She was walking back to the bed, holding herself against the cold, when the heavy oak door was flung open with a crash as it hit the wall behind it, making her jump violently. Lord Christopher stood in the doorway, his blue eyes blazing with fury and contempt.
"Your marriage vows mean little, My Lady," he said coldly.
It crossed her mind to say the same to him, but she thought it best to hold her tongue.
"My Lord?"
"How long has your lover been visiting you whilst I am away?"
"My only lover is you, My Lord."
"You take me for a fool? Have I not just this moment seen him climbing down from your window? No doubt I was not expected back so soon."
She began to shiver then, but not from the cold, from the hostility in his tone. How was she ever going to make him believe she was innocent?
"I did not invite him, My Lord," she said, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "I told him to go as soon as I saw him there."
"You really do take me for a fool," he scoffed. "I know who he is. Viscount Lindsay, to whom you were betrothed since babyhood. Do you feel cheated, My Lady, is that it? Would you have preferred to marry him were it not for your father's recklessness?"
Preferred to marry him? She almost laughed out loud at the idea. There was only one answer to that question; she knew well who the better man was, but she doubted he would believe her in this mood. She thought frantically, trying to think of words to convince him. The expression in his eyes was murderous and she almost feared for her life. He was the law here; it would not be difficult for him to get away with murder.
"No, My Lord," she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Thomas is a weak and foolish man and I am glad I am not wed to him."
He scowled at her from his towering height, making her feel tiny and insignificant and very vulnerable. Slowly he shook his head. He did not believe her; that was apparent.
She tried to step past him, but he gripped her arm tightly, painfully, to stop her.
"You lie," he said with a contemptuous sneer. "Adultery is a crime. I will have you flogged for this."
Felice had never known a harsh moment in her entire life; physical violence was not something she had any experience of. Her mother and father had both adored her, spoiled her and treated her with love and kindness. Misdemeanours were met with reasoned arguments and perhaps the removal of a favourite toy.
Christopher's threat sent a wave of terror through her and an image of the man in the pillory appeared in her mind, the bailiff with his whip. She knew his words were not an empty threat and she turned to face him with fear in her heart, but determined to keep that fear from showing in her eyes. She would not cower before any man and she summoned all her courage to confront him. She drew a deep breath.
"Whatever you think best, My Lord," she replied defiantly. "Will it be your bailiff, or will you claim the satisfaction for yourself?"
She made her reply as a challenge, to show him she was not afraid of him, but her defiance angered him all the more. His jaw clenched tightly as he took a step toward her, expecting her to flinch away. She held her ground, which did nothing to dispel his growing rage.
He was still holding his riding whip and now he flung it on to the bed as he reached up and pulled at the thin cord tie from the bed curtain.
"What are you doing?" She asked him fearfully, taking a step back and away from him.
"I am doing as you suggested,” he answered icily, as he reached out and roughly grabbed her slender wrists in his strong hands. "Claiming the satisfaction for myself."
He lashed her wrists tightly together, while she struggled in vain to release herself from his grip. She flinched as the cord cut into her flesh and her heart hammered painfully, but now she fought against the urge to struggle or even try to pull away. To struggle would be to show him how weak she was against his strength and she could not win, so why humiliate herself by trying?
She would not plead with him; she was determined she would not plead with him. He began to drag her roughly toward the bed while she tried not to cry out, tried not to give him the satisfaction of begging. As she stared at his face, saw the fury which spread over his fine features, she could scarcely believe this was the same man who had spent his nights making such tender love to her, the same man who sent the roses for her wedding bouquet.
"So everybody lied then,” she said bitterly.
He stopped and stared down at her.
“What do you mean?” He demanded. “Who lied?”
“All the people who told me you were a fair man. They all lied.”
His eyes met hers and he frowned thoughtfully, giving her the hope of release, but there was fury in those eyes still and he shook his head again.
"You are a harlot, My Lady," he declared. "I will not be betrayed by another harlot!"
“Another harlot?” She repeated, biting her lips to keep them from creasing up and showing him how scared she was. “So you have been betrayed before and now I am the one who must pay for it. Very fair, very just.”
During the weeks since their marriage she had grown accustomed to a kind and gentle lover, not this angry tyrant who was about to inflict pain on her without trial or justice.
He still stared down at her from his towering height, while she was left to wonder if she was to be treated fairly or be subjected to a whipping she did not deserve. She was not only scared, she was also disappointed and hurt. She had looked forward to a future where she could love this man, whether he returned that love or not, but now that hope was gone. If he did this thing, she would never feel the same about him again. The fondness she felt, the affection that had every chance of growing, blossoming into love, would be snuffed out like a candle in a stiff breeze.
"Why was he here?" He demanded at last. "Tell me the truth."
She took a deep breath to give her courage and to swallow back humiliation and helplessness.
"Will you believe me if I do?" She asked. "Or will you then accuse me of lying to escape your wrath?"
"Tell me!" He shouted.
"He came to try to tempt me away, My Lord," she whispered hoarsely, "just as he did the night before we were wed. I sent him away, just as I did then." She paused, unsure whether her next words would enrage him even more, but the need to voice them was overpowering. "Had I known I would be punished unjustly," she went on nervously, "I might well have gone with him."
She felt his anger at her words, but perversely it gave her some false sense of power to antagonise him. She thought they had found some mutual affection over the last weeks; apparently, she was wrong.
"Why did you send him away?"
"Because I am your wife and I have sworn to be faithful to you. If I have discovered anything since, it is that I married the better man. At least I thought I had until tonight." She choked back a sob. "I have no idea why he came here to try again and I cannot be sure he will not be back. Am I to suffer every time this man decides to show himself?"
He was silent for a few moments, considering her words, while she stood where he had captured her, his grip on her wrists strong and unshakeable, the thin cord from the drapes cutting into her wrist.
She soothed her wounded pride and took courage from hatred of Viscount Thomas, of this weak little man who had been the cause of this. Were he here now, she would gladly have killed him herself.
She shivered with cold and wondered how long it would take for him to decide if he believed her, how long before his rage was dissipated. At last she could bear the uncertainty no longer.
"I will not beg for clemency, My Lord," she told him. "Clemency is for the guilty, not the innocent, not the falsely accused. I only ask that if you are determined to ease your temper on me, you do it now and hurry up about it."
She closed her eyes, squeezed her lids tightly to stop the threatening tears. After what seemed an interminable wait, she flinched as she felt his hands on her wrists, pulling apart the tight knots that bound them. He picked up her c
loak and wrapped it around her, keeping his arm about her shoulders, but she quickly stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him, massaging her bruised wrists as she did so, noticing detachedly the thin line of tiny red bubbles that oozed from her right one.
Only a short time ago she had been yearning for his return, anticipating a night of tenderness and love. Now she had no wish to face him; her feelings for him had changed completely and she felt it would be easy now to hate him.
"Does this mean you believe me?" She asked. "Or will you give the order to your bailiff after all? No doubt you would prefer it be done in public, to set an example."
"I have not decided if I believe you," he replied. "And I cannot punish you for a crime when I am not certain of your guilt."
He noticed the blood then and reached out to take her hand. She snatched her arm away, afraid he had changed his mind about releasing her, but he reached out once more and took her right hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed her wrist where it bled.
"Forgive me," he said. "When I am angry I do not always know my own strength."
She breathed a sigh of relief, but still her pride stood in the way of holding her tongue.
"So you are a man of honour, after all," she said and saw the anger flicker in his eyes once more. "But I was hoping for more. Now I will know you are always watching me, awaiting your opportunity to catch me in a lie so you can carry out your threat with a clear conscience."
"You push me too far, My Lady," he snapped, his voice rising as he threw down her hand. "Do you want to be whipped?"
"For what?" She retorted. "For refusing to beg forgiveness for a crime I did not commit? Or for not being afraid of you?"
She had said too much; she knew it, but she would not apologise for defending herself. He shook his head impatiently, then turned away from her and began to remove his clothes. He went to sit on the bed clad only in his shirt while she rubbed at her wrists again, but made no move to join him.
“You accused me of being unjust,” he said. “You were right. I have always prided myself on being fair, yet I allowed my jealousy and anger to interfere with that principle. I am sorry.”
Her eyes met his as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her expectantly, then he held out his hand to her.
"No," she said.
"No?" He repeated, raising his eyebrows.
She shook her head.
"Not while you suspect me."
He was silent for a few moments; he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own hearing. No woman had ever refused him before and he was unsure how to deal with it, especially now when his anger still lingered, when he was still not sure if she had betrayed him. Was she refusing him because she had already been with another that night? He had no wish to lose his temper again, but she really was pushing him too far. She was his wife; she had no choice in the matter, damn it!
"You cannot stop me," he said.
"That is true," she answered. "But if you take me by force you will have nothing for which to thank me."
His expression was threatening, but after a few minutes he smiled, an indulgent smile as though humouring a child.
"Very well," he said. "Tell me."
She was not aware she had been holding her breath until that moment, and now she let it go with a sigh of relief. Quickly, she gathered her thoughts to defend herself.
"Would I betray my marriage vows for a man who causes my husband to doubt me, but does not have the courage to stay and defend my honour?" She said. "Am I not worthy of a better man than that?"
Her eyes filled with tears at last, she could hold them back no longer, and she watched his expression soften.
"Yes," he agreed. "You are worthy of a better man than that. You are also worthy of a better man than one who would be governed by his own jealousy. I regret my suspicions."
He held out his hand again. She studied it for a few moments, her pride telling her to ignore him, to deny him access to her body after the brutality he had threatened to inflict upon it, but his words intrigued her and eventually she took his hand and sat nervously beside him, ready to run should he turn on her again.
Jealousy, he had said. The word spoke of emotions of which she had not suspected him. He was actually jealous that she might have a lover? This outburst was not because she was his wife and he was angry that someone else might be using his property, but because he was jealous? To be jealous, he must have some feeling for her, surely.
His warm hand touched her cheek and turned her head toward him. His eyes met hers, as though he was seeking the truth in them, trying to see into her soul. At last his hand caressed her neck and he ran his fingers through her hair as his lips came down on hers and he kissed her deeply, hungrily. He removed the cloak from her shoulders and slipped off the chemise, letting it settle on her hips, releasing her breasts to melt against his chest as he crushed her into his arms.
She shivered as his hands moved over her, as he lie down with her while she reached up and slipped the shirt from his broad shoulders. His hair fell on her shoulder and tickled her skin as his head came down on her breast and took it into his mouth, arousing her passion to such heights as to make her want to beg for more. He moved to enter her and held her closer to him, held her breasts against his own, her body against his, and they melded into one another, felt each other’s flesh and forgot the horrors of the evening.
He moved away from her to lie on his back for only a few moments before sitting up and reaching for his shirt but she clasped his arm and he turned to face her.
If it were true that he had been jealous, she wanted more than this from their marriage, more than to be used for his satisfaction. And she wanted no repeat of his doubts; she wanted to reach him, somehow let him know that she would never betray him, no matter what.
"Stay," she murmured softly. "Please."
He looked puzzled for a moment, but she kept her grip on his arm.
"I am spent," he said.
"No matter. I would welcome your company."
He was thoughtful for a moment, considering her request. At last he lie down beside her beneath the covers, taking her in his arms. She moved close to feel the warmth of him and put her arm around his bare waist, rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
This was what she wanted, each night when he left her to return to his own chamber. She wanted something more, this closeness, this warmth that might make her feel she was more than a convenience, might make him trust her.
"Why did you choose me, My Lord?" She asked him. "You paid a vast fortune for me; you must have considered me worth it."
"Do you want the truth, or a kind lie to swell your vanity?"
"Always the truth, My Lord."
"Very well," he replied with a deep sigh. "My reputation goes before me. There were many fine gentlemen who were not comfortable entrusting their daughters to my care. I think you just learned the reason; I am only thankful you stopped me in time."
"I stopped you?"
"Yes. You reminded me I had no evidence, nothing to justify such treatment. I thank you for that; I would never have forgiven myself had I hurt an innocent woman."
"Am I to take it then that you believe I am innocent?"
"I do and I am deeply sorry that I ever doubted you." He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then kissed the top of her head. "So there you have it; you were the only woman brave enough to take me on."
"And my father and I were in no position to refuse?"
"Yes. I heard of Lord Sutton's imminent arrest, of his financial difficulties, and I also knew he had a very beautiful daughter who might well suit my needs."
"Which are?"
"I wanted a wife who could give me healthy children. You are strongly built; you look as though you could give birth safely."
She felt insulted by his words. She had not fooled herself into believing he loved her, but still he talked of jealousy. She had hoped for more.
"You choose a wife the way another man might
choose a mare for his stallion to service," she answered sharply. "I will try to give you a healthy colt."
He laughed quietly. Apparently her words amused him.
"Even then your father would not agree," he went on. "He would not consent on your behalf. When he told me you had agreed and willingly so, I thought perhaps the tales about me had failed to reach your ears. Why did you agree so willingly?"
"Do you want the truth, or a kind lie to swell your vanity?"
He laughed out loud and what a wonderful sound it was.
"Always the truth, My Lady," he replied.
"I heard all the stories about you and yes I feared you, like everybody else. But I feared penury and disgrace more and I wanted to help my father. I also believed there must be some good in there somewhere and if I could only show you I would be a dutiful and faithful wife, I might help you build a new reputation."
"If that is true, then I am more sorry than I can say that I doubted you, that I frightened you." She flushed, and held him tighter. So he did have some good in there after all. “But I am not sure I want a new reputation,” he went on. “The one I have has always served me well.”
She did not argue the point. This conversation revealed more than he had ever revealed before and she wanted nothing to interfere with that.
"But you did not part with so much of your wealth because nobody else would have you," she remarked. "It was a lot to pay for a consolation prize."
"You were never that," he assured her. "Please never think that."
"Why then?"
"I do not want to see a man of my own rank in debt bondage. It damages my own position."
"He drank and gambled after my mother died," she explained, wanting very much for him to understand and not hold her father in contempt. "He loved her."
"His reasons are his own affair," he answered harshly. "I only know that people will no longer hold the rank of earl in high regard, if one of our number can be subject to the same harsh penalties as them."
PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses Page 5
