The Viscount and the Virgin (12 page)

She reached out and patted Midge on the cheek. ‘And, after all, you will be a countess one day. Then—' she drew herself up to her full height ‘—they will all have to keep their tongues between their teeth!'

Midge gathered that her aunt must have spent a great portion of the afternoon fielding spiteful comments about her conduct, but rather than looking harassed, Lady Callandar was positively vibrating with triumph.

‘Next time you make an exhibition of yourself,' she said, with an almost mischievous twinkle in her eye, ‘and knowing you as I do, I am certain there
will
be a next time, you would do well to follow your husband's lead and brazen it out. Act as though you have nothing to be ashamed of. Never apologize.'

And then, to Midge's complete astonishment, her aunt
leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. In spite of the fact that anybody might have seen her!

‘I shall look forward to calling upon you when you return to town,' she finished, with a warm smile.

Imogen raised her hand to her face, stunned by her aunt's public demonstration of affection and approval. If only she could have unbent towards her sooner! The months living in Mount Street would not have been anything like as difficult.

Monty had been standing a few feet away, in what looked like deep conversation with Rick and Major Carlow. But the moment her aunt left her, he excused himself and came straight over.

‘Is anything amiss?'

He could tell that Lady Callandar had said some thing that had rocked Midge to the core. Without caring about the impropriety of it, he put his arms round her and hugged her hard.

He could scarcely credit how fiercely protective he had grown towards her, in such a short space of time. When he had seen her hovering in the doorway earlier, her eyes wide with apprehension, he had wanted to simply whisk her away to somewhere where nobody would ever hurt her again. It had hurt when those misty grey eyes had swept straight past him, to come to rest on the form of her beloved step brother. But it made no difference to his resolve to protect her. Show them all that he did not disapprove of what she had done or the way she was. So he had crossed the room. Gone to stand beside her. Faced down the starchy matrons who had looked down their noses at her, and the girls who had sniggered at her. She had not objected to him putting his arm round her waist, so he had kept it there. At
one point, she so far forgot herself as to lean her head on his shoulder for a few seconds. Yes, he was really pleased with the progress he had made with his reluctant bride.

‘My aunt,' she said with an ironic twist to her mouth, ‘has just informed me that now I am
your
wife, I can get away with all manner of social crimes, providing I never apologize for them.'

Monty frowned. That comment was tactless in the extreme. It was as though her aunt expected Midge to be a failure. What a dreadful way to send her into her married life!

Hoping to put a positive slant on things, he said ruefully, ‘Whatever you do, now that you have a title, certain people will always toady to you, that is true.'

Midge glanced up at the cynical expression on his face, her heart sinking. He might have brazened things out, as her aunt put it, for the benefit of the wedding guests, but deep down, he knew she was destined to be a social failure. All the pleasure she had felt at finally winning her aunt round dissipated at the realization she still had a long way to go to earn her husband's respect.

P
ansy put the finishing touches to Imogen's night attire, helped her up into the enormous bed, and withdrew from the room with a sentimental sigh.

Imogen slumped back against the pillows, chewing on her thumb nail.

She did not know what to make of her husband anymore. She had got so used to thinking he was a pompous ass. But there had been moments today when she had felt positively grateful to him. Just for being there!

Any minute now, though, she sighed, he would be walking through the door that connected her room to his, so they could have that ‘long talk' he had threatened her with. When they would ‘decide what was to be done.' And she had a nasty suspicion that, since nobody else would be watching, he would revert to his true colours.

She heard a floor board creak and her eyes flew to the connecting door.

More than half expecting to receive a scolding, she
sat up straight, nervously pushing her hair off her forehead with trembling fingers.

Just about everything she'd done since coming to London had resulted in a scold. She glanced round at the opulence of the room he had assigned to her, as his viscountess, and felt a little pang of yearning for the cosy little room up under the eaves of the Brambles. Nobody had ever gone up there to replay the catalogue of errors she had committed during the preceding day.

She lifted her chin, tamping down on the deceitful feeling of nostalgia. The reason Hugh had never scolded her had been because he had not cared, one way or the other, what she did, so long as nothing interrupted his studies. Whereas her aunt's constant sniping stemmed from her concern as to what other people would make of her. And as for her husband…

Her breath hitched in her throat as the door opened and Monty, clad in a magnificent green silk brocade dressing gown, entered the room.

He was bound to have some thing to say about her conduct. It was only natural for him to want his wife to maintain certain standards in public.

She searched his handsome face anxiously. There was an intent expression in his eyes as he advanced towards the bed, but he did not look cross.

She smiled at him, relieved that he really did appear willing to discuss the incident in the portico with an open mind.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Raised it to his lips and kissed it. Smiled back at her…

And it was only then she noticed the absence of what she had hoped they were going to discuss.

‘Where is it?'

‘Where is what?'

‘The gift Stephen brought me. You said you would take care of it for me.'

There was a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. Had he just said whatever he had felt would make her behave, without having any intention of truly listening to her opinions? She remembered the ruthless way he had bullied her into marrying him, and snatched her hand out of his.

‘You have not…you have not disposed of it, have you?'

He shot to his feet, staggered at how much she could hurt him by harbouring such a suspicion!

He turned on his heel and stalked back into his room, flinging open the doors of his wardrobe to find the jacket that he had been wearing earlier. The packet must still be in the inside pocket. Damn that rogue of a brother of hers!

Damn Viscount Mildenhall too. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the wardrobe door. What a coxcomb he was, to assume his new bride, a girl he had coerced into marriage, would now be so over whelmed by the honour he had bestowed on her that she would by lying in bed, panting for him to come to her.

He sure as hell would not have taken getting a girl into his bed for granted when he had been merely Lieutenant Vernon Claremont. Oh, he had learned that his looks made him attractive to the fair sex. He had wooed and won his fair share.

But he had not wooed Midge.

Just assumed…he grimaced. ‘Put yourself in her
shoes,' he growled to himself, shaking his head. If he had just endured the day she'd had, would he be feeling amorous?

No wonder she accused him of being arrogant.

Well, if he had been, marriage to her would soon cure him of that! She had quite a knack of puncturing the over-inflated opinion of himself he had acquired as a result of all the toadying that went on in London Society.

He whirled round on hearing the rustle of silk behind him. Midge stood in the doorway, her hands clasped at her waist, her grey eyes frosty.

Dear God, he hoped she had not heard him talking to himself!

‘I apologize,' she said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to imply that you are not completely trust worthy. You said you would take care of it, and I am sure you would not lie to me.'

The words might have been humble, but she had spoken them as though she was delivering a challenge.

She more than half expected him to lie to her, he realized. She really did think he was a… What was it she had called him? Oh, yes, a vile worm.

His lips pulled tight into a flat line, he turned his back on her and resumed the search of his jacket pockets.

‘You must forgive me for forgetting all about this,' he said sarcastically, as his fingers closed round the elusive article. ‘It is just that discussing your brother was the last thing I expected to be doing on my wedding night.'

Imogen's eyes snagged on the wedge of flesh that became exposed when his dressing gown gaped as he
threw her brother's wedding gift to her. He was not wearing a night shirt!

Her eyes swept the entire length of him, ending in a fascinated perusal of his bare calves and toes. She gulped. He did not appear to be wearing anything at all under that dressing gown.

She remembered the look on his face as he had approached her bed, the gleam in his eyes when she had smiled. The eager way he had grasped her hand.

And his bitter words as he riffled through his wardrobe at her behest.

‘I do beg your pardon,' she said, hanging her head. She had been so busy thinking of things to resent about him, she had entirely for got ten what a poor bargain he was getting out of this marriage. That there was only one thing he considered her fit for.

‘I c-could leave opening this until morning.' He had not at tempted to deceive her, she could see that now. It was just that her concerns seemed trivial to him. Because she was a mere female. And he was a typically thought less, selfish male.

She returned to her room and laid the packet on her bedside table.

‘Oh, no you don't,' he growled, stalking into the room after her. ‘We will get this business out of the way, since it is so very much on your mind. I intend to have your undivided attention when I make love to you for the first time.'

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile as she snatched the packet up and went to sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She would have permitted him to assert his marital rights over her, dutifully, but he would have to be blind not to see that her fingers were itching to untie
the knot on that damned parcel, rather than the belt of his dressing gown.

He joined her on the ottoman, wondering if any other bride groom had ever found himself coming so low down on the list of his bride's priorities on his wedding night.

She looked up at him warily when he sat down, a question in her eyes.

‘Go on.' He sighed. ‘Let us see what all the fuss was about.'

With a smile of relief, she tore open the wrapping paper.

Then went white.

He forgot all about his own fit of pique when he followed her appalled gaze and saw, lying in her lap, a replica of a hangman's noose. Fashioned from what looked like a lot of silk scarves plaited together.

‘Dear God! What is the meaning of this? Is it some kind of threat?'

‘Not a threat, no,' she said in a thin, reedy voice. ‘He said, it was to remind me. I stupidly thought…' She raised one trembling hand to her brow to push back a hank of hair that had flopped into her eyes.

‘You see, on the way to church, I had such high hopes…'

His heart leapt at her words. Had she, too, seen that they could forge some thing good together?

‘…the children of all three families brought together, to celebrate a new start…the Carlows were there, and William Wardale's daughter, and me, Kit Hebden's daughter. And then
he
showed up too, and I hoped finally, we would all be able to move out of the shadow of what our parents did…'

Her fingers hovered over the glistening silken noose coiled in her lap, as though not quite daring to touch it. Lest it develop fangs and strike out at her like a venomous snake.

‘Midge.' He took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him. ‘You are making no sense.' The only thing he knew for certain was that, once again, her mind was far from him.

She shivered, and the vague, troubled look crystallized into some thing like ice.

Her lips pressed firmly together, she pushed the torn edges of the packaging back into place, to conceal the silken rope. Then she got up, walked to the fire place, and threw it into the flames.

‘Rick was right all along,' she said bitterly. ‘Some one did want to ruin my day. Only it was not some rival for your title.' She flicked angry eyes over him. ‘But my own brother. Half brother,' she corrected herself, seizing the poker and holding down the package as the heat began to make the paper uncurl. ‘The announcement was only in the
Gazette
yesterday, so he must have known where I was all along. And never once did he come forward. All those years, we thought he was dead. Mourned him. While he was out there, watching us, hating us, waiting for some chance to strike back at us…'

‘Midge, you cannot possible deduce all that from a few silk scarves fashioned into a hangman's noose—'

‘Oh, but I can!' She turned round to look at him. ‘You don't understand. You don't know…'

She swayed on her feet. The poker fell into the hearth with a clatter. Monty swept her into his arms, drew her away from the fire and settled her on the edge of the bed.

‘Then tell me,' he murmured.

She wrapped her own arms about her waist. ‘How much do you already know?'

‘I suppose, only what is generally known. The tittle-tattle about your mother's lover killing your father. And him being subsequently hanged for the murder. But until today I had never heard of the existence of…an illegitimate Gypsy boy. Nor do I understand why those three families in particular, gathering together, could have much significance.'

She nodded her head, just once, as though making up her mind about some thing.

‘My father and Lord Leybourne and Lord Narborough were working together on some kind of state secret. My mother did not know exactly what. Except that one night, my father told her he knew who the spy was, and he was going to meet the other two and tell them how he had worked it out. Lord Narborough found Leybourne later, crouching over my father's body, with a dagger in his hand. And eventually Leybourne was hanged for murder and treason. They used a silken rope, since he was a peer of the realm.' She jerked her head towards the direction of the fire place, without taking her eyes off her hands, which were now clasped together in her lap.

‘The shock made my mother very ill. Grand papa Herriard took the opportunity to get rid of Stephen, when he moved us all back to Mount Street. But Stephen's mother came looking for him. It seems my father had promised her he would raise her son like a little lord. She blamed my mother for the broken promise—and put a curse on her.'

Viscount Mildenhall could not help the derisive snort that emanated from his mouth.

Midge looked up at him coldly. ‘It might sound like a joke to you, sir, but the words were so accurate they haunted my mother to the end of her life. The Gypsy woman said that because she had stolen her son, she would never see a single one of hers live to adult hood. My mother had just had a miscarriage. And not long after that, my younger brother, my only real, full brother, took ill and died too.'

‘It was probably just a coincidence—'

‘You have not heard the rest,' she broke in. ‘After cursing my mother, she went to Wardale's execution, screamed curses at all three families involved in the loss of her son and her lover, and then hanged herself too. With a silk scarf. That—' She did glance at the fireplace then, appearing momentarily distracted from her narrative by the sight of the purple and blue flames licking along the charred edges of the symbolic noose. She shuddered again, saying, ‘It is a reminder that my family, along with the Wardales and the Carlows, destroyed his mother. And that her curse will keep on eating us all alive until her form of justice has been satisfied.'

She turned and buried her face against his shoulder.

‘I am sorry I seemed to scoff at the revelation of a Gypsy curse,' he said, hugging her tight. ‘And I am not sure I believe in such things now. But one thing I do believe, and that is that man holds a grudge against you all. Hal Carlow warned me that he has already tried to cause trouble for his family, and the Wardales. Well, tomorrow,' he said, looking down into her troubled face, and smoothing the hair from her brow, ‘I am taking
you down to Shevington.' He had never thought of the place as a refuge before, but it could be for her. From the malicious gossip that painted her as some thing far different from her true nature, for one thing. And, ‘The devil will not be able to get at you there.'

Though the thought that the Gypsy might do her some actual, physical harm alarmed him, there was a tiny part of him that welcomed having the opportunity to demonstrate his ability to protect her. So that she would come to rely on him.

‘I don't suppose he will ever come near me again.' Her shoulders slumped. ‘He only came to the wedding today to sow discord. The first time members of all three families have gathered together for a generation, and he ruined any chance there might have been for some kind of…reconciliation between us all.'