But the decision had been taken out of his hands, and he found himself sharing not only his bed, but his life, with an unassuming woman who had proven last night the truth of the old adage that looks could deceive.
He rose from her side and dressed quietly so that he would be gone before she awakened. He thought it likely that she would sleep a few more hours…and that it really would be a shame if she expected any more from him than he had tendered.
Everyone knew he was a rake, who answered only to himself, and just because he had a sense of honor did not mean he had a heart.
Chapter Twelve
It was an hour or so after her husband had abandoned their wedding bed that Jocelyn awakened with the covers drawn around her bare form, and a pillow plumped beneath her head. There was no note under that pillow from her vanished spouse. No directions as to what was expected of her that day.
She dressed without ringing for a maid, if one was even employed to attend to such needs. She thought perhaps that Devon might be waiting for her belowstairs, but silence answered her as she called his name from the upper hallway.
Was she mistress of a house in which she knew neither the various chambers it contained nor the names of those servants who kept those chambers in order?
She had no idea what to do with herself. She would simply have to conduct a room-by-room search for the servants whom Devon had mentioned were in a snit over his unexpected marriage.
She wondered whether she would have to win their loyalty.
The question was answered to her satisfaction only a few minutes later when, as she was descending the stairs, she heard a persistent knocking at the door.
She stopped, debating how to proceed, when a tall man in the knee breeches of a butler came hurrying forth toward the door. Somewhere behind him a woman’s voice whispered frantically, “Hurry up before it awakens her. God help us if that’s one of his lordship’s trollops again. I’ve been chasing them off all morning.”
“I am hurrying, Mrs. Hadley,” he retorted. “But if it is the trollops, I shall thank you to handle them. I do not consider getting rid of wanton women my responsibility.”
Trollops? Jocelyn thought in horror. The housekeeper had been chasing them off all morning? How many of them were there? And what did they want?
“It’s them,” the butler muttered as he opened the door.
Jocelyn sank down upon the stairs to listen. From what she could hear from her hiding place, three young ladies had come to call at the house, not one of them properly chaperoned or behaving as if they obeyed any rules of etiquette whatsoever. All of them expressed disbelief, if not open hostility, that their favorite wicked friend had been forced into a union with an unremarkable woman no one had considered a worthy contender for the role of his wife.
It would appear that fast young women were entirely too at ease calling upon her husband, Jocelyn concluded, a habit she vowed would come to a swift end. But not, naturally, until she listened from the staircase landing to their spate of spiteful remarks. The butler who had admitted them into the hall stood in bewilderment and insisted that his master was not home. The women ranted on.
“We have come after hearing the most ghastly rumor about Lord Devon over breakfast—”
“Is it true that he has married Jocelyn Lydbury?”
The butler backed into the hallstand. “Perhaps you can call at a later—”
“I’ve never heard of her,” one young lady said with a sniff.
“I have,” said the other. “And I can state with authority that she resembles nothing so much as one of those horses her father breeds.”
“Then maybe,” another lady offered waspishly, “Devon has married her for the ride.”
“He was tricked into marrying her.”
“She attacked Lily Cranleigh with a battledore.”
“Which is no less than that woman deserved,” a heavyset woman in a white apron announced from the end of the hall. “And I shall ask you now to take your leave so that your cackling will not disturb the mistress. Lord Devon left express orders she was to be allowed to rest after their first night home. He said she was fair worn out, and I’ve no doubt you understand what that means.”
Whether the trollops understood or not, Jocelyn took that as her cue to descend the stairs, deriving no small delight from the shock that crossed the three faces below. “I am awake now, Mrs. Hadley. Pray, who is at the door? Beggar women again? Do they not know to call at the back?”
Mrs. Hadley, whose morals had been mightily offended by the company with whom Lord Devon had too frequently associated, threw open the front door with a flourish. “They’re the trollops, ma’am, and I for one shall be most glad to see the last of their kind in this house.”
“As will I,” Jocelyn agreed, deducing from this bold announcement that she had gained her first ally in the war she fully intended to win for her husband’s affection.
Although he would have sworn it was not deliberate, Devon set out to do his damnedest to prove to himself that he had retained control over his life. He spent the next week following his usual pattern of behavior, attending races and Gentleman Jackson’s boxing rooms in Bond Street by day, his club by night, although he always ended up in bed with his wife.
He desired her above and beyond what he would have ever deemed possible. On those instances when Jocelyn remarked upon his absence, he suggested she invite her friends to visit or to accompany her shopping. He reminded himself that he had not chosen to marry, and if his wife complained of how he lived his life, he had not promised to change.
This he perceived to be not a cruelty but a fact of which he had warned her before they took their vows. He was not unkind to her.
He was, however, by birth restless, never content to remain in one place overlong, or with one woman for that matter, although he had not desired another since taking Jocelyn to his bed. He did not wish to contemplate what this might mean.
He had yet to uncover the identity of the person who had conspired against him, and, to this end, had asked his older brother Drake to meet him for a private discussion of the matter early one afternoon. Perhaps he needed the more detached perspective of one who was not personally involved. Drake was secretive, cynical, and suspicious by nature.
He found his brother waiting for him in the ground-floor library, perusing the disorderly rows of books that lined the ceiling-high shelves. They had talked only briefly during the wedding reception. Devon had known it would only be a matter of time before Drake would appear demanding to know the complete story of his brother’s whirlwind romance.
Drake pivoted, his blue eyes narrowed in cynical amusement. “And you swore that you would rather be buried alive than wed. Is Jocelyn a benevolent undertaker?”
“It would appear that she and I were caught in a trap not of our making.”
“Really?”
Devon seated himself in one of two chairs that flanked the fireplace. “I expect Grayson has explained the entire scandal, and Emma has added her disapproving version. There is no secret as to how it happened; the mystery that remains is who tricked us.”
“Not the lady herself?” Drake usually stood a little on the skeptical side, his own temperament several shades darker and moodier than his other siblings.
“I thought at first it was Gabriel.”
Drake nodded. “I recall that he escorted my wife to a brothel under the pretense of helping her when she was distressed.”
“He finds it amusing to bedevil us,” Devon mused. “But for what possible purpose?”
“Perhaps to prove that even an outcast can wield power over us. There was bad blood between our families in the past.” Drake studied him in subdued silence. “You aren’t convinced.”
“Not at all,” Devon confessed. “Either he’s a very decent liar, or I am deceived.”
“We shall have to find out. But like you, I do not think Gabriel is our suspect.”
Devon shook his head. “I think I should handle this my
self. Pray God, don’t let’s get the Elders involved.”
Drake glanced away, his wry smile bespeaking his agreement. The Elders were, in chronological order, their formidable siblings Grayson, Heath, and Emma.
Until his recent marriage Drake had tended to stand alone, or at least on middle ground when it came to family affairs. Chloe, Devon, and their deceased brother Brandon comprised the younger set of Boscastles. These three Boscastle offshoots usually banded together against their older sibs.
The six of them, however, never hesitated to join forces against the world.
“You have not considered that Jocelyn’s father could have set a trap for you, have you?” Drake asked guardedly.
Devon frowned. “I doubt it.” Although Sir Gideon had seemed interested in Devon as a potential suitor. “Well, that’s possible, too.”
“But unlikely,” Drake said. “If such a ploy had failed, Jocelyn would have been utterly ruined. Perhaps your wife knows more than she is inclined to reveal.”
“It wasn’t Jocelyn,” Devon said in a careful voice. “I’ve wondered, though…is the gossip about Sir Gideon’s violent tendencies true?”
“Toward his troops? I’ve every reason to believe it. Unless you mean—” Drake lowered his voice, “with his family?” he asked in distaste. “Are you implying that he mistreated your wife?”
Devon swallowed, hesitant to voice what he suspected. “He’s never to come to my house. Never. She has not mentioned him once since we married.”
“Then let the past and all its pain be buried,” Drake said quietly.
Devon exhaled. It was a relief to share his unsavory suspicion, although it sickened him to accept that it could be true. Hurting a daughter, a sister, a wife—any woman at all—was unthinkable to a Boscastle male.
Drake cleared his throat. This revelation had shaken them both. “Back to the matter of who deceived you at the party. You have no enemies that I have ever noticed. In fact, you claim more friends than most men of my acquaintance. Few of them, unfortunately, are worth tuppence.”
Drake had hit upon the truth with his observations, although Devon did not realize it then. Confronting the person who had baited him would not change anything, of course, but it would give him a chance to avenge himself for the ignominy that had changed the course of his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Her husband’s attempts in the following days to resume his former activities had not escaped Jocelyn’s notice, even if at night he sought her bed. She could not ask for a more passionate lover. But come the morning, she was well aware that he had withheld his heart. Apparently, his indifference had not eluded the attention of his sister Chloe, either. Recovering from her recent miscarriage, the vibrant young viscountess had taken it upon herself to support Jocelyn in light of her husband’s neglect. Jocelyn had few true friends in London and consoled herself by spending Devon’s money on new furnishings and guarding the door against the trollops. Mrs. Hadley, the housekeeper, proved helpful in both regards.
In between these endeavors, however, Chloe had escorted Jocelyn on several shopping excursions, a visit to the museum and a Parisian perfumery, as well as to a breakfast party that went on into the evening.
Today Chloe insisted they go to the park. Jocelyn had at first refused, suddenly realizing that all these efforts to fill her empty hours only made her more aware of her emptiness—and the fact that Devon’s inattention was obvious to even his family.
“I really do not feel like walking in the park today, Chloe, but it is kind of you to ask.”
Chloe, being a Boscastle through and through, had insisted. “You will go, Jocelyn, and you will flirt and show everyone that—”
“That I do not care if my husband neglects me?” she asked with a rueful smile. “But I do care. I care too much about him, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Then you will come?”
She sighed. “Yes, but only because you will pester me incessantly until I do.”
Devon arrived at the park at the fashionable hour with his boisterous friends, a little surprised to find his wife and Chloe walking together with several young men who had admired his sister before her marriage and, apparently, still did.
He leaned up against a tree and watched his wife in silence, waiting for her to notice him. It was Chloe, however, who spotted him first and detached herself from her faithful flock to approach him.
“Well, he honors us with his presence.”
He smiled faintly. “How do you feel?”
“Well enough.” But she glanced away after she answered him, and he knew better than to pursue the subject of the child she had lost.
“Was it your idea to bring Jocelyn here?” he asked after a long pause.
“Yes,” she said brightly. “And I am happy to see how well she fits into Society. In fact, she’s become quite the flirt, hasn’t she?”
“Jocelyn?”
“Haven’t you noticed, Devon? She is not the little wallflower everyone used to ignore. I lose one of my followers every time I take her out.”
Devon looked up and feigned a casual glance in Jocelyn’s direction; the truth was, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he had arrived. He knew damn well Chloe was given to exaggeration and was trying to make him feel guilty for his inattention to Jocelyn, but…
Who the devil was she talking to? He had seen her walking to the edge of the water a moment ago by herself, and now there was a man at her side.
This broad-shouldered gallant fellow who was gazing down at her so enraptly was no one he knew, was he? He watched her tilt her head back and laugh. Her companion leaned into her as if he were enamored of the very air she breathed.
He glanced away, his mouth tightening in displeasure. He bloody well knew seduction when he saw it, but he had not expected to see it practiced on…his wife. Not with him standing here watching, although he didn’t think he’d be any happier if the two of them were carrying on behind closed doors.
“Are you going to ignore her forever?” his sister asked softly from her position on the other side of the tree.
“She appears to be attracting enough attention,” he replied in a deceptively uninvolved voice.
“But not yours.”
“Let’s leave the lectures to Grayson and Emma,” he said with a beguiling grin. “You and I are on the same side, remember?”
She hesitated, her concern obvious in her eyes. She and Devon had been each other’s champions against their overwhelming siblings all throughout childhood. And Devon knew, despite her insistence otherwise, that losing her child had rendered her emotions more tender than ever.
She sighed. “I am not going to lecture you. If you don’t mind her taking a lover, why should I?”
He frowned and watched her saunter away to rejoin her friends. Did he mind Jocelyn taking a lover? Hadn’t she just met this fool who was pursuing her? Hadn’t she spent every night in Devon’s bed? He hadn’t given her any cause to seek another man’s affections, had he?
He’d just lost sight of Jocelyn; he knew she couldn’t have vanished into the air, and that she wouldn’t let herself be led astray by a stranger…even if she had been lured to a midnight tryst with him.
He shook his head, realizing how ridiculous this had become. A man secretly observing his wife in a scenario that he had played too often in the past and working himself into a stew over it, too. He wondered how she would react.
He waited for her to walk away from her admirer. There. She’d taken a step aside. The blasted fool followed her. He frowned. Did she just give the Lothario an elbow, or a whispered encouragement?
Did she realize that her husband was standing only a few steps away? Her admirer seemed to have no inkling.
And surely she had not worn such clinging gowns before he’d married her. Where was her pelisse, anyway? Had she, or someone else, that jackanapes, slipped it off her white shoulders? He knew from practice how effective, how easy it was to unfasten a woman’s cloak. How del
ectable it was to feather shivering kisses down her throat to her breasts.
He straightened his shoulders. He also knew how Jocelyn had moaned in delight when he’d taken tender bites of her plump breasts the night before. He couldn’t imagine another man touching her. He wouldn’t stand for it.
She glanced up, and he knew then she was perfectly aware that he could see her. In fact, if she had been any other woman of his acquaintance, he would have suspected she wanted to provoke his jealousy.
Was he jealous? No. Yes. Dammit, yes. He was burning up from head to toe. But it was, he reassured himself, an understandable sense of possessiveness that did not carry any deep implications. Just because he disliked other men playing up to the woman he’d been forced to marry didn’t mean…it didn’t mean anything.
He wouldn’t let it mean anything. No one could make him feel what he refused to feel. And he felt nothing of any enduring nature. Nothing at least that was going to change him from a heartless rakehell into a devoted husband. Then he looked up again at Jocelyn and that man, and the unexpected twist of emotion that tightened his heart made a mockery of his self-deception.
Fight it as he would, he’d already begun to change.
Chapter Fourteen
“I have not been in London long,” the rather handsome gentleman was explaining to Jocelyn, who had only smiled at him in the first place because he had the innocuous, friendly look of one of her country cousins.
But it was becoming evident even to a lady as unschooled as she in the amorous arts that he meant to become far friendlier than she would allow. Common sense warned her that the wolves had come to investigate, to prey upon whatever weakness she might reveal.
The Sinful Nights of a Nobleman Page 14
