The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  “Don’t expect to follow me to my bedchamber once dinner has concluded.”

  Richard gave a heavy sigh. Some battles were worth fighting, and some took persuasion and cunning. Cunning was not a word he could use to describe himself whenever he was in the presence of his wife. He didn’t know how to treat a wife. Didn’t know how to speak to her.

  * * *

  She stood in her sitting room, staring at nothing. A little dumbstruck by the conversation she’d had with her husband. That was the first real exchange of words between them since their wedding day. Did he really think he could demand she perform to his bidding?

  She sat heavily on the settee, folded her hands in her lap, and took in a deep breath. She had one hour till dinner. She could find a way to ward him off. It was only fair to give her at least a few days, nay, a few weeks to become used to his presence. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t said more than a few sentences to her in over ten years. What right did he have to come into her bedchamber without so much as asking how do you fare?

  And to accuse her of adultery … the swine!

  She’d had offers from gentlemen over the years. In fact, she had an open invitation with her dearest friend, the Duke of Vane. But she’d never taken him up on the offer, knowing that it would ruin a friendship much more valuable to her than the companionship he offered for a mere night or two.

  Simply put, she wouldn’t stand for Richard’s demands. It was easy enough to lock the doors to her bedchamber.

  First, he would learn to talk civilly to her. And he would learn quickly if he wanted an heir on her. Such a shame their wedding night hadn’t been more fruitful. Not that she would have been ready for a child at fifteen. She’d learned a lot since those early days. Grown a lot.

  The years she’d spent on her own had made her a stronger woman. There was no doubt in her mind that Richard would learn to be the gentleman. She would accept nothing less. Only when he could prove his worth would she leave the door to her chamber unlocked for his admittance.

  A smile lifted her lips. With an anxiousness that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with outsmarting her husband, Emma stood from the settee and walked over to the bell pull. Dinner would be an interesting affair with so many people in the house. It had been an age since company had come. She wasn’t one to entertain. But this was different. This was her husband.

  She always made the best out of a terrible situation, like when her husband had left after their wedding night. He hadn’t thought it necessary to tell her he had no intention of living with her. Instead, he’d penned a note to his father explaining that he’d done his duty as future earl and had made use of his wife as was expected.

  She’d read that letter outlining that private fact in amongst the stacks Richard’s father kept locked in one of the desk drawers. At the time, it had been humiliating to realize Richard had never held her in any esteem. Humiliating to know he’d shared that private information with his father.

  That letter no longer existed. It had been turned to ash long ago. But the memory of it burned clear in her mind to this day.

  * * *

  “Are the Mediterranean seas truly full of pirates?” Grace’s expression was full of wonder as she gazed upon Richard in hope of a good story. A romantic story, by the wistful gleam in her eyes.

  Emma hated that both her sisters seemed to adore Richard’s company.

  “There are. We were guarded on our trade routes, so I’ve met few in my travels.”

  “Such a shame,” Abby said. “I had hoped to hear of a grand adventure.”

  Emma admitted she wanted to hear a story to highlight the reasons he’d stayed away for so long. She’d not voice that aloud. Not yet.

  “I wanted a romance on the high seas.” Grace stared back down at her food, picking through the green beans with her fork.

  “I doubt Asbury has any decent tales for a lady’s ears,” Mr. Lioni said.

  One would think that a decade of travel would have stored up its fair share of anecdotes. Emma looked down the long table to her husband. He was not smiling at Mr. Lioni’s observation or laughing with her sisters who were in want of a good tale. He took a healthy gulp of his wine and another bite of the pheasant on his plate.

  “Are there really no stories to impart after all these years, Richard?” Emma asked, truly curious.

  “Maybe one.”

  “Do tell us,” Grace chimed in, her dinner forgotten as she leaned forward on her elbows.

  “It is a romance, but I’m afraid I’ll have to edit out a great deal of the subject matter for the more delicate ears present.” Richard placed his glass on the table and leaned in closer. “I met up with a friend of old some seven years back. He leads a very private life, so I’ll not share his name.”

  “What if we promise not to tell a soul?” Abby pleaded.

  “I’ll still not reveal his name.” Richard raised one brow, daring Abby to say more. For once, she didn’t. “The story begins in China.”

  “China,” all three Hallaways said at the same time.

  Richard chuckled. “Yes, most of my travels sent me through the Orient.”

  Emma hadn’t known that. How could she when her husband never wrote to tell her? A pang of something akin to jealousy had her tightening her grip on her fork. Her sisters would know as much about Richard as she. It simply wasn’t fair.

  Grace sat back with a sigh. Abby stared raptly at Richard. Mr. Lioni smiled as he ate another mouthful of the bird the cook had prepared.

  “I was traveling along a common trade route and stopped at a familiar…” He hesitated, tapping at his chin. “Inn.”

  Probably not an inn at all, Emma thought, considering where they’d run into each other a few nights ago.

  “He was ill. Had taken to a fever. Knowing the man, I couldn’t leave him, so I took him back to my ship and brought on a doctor. It took a few months, but he finally made it back on his feet.”

  “What was wrong with him?” Abby’s eyebrows creased in a frown.

  “The cause of his condition is far more romantic than the underlying truth.” Richard put his napkin on the table and lifted his wineglass between his hands. “He was in love with a beautiful Englishwoman. A lady of decent standing. He was so much in love with this woman that he couldn’t think reasonably when she disappeared abroad.”

  Grace gasped and placed a hand over her heart. “What happened to her?”

  “It matters not in this story.”

  “Did he find her again?” Emma asked.

  How horrible for the woman to have found love only to lose it so tragically. Not so much different from her own story. She’d been infatuated with Richard since they were both young. And she had been no more than a nuisance to him. His leaving had proved that. It had taken her five long years to figure out that she was unwanted by the one man she was meant for.

  “Yes, and in a rather unlikely place.” Richard stared back at her, eyes narrowed as though he could read her thoughts or at least interpret her pensive gaze, which was probably full of longing. She quickly looked down to her plate and busied herself with cutting off a piece of pheasant.

  “She had married another in her youth,” he continued. “He died tragically from what I hear and left her on her own in a country far different from ours. Because she was a woman, she could not speak for herself.”

  “Doesn’t sound so different from England.” Abby snorted. “It’s not as if we have any rights.”

  “Oh, but you do. It did not matter that she was English. She had no protection. No man to speak for or defend her. She was sold into slavery.”

  Emma’s fork chinked against her plate. Surely this story was false. Someone would have saved the woman from such a fate. Perhaps Richard embellished the story to make it more interesting.

  “How is that possible?” Abby’s voice wavered. “She must have had relatives who could come and take her away from such a horrible place.”

  “I’m inclined to believ
e the same thing,” Emma added.

  “Ah, but she had no relatives, and she was in terrible circumstances of her own.”

  “What happened to her?” Grace asked, her voice breathless. It was as if this was the most enthralling story she’d ever heard.

  “My friend found her in a harem and, unable to tolerate her enslavement, he finally purchased her from the prince who owned her.”

  “She didn’t want to stay with the prince?” The timbre of Grace’s voice was skeptical.

  “The prince did not love her. He had countless women at his disposal. One wasn’t so much a loss.”

  Emma doubted the story ended there. Actually, she doubted the story held any truth. Richard was paying her younger sisters with a kindness, so she’d say nothing on the matter. Let them have their fairy-tale endings. It didn’t seem as if they happened in real life.

  Emma suggested, “Shall we retire to the drawing room? I imagine the gentlemen would like to help themselves to some after-dinner refreshments and a cigar in the games room.”

  Richard turned to her with a mistrusting glare. Yes, she’d escape at the first opportunity, and he probably knew her intention. Had he given her more choice in the matter of begetting an heir, she might feel differently. Unlike the heroine in the story he’d spun, Emma planned to take destiny in her own two hands and mold it as she saw fit.

  She had to hold her smile back. It thrilled her to get the better of him.

  “An excellent plan. We will meet you in the drawing room in half an hour,” Richard said.

  She nodded and lowered her head enough that he wouldn’t see the glint of victory reflected in her eyes. Everyone stood from the table; her sisters, bless their souls, came around to her end of the table, each taking an arm as the footman opened the door. A soft chuckle coming from the men’s direction almost had her turning back. It was not her husband who laughed but Mr. Lioni.

  When the door to the parlor was safely shut behind her and her sisters, Emma sighed and leaned against the white paneled wall with her hand still on the latch. “It has been a long day.”

  Abby raised one brow, looking from Emma’s hand to her eyes. “You plan to escape your husband, don’t you?” Abby made her way to her favorite chair. “He’s not as dreadful as I thought.”

  “You should be thankful to have a husband who seems interested in you.” Grace gave her a long assessing look. “He’s handsome enough. Not at all frightful to look upon.”

  She would not tell her sister that the only thing Richard seemed interested in was producing an heir and then escaping the clutches of marriage once again. It was not for their ears. She could barely hold back the cringe of distaste when thinking about it. It only proved that he did not see her as a woman who could make her own decisions. A woman with feelings and needs of her own. Did he not understand that he hurt her by treating her so coldly?

  Instead, Emma said, “He has been pleasant and has said more to me this evening than in our whole marriage. Unfortunately, a few pleasantries spoken doesn’t mean he will stay.” She turned the latch up behind her. “If you don’t mind the absence of my company, I’ll be feigning tiredness.”

  “You need to stand up to him,” Abby said wryly. “Otherwise, he’ll continue to take advantage of your kindness. It is my impression that men like to find ways to exploit our weaknesses. And he’ll know you are hiding from him.”

  “I require time to adjust to his presence in my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was gone by morning.” It wasn’t fair that her sisters were sympathizing with her husband on this.

  Grace, with her doe eyes and kindhearted expression, came forward and hugged her. “If you ever want to talk about your wedding night…”

  Emma didn’t want to talk about her wedding night. It had been humiliating. Hurtful.

  “Thank you.” Kissing Grace’s cheek, she smiled at Abby still sitting over in the chair. “I’m off before he discovers my plan.” She left the parlor before her sisters could keep her longer and headed to her room.

  For tonight, she’d outsmarted her husband.

  She took her time at her toilette, letting her maid brush out her curls and braid her hair back for bed. When that was done, she’d taken to pacing the floor. Counting down the seconds, she listened for her husband at the adjoining door. Not two hours later, he tried turning the handle up. She knew it wouldn’t move. She’d checked it at least five times in the last hour to make sure it was locked.

  “Emma, this is not what we agreed upon. Open the door.” His voice was even. His temper had yet to rise at her defiance.

  “You can’t come into my life and act as if the last twelve years have meant nothing to you, then demand that I perform my duties as countess.”

  “You won’t keep me locked out forever.”

  “Hopefully long enough for you to learn some manners.”

  There was a stretch of silence. She walked toward the door, wondering if he spoke quietly to himself. She heard him curse, then, “Emma. Enough of this; open this door.”

  She let out a long breath. Was she nothing more than a piece of property to him? She caressed the door with one finger, wondering if she should let him in. How would she respect herself if she opened the door for him?

  “You always did have to have everything your way,” she said in a whisper.

  “Let me in, Emma.” His voice was firmer. He was not happy with her. In fact, she was sure he was quite angry. Finally, an emotion she could fight against.

  “I won’t stand for your behavior. I’m older, smarter, and will not be cowed so easily as I was in my youth.”

  “I did not—”

  “Choose your words carefully, Richard. You were the one to walk away from our marriage. I didn’t even get a by-your-leave. Once, I would have adored your attention, any smidgen of attention you cared to dole out. No longer. I know how little you care for anyone aside from yourself.”

  Yet she still ached for him. Some small part of her still wished him in her life; wished he had never left.

  She shook her head. She was better than that. She didn’t ache for him; only for the companionship she had gone so long without.

  “What can I do to get you to unlock the door?”

  She huffed out an angry breath of air and shook her head. Putting her lips near the crack of the door, she whispered, “Good night, Richard. You are a stranger right now, and I’ll not let a complete stranger into my private chambers.”

  “Emma, I can make this worth your while.”

  “I doubt that.”

  There was nothing left to be said. She didn’t care what he grumbled about now. She walked away from the door, turned down her bedding, blew out the oil lamp set near her bedside, and put her head between two pillows so she couldn’t hear his cursing. He would learn quickly that she could not be bullied.

  Chapter 7

  What is it you are trying to escape?

  Richard watched Emma toss pieces of bread into the pond. A gaggle of geese and two pairs of swans swam forward to grab them before they sank to the bottom. A breeze tickled at her hair, lifting it in its cool embrace. She pulled her lace shawl up around her shoulders and looked skyward. He did, too.

  Storm clouds were rolling in. Fast. When she stood, the birds honked at her sudden movement and swam away. Emma still hadn’t noticed him watching her, standing beside a large birch tree not more than a dozen feet away. Tying her wrapper at her breast, she gathered up the papers she’d been sketching on.

  This morning as he’d shaved, he had come to the conclusion that he would court his wife. When they were younger, she had been captivated by his every word, alarming as that had been for a young man forced to spend company with a child-like girl. Surely, given time, she’d find him charming again.

  Without a doubt, she was the type of woman to come around once she could call someone a friend. He would make sure he filled that role.

  Struggling with her hat, she finally let the wind have it. The straw rim was tugged
clear off her head with a violent gust and lay wrapped about her neck still tied by the pink satin ribbon. Head back, she looked to the sky. The sun was quickly disappearing behind dark storm clouds. An electric charge hummed in the air as darkness enshrouded the countryside moments later, leaving them in an eerie aloneness.

  He stepped forward, keeping one hand on the rim of his hat. The wind carried away the words he used to call to her attention, so he walked toward her and turned her around to face him. She let out a surprised squeal as he spun her around.

  “We need to find shelter!” He had to yell the words so they weren’t lost in the howl of the wind.

  She turned away with a scowl. Clutching her elbow, he pulled her along the dirt path with him. She yanked free after a few steps.

  “You’re making me lose my things.”

  A pencil tumbled from between her papers, so he knelt down and picked it up, wiping the mud away on the sleeve of his coat.

  “My only concern is getting us to shelter before the storm soaks us both through.”

  A crack of thunder boomed in the next instant and a downpour of rain let loose from the heavens. He looked skyward in pure exasperation. Someone up there was laughing at his paltry attempts to court his wife.

  It was at least a half hour’s walk to the manor in better weather. As it was, the dirt paths would fill with mud and be too slippery for his wife to transverse in her mass of skirts.

  Grasping Emma’s hand, threading their fingers together, he turned and yelled over the storm, “Pick up your skirts. We’ll make a run for my father’s old hunting cottage.”

  She didn’t hesitate to follow his lead this time, all her art things tucked against her bosom and held by one arm.

  Finally making the front porch of the cottage, he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Both of them stood for a moment trying to catch their breath.

  “Why are we stopping here?”

  “Because it’ll be a mudslide over the paths to the main house.”

  She looked at him, frustrated at having been caught in the rain—with him. It was an expression he was quickly getting used to seeing. He’d bet his finest cravat pin that she was annoyed that her plan to escape him this morning hadn’t been successful.