He felt like he had just been reprimanded by his own grandmother. He grudgingly turned back to Clementine, not because he wanted to but because he knew yelling and swearing was not who he was. She was making him into a person he didn’t want to be. A person he didn’t even recognize.
He swallowed and eventually offered in an even tone, “Raising my voice and swearing at you was uncalled for.”
Clementine met his gaze. There was a lethal calmness within her eyes. “What is uncalled for is your inability to respect the love you claim to have for me. Because this is not how people love, Derek. And no one knows that better than I.” She snapped out her gloved hand. “I would like my case of cheroots back, please.”
How was it he was always the villain? He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out her silver case. He numbly held it out.
Plucking it from his hand, Clementine held his gaze, flipped open the casing, pulled out a cheroot, and stuck it between her full lips, flipping the casing closed with a single click. “I think I have earned the right to at least one, my lord. Be it in front of people or not. Don’t you agree?”
He stared her down. “No. I don’t agree.”
“I wish I cared,” Clementine tossed back. “Watch me smoke.”
Madame de Maitenon sighed and plucked the cheroot out of Clementine’s lips. “Whilst I admire your spirit that is dedicated to putting more coal into his fire, when a lady puffs merely to prove a point, she has overstepped her bounds.”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest, holding Clementine’s startled gaze.
At least someone was on his side.
Madame took the casing, opened it and delicately tucked the cheroot back inside with the nudge of a well-manicured finger before closing it and handing it back to Clementine with the swivel of a wrist. “I intend to put your pretty lips to better use. Now tuck it away, s’il vous plait. Tuck it away.”
Clementine quietly tucked the casing into her reticule.
Madame de Maitenon let out a theatrical breath and eyed each of them, her blue eyes brightening. “What brings all of this youthful passion to my door? Mm? It is rather obvious you two are married. How long has it been since you have both taken your vows?”
Derek widened his stance. “We were married yesterday.”
“Hier?” A startled laugh escaped the woman. “You British do everything wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You should still be in bed naked with your American bride, reveling in your newfound glory. Why are you both here? Why do you disrupt my way of life with your problems?” She stared at Derek.
Why indeed. Reveling naked in bed with his American wife would have been amazing. Though he damn well knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Not unless he stuck a sword through Nasser’s oversized cock.
Madame quirked a silver brow. “Perhaps my age has seized my ability to hear.” She tapped her ear, causing her diamond earring to sway. “I believe I asked you a question. Oui?”
He swiped his face. It wasn’t even the afternoon and he was exhausted. “I needed to speak to Lord Brayton. I already did and now am leaving. Without her, mind you. She and I are getting a divorce. I apologize for the intrusion.”
Those eyes snapped toward Brayton who was standing in the parlor behind them. Madame turned back to Derek. “Lord Brayton will understand my need to reschedule our appointment. I ask that you and your wife enter the receiving room at once. Do not worry about my naked men. They may be life-size, but they are not real. Now go. Go, go, go.”
Clementine eyed the nude statues in the receiving room and edged back into the foyer and toward the door. “I’m not going in there.”
Derek gave her a withering look. “What? You can go to your Nasser but not into a room full of naked statues?”
Clementine glared. “Nasser won’t be naked when I see him.”
He angled toward her, his pulse thundering. “Why do you seem to think I care?”
Madame breezed up a hand. “Heavens, your passions are exhausting even a woman like me. Enough.” Lowering her hand, she leveled a pert gaze at Clementine. “If my naked men irk you so much, I challenge you to go in and put a hand over whatever bothers you most. Go on. Show me. Are you not a married woman? Should you have not already touched everything you see?”
Clementine gasped and snapped a finger toward Derek. “I am holding you responsible for this entire situation!”
“And how is this my fault?” Derek pointed at Brayton. “He was the one who brought us here. Bastard.”
Lord Brayton held up both hands and trudged out of the parlor. Shaking his head, he grabbed up his wool cap from a red velvet pillow on the side table. “I will reschedule.”
“Merci, Lord Brayton,” Madame de Maitenon called. “Consider yourself admitted. I will have Lady Chartwell send you a missive.”
The butler opened the door, letting Lord Brayton step out then promptly shut the door. Clearing his throat, the butler lowered his gaze and hurriedly walked past.
“Mr. Hudson,” Madame de Maitenon said in a hardened tone to the man. “Do not think I am not aware of your bouffoneries. I will not tolerate it. No matter how many petits enfants you claim to support.”
Mr. Hudson sighed, dug into his pocket and grudgingly held out the bank note to Derek.
For God’s sake. As if he needed it. Derek pushed that hand away. “Keep it.”
Mr. Hudson’s gaze darted over to Madame, his features almost pleading.
She rolled her eyes. “Oui. Take it, you coquin. He is giving it to you.”
Mr. Hudson grinned, shoved it back into his pocket and veered formally out of sight.
“Forgive him. His true age is closer to fifteen.” Madame de Maitenon regally brought her hands together. “Honor me with introductions, my young people. Who is who?”
Why did he feel he was about to introduce them to trouble? He heaved out a breath. Not wanting to be rude, given they were standing in the woman’s house, he quickly swept a hand toward Clementine. “This was my wife, Lady Banfield. And I am Lord Banfield. Now if you will excuse me, I have to contact a few lawyers and a—”
“Non. I cancelled my appointment with Lord Brayton for this. Your lawyers can wait.” She extended a pale hand toward the parlor. “Entrez, s’il vous plaît.”
Appointment? What appointment could Hercules have with an older French woman?
Clementine eyed Derek.
Madame stepped between them. “Do not look to him, ma chérie. I am wanting to assist and will ensure there is no more yelling and swearing. Men are known for it. Especially when they are riled. It takes years to understand how their erratic minds work, but once a female understands it, life smiles upon a woman. And that is what we want. We want you to smile. Now do you wish to enter upon my invitation and end the yelling?”
Clementine stared at Derek. “No more yelling would be nice.”
Derek stared back. “Words of love from your mouth would be nice.”
Madame clapped her hands. “Do I need to separate your tongues?”
Clementine glared and turned. Gathering her morning gown from around her feet, she entered the receiving room, apparently no longer concerned about the statues.
He stalked in after Clementine, glancing back at the woman whose house they had taken over. “Madame, whilst I appreciate your concern, I can assure you—”
“Do not assure me, my lord. Assure her. For there is the problem. It is difficult for a woman to properly respond to a man when he is yelling and cursing like a sailor shouting at his peers over the wind.” Madame de Maitenon followed him in with a lofty sashay. “Men do not usually bring their wives into my home given my reputation. So I will admit I am intrigued how both of you came to be here.” She turned toward them, using her hand to sweep away the fullness of her gown from around her. Her delicate, older features mischievously brightened. “What brings you into the house of a courtesan and her School of Gallantry?”
Apparently, Brayton had a penchant for shagging pretty, elder
ly French women. And he thought his life was a mess.
Judging by the wide-eyed look on Derek’s rugged face, Clementine was fairly certain he was just as astounded as she was to know they were standing in a house of ill repute. She didn’t realize elderly women were physically capable of entertaining men. One would think an older woman would use her age as an excuse to keep all the hands away.
“Maybe we should leave, Derek,” was about all she could primly offer.
His gaze snapped to hers. “After you.”
The elderly woman set herself between them and the door. “While I am pleased to see that you finally both agree on something, one does not come into my school, toss words, and leave. That is impolite.”
Clementine blinked. School? Courtesans had schools? For what? She didn’t even want to know. Because she was rather new to all of this. Heaven only knew what men really wanted outside of all things physical.
Madame lifted a prim forefinger into the air and shook it, rattling the gold bracelets on her wrist. “’Tis obvious you both require guidance and it is my duty to give it. Why? Because if I had been given proper advice when I had been at your delicate age, when my passions were ready and willing, I might have not only married but would have stayed married to the only man who ever mattered to me.”
Clementine felt a knot tighten in her stomach at hearing that. There really weren’t many independent paths for a woman to take in life if a woman didn’t marry. This woman was proof of it.
Madame was quiet for a moment. “Given that you are both here the day after your own wedding, and there is discussion of other men, I am assuming your wedding night was a calamity.” She pursed her lips, observing Derek. “How many times were you able to bed her last night? Did she ask for more of your poom-poom? If not, what did you do wrong?”
Clementine clapped a gloved hand against her mouth in disbelief. The woman was asking about their bedchamber life and what they did last night.
Derek’s shaven face flushed as he swung toward the woman. “You have no right to be asking such questions.”
Those silver arched brows came together. “Was the encounter that bad?”
A bubble of a laugh escaped Clementine from beneath her hand.
Derek glared. “Oh, now you have a sense of humor.”
Clementine rolled her eyes in exasperation and lowered her hand. “I can’t seem to please you no matter what I do. I’m amused at the wrong times and not amused at the right. If you ask me, your inability to control yourself is what brought us here.”
He angled toward her and narrowed his gaze. “Perhaps my inability to control myself stems from the fact that you have given me nothing to control myself with. I was willing to forgive whatever happened between you and him. I was. But what I cannot and will not forgive is that you continue to allow this man to take something you never once allowed me to have: your trust.”
Clementine felt her throat tighten. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy trying to bed me, you could have earned that trust.”
Madame de Maitenon tsked. “Let us cease arguing for a few breaths. Oui?” She sashayed over to the lone chair set in the middle of the room and tapped it. “The person who sits in this chair is the only person who will be allowed to speak. Anyone else left standing, outside of myself, must accept silence and listen. Who wishes to sit?”
Oh, she rather liked this idea of creating a controlled environment without verbal retaliation. Maybe she’d finally be able to say some of the things she wanted to tell Derek since she walked into this entire situation.
Clementine gathered her skirts to walk over to the chair.
Derek skidded over to the chair and sat in it.
Clementine gasped. “Oh, yes, go right ahead, husband. Your needs, after all, should always come first.”
Madame pointed at her. “I am afraid he is already sitting. He was very rude about it, oui, but I prefer we address his rudeness first. Keep silent. No matter what he says that may irk you, please do not speak. This is his chair and his podium. You will have your chance when he is done. Do you understand?”
Clementine swallowed and then nodded. Heaven knows she already knew what Derek had to say.
“Bien.” Madame turned toward Derek. “We need to address that you clearly think your opinion matters more.”
Derek set his shoulders, settling more stubbornly into it. “I think I earned it after everything she put me through.”
Clementine bit down on her tongue to keep herself from saying anything.
“What did she put you through, my lord?” Madame prodded. “Share.”
He angrily held Clementine’s gaze, his nostrils flaring. “What hasn’t she put me through?” His chest rose and fell as if he were still unable to steady his breathing. “For seven years, I wrote her letters that I poured out of my soul in the hopes of bringing her closer to me, given I was always here in England and she was travelling the world. The one and only time I did try to see her, to surprise her with a visit three years ago, I put myself on a boat and after almost twelve weeks of travel, arrived in New York only to find that she and her father had been called out for an unexpected political event in Spain. So I got the address and went to Spain to follow her. Only…they had already left for France. So I followed them to France. Only…they had already left back to New York. That was about when I decided I needed to cease chasing her and go home.”
Clementine’s breath hitched. She never knew that.
He shifted his jaw. “I never told her about it because I didn’t want to come across as the love-sick pup I already was. I was pathetic enough. I was sleeping with her portrait. I was writing her letters every month that followed her around the world, and if I heard from her once every eight months I considered myself fortunate. For seven goddamn years, I stayed away from every woman who ever came to my door because I couldn’t imagine myself in the arms of another. Seven. The only reason I finally did lay with a woman, whom I hired for a measly night, was to learn how I should pleasure the one woman I wanted to make my own: her. Why? Because I didn’t want to disappoint her in my duty to give us children.” He stared her down. “Only she doesn’t want children. She doesn’t want the joy of holding our child. Just as she doesn’t want me.”
Clementine closed her eyes, knowing his resentment was in many ways her fault. She should have told him more about her own life through those letters. The real life she had led. The one that had made her into who she was. She never told him because she hadn’t expected to stay. Or to love him. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze.
He was no longer looking at her.
Madame was quiet for a moment. “Not to digress, my lord, but it is a woman’s right not to want children.”
Derek sat up in his chair and glared. “You think it a woman’s right to deny her own husband a son? Or a daughter? Or a family? No, I’m sorry. I don’t agree. She is denying herself the ultimate happiness and, in turn, denying me the right to ultimate happiness.”
Madame tapped at his arm that was resting on the chair. “You are looking at it from the perspective of a man and not a woman. You men have so many expectations you pile onto the head of a woman and yet…what expectations do you pile upon yourselves?”
“Begging your pardon,” Derek countered, “but the estate and my entire life has countless responsibilities and expectations. Do you have any idea how many nights I stay up well past three in the morning merely trying to ensure everyone right down to my own servants have everything they need day to day and month to month?”
Releasing a long breath, Madame continued, “Yes, but is it right to demand a child from a woman merely because she has a womb and you have an estate? I think it rather absurd society continues to think so. Not every woman is ready to embrace the power of cradling life. And that is what a child is, my lord. It is embracing the ultimate power of having control over someone’s entire life until they are old enough to live it on their own. If your wife does not want that responsibility and power, it should hi
nt to you that she fears taking it into her hands. You must therefore allow her to embrace being comfortable with the power of responsibility before you accuse her of being incompetent of it.”
His brows came together. “And how have I not allowed her to be comfortable with—”
“Allow me to finish, my lord. Do not interrupt.” Madame skimmed the back of his chair, rounding him. “How have you helped her embrace coming into her responsibilities as a woman? Mm? Have you had discussions about how she may recognize who she is and her competence? You demand to know all of her secrets but have you treated her as a friend so that she feels comfortable enough in disclosing them? Have you done anything to assist in empowering her into making a better decision as to whether she would or would not be capable of having children? What sort of discussions have you had? Have you introduced her to any children from your family and asked her what she feels about those children?”
Derek glanced up at her. His face flushed. “Well, no…I…” He winced. “No. I never thought of…” He swiped at his mouth, falling into silence.
It was the first time Clementine had ever seen Derek realize his way of thinking wasn’t the only way of thinking.
Madame eyed him. “Discussions are important in making life-altering decisions, my lord. Don’t expect them. Negotiate them. Is there anything else you wish to say before she takes the chair?”
He plastered his hand over his mouth for a long moment before letting it fall away. “Whilst I know I didn’t approach any of this properly, I am not about to forgive that she lied to me. That she planned to be with another after all my years of devotion. I want a divorce, Clementine,” he said in a low, definitive voice. “Because I’m done crawling for someone who has never once crawled for me. I may not be perfect, but I never expected you to be either. All I expected from you was some reciprocation of what I felt. What I have always felt. And you—” He got up from the chair and stared her down. “I will have the servants collect your belongings and have them delivered back to your father along with your three million. Because I don’t need either. I hope you and Nasser are happy.” Averting his gaze, he walked toward the open doorway leading out of the room.
Night of Pleasure Page 21
