by Julia London
“Lady Middleton?”
Lady Waterstone’s voice startled her so badly that Ava spilled a bit of wine on the carpet. She knew who it was before she even turned, but she hadn’t known until this moment that she would be here, hadn’t even thought of her being here, and felt horribly betrayed by her unexpected presence. “Lady Waterstone,” she managed.
Lady Waterstone smiled and dipped a curtsy, acknowledging Ava’s superior rank to her now. The woman was, Ava realized for the first time, classically beautiful, with dark red tresses and dark eyes and lips the color of strawberries. Standing beside her, Ava felt plain and nondescript and even a bit fat.
“Marriage agrees with you,” Lady Waterstone said cheerfully. “You look lovely.”
Ava glanced down at her old crème silk and thought she must look rather drab compared to the vibrant green that Lady Waterstone was wearing. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“How delightful you have come!” she exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought you would.”
Why hadn’t Lady Waterstone thought it, Ava wondered, instantly suspicious. Had they planned to meet here? Was she in the way of two lovers?
“Are you a hunt enthusiast?” Lady Waterstone asked, breezing past her last remark.
“No. I’ve never hunted.”
“Oh? That’s good,” Lady Waterstone said with a sympathetic smile. “Blood sports can be quite disconcerting.”
She imagined Lady Waterstone knew that better than anyone.
“It’s just not a sport suited to the tender sensibilities of women,” she added.
“Lady Middleton?” It was Harrison, coming around the jade sculpture to join them. “If I may, you should join your husband. We will be going into supper soon.”
“Oh, Harrison,” Lady Waterstone said with a flick of her wrist. “You do know how to snuff out a bit of good conversation. We were just chatting about hunting.”
“Perhaps you might chat with me, Lady Waterstone, for I am desperate to hear your tales,” said Lord Stanhope, appearing suddenly on the other side of Lady Waterstone. “You know I find your conversation utterly fascinating.”
Lady Waterstone laughed. “My, my, I do believe I am being sequestered.”
Stanhope gave her a cold smile and put his hand on her elbow. She turned to go, but hesitated, and put her hand to Ava’s arm. “We’ll have an opportunity to continue our conversation, won’t we?”
“Miranda, you are single-handedly holding up the procession,” Stanhope said with another very cool smile.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Lady Waterstone said with a laugh, and glided away on Lord Stanhope’s arm.
Ava glanced up at Harrison. He smiled so sadly that it struck her she was not the only one who guessed that her husband and his lover had planned to meet so soon after he’d married. The knowledge stunned her. She couldn’t seem to move.
“Your husband is waiting,” Harrison said softly, and put out his arm.
Ava took Harrison’s arm and let him lead her to Middleton, who was still engaged in conversation with the two gentlemen, but who smiled warmly when Harrison interrupted them. He put a possessive arm around her, pulled her tightly into his side, and made a small jest that he must keep his eye on her lest he lose her to some of the young men in attendance.
The two men laughed at his joke, and Ava smiled as she ought, but she felt ill. She could feel a pair of copper eyes on her from across the room, boring a hole through her, and in spite of Middleton’s arm around her, she’d never felt so cold in her life.
Twenty-six
J ared had thought the evening would never end—it was interminably long, the laughter and gaiety grating after a time, the situation extremely uncomfortable.
He was aware of Miranda’s constant attention, could feel her gaze follow his every movement, could feel it burn him every time he touched his wife.
He should have known she would come—he even felt responsible for it somehow. Perhaps if he’d answered her letters instead of burning them, demanded she desist in writing him. Perhaps if he’d never taken her as mistress to begin with.
He felt trapped by his own devices.
After the ladies had retired from supper and the men had enjoyed their smoke, the sexes were at last reunited. He’d hardly stepped into the room before Miranda cornered him. As she spoke to him, whispering her affection, attempting to share a laugh over Lord Frederick’s desperate attempt at humor during supper, and very much pretending as if nothing had changed between them, he could not take his eyes from Ava. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was acutely aware of the many looks in their direction, and simply walked away as Miranda was speaking, feeling all eyes on him.
Save one person—Ava did not look at him once.
How unfair it was to have put her in this position. How callous he was to have assumed that they would—both of them—live peacefully and without conscience in their arrangement. How bloody stupid of him to have believed they could.
He went to his wife and suggested they retire. She didn’t seem surprised, nor did she hesitate to accompany him. They made their way out of the room, wishing a cheerful good night all around, then just as a newlywed couple would, they walked out of the room, their arms around one another.
Ava dropped her arm the moment the door shut behind them. They walked silently to their suite.
Sally was waiting for them—Ava excused her and asked her to return in the morning. As Sally left, Ava turned around. She looked dejected as she walked into the adjoining dressing room and quietly shut the door.
Jared sighed, kicked off his shoes, and began to disrobe. He’d undressed to his trousers when Ava emerged, wearing a nightgown. Her hair was braided loosely down her back. She said nothing as she walked past him and slipped in between the sheets, her back to him.
Jared stared at her back and the long golden rope of hair. He’d never imagined it would be like this. He’d never thought, on the day he’d so rashly proposed marriage, that he would be so wretchedly unhappy, or that someone as vibrant as Ava could be so unhappy.
His head had begun to throb with a massive headache, and he turned away from her, went to the dressing room, and completed his toilet. When he joined Ava in bed, he noted that she was pretending to be asleep. Her body was tense, her breathing shallow.
The wind had picked up outside; he could smell rain. The first crack of thunder confirmed it, and as the rain began to fall, the staccato sound of it on the paned glass windows soothed him.
Ava hadn’t moved, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping—he could feel the tension radiating from her. Ava Fairchild, who had so amused him with her unconquerable spirit, was lying beside him, the light in her gone out. He’d done that to her. He had doused that beautiful light.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, surprising himself by voicing aloud his thoughts.
She didn’t move.
He put his hand to her forearm, where she had pushed up the sleeve of her nightgown, and began to caress it, her skin smooth as silk beneath his palm. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and he was, sorry for everything, sorry for the light, for hurting her, for ever having proposed to her.
As the rain intensified, he moved his hand to her hair, tangling it in the loose braid, pulling free thick silken strands, pulling it completely free as he catalogued in his mind the myriad things for which he was sorry.
The rain beat a steady rhythm on the paned glass and the fire hissed at the hearth. He didn’t know exactly when Ava turned to him, but she pushed her face into his neck and wrapped her arms around him. His body warmed with her reaction—blood spread through him, creating an inevitable whirlpool of desire.
Her breath was warm on his neck, her lips soft and moist. But there was something else, too, that he felt on his shoulder: tears. They scored him, left a deep gash where they touched his skin. They made him insane, made him feel restless, full of the discomfort that had plagued him these last two months. And as more tears leaked out of her eyes, each one of them scarred him deep
er than the last, each one of them leaving an indelible mark.
He had to erase those tears, had to get them off his shoulder. He suddenly came over her, pinning her beneath him.
“My lord,” she said, her voice full of weariness.
“Be still,” he said roughly, and when she turned her head to one side, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. Ava stared into his eyes for a long moment, then closed hers; a single tear ran down her cheek. “Ava,” he whispered, and licked the tear from her skin. “Be still,” he said again, and began to kiss her.
The rain continued relentlessly but faded into distant noise, because suddenly, Jared was aware of nothing but Ava. His hands caressed her body, arousing her breasts, inflaming her skin, wiping the dampness from beneath her eyes, then slipping between her legs. When she feebly tried to resist him, he insisted with his hands and his mouth.
He stroked and caressed her, made her slick with desire, then retreated to more untouched skin, working to arouse her as much as he worked to rid himself of his feelings.
Ava’s breath was soon ragged, her hands on him. When he pressed her onto her back and came over her, parting her legs, his cock pressed into her belly. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her lips, then continued moving down her body, kissing the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, the cloth of her nightgown bunched at her belly, and down farther, his hands moving to her hips. Ava’s knees came up and apart, and as he sank between her thighs, she gave a little moan of pleasure. He plunged his tongue into her, feathering her with little strokes, circling around, nipping and teasing her until she began to moan, her hands grabbing at bed linens. When she began to pant, he closed his mouth around her and drew her into his mouth, and brought her to a mercilessly powerful climax.
Her cry was strangled, her hips lifting to him as she climaxed. He gripped her until she was spent, then made his way up her body. When he had reached her head, he sank his hand into her hair, his fingers reaching for the back of her head, and he deliriously sank his cock into her with a long sigh of relief.
Her body was hot and wet, a slip of heaven. He moved recklessly inside her, his rhythm quickly gaining momentum as he began to feel his release nearing the surface. She writhed beneath him, seemingly as frantic for him to fill her as he was to do it. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, bit her shoulder, kissed her cheek, her mouth as his tempo increased. His heart pounding, he at last felt himself erupting within her, and buried his face in her hair, fighting to keep a cry of sheer pleasure from waking the house.
When he’d found his breath, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her in his arms, feeling her breath hot and ragged on his shoulder.
He didn’t know how much time passed before she slept, but still he held her, occasionally brushing the hair from her face. He held her that way until he slipped into sleep, too, feeling in that moment before sleep a deep, soul-searing contentment that he’d never felt in his life.
Ava was still sleeping when he left her the next morning, in the middle of the bed, wound up in most of the bedcovers so that he was awakened by cold. He rose and dressed quietly. He took one last look at her before he quit the room—she looked so pretty lying there, her face soft and relaxed in sleep, her hair wild about her, her lips slightly open.
He walked down to the breakfast room and joined the other hunters, who were already in fine form, making bets with one another and eager to be out.
Jared helped himself to eggs and toast, and took a seat at the table while Lords Resnick and Hammilthorn argued about the skills of their respective dogs.
A half hour later, they gathered on the west lawn, their horses anxious, the dogs restless. The air was fresh and cold after last night’s rain—perfect conditions for a hunt—but Jared couldn’t have been less interested. He wanted nothing but for this interminable weekend to end.
When the hounds were released, dogs and riders surged forward, crashing through thickets, tearing up the earth. When the hounds split, he led his mare to follow to the west, letting her have her head, outpacing the other riders as she sailed over rock fences and into streams. But the mare was brought up short in a stand of forest brush, the vegetation too thick for them to make their way through.
That was where Miranda caught him. “I was beginning to believe you were trying to avoid me, darling!” she said breathlessly, obviously exhilarated from the chase.
His horse, agitated from the ride and the sudden halt, tried to run, but Jared reined her harder, pulling her around in a circle until she’d settled. Miranda laughed gaily when he at last faced her.
“You’ll miss the hunt,” he said.
“I don’t care,” she said breezily. In the distance, he could hear the baying of the hounds, and he knew that the hunt had swung wide east. They’d never catch them now.
Miranda slid off her horse and reached up to stroke the mare’s nose. “She’s a beauty. Wherever did you find her?”
Jared didn’t answer. He dismounted and pulled his horse away from Miranda’s touch.
“Darling!” she said, offended.
He swiped the hat off his head, pushed his hand through his hair, and said wearily, “You have to stop, Miranda. It is fruitless. We are through, you and I.”
She gasped. “Darling! How dare you say that after all I have sacrificed to be with you!”
“Stop,” he said firmly.
Miranda tried to reach for him, but he pushed her hand away. “Do try and accept what I am saying,” he said as firmly as he could. “I do not love you. I never loved you. I do not want to be with you. I am married—”
“No!” Miranda cried, and suddenly threw her arms around his neck. “What you feel for her is compassion, and well you should, the poor thing! But don’t confuse compassion with love, darling!”
He grabbed her arms and pulled them from his neck. “Stop.”
“Do you love her?” Miranda cried. “You scarcely know her! She is a plain little mouse! I love you, Jared!”
“No, you don’t. You love my title, the fact that I will one day be duke. You love my fortune and the gifts I lavished on you. But you don’t love me, Miranda. You never have. You’ve never really even known me.”
“That’s not true!” Miranda sobbed. “Is it her bed?” she demanded wildly. “Do you prefer her bed to mine?”
Furious, he grabbed her arms and shook her. “Stop this now,” he said through clenched teeth, and let go of her.
But Miranda launched herself against him and slid down his body, to her knees, and began to fumble with his belt.
“Dear God, stop!” he cried, appalled, and grabbed her by the arms, roughly lifting her to her feet.
Miranda’s tears were flowing freely now, and she closed her eyes, sinking against him with a wail. “You may as well slay me,” she sobbed. “I can’t go on without you, Jared, I can’t! I have devoted myself to you entirely, have given you my heart and soul, and I cannot bear to know that you will abandon what we had for a mere child.”
“I cannot abandon what never existed. We have been done for a long time, you know it very well. No letter, no display of tears—nothing will alter it. Don’t pretend there was more to us than there was, Miranda. Set your sights on another man—but for God’s sake, leave me be!”
She gasped, dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, and glared at him. “I hate you,” she said vehemently. “Lord God, how I despise you!”
For that Jared was relieved.
They rode back at a rapid pace, Miranda trying valiantly to outpace him, but riding an inferior mount. They were the last to arrive at the estate—the others were in the drive, milling about trading tall stories. When Jared and Miranda rode into the drive, he caught sight of Ava. She was standing at the top of the steps with some of the other women, watching him, her arms folded protectively across her middle, her expression grim. Miranda saw her, too, for she turned to Jared and said quickly, “There is your bloody little mouse, Middleton.”
But his mouse, having seen them, had already turned and disappeared inside.
Twenty-seven
A va was the first to leave the impromptu gathering on the drive, escaping to her room, slamming the door behind her as she entered.
“Hallo, what’s this?” Sally called from within.
Ava yanked off her pelisse and tossed it onto a chair as she sailed into the room where Sally was tidying up. “They returned alone, long after the others. They didn’t hunt anything in the woods but each other, I’d wager.”
Sally walked to the window overlooking the drive and peered out. “Who is she?”
Ava was instantly at her side, pointing out the woman in the russet-colored riding habit. They watched her a moment until she turned around to speak to someone behind her, and Sally saw her face. “Oh,” she said with a sympathetic wince. “She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”
“Augh!” Ava cried, and half crumpled to the ground, catching herself on the sill before rising up again and turning away from the window. “I can’t bear to watch it!”
“Ah, you poor thing, you,” Sally said. “Don’t you know it yet, madam? Men are never true. If it’s not this one, it will be another.”
It was such a wretched and sad thing to believe—what hope was there for any woman if no man was true? “Do you really believe it?” Ava asked Sally. “Do you really believe men are never true to women?”
Sally laughed as if that were a ridiculous question. “Of course I believe it. I’ve rarely met a man who didn’t want a little from me, eh? And there are just as many fancy ladies about who want the same from their footmen. Oh, don’t look so astounded! If you expect him to be faithful, you’re a silly fool.”
“I never said that I did,” Ava snapped, and began to pace.
But she had said it—perhaps not in so many words, but certainly she’d implied that she wanted more than anything for her husband to love her and to cherish only her. She wanted it with a strength her mother would have found appalling and Ava herself found surprising. And if she couldn’t have it, if she were faced with a lifetime of wondering who he was with, she thought she might very well perish.
