Still, she said nothing—just sat there looking at him with her sad eyes.
Now was not the time to lose his patience. Quin counted to twenty to avoid yelling at her. “Tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”
Aurora’s lower lip trembled. “But you can’t help,” she wailed. Surprisingly, the fountain filling her eyes seemed to have stopped. Maybe the worst of it was past.
He gave her the sternest look he could muster. “Nonsense. I’m your husband.” Was it not his duty to set right whatever problems she had? “Tell me.”
Good God. He thought she’d cried herself dry, but a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes and poured down her cheeks. If she didn’t stop soon, they’d both drown.
“My courses arrived this morning,” she said with all the overwrought emotion of a whore at confession.
Her courses. This was all because she wasn’t with child? Life as he knew it would never be the same again, if Aurora intended to cry like the world had ended each time she had her monthly visitor.
Granted, he would have preferred for her to become pregnant immediately—he’d certainly done his best to make it happen and would gladly continue his efforts in that arena with no complaint. It would get Rotheby off his back—but that wasn’t exactly realistic. They might be lucky if she was impregnated within the year his grandfather had allowed them.
“It’s all right, love”
“It’s not,” she said and cut him off. “It’s not all right. What will happen if I can’t have a baby, Quin? What will Lord Rotheby do?”
Why did his wife insist on worrying about things that were none of her concern? “That’s unimportant right now, Aurora.”
She glared through her tears. “Don’t lie to me. And don’t brush this off.”
“I’m not bloody lying to you,” he all but bellowed. And then winced when she flinched in reaction. Blast, he had to reclaim control of his temper. “All I’m saying is that your courses arriving today are not anything to be overly upset about. So stop crying.”
“Stop crying? If that were all there was to it, maybe I could stop. But there’s so much more.” Aurora lowered her gaze to stare studiously at the floor. “So very much more.”
“Such as?” Quin drawled. Aurora’s dramatics had his nerves wearing thin. She ought to have pursued a career on the stage. It may not be genteel or well looked upon by those of Quality, but she put the actress who had played the shrew at Covent Garden the other evening to shame.
She remained mute.
He’d have to remember in future, when she came to him with those huge, red eyes, that it was all a show. All an act. Nothing real for him to get upset about. No reason to contemplate violence.
Quin stood and stretched. “I’m going to bed. Feel free to join me when you’ve finished with your crying jag.” Then he retreated to his chamber and closed the door to his wife’s hysterics. If only he could always do that—turn off her emotions by simply closing a door.
His life would be so much less complicated.
~ * ~
She should have told him. Aurora knew he would be furious with her either way, but she ought to have told him.
Quin deserved to know that she’d made a laughingstock of him before the whole of the ton. He had a right to prepare himself for the scandal set to break out.
But how? How could she admit to something that was set to tear their lives in two, particularly when he was already upset with her? And how could she give him the truth when he baldly and purposefully refused to do the same for her? Besides, while Lord Griffin may have taken something from her, if Quin tried to do anything about it, Lady Phoebe would end up being hurt in the bargain. Aurora did not want for that to happen—not on her account.
So she kept the dilemma of her journal’s missing pages to herself. Quin would find out soon enough. She’d have to pay the piper eventually, but there was no reason to rush matters.
And she cried herself to sleep.
In her own bed.
~ * ~
Quin woke to the sound of scuffling feet and raised voices in the hall. “Get out of my way or I’ll cudgel you over the head with this cane!” Rotheby? What the devil was he doing here? Quin tossed the counterpane aside and blinked. The sun was hardly up in the sky. Granted, the clouds would likely obscure it to the point it would be difficult to see, but darkness still reigned in his chamber.
He started to snap at Aurora to rise and cover herself before realizing that she wasn’t there. Damnation.
He’d barely pulled on a pair of trousers before the door to his chamber flew open. Rotheby charged in brandishing a society paper in Quin’s face, with Burton and two footmen following in his wake.
A throb formed in Quin’s temple almost on sight.
“You promised to settle down,” the earl sneered. “To become respectable. And then this. I should never have given you a chance. I should have just cut you off and left you to deal with the consequences. This is how you repay me?”
What the deuce was the cantankerous old codger carrying on about? Quin took the Haut Monde Gazette from his grandfather, glancing up when Aurora slipped into the chamber from their sitting room, a heavy wrapper covering her nightrail. He wished something was doing the same for her eyes.
All a show. Her pitiful act was just a desperate bid for attention, from the puffy eyes, to the visible shaking, to the abject look of horror. Attention he could hardly afford to give her at the moment, particularly since Rotheby was standing by, waiting for some answer he doubted he could provide.
He looked down at the paper in his hand. When he squinted to make out the words, Burton brought over a candlestick.
Quin’s heart nearly stopped.
Gentle readers, let it be known that we are sufficiently Scandalized by the Writings of the new Lady Q to be convinced never to remain within the presence of either herself or her husband. The very Fact that her ladyship feels it prudent to Write at all, we find highly disturbing and enough to warrant the Cut Direct. However, the Acts recorded therein, if not Illegal, are at the very least Immoral and Improper and we cannot, in all good conscience, refrain from warning our readership of their lurid existence.
To think that a gently-bred lady might partake in such Acts is both shocking and appalling, but also to Write about them in such vivid and licentious detail, and to share the Writings with her unwitting guests? Let us suffice it to say these Writings cannot be shared, lest we run the risk of permanent Ruin to the Innocence and Moral Righteousness of our faithful Readership.
Chaperones, steer your charges away from Lord and Lady Q’s paths. Hostesses, permanently remove their names from your guest lists. Give Lord and Lady Q the Cut Direct, and do not look back. Your Virtue will thank you for it.
For shame, Lady Q. For shame.
Quin shook now, too, but where Aurora’s shaking was fear, his was nothing but rage. Had she given her journal to someone? He thought he’d made it abundantly clear that no one was to know of its existence but the two of them, and now it was being spread to the gossip sheets for the entire ton to see.
But he would have to deal with Aurora later. Rotheby required his immediate attention. “My lord, I do not know what to say”
“Lucky for us, I do. You are a disgrace to me, Quinton, and your wife is no more than a common trollop. How can I expect you to keep her in line when you can’t keep yourself in line?” Rotheby paused for a beat, almost as though he expected an answer. “I can’t!” he said when Quin neglected to answer. “You leave me no choice. Giving you a year to get your life in order was clearly misguided, wishful thinking on my part.”
“No, my lord, it was not. Give me more time”
Rotheby scoffed. “More time to what? How do you intend to further trample my name through the mud? No, you’ve given me ample proof that you will never change, that you will always be the wastrel that your father was. I refuse to allow any more of my fortune to support your habits.”
Good God
. He really meant to do it.
Rotheby was going to cut him off.
“My lord, must I beg you to give me another chance to prove myself to you? I’ll do anything you ask. But remember, I have a wife now—even if she is foolish and naïve, I’m still responsible for her wellbeing.”
“Perhaps you should have kept a closer eye on her activities instead of spending your days being pummeled in your boxing club. But that is none of my concern. Use her dowry. Take a profession. I care not what you do, but you’ll not do it with my assistance.”
He couldn’t take Aurora’s money, even if she was responsible for getting them into this mess. There had to be another answer.
Rotheby turned to leave, giving Aurora a look of disdain on his way out the door.
“Six months,” Quin begged. “Give me six months, instead of a year. I’ll prove to you that I can be the gentleman you expect me to be. I’ll do anything it takes.”
His grandfather did not turn to face him, but he at least stopped.
He’d better keep talking while he could. “We’ll go to Quinton Abbey, away from the gossips. I’ll do everything you want me to do, and we’ll do it there where no one will report my mistakes along the way to the papers.”
“An heir?” Rotheby asked, his voice gruff.
“We’re working on it,” Quin replied, ignoring the ferocious blush that heated Aurora’s cheeks.
“And you’ll run the abbey like it deserves to be run?”
Christ, the man wanted a lot. “I’ll learn all about crops and accounts and tenants. I’ll see to it.”
They stood there in silence for many minutes. Finally, Rotheby nodded. “Six months. I’ll come by any time I wish to satisfy myself that you’re holding up your end of the bargain. You won’t know when I’m coming, so you can’t hide the evidence of your continued failures.”
Then Rotheby was gone, with a massive thunderclap sounding as he left.
~ * ~
“I can explain,” Aurora said through her tears. Her voice was hardly loud enough for her to hear it herself.
“Can you, now?” he asked. The soft, almost inaudible quality of Quin’s tone warred with the furious nature of his visage. “Isn’t that lovely.” He stalked away from her to his dressing room and closed the door.
Oh, dear good Lord. She knew nothing good could come of Lord Griffin’s visit the day before, but never in her life did she imagine the man would go to such lengths. And to claim he wanted to aid her, all the while planning to ruin her and Quin both.
She had to talk to her husband. He must understand.
But understand what? Aurora was a fool—a gauche, inane, blundering fool.
She tiptoed to the door and knocked softly. “Quin? Please, open the door.” Nothing. Placing her ear against the door, she heard some muffled thumps and bumps, but not him. Not his voice. “Please?”
Without warning, the door opened and she would have fallen through the newly emptied space if he hadn’t barreled through it heading the other way. Fully dressed. “We’ll leave for Quinton Abbey after luncheon,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Have your maid pack your belongings. I’ll inform Burton and see to the remainder of the arrangements.” He didn’t look at her—never spared her even a passing glance as he brushed past her and left their sitting room. “Be ready to leave when I return.”
“Quin…?” Aurora wanted to stop him. She wanted to talk to him, to explain what had happened. To apologize.
But he was down the stairs and issuing terse commands to the servants, and then the door closed behind him and he was gone.
~ * ~
Foxed. He needed to be good and foxed. That had always helped before, and doubtless, today would be no exception to the rule. After leaving Burton instructions for packing the household and arranging for carriages and horses for the journey, and a brief visit with his solicitor to arrange the details of turning Number Fourteen back over to its owner, Quin headed for White’s and proceeded to drink himself to oblivion.
If only the brandy could erase his foolhardy foray into marriage.
But no, he was the imbecile who’d thought it wise to force the vixen’s hand and rush her into marriage, when he knew nothing of her but that scandal seemingly awaited her at every turn. How very true that assessment had turned out to be. He couldn’t go back and start over. Love her or loathe her, Aurora was his wife, irrevocably and incontrovertibly. Permanently.
And he only had six months to straighten himself out and bring her to heel. Good God. He needed another drink just thinking about it. But he’d run out of time. The trip to Wetherby was a solid two and a half days, and the sooner he could get her there, and to Quinton Abbey, the better. Who knew what trouble she’d managed to stir up in the few hours since he left her.
He sure as hell didn’t look forward to finding out.
In any case, he had to go back. He had to leave with her. So he left White’s and headed that way.
Two carriages waited in front of Number Fourteen, one laden with trunks and the like, with enough room inside for a few servants. The other would carry Quin and Aurora—Lord help him. The journey might very well kill him.
He walked up the steps and passed his hat to Burton. “Is Lady Quinton ready?” She’d damned well better be.
The butler nodded. “She’s waiting for you in the parlor, my lord.”
Quin wasted no time. He barreled through the French doors. “Shall we leave?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. At least nothing more than her standing and coming with him.
But she sat there with her swollen eyes—with tears still actively falling, no less—and stared at him.
“What now?” he said on an exaggerated and exasperated sigh, dragging a hand through his hair.
Aurora’s lower lip trembled. “I’m so sorry, Quin. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
She thought being contrite was supposed to make everything better? How would her contrition change anything? “It’s a bit too late for remorse. Now let’s go.” Quin held out a hand for her to take, but she remained in the chintz armchair by the window.
“Please,” she said on a sob, “let me apologize. Please let me explain.”
“Explain?” Quin roared, ignoring her wide-eyed reaction. He had very little patience when he was sober. He had none at all when he was into his cups. “I hardly think you could possibly come up with an explanation for your behavior that would make the offense forgivable. I don’t want to hear your explanations. Or your apologies.”
Her tears poured freely down her face, leaving dark, wet stains on the bodice of her traveling gown where they fell. Such an actress. Aurora truly went for the highest dramatic effect, didn’t she? “You’re right, of course. It is unforgivable. But at least let me tell you”
Quin’s head snapped around. “Tell me what? Unless you intend to tell me the name of the blackguard you handed your journal over to, so I can seek him out and rip the sorry bastard limb from limb, there is nothing I want to hear from you. But then again, why should I believe you if you did tell me his name? You’re likely only trying to save your own arse from my retribution.”
She gasped in what could only be mock horror. “I would never do such a thing! You clearly know nothing at all about me.”
“Oh, and I suppose that is my fault, is it?”
“Yes, actually,” Aurora said. “I’m not the one running off every day and having my brains bashed in, instead of spending time with you. I’m not the one who forced the other into a marriage within a few moments of meeting. I’m not the one who”
“No,” Quin sneered, “you’re just the one who insists on sharing every sordid, intimate detail of our lives with anyone you come across.”
She came across the room and stood toe-to-toe with him. “Is that so? Well, at least I admit to it after the fact. At least I do eventually tell you the truth. Unlike you, with the way you continually tell me there’s nothing to worry about. Liar. You’re a liar and a cad. Lord Rotheby
made the situation rather clear this morning, didn’t he? Too bad for you he didn’t take you off into private somewhere.”
“I told you it was none of your concern. Which it isn’t.”
“Is it not? What if I’m barren, Quin? What if I can’t have a child? What then?” Her clear eyes flashed like a flame roaring to life. She pushed a hand against his chest—not enough to force him backward, just enough to goad him into a reaction. “I’ll be destitute alongside you, that’s what!”
Twice a Rake Page 19
