by Diane Gaston
It astonished him how comfortable the time was spent in this manner, as if they had always shared a life together.
* * *
When the time came, he left her to attend to the gaming house. Patrons had begun to trickle in, even as the croupiers were still setting up. Because the announcement of his marriage to Phillipa had appeared in the Morning Post that morning, he made certain the rest of the gaming-house staff knew of it.
As Phillipa had requested, he did not tell them his wife was the masked lady who played the pianoforte and sang in the supper room. It was a fortunate thing they were soon to be in their own lodgings, because the staff would soon figure out that secret.
He made his rounds, talking with each of the croupiers and receiving their good wishes. He liked that Rhys paid them well and treated them better.
He did not mind running the gaming house now in Rhys’s absence. Not now that Phillipa was back. When Rhys returned, though, Xavier wanted to pull back. He’d relish spending his nights with his wife and he wanted to take her to the opera and to concerts. He even wanted to dance with her again at a ball.
‘Campion!’ Anson, one of the patrons, approached him. ‘You devil. I read your announcement in the paper.’
Xavier braced himself. Many of the patrons would have read the Morning Post.
‘Bit of an epidemic here, is it not?’ Anson went on. ‘First Rhysdale, now you.’
‘We are both lucky men,’ Xavier responded.
Anson laughed. ‘Except Rhysdale’s off on a bride trip and you are stuck here.’
Xavier smiled. ‘There is that.’
Anson leaned towards him conspiratorially. ‘I wonder how Lady Faville will take this news.’
It was too much to expect that others had not noticed Daphne’s single-minded obsession with him.
‘I must say,’ the man continued, ‘I always thought she would be the one to get you in the parson’s mousetrap. I am certain she always thought so, too.’
‘I always made it clear to her that would never happen.’ That sounded harsh, but it was the truth.
Another patron came up to them. ‘Campion! Leg-shackled, are you? The Earl of Westleigh’s daughter? What a coincidence, eh? The man who cheated his own son here.’
‘We have known each other for many years,’ Xavier explained.
The man gestured to his own face. ‘Isn’t she the disfigured one? Scarred on the face? Can’t imagine a man like you with her.’
Xavier’s eyes flashed. ‘Why not?’
The man stuttered, ‘D-d-don’t know why. Just didn’t.’ He made a hasty exit.
Anson spoke. ‘Damned idiot.’
‘Indeed.’ Xavier had nearly put his fist in the man’s face.
‘Expect you will hear that sort of thing more than once tonight.’ Anson sounded genuinely sympathetic. He poked Xavier with his elbow. ‘Take care. Here is Lady Faville.’
Daphne paused in the doorway only long enough to find Xavier in the room. She marched on him like a column of Napoleon’s soldiers.
‘Xavier, I would speak with you alone, please.’ She sounded near tears.
‘I am working, Daphne.’ He did not wish to speak with her at all.
‘I said alone, please.’ She glared at Anson.
Anson, thank God, showed no inclination to move away.
Xavier also did not budge. ‘Say what you have to say here.’
She sent another scathing look towards Anson before riveting her gaze on Xavier. ‘Tell me that foolish wedding announcement in the Morning Post was a hoax.’
‘I placed it myself,’ he told her. ‘I am married to Lady Phillipa Westleigh.’
‘It cannot be!’ Her voice rose. ‘She is an ugly old thing! A recluse.’
Xavier glared down at her. ‘Daphne, you are speaking of my wife.’
She waved her hand as if to shoo away his words. ‘You cannot mean to defend her! Did she trap you? Did you need money? You should have told me. I have money! I have lots of money!’
‘I need money,’ Lord Anson said.
She tossed Anson another withering glance and turned back to Xavier. ‘I cannot bear this. I cannot. You led me to believe—’
He held up a hand. ‘I led you to believe nothing. I have been honest with you from the first night you appeared here. You simply chose not to listen to me.’
‘You were not serious,’ she countered. ‘We were in love.’
‘We were not in love, Daphne!’ he snapped.
She went on as if he had not spoken. ‘You should have told me you were about to be married! I would have helped you.’
‘You are speaking nonsense now.’
She fell against his chest. ‘I am desolate.’
He seized her wrists. ‘Enough, Daphne. Stop making a fool of yourself. Calm yourself or I’ll be forced to have Cummings remove you.’
She immediately stilled. He released her and walked away.
* * *
After Xavier left, Phillipa sat at the pianoforte and tried to recreate the rhythm of their lovemaking. She played the lower keys, starting slow, then increasing the tempo. It wasn’t quite right, but it replayed it in her head, as well as her time with Xavier replayed in her head.
When she looked up at the clock on the mantel it was almost her usual time to appear in the supper room. She hurried to get ready, tying the ribbons of her mask last thing. Before she descended the stairs, she watched from the second floor to be certain no one would see her coming from the private rooms. The hallway below her was empty so she hurried down the stairs, stopping a moment to compose herself before entering the supper room.
Upon seeing her, several of the gentlemen stood. ‘Miss Songstress, you are here again!’
Several of them walked over to her, greeting her warmly and making requests of specific musical pieces she had played before.
Two of the pieces were her own works, which made her smile.
‘Please sit, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Give me time to prepare.’
‘Did you read in the Morning Post that Campion is married?’ one of the gentlemen asked.
‘I knew of it,’ she said quietly.
She sat on the bench and put her music in order, but bits of conversation from the tables reached her ears—Campion married...Lord Westleigh’s girl...scarred.
Lady Faville flounced up to her. ‘Miss Songstress, I am in such need of a friend!’ She sounded greatly distressed. ‘Do you know what has happened?’
‘What?’ Phillipa just wanted to play her music and wait for Xavier.
‘He is married!’ Lady Faville’s voice cracked. ‘Xavier is married. What am I to do?’
‘I do not know.’ At least the woman did not know it was Miss Songstress who had married him.
‘He is married to Lady Phillipa Westleigh and I am certain he is made unhappy over it.’
Phillipa tensed. ‘Why are you certain he is unhappy?’
The lady blinked. ‘Of course, you would not know. Lady Phillipa is a monster.’
Phillipa felt her face flush. ‘A monster?’
Lady Faville nodded vigorously, her artful blond curls bobbing prettily. ‘I should say she looks a monster. She has a horrible scar that distorts her face.’
Phillipa’s hand rose. She stopped herself before touching her face. ‘Have you seen her?’ She did not recall ever having met Lady Faville before the Masquerade Club.
‘Once. I saw her in a shop. I asked who was the deformed creature looking through the music sheets.’ Lady Faville lowered herself to the bench right next to Phillipa. ‘How could he have chosen to marry her? He must have been forced.’
Had he been forced? Forced by honour. By her mother? Had he preferred Lady Faville? The optimism Phillipa felt moments ago crashed t
o the floor and shattered.
She turned back to her music. ‘My lady, I am sorry for your disappointment, but I must play the music now.’
Lady Faville squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘I will leave you, then, but I know you will find out the reason he married, will you not? I am depending upon you.’
The lady rose and walked off before Phillipa could refuse.
Phillipa’s hands shook as she placed her fingers on the keys. Instead of the rousing tune she’d planned to play to open her performance, she began to play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Though she’d intended it to calm her nerves, the underlying emotion in the piece merely unsettled her more.
She transitioned to a gavotte by Hook.
* * *
Lady Faville eventually left the supper room. She’d taken Mr Everard with her, so Phillipa could only think the lady had left the gaming house as well. That was some relief.
She’d left her words behind her.
It seemed the supper room remained abuzz with news of Xavier’s marriage. She overheard it over and over. He could have had any woman. Why marry her, scarred as she was? Such a marriage was destined to be notorious, they said. It would be forever talked about.
She played through her usual time for a break, because she needed the music to ease her spirit and also because she had no wish to hear more about the marriage of handsome, eligible Xavier Campion to the scarred spinster daughter of a dissolute earl.
By the end, her music calmed her and the applause gratified her and she’d reassured herself that her marriage would not be forever talked about. It might remain notorious, but people would tire of it and go on to gossip about other things. At least, wearing a mask, she’d not been required to endure the inevitable stares. People who’d forever tried not to look at her would now wish to examine her to see why Xavier could possibly pick her for a wife.
She curtsied to the patrons and stacked her music to take upstairs with her. As she walked through the supper room, several gentlemen stopped her to compliment her on her play. In those first days of performing in the supper room she’d enjoyed such attention. This night she merely wished to make her escape and return to the bedchamber above. Lacey would assist her in dressing for bed and afterwards Phillipa would wait for Xavier.
She finally reached the hallway, but needed to wait for it to clear.
When she finally thought she might make it to the upper floor unseen, she heard hurried footsteps on the stairs below. Lady Faville appeared, rushing up to her.
The lady was all smiles. ‘There you are! I knew I would find you still here.’ She laughed. ‘Xavier is still here and he escorts you home, does he not?’
‘Not always,’ Phillipa said stiffly.
If Lady Faville noticed that Xavier did not leave the gaming house, she might have a clue that Phillipa had not left either.
‘I have to leave,’ Lady Faville said. ‘I wanted to find you. I wanted to tell you that I arranged for Xavier to meet me tomorrow! Is that not grand?’ She danced with excitement. ‘I must give up the notion of marriage, of course, but marriages are not love, are they? Love can never be extinguished.’ She made a dramatic transition from giddiness to tragic solemnity. ‘If the only way we can be together is as lovers, then so be it.’ She hugged Phillipa. ‘Goodnight, then, my dear Miss Songstress. Tomorrow night I will tell you all about my tryst with Xavier!’
Lady Faville released Phillipa so quickly she pushed against her and Phillipa, standing right at the top of the stairs, almost lost her balance. She grabbed for the railing to keep from falling. Lady Faville did not even notice. In a flurry of skirts, she hurried down the stairs and out of sight.
Shaken again, Phillipa’s vision grew dark and she smelled the briny scent of the sea. The scene changed and she was no longer at the top of the gaming-house stairs. She was running up the stone stairs of the sea wall.
Until someone turned and pushed her and her hand found nothing to grip.
Chapter Nineteen
When the gaming room thinned to only a few patrons, Xavier asked Cummings and MacEvoy to take care of things and to tend to the closing up.
‘Eager to get to bed, then,’ grinned MacEvoy.
‘Very eager,’ admitted Xavier.
In his good humour, he did not even care that MacEvoy’s comment was a bit too familiar. He wanted to bound up the stairs, but took them at a sedate pace, which probably did not fool the clerk.
He opened the bedchamber door quietly. There was still a lamp burning, but Phillipa was in bed and did not move, even with the sound of the door closing.
He paused to look at her, sleeping on her side, curled up like a girl. She lay on the scarred side of her face and it gave him an idea of how she might have appeared had she never been injured.
She was beautiful to him, even with her scar, and she looked so innocent and peaceful, he did not have the heart to wake her.
He hurried to ready himself for bed, trying to be as quiet as he could be. Like the night before, he must content himself with sleeping next to her and waking in the morning with her at his side.
He extinguished the lamp and climbed into bed. In the dim light from the fireplace, he watched her sleep and remembered how it felt to make love to her.
He brushed a curl from her face and her eyes opened.
‘You are here.’ Her voice was husky from sleep.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Sleep made her pliable in his arms, but also gave her an expression of melancholy. He knew what that felt like, too tired to smile. He promised not to tax her, he would be content to merely hold her, but he wanted the warmth of her skin against his.
She stirred in his arms, urging him on top of her.
She wanted him? He was delighted to indulge her.
She opened to him and he eased inside her, joining himself to her again. He moved slowly, unhurried now, relishing the feel of being inside her. He felt the moment she became aroused by him, how it changed her, woke her to move with him.
This sense of melancholy lingered, although it made making love to her even more poignant. Whatever its cause, even mere sleepiness, he wished to free her of it with his body. Perhaps through his lovemaking he could erase all the pain inside her. From her scars. From her abominable family. From everyone and everything that had ever hurt her.
He was willing to try. More than willing to try.
He’d had his share of bedding women. Not as many as some might suspect, but he’d had some very erotic moments with some of them, starting with the days of his youth. Those women had taken what they wanted from him.
Phillipa was the first woman he’d wanted to give everything to. He wanted to convince her she was worthy of the love he felt toward her.
The sensation intensified and their pace quickened. This time, he did not lead her, but rather took his cues from her, responding to her every move.
With my body I thee worship. Was that not part of his wedding vow?
That was what he aspired to in this moment. He worshipped her with his body and hoped, in the end, she would feel adored.
But with the next thrust, her next rising against him, arousal took over and pushed him past the time of stopping or slowing. He rushed past the time of thinking. His need took over. It drove him into her, again and again, faster and faster, until the tortuous peak was reached and he convulsed inside her.
When he pressed against her in that final release of his seed, she cried out and he felt her reach her peak a moment after his.
As they both crashed down from that heaven, he held her tightly. He never wanted to let her go.
He loved her. He’d loved her when she was a child, but then it was as a brother loves a sister, a friend loves a friend, but from that evening before he’d been called back to war when he’d danced with her at
a ball, he’d loved her as a man loves a woman.
Some day he would tell her this. Some day when she would believe him.
She mumbled something he could not understand.
‘What did you say?’ He wanted to add my love, but feared she would not yet believe even that endearment.
She answered him, only a little more clearly. ‘Lady Faville.’
Daphne? Why the devil would she ask about Daphne? ‘What about her?’
‘Will see you tomorrow.’
He made a disparaging sound. ‘Undoubtedly.’ Would he ever convince Daphne to give up her fixation on him? She was a poison he and Phillipa did not need.
‘Forget about Lady Faville,’ he told her.
‘Can’t forget.’ She sounded as if she were drifting to sleep. She mumbled something else. He caught one word only when she repeated it.
‘Pushed,’ she said. ‘Pushed.’
* * *
When Phillipa woke the next morning, Xavier was leaning down to give her a kiss. He was fully dressed.
‘I have to help MacEvoy,’ he told her. ‘Some problem with the figures. We need to work it out with the bank. Do not fear, I’ll stop by the agent’s on my way back and arrange for the servant interviews.’
‘You are going to the bank?’ Her mind was not yet clear. ‘Only the bank?’
‘One or two other errands, as well,’ he said cryptically. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours, if all goes well. If not, it might be later.’
He kissed her a second time and was gone.
She lay back down in the bed. She remembered that he made love to her. It had been like a dream, all soft edges like sad music played pianissimo. She remembered asking him about Lady Faville. Had he answered her? She could not remember.
Was meeting Lady Faville one of Xavier’s errands?
Phillipa suddenly could not tolerate another moment in bed, a bed still filled with the scent of him. She rose and summoned Lacey to help her dress.
While Lacey chatted with her, Phillipa’s mind whirled. Was he meeting Lady Faville?
He was honest with her, even when no one else would be, but would he tell her if he were arranging a romantic tryst? What man would?
