The housekeeper served the tea and left.
“That you and that despicable scoundrel had a tryst,” the older woman said.
Edwina’s eyes snapped to Philippa. Three years younger, her innocence was still to be reckoned with.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she huffed. “I didn’t hide you from the facts of life.”
No, she didn’t. And Edwina thanked her every day for that.
She had no intention of lying to her grandmother and sister. “We did,” she answered tightly, hands knotting on her lap.
“What got into you?” the dowager asked upset. “Your mother made it a point to keep you both away from him.”
“Papa owed him money,” she informed.
“Edwina!” Philippa muttered.
“You mean—” Lady Charlotte’s face crumpled in anger.
“It’s cleared,” Edwina completed.
“Goodness!” Her grandmother rubbed her temple. “I’ll send Geoffrey after him.” The Marquess had all the right to call Darroch out, Edwina understood.
A cold rush washed down Edwina’s nerves. She might have treated Harris harshly, but she didn’t wish him to be harmed. She fervently hoped he wouldn’t be. “No need.” How that came in a level timbre, she didn’t know. “We signed papers. I did it of my free will.”
“This is no excuse. You’re ruined!” Lady Charlotte seemed to have aged a decade at that moment.
She eyed her grandmother directly. “I was on the shelf already. And the debt was too big for our family to afford.”
Philippa and the dowager looked stunned at her, both blinking as it dawned what she had done for everyone. No debt, no debtors’ prison for Geoffrey, a future for her sister.
Lady Charlotte shuddered a sigh and nodded. Several moments elapsed before she spoke again. “Are you with child?” she shot close range.
At the question, Edwina felt her cheeks burn as though she sat near the fire. She must be as red as beetroots. Her eyes lowered, and it took a long minute for her to find her voice. “No.” She breathed deeply. “He used—” Her speech failed.
The dowager inspected her knowingly. “I see,” she said, crossing her arms. “At least, he had the decency.”
Philippa also lowered her head, reddening. Edwina eyed her and had the impression that her sister was hiding something. But that wouldn’t be plausible. What could she really understand about any of this?
“In view of that,” the dowager started, “it’s better if you spend some time in the country until the hearsay dies.”
“Yes,” Philippa agreed. “Otherwise your sacrifice will have been for nought.”
Edwina wouldn’t call it a sacrifice but would not confess it to the other women.
“We depart after breakfast,” Lady Charlotte directed.
The notion of leaving London wasn’t unattractive. She contemplated it only yesterday. Right at that instant though, she felt the need for solitude. To work and to give it time for the whole incident to fade away, so she could resume her usual life.
“I’d like to spend time in Cambridgeshire, on my own,” she requested. The secondary Mandeville estate rarely received visitors and stood in a peaceful corner a six-hour drive from London. “I have a few orders of lace to deliver. The proximity to London is more convenient.” Her work came first in the circumstances.
“Fine,” her grandmother yielded. “It’s a long time since anyone has travelled there as we stay mainly in Wiltshire.”
Being ruined had its advantages. More freedom of movement counted as one. To tell the truth, her maidenhead had been a hassle. Why society strove to guard a piece of skin so avariciously was a wonder.
Unless its sole purpose was to control women’s bodies.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harris took a long swig of whisky, his big frame sprawled on his study settee late at night. In a state of disarray few had witnessed, his arm covered his brow. Cravat undone, wrinkled shirt, unbuttoned waistcoat, his towering frame barely fit on the piece of furniture.
His little shrew had disappeared, vanished into thin air as though she’d been a figment of his imagination.
He could only wish she was.
Wish she hadn’t irrupted into his life like a typhoon that left as fast as it came. Too fast.
Or that she had but stayed.
Not that he’d admit even to himself that those few short weeks had been the best of his life. Even if they were.
His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle and brought it to his lips. Before he drank, he looked at the half-empty bottle. Suddenly cross, he threw it on the carpet where the amber liquid gurgled out of it.
The damned thing failed in extricating the chit from his mind where she’d taken permanent residence—no point in imbibing.
The stubborn woman had shunned him thrice, too prim to consider a liaison with a libertine. And the worst was that he couldn’t even call himself that any longer. Why, spending nights in, cuddling in bed wasn’t exactly what libertines did. Counting the hours at work before he could come home to her wasn’t either. Hell! How disgustingly domestic he’d become.
Who cared? Not him for sure.
And now he found her nowhere.
He should be relieved that she didn’t cling as virgins were wont to do. But to reject him three times did something to his inflated self-confidence, not to mention his pride; the latter had been severely scratched. She treated him as a business deal for one. Transformed his hunger for her in a ledger, dammit. Declined his gifts. And took him to a ragged paradise with just one kiss. One. Miserly. Kiss.
Had he predicted the size of the blow she’d deal him; he’d have forgiven the debt before she finished introducing herself.
And miss the delight that came afterwards?
He didn’t think so, no.
Even if he’d been knocked for six over this settee.
What sounded like an army of footsteps pounded outside the study. Its door burst open to give way to Thornton and Brunswick with murder in their eyes. If this was his final day on earth, he hoped they granted him a last wish at least. One. More. Miserly. Kiss.
Then he’d die happy.
“I warned you not to lay a finger on her, Darroch!” Brunswick emitted this as a war tattoo.
These ton gents had a good communication network. Harris should consider it to publicise his company. Imagine the breakthrough. He wanted to laugh at the misplaced thought but didn’t think he’d gain both men’s favour with that.
Still sprawled on the upholstery, he gazed at his friends. Or should he say ex-friends? “It wasn’t a finger.” It’d been both hands and much more. “So, I expect I heeded your warning.” In his tipsy state, Harris offered them a smug smirk.
With a fearful scowl, Thornton bent over him and bunched a fist on Harris’s shirt. “She’s my wife’s best friend!” he roared.
“And you ruined her,” accused the duke.
Harris had his reservations as to who ruined who in this mess, considering. Look at him. Unable to even think of another woman, let alone touch one. Ruined for any other but her.
His solid frame remained reclined as he put his hands up in a sign of truce. “Kill me, thrash me. What do I care?”
Edmund slowly let go of the shirt as his scowl turned into a crumple that said he didn’t understand. By his side, Titus stood mirroring the Earl.
“I cannot find her anywhere,” Harris explained.
Brunswick narrowed his gaze. “How do you mean?”
“I sent people out to search. At her house, the housekeeper took days off work.” His arms moved in a quizzical gesture.
“Perhaps Wiltshire,” Thornton tried.
“My man just sent a letter. Nothing.” Sitting up, he rested his elbows on his knees.
“Otilia may know, but she won’t tell,” the Earl reflected.
“I need my little shrew,” Darroch mumbled to himself as his head bent down with a shake.<
br />
Edmund and Titus exchanged a glance. In common accord, they took each one of Harris’s arms and hauled him up. Now standing, they dragged him to the hallway.
“Hobson!” Brunswick hollered.
The butler appeared at once. “Your Grace.” And bowed deferentially.
“Send for Darroch’s valet,” he instructed.
“And a cold bath,” completed the Earl.
“Directly, Your Grace, my lord.” The staff must be on cloud nine with a duke and an earl on the premises.
By the time the three men reached Harris’s chambers, the bath was ready. With a pinch of satisfaction, Brunswick and Thornton dumped Darroch in, clothes and all.
“Goddammit! With friends like you, I don’t need foes!” Harris protested, dripping icy water.
“This is for you not laying a finger on my cousin,” Titus said.
They left Harris in the care of the valet and climbed down to the study.
Half an hour later, Harris showed up looking more like a human being. Without an ounce of remorse, he eyed his friends.
Both had helped themselves to the assortment of drinks in the sideboard.
“This one isn’t bad,” the duke raised a glass with whisky in it.
“My cousin’s husband’s clan makes it,” Harris clarified.
“At least you’re good for something up in the wilds,” Titus taunted.
“You can ask the English lasses what else we’re good for,” he taunted back.
A long moment elapsed in silence as Harris poured a glass of water to accompany the other men.
The duke finished his whisky and rested the glass by the decanters. “I think I might know where she’s gone,” he said.
Harris’s stare fell on him as Thornton’s brows arched.
“Do tell,” Darroch drawled, striving to hide his impatience.
“Mandeville has a minor estate in Cambridgeshire,” the duke informed carefully.
This close? The woman was hiding in plain sight! Harris was already turning to leave when the duke marched to him.
Titus grabbed Harris’s lapel threateningly. “You offer marriage, or I’ll call you out,” he spat.
Marriage. Well, that would make a libertine hit rock-bottom.
With a curt nod, Harris dashed from the study.
The first light of dawn had barely appeared on the horizon when Edwina awoke with the roaring sound of fists on the front door.
The last few days had been soothing and peaceful. She alternated work with long walks in the surrounding areas. The estate didn’t boast vast fields but what it contained proved enough for pleasant moments. Compared to Wiltshire, the house was not much bigger than a good cottage though bright and comfortable.
They kept only a housekeeper and a footman in the house. Nobody had visited in months as the family preferred the Marquessate seat. But Edwina experienced real contentment in her solitude here.
Just two days ago she had sent Madame Delamere’s order with the footman, and he came back with the payment and new requests. Peter had to overnight in town as travelling to and fro proved too lengthy. The fulfilment of the order made her feel deep satisfaction with her work. If this continued, Edwina would be able to live on her own. What a relief not to need a husband to feel safe and provided for, even if her family would not abandon her.
Lady Mandeville had been shocked with her elder granddaughter’s news, but not to the point of washing her hands of her. For which Edwina was exceedingly grateful. No one would question the reasons for her decisions since they produced the desired effects.
Charlotte, Edwina and Philippa rode together to Cambridgeshire. Her grandmother and sister overnighted there and continued their trip west the following day.
More pounding rattled on the ground floor, impatient and fierce.
Blast it! What could be so urgent for someone to nearly demolish the poor wood at this time? She’d have to go down and see to it.
Perhaps, Mrs Wards and Peter were out in the barn collecting eggs and milk for breakfast.
A candle in hand and a wrap over her shoulders, she descended the stairs, fully intending to tell the intruder what she thought of their hours.
Her free hand yanked the door. “Now listen here—” She froze, her hand froze, her voice froze. But not her heart, which shot into frenzied drumming at the sight of Harris taking nearly the entire threshold.
Dishevelled hair, stubble darkening his jaw, unbuttoned overcoat, mud-spattered boots. He stood one hand on the doorframe above his head, the other on his hips looking down at her with those dark eyes that lit her in blazing fireworks.
“They say people get up at dawn in the country,” he drawled in that deep timbre of his.
Her head tilted back, wide eyes on him, her brain struggling to kick up and say something.
“What the heck are you doing here?” she finally hissed.
The darned cad hadn’t decamped from her mind, not giving her so much as a minute’s reprieve since she left London, or even since that first moment in his office to be frank. Even though she’d been hoping she’d be capable of ripping him out of it at some point in the next thousand years.
“I was passing by, and you know…” His mouth armed itself with that smile that laced wolfish intent and sensuality with a flare only he possessed.
And he almost defeated her. But she sucked in air and steeled herself. “Fine. Now you can continue on your merry way.”
“Merry is lacking in my life of late.” He went serious, his stare burning on her with such power that she was a second away from pulling him inside and ravishing him right in the foyer, servants or no servants.
Her fists flew to her waist. “You came to the wrong place,” she answered coldly. “Madame Lafond would have cut it for you.” It was impossible to control the jab that flew uncensored from her lips.
“Hardly. No prissy little shrews there.”
Edwina didn’t scoff for lack of oxygen in her lungs. She so wished she was the prude she imagined herself to be. Instead, one single look from him and she divested herself from those discardable layers of a ton lady’s education so quick she doubted it’d been there at all.
“Invite me in,” he cut through her musings.
Unable to say much, she merely turned and entered as he followed her.
The latch clicked as she trudged to the drawing room. After he closed the latter, she pivoted to him.
“How did you find me?” The only person who knew of her whereabouts outside her family was Otilia when she’d written to tell her the news.
“Brunswick.”
Obviously. “I’d reckon he’d not give it away so easily.” Not when the duke had warned her against Harris so emphatically.
“Changed his mind apparently.” One bunched shoulder lifted in a careless shrug while his gaze raked her demure nightgown.
Only now remembering how she was dressed, she surveyed herself and returned her eyes to him. “I’ll go and change,” she said, a blush coming to her cheeks.
“Why? There’s nothing there I haven’t seen.”
Seen, touched, kissed. Pleasured.
Blast the man for inducing a ripple of scalding reaction to cut through her.
Edwina pulled deep air into her lungs to maintain her composure as much as to resist his proximity. She had kept him at arm’s length to protect herself and her family. Yet, it was becoming strenuously difficult to remember her resolve, especially this close to the cad.
“Fine. Say your piece and go on your gloomy way,” she said as opposed to ‘merry’, which he denied feeling moments previously.
He had taken off his overcoat and hat at the entrance and stood there in his shirt, cravat, waistcoat, breeches and hessians, towering in the not so spacious room. A faint scent of pine wood surrounded him.
By Jove, she’d missed him like the earth missed the rain.
His unrelenting gaze clasped on hers. “You bolted.” Th
e accusation held a whole casket-full of meaning, as though they had been linked by some sort of relationship. As though she belonged to him and owed him her devotion. Or the distance affected him in some way, which it didn’t, she was certain; the man could have any woman in this country with a mere snap of his fingers. Damned if she didn’t feel that acid jealousy spreading inside her at the notion.
But she forced her stare to bluster him in direct confrontation. “I didn’t bolt.” Even if the retreat seemed deceivingly convenient. “My grandmother thought it best I leave London until the rumours died.” Or her actions would have served for nothing, she understood. If a scandal arose, her family would find themselves in the middle of it, together with her sister’s reputation.
Her reply jolted him into pacing the room while he raked his hair, an ashamed expression on his rugged features.
As he turned back to her, he strode to where she stood, halting close, too close. “I am sorry,” he said with an intensity she’d not seen in him.
And she fervently hoped he didn’t say that for choosing her for his tryst. Because she wasn’t sorry.
“For everything,” he continued. “For propositioning you, for taking advantage of your predicament, robbing you of your maidenhead.” His perfect face crumpled, and conflicting emotions sloshed on it.
Of all the things she expected to hear from him, this was the farthest ever. It melted her insides, not with any sensual feeling, but with something so close to tenderness, it scared her for its depth. It invaded every single corner of her heart. It shouldn’t take root there. That he showed a sliver of conscience at that instant didn’t annul what he was, what he’d done his whole adult life in London, in Edinburgh; and wherever else he prowled with his spectacular presence.
Though his apology gave him credit, she would not pose as the victim here. She’d had a part in it too. Enjoyed every single minute of their liaison. She’d not allow anyone to put words in her mouth or place her in a subservient position. If she gave, she also took. Why did others view women as objects to consume? Given the ‘mechanics’ of the whole affair, men ‘gave’, yielded their seed, their erection, a fathomless amount of energy to it. Men should be told what they forfeited when they lay with someone.
Her Wicked LibertineEDIT Page 15
