considering she could see him
and there was nothing wrong with his eyesight—or he was
deliberately ignoring her. Whichever the case, it was difficult to
swallow.

This is patently absurd,
she thought,
shaking off her despair.
I should stop being a ninny and simply
rise and go to his box. What can Lucien do, after all? Refuse to
accompany me to a few ton functions? Well, yes, but perhaps he
could be persuaded to relent if it was only this once. What else
can he do to stop me—toss me over his shoulder?
Remembering he
had done almost that very thing on their wedding day, she bit her
lip and glanced sideways. He was still watching the action on the
stage below.