The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  * * *

  Richard pulled a stack of letters from the desk drawer. The ones he’d tossed in there on his first day home after he went through his father’s things.

  Releasing the twine that bound them, he placed the unopened envelopes on the top of the desk and studied them. There were a dozen of them, but none of them were addressed. An elegant scroll indicating his wife’s name was written on the back of each lavender parchment. Could these be letters between lovers? Correspondence between Emma and her buyer? Or could the letters merely be kind words and messages between friends? If any of those were the case, then why were they all undelivered?

  His desire to better understand his wife far outweighed the fact that what he was about to do was a violation of her privacy. Picking up the letter opener, he tested its weight in his hand. Emma would be livid if she found out.

  Still, he slid the point under the edge of the envelope and sliced it open. Pulling out the neatly folded paper and flattening it on the desk, he read it:

  Dearest Husband,

  I am but a slave to the feelings that bombard me every time I pen another letter. Six years of loneliness, and I still harbor a desire for your company. I am incomplete and long for something more. The fact of the matter remains … you consume my every thought. Yet, you don’t deserve that kind of devotion …

  Richard put the missive down without finishing it and sliced another envelope open. It was dated four years ago:

  Dearest Husband,

  I feel like Sleeping Beauty, forever asleep with the waking world continuing on without me fully aware. Only there is no prince to wake me from this slumber, this half-life. This melancholy only burrows deeper into my heart when I write these letters. I should stop. I should burn this before I have the opportunity to sign it. I should burn them all. Hopeless dreams is all they represent …

  Pushing the chair away from the desk, he pulled open the drawer where he’d found the pretty pile of letters, his heart racing as he did so. Inside, there were the letters he’d read through near the front of the drawer, a few quills, blotters, pencils, and paper. He tugged the drawer farther out, almost toppling it to the floor when it ran out of track to hold it up.

  His heart nearly stopped with what was revealed.

  Of course there were more. He wished that weren’t the case.

  Removing the remainder of the letters from the drawer, he set them on the desk and pulled the twine free.

  Richard thumbed one open, uncaring that he ruined the envelope. He untied another of the neat stacks, and tore open that envelope, too. All addressed to him as Dearest Husband.

  All of them.

  He shook his head. There wasn’t a man less worthy of that salutation than him. Why the hell did she give a damn about him? Why? Hadn’t he proven that he was an ass over the years?

  He shoved at the papers on the desk, and they fluttered away from him. Some fell over the edge and to the floor. He stood and paced the carpeted floor.

  What should he do with this revelation? Should he confront his wife? Not once in twelve years had he written her a letter, sent her word, or even sent her a gift. He didn’t deserve this kind of loyalty from her. He didn’t want it. He should have left well enough alone.

  Goddamn her. He’d never given her a reason to give him any heartfelt words.

  Richard rubbed at his chest as he continued to pace. The likelihood that she had ever indulged in an affair diminished in his mind. Not that it still wasn’t a possibility. After all, he had caught Vane and Emma embracing. But it seemed unlikely after this recent discovery.

  Smacking his hand down on the mantel, Richard loosened his necktie.

  His wife had longed for something more. Something he hadn’t been willing to give her. Not when they’d first married. He didn’t deserve sincere words.

  He needed to talk to her.

  And say what?

  That he’d violated her secrets when he had no right?

  Now that he knew what thoughts she harbored, it changed things. He didn’t know how or what, but their relationship wouldn’t be the same anymore.

  He resumed pacing the room.

  A soft knock came at the door shortly before Emma entered. Their eyes connected. Richard didn’t know what to say. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow or talk past. He wasn’t ready to face his wife. He had to think, had to decide what this new information meant to him. He couldn’t do that with her here.

  Was he angry with her for not sending them? Upset? He had no answers right now. All he knew was that she had needed him when she wrote those letters, and he’d never been there for her. Had never wanted to be there for her.

  “You should have sent them.” His words came out a hoarse whisper.

  Her gaze flicked in the direction the letters had been scattered. Emma’s breath caught visibly in her lungs on an inhalation. The moment she took in the evidence of what he’d done, she rushed toward the papers and fell to her knees.

  Gathering the letters up with shaking hands, she crushed them to her breast and looked at him with watery eyes.

  “You had no right!”

  Richard walked back to his desk and stacked up all the letters he’d torn open. Then he knelt next to her and focused on picking up the few unopened envelopes that had toppled over the edge. Better to focus on that then the betrayal he’d glimpsed so raw in her gaze.

  Emma’s tears streaked down her face.

  He put his finger to her left cheek and caught one of the tears before it could roll any farther. She didn’t look up at him.

  “You should have sent them,” he repeated.

  Not that he knew what he would have done with the letters ten years ago. Hell, he wasn’t sure he would have known what to do with them two years ago. Would he have come home sooner? Would he have written back? A few weeks ago, the answer to those questions would have been simple. He would have said it changed nothing. Now … it changed everything.

  Despite that, he liked to think that he’d have responded to her letters had she ever bothered to send them. Wished he could say that he and his wife might have found some common ground and maybe even become friends over the years.

  But she’d never sent the letters.

  And he’d never bothered to write one.

  They were like complete strangers to each other.

  “These were private.”

  Emma ripped the letters out of his hands and held them close to her heart. As though she could hide the deepest thoughts and desires that had been revealed to him in those letters.

  It was too late for that now. He wouldn’t let her take back the knowledge he’d gained in the last hour of reading them. He couldn’t bear not to know this truth.

  He held his hands out to her. “Emma.”

  Would she continue to hide from him still? After everything he had learned about the inner workings and thoughts of his wife? He knew he had to do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t bury this as easily as she thought she had buried the letters in the drawer. Her head was tipped down.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Emma.”

  She stood quickly and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. It did little to vanquish the deluge of tears that flowed down her face.

  “You’ve taken something away from me by reading my private thoughts.”

  “I’m glad for it, Emma. How else was I ever to know anything about you?”

  He took a small step in her direction. Careful that he didn’t scare her off like a wounded animal. She hurt so deeply, he felt it more than saw the distress he’d caused in her.

  When she tried to gather up the papers on the desk, he caught her hand to stall her progress. He wouldn’t let her walk away so easily. He’d seen her heart bled out onto paper. Had seen the very essence of her kind soul in her written words.

  She belonged to him. Had belonged to him the moment their fate had been sealed in trading vows. He had never understood just how precious she w
as. Not until this very moment.

  “I’d rather know the true you.”

  She didn’t pull away from him, so he threaded his fingers through hers.

  Slowly, he took a step nearer to her. He raised his hand and thumbed away the tears coating her face in a shiny, wet sheen. Her eyes shut with his gentle touch. The lashes were darkened to a brown. Droplets of tears spiked them out from her face.

  She shook her head. “Don’t do this to me, Richard.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “Making me want things I can’t ever have.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Her head rested against his chest, her face turned to the side.

  Her hands clenched between them. She made no move to hold him tight against her.

  True, he’d never given her any reason to think there was more between them than the convenience of producing an heir. He’d never given her a reason to think he might care for her.

  He needed to give her a small truth. A reassurance. One to further seal her fate to his. Because he was a greedy enough bastard to want her all to himself.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me now.”

  Her fingers uncurled from the papers she held between their frantically beating hearts. As her head tipped back so she could look at him, a few of the loose sheaves of paper fluttered to their feet.

  She searched his eyes for a few moments, her brows knitting. His hands were snug around her waist and back, so Richard lifted her till she was eye level with him. It was as if they both held their breath for fear of breaking the stillness. The only sound to be heard was the slide of papers between their bodies. Forgotten.

  Her tears had dried up. Her trembling lips had stilled.

  “I’m not leaving you, Emma. I refuse the very idea of a divorce.”

  “But…”

  “There are no buts. You belong to me.”

  Then, before she could utter any more disagreements, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was quite possible he had fallen in love with his wife.

  No, he had fallen in love with her; he’d just been to thick-headed to realize that before today.

  Chapter 22

  It’s our anniversary today. A bitter reminder that I mean nothing to you.

  Emma took her seat in the family box with the assistance of her husband. She’d never come to Her Majesty’s Theater before. It was the place where gossip went from a kernel of truth to a full-grown weed of lies not easily plucked from the roots.

  Never had she seen a need to flaunt the fact that her husband had run off to another continent. But Richard had insisted they do something grand for their first night in Town.

  Things had changed between them overnight.

  “Thank you,” she said to Richard as he set her shawl on the back of the chair. He gave a slight squeeze at her shoulder before he took his own seat. “We could have gone for refreshments before we came up.”

  He slid his seat closer to hers and leaned in to whisper intimately in her ear. “But the fools that make up the aristocracy already have us on their tongue. Gossip and speculation are circulating this very moment.” He took her hand between his. They were so warm, so comforting. “I intend to make up for my lack of consideration in the past.”

  She turned so they were nose-to-nose instead of mouth-to-ear. “If there is one thing I’ve learned over the years, it is that their opinions don’t matter.”

  “They will matter when we have children. We’ll play their game and stay a step ahead of them. You, my darling wife, will be sought after by every matron and party planner after tonight. Everyone will want your ear.”

  She had no desire to be wanted simply as good gossip fodder. Her husband didn’t understand her in the least. She still would not care less what society thought of her when—if—she had children.

  Sliding her hand from beneath her husband’s, she opened the program for the evening’s lineup of musical festivities. Bach cello concertos followed by England’s very own Thaddeus de Burgh …

  Nathan’s brother.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Surreptitiously, she raised her eyes to look at their surroundings. The Duke of Vane was nowhere to be found. At least not in any of the private boxes she glanced over. It was early yet, and Emma had a sinking feeling she’d have a run-in with the duke later in the evening.

  Nathan was supportive of his brother’s career in music. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind the duke would be here. She folded her program and set it in her lap, gaze skimming over the crowd anxiously.

  What would Richard say and do if he saw the duke again? It wasn’t bound to be a friendly meeting. Suspicions would circulate among the crowd. Would bets be placed as to what her husband would do? What Nathan would do should her husband and supposed lover meet face-to-face under the watchful eye of the ton?

  Eventually, Richard would come to see that she and Nathan were nothing more than friends. Now was not that time. Not when their relationship was so new. And turning out to be everything she had always wanted.

  “What’s wrong?” Richard asked, almost as if sensing her unease.

  Was she so obvious?

  She gave a faint smile and replied, “Nothing is wrong. I was just thinking it’s a shame Grace couldn’t come with us tonight.”

  “She has a lot on her plate with the wedding three weeks away.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against her satin-covered knuckles. Richard, the romantic, was a force to deal with. The whispers around them swelled. The crowd gathering in the music hall had certainly seen her husband’s open adoration for her. Did he treat her that way because he knew everyone who was anyone watched them with keen interest?

  She ducked her head, afraid to meet anyone’s scrutinizing gaze. Though she liked his attention, she felt a twinge of embarrassment at him displaying it so openly.

  “You shouldn’t be so bold,” she whispered.

  “Why not? I’m enjoying the company of my wife on a beautiful summer evening. Parliament is setting up for the fall, and here I am, the infamous runaway earl fawning over his lovely wife.”

  Such sweet platitudes would make most women faint dead away. However, Emma had more sense than that. She flicked open her fan to cool the flush taking over her body.

  “I don’t want to be a curiosity.”

  “We’re all a curiosity, darling. Now, can I convince you to raise your skirts?”

  Her head whipped around, a sound of protest escaped her parted lips, and Richard quirked his brow suggestively.

  “Richard,” she hissed, flicking her fan faster.

  If they hadn’t had all eyes on them in the hall, she’d have smacked his hand away from her knee. She must act calm. Pasting what she hoped amounted to a smile on her face, she looked for any familiar faces in the crowd, ignoring her husband’s ribald request.

  He chuckled at her blatant determination to discount his naughty suggestion.

  Her eyes alighted on the duke, who seated his mistress, Anna. He bowed in her direction when their eyes met. Nibbling at her bottom lip, she lowered her gaze, pretending not to have seen him. Would Richard notice the duke?

  What if Nathan looked for her during the intermission?

  She’d worry about it if the issue arose.

  “I believe,” Richard said, not withholding the distaste that seeped into his tone of voice, “that the Duke of Vane is trying to draw your attention.”

  She raised her eyes and stared across the theater, pretending disinterest.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Clutching her fan tight in her grasp, she closed it and squeezed it in her fist. Her body was as tight as a string on a violin about to snap.

  The gaslights would dim soon enough. Then she could beg her husband to leave during the intermission. She did not want to deal with another confrontation between the two men.

  * * *

  Sizing the duke up from across the music hall wasn
’t an easy feat since the man was focused on Emma. The woman next to the duke must be his mistress. The dress she wore was too low-cut to declare her a lady; the red of her lips and rouge of her cheeks further attested to that fact.

  His wife’s odd behavior had Richard thinking she continued to lie about having an affair with the other man. The duke was known for throwing wild orgies that lasted weeks on end. If Emma was a friend of the duke’s, chances of her attending those parties were pretty high.

  His jaw clenched so hard his molars ground together. He didn’t give a damn that it was illegal to kill your peers for a slight. Maybe he’d just beat the bloody pulp out of the libertine. He’d be damned if he’d stand by knowing his wife had had relations with that man. And then be witness to their knowing glances back and forth.

  The gaslights were turned down, and a cello player took the stage for the opening number. Richard slouched back in his chair, his fingers tapping along the arm. He was good at waiting. They’d find refreshments during the intermission and hopefully run into the duke while doing so. Richard would have words with the man.

  Richard took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

  He’d get to the bottom of the duke’s relationship with his wife before the night was through.

  It was impossible to enjoy the performance of the cellist. He didn’t even want to tease his wife. It wasn’t that he was angry with her, more so with himself for leaving her open and vulnerable to the likes of a man like Vane.

  When the final chords of the cello sounded and the lights came back up, he took his wife’s hand and pulled her to the curtained exit. He said not a word. She didn’t protest being manhandled, which he supposed was a sign she knew what he was about.

  When they made it to the front foyer of the hall, where champagne and lemonade were being distributed to the hot mass of attendees, he wheeled Emma around to face the crowd, keeping an eye out for the duke.

  Emma pulled her hand out of his with a scowl on her face. “Richard, this isn’t necessary.”

  “It absolutely is. I’ll not be made a blockhead by my own wife.”