Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords)

by Mary Gillgannon

  She recalled the shock of the day before. The worst of her anger and pain had burned away, and she could think more clearly. Her husband was a wretch, but she had to admit he’d behaved no differently than most men of his class. It was common for noblemen to keep mistresses. If she had been raised as a proper society miss, it probably wouldn’t even bother her. She would be relieved to have her husband indulge his crude, animal needs elsewhere.

  But she had grown up in a merchant family where affection and love were openly displayed, and she could not squelch her longings for a similar intimacy in her own marriage.

  A sharp sense of loss went through her. So far, her marriage had been a terrible disappointment, but, even so, she was not certain she wanted to see it ended. If she sought an annulment, it would break her father’s heart. And what, truly, had she to complain of? Devon had not been unkind to her. That he went to the trouble to conceal his relationship with the red-haired woman could be taken as an indication that he didn’t want to humiliate his new wife. Some men would not have been so considerate.

  But if she stayed in the marriage, there would have to be some changes. She would have to speak frankly with Devon. Tell him that she knew about his mistress and child, but that since she wanted her own children, he was going to have to do his duty and at least take her to bed occasionally. She gulped down a sob. Could she bear it? To allow him to touch her and be intimate with her body, knowing all the while that he desired someone else? Were even the joys of children worth that?

  Of course they were, she told herself firmly. A child would make all the difference. Fill the empty place inside her that her marriage was never going to satisfy. She would confront Devon tonight and explain her decision and its implications.

  She climbed out of bed. Halfway to the dressing area, she let out a gasp. It wasn’t her maid slumped in the wingchair near the hearth, but her husband!

  At the noise, Devon woke. He straightened and looked at her, his gold-green eyes like a sleepy cat’s.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Jeanette said you were ill. I came to see how you fared. Apparently I fell asleep.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Despite her bold plans, she couldn’t bring herself to set them in motion under these circumstances. She’d forgotten how he affected her. The way his presence seemed to turn her legs to quivering aspic and make her heart pound.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m quite well.”

  Northrup stood and took a step toward her. His clothes were rumpled and a faint shadow of dark whiskers covered his jaw. He looked even more beguilingly male than usual. “Jeanette said you went riding and got drenched to the bone. Are you certain you didn’t catch a fever?”

  “I’m quite well,” she repeated. “I was just getting up.”

  “You still look rather pale, and you’re shivering.”

  Here it was, the perfect situation. They were in her bedchamber. She wore only a flimsy nightrail. Now was the time to tell him she wanted children, that she wanted him to...

  She couldn’t do it. Her insides were tied in knots from her discovery of the previous day. And she wanted him much too badly. If he touched her she wouldn’t be able to pretend to be unmoved, to accept him with the stoic tolerance of a woman who permitted such intimacies for the cold, practical purpose of begetting offspring. God help her, what if she moaned or writhed around?

  “Here, let me help you back to bed,” he offered.

  “I’ve never felt better,” she explained. “And if you don’t mind, I would like to get dressed. I have things to do today.”

  He stared at her, frowning.

  Caroline met his gaze and summoned all her energy to fix him with a look as cutting as any given by a disapproving Almack’s matron. “If you don’t mind...”

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have intruded.”

  She exhaled in relief as he left, then immediately went to the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Coward, she thought. You pathetic coward.

  Devon paused in the hallway outside his wife’s bedchamber. She didn’t seem ill. Strangely agitated, but not ailing.

  When Jeanette had come to him and told him that her mistress had ridden in soaked and chilled, that she’d barely been revived with brandy and then taken up to bed, he’d been surprised by how much it distressed him. He’d wanted to see her, to reassure himself that she was not seriously afflicted.

  He’d gone up to her room, and hearing no answer when he knocked, went in and pulled aside the bed curtains. What he saw unsettled him even more. Her still-damp hair swirled around her face in coils of dark gold and she looked so delicate and vulnerable. The sight made some emotion resonate deep within him. He’d wanted to crawl into bed with her, to warm her body with his own.

  But then the maid came in and the spell shattered. He was glad he’d been interrupted before he could make a fool of himself. It was clear from her reaction when she awoke that Caroline did not want him there. She’d been almost rude to him.

  Devon paused on his way down the hall. She’d never acted like that before. Such behavior was completely unlike her, or, at least he thought it was. He really didn’t know much about what went in his wife’s mind. In fact, he’d made a great effort not to find out. If was better this way, he told himself. He had enough problems without the complications that might ensue if he allowed anything more than polite formality to develop between himself and Caroline.

  ~ ~ ~

  The weather favored her plans, Caroline thought with satisfaction as she walked resolutely down the stairs. The sheets of rain battering at the manor house made the prospect of travel so miserable, even Devon would be forced to remain at home. His mistress would simply have to do without him for a day!

  The bitter thought heightened her determination, and she squared her shoulders as she entered the drawing room. She’d eaten a biscuit and chocolate in her room, hoping to restore a little of her strength, but she still felt shaky from the brandy of the night before and from rising so early. A part of her longed to return to bed and delay this encounter.

  But the simmering anger banked down inside her would not allow that way out. If she waited, the weather might clear and Devon would leave again.

  Except for a wide-eyed young housemaid dusting the clock on the mantel, Caroline found the drawing room deserted. “Have you seen his lordship?” she asked the maid.

  “Yes, madam.” The maid dipped into a curtsy. “He was in the book room, last I knew.”

  The book room. Of course. That was Devon’s retreat when he could not escape the manor altogether. Remembering his chilly demeanor the last time she had faced him there, Caroline’s stomach clenched. No, she would not back down. This was more important than her plans to renovate the house. This confrontation might well determine the course of her whole future.

  When Caroline opened the library door, she found her husband standing at the large, multi-paned window, staring out at the rain.

  He heard her entrance and turned. For a moment, her sense of purpose wavered. He was immaculately dressed, as always, and the whiteness of his plain but perfectly arranged cravat turned his skin to pale bronze and set off his gleaming black hair. His unusual hazel eyes appeared sea green in the gray-tinged light filtering in through the window. She felt the effect of his dramatic presence like a blow to her midsection.

  Before she could collect herself, he started toward her, his handsome features marred by a frown. “Caroline, are you certain you are well? You still look a trifle worn-out.”

  Something inside her snapped. “What a consummate actor you are! How dare you pretend you actually care for my welfare! As if it would not be much more convenient for you if I caught the ague and died!”

  He looked stunned. “What’s wrong, Caroline? What’s happened to distress you? This isn’t like you at all.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said bitterly. “This is exactly like me. Remember, I’m not some well-bred society miss with
ice water in her veins. I’m an uncultured, boorish cit who doesn’t know her place.” Her breast heaved as the weeks of frustration overwhelmed her “I know it’s not polite or refined to concern myself with my husband’s personal matters, but I can’t help myself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She took a step toward him, her voice accusing. “I followed you yesterday. I know where you spend your time during all those hours you are supposedly visiting your tenants.”

  She saw the awareness in his eyes and waited for his denial. Instead, he shook his head and sighed.

  “I suppose I should have told you. I should have guessed you’d find out eventually.”

  “As if telling me would make a difference.” The sarcastic scorn poured out. “Perhaps you should have invited your mistress and bastard to the house so I could meet them.” She turned away, unable to look at him any longer. She couldn’t bear to think how badly she wanted him and yet know he would never have given her a glance if he hadn’t been forced to marry her.

  “Caroline, I...”

  She heard him approach, and decided that if he touched her, she would slap him.

  “I... I don’t know what you’ve seen... or think you’ve seen, but you’re wrong. I don’t have a mistress.”

  Was he lying to spare her feelings? Or to protect himself? She very much doubted he cared enough to do the former.

  “What makes you think these things?” he asked. “Tell me what’s happened?”

  Her voice was raw with fury. “I saw you with her, and there can be no doubt of the affection between you. Nor can there be any doubt as to who the child’s parents are.”

  “Rafe is my son, of course, but...” He drew a sharp breath. “Maureen. You think Maureen is my mistress.”

  Caroline felt tears fill her eyes. What a terrible muddle she’d made of everything. What must he think of her? She should have kept her mouth shut and tried to graciously accept the situation.

  “Maureen is Rafe’s nurse. If there’s a resemblance between them it’s because she’s related to Rafe’s mother. A cousin of sorts.”

  He was trying to save face, for both of them. She should let him. Accept his lies. Apologize. Go on as if this unfortunate, horribly awkward conversation had never occurred.

  But something inside her wouldn’t allow it. She would almost rather endure his open contempt than live a lie the rest of her married life.

  “She didn’t act as if she were his nurse,” she challenged. “There was a familiarity between the two of you that went beyond casual proprieties.”

  He was silent for a time then said, “I suppose Maureen and I do share a special closeness. You see, Rafe’s mother is dead. She was murdered. Maureen and Rose were like sisters, and I think that it affected her almost as much as it did me.”

  She wanted to doubt him, but there was such grief and pain in his voice, she could not. Gone was the composed, remote lord. In his place stood a man in the throes of deep emotion. Grief etched his face, but there was anger as well. His hands were clenched into fists, his whole body rigid, as if ready to strike at an enemy.

  The sight disarmed her outrage. “I’m very sorry,” she said gently. “How terrible for you... and your son. Was the murderer ever found?”

  “No.” The way he said it and the coldness in his eyes made her wonder if he knew who the murderer was. The turmoil of his expression discouraged her from pursuing the matter.

  “Did this... happen in Ireland?”

  “Yes.” His mouth worked, as if he struggled to resume his usual, controlled demeanor. “So, you see,” he finally said in normal tones, “Maureen truly is not my mistress. We both care deeply for Rafe, but that is the only bond between us.”

  It was a relief to learn that her husband didn’t have a secret paramour, but unsettling to realize he had endured this tragedy. “I apologize for my accusations,” she said.

  “And I apologize for not telling you about Rafe sooner. Obviously, since he is not legitimate, he cannot inherit my title. But I do intend to provide for him, to give him every opportunity I can.”

  Caroline nodded. Now was the time to discuss having their own children, but she couldn’t quite think how to bring the matter up. She felt stunned by his revelations. In light of his terrible loss, how could she concern herself with enticing him to bed? Having seen yet another side of her enigmatic husband, she felt even less comfortable with him than before.

  “Well.” She moved toward the door. “I’ll be about my business then.”

  Devon watched his wife depart the library. Thank goodness she finally knew the truth about Rafe. She’d accepted the idea of his having a bastard son with surprising good grace. Oddly enough, she’d seemed much more distressed at the thought of him having a mistress. Why was that? Did she find the prospect humiliating?

  She was certainly correct about one thing; she was not like any society miss he’d ever known. There was a straightforward, honest aspect to her nature that amazed him. No woman of his acquaintance would dare to confront her husband about his marital infidelities. Such things simply weren’t talked about.

  But she had approached him very directly, and been quite angry about the situation. Again, he wondered at her motives. She didn’t seem like the sort to be jealous. But then, he didn’t really know her. He’d assumed a great many things about his new wife, based simply on his perception of her as a wool merchant’s daughter.

  So far, she’d completely confounded him. She wasn’t crude or grasping, ill-mannered or dull-witted. Instead, she was charming, intelligent, refined, and gracious. It startled him how well she fit into his life. There was a natural warmth, a sensitivity about her that almost made him hope that she might agree to be a mother to his son.

  For a moment, a scene flashed before his eyes. He and Caroline and Rafe together. Talking and laughing. A picnic in the springtime. Or a walk among the autumn leaves.

  A strange ache started in his chest. That was the way families were supposed to behave. He’d never known that sort of cozy warmth, that comfortableness, except for a few brief months with Rose. Then she’d been killed and his whole world shattered.

  The bitterness filled him once more. There was no point in imagining such idyllic happy moments. Life wasn’t like that. Something always came along and destroyed it. First, his mother had died. Then Rose. And both times, his monster of a father was responsible.

  His throat full of bile, he went once more to the window to stare out at the rain.

  Six

  Caroline was in the ballroom staring out the glass doors leading to the garden when Jeanette found her. Despite the many windows, the small candelabra the maid had brought barely illuminated the corner of the room where Caroline stood, watching the sodden weather.

  “Ma’am?” Jeanette asked tentatively. “Are you feeling blue-deviled?”

  Caroline sighed. “What a miserable day.”

  “Obviously too wet for travel. I guess that means we won’t be going back to London, at least not right away.” There was a hopeful note in the maid’s voice.

  “No, we’re not going to London. That is, eventually I’ll have to make a trip there to select materials for the renovations. But certainly we can wait for the weather to clear for that.”

  “I’m very relieved. From the way you carried on yesterday, I feared something awful had happened between yourself and his lordship.”

  Caroline turned to face the maid. “It was a misunderstanding. I have received some unsettling news. It seems my husband has a son by another woman.”

  “Well, now, that’s not so uncommon. As long as he’s discreet about the relationship.”

  “The woman is dead, and the boy lives in a cottage not far from here.”

  Jeanette brightened. “At least it’s not an ongoing affair.”

  “Yes.” Caroline paced restlessly across the room, going over to examine a flaw in the parquet floor. “That was my first thought. I don’t really care if Devon has a child by a
nother woman. In fact, it’s rather a relief. At least, I know where he’s been spending his time. And it’s gratifying that he cares so much for the boy. It gives me some hope that if we were to have children...” She took a deep breath.

  “And how is that... situation progressing?”

  Caroline shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s not. I don’t know if it’s that he mislikes me. Or, as you said, that he seeks some sort of revenge against my father, but either way, he certainly keeps his distance.”

  Jeanette approached. “I’ve been thinking, ma’am. Perhaps it’s simply the awkwardness of the situation that’s put him off. The two of you never had a chance to get acquainted, to share some intimate moments in each other’s company. Perhaps all that’s missing is a proper courtship.”

  “Given the way he avoids me, how am I supposed to arrange that?”

  “Perhaps if you asked him to dine with you... The two of you could share a leisurely meal, some wine. We’d dress you in a gown that truly shows off your assets, and I’m certain his lordship would take notice.”

  “We’ve tried that. If you recall, I sought to force him to have breakfast with me, and he left quite precipitously.” She turned back to the window. “But perhaps his cool attitude then was caused by his desire to keep me from finding out about his son.” She sighed. “But what if he rejects me—again? I’m not certain I could face him after that.”

  “He won’t. I don’t believe it!” Jeanette touched Caroline’s arm. “You’ve never been a faint-hearted sort, afraid to pursue your dreams. Perhaps it’s a risk, but I don’t really see you have a choice. You’re miserable with the way things are now. You can’t mope around this big, lonely house the rest of your life.”

  “You’re right, of course. I have to keep trying.” Caroline met her maid’s gaze. “Have you any idea what I should wear?”