“Fortunately for the two of you the town is still light of company, and Amanda’s had few opportunities to spread her malicious lies.”
“Then there is no need to fuss since little harm has come from her tale-pitching.”
“Only if you behave more naturally with one another in the future. Oh, I know I can rely on Marisa to do her part.” She reached across the intervening space to pat Marisa’s hand. “It is this scapegrace of a husband of yours I’m concerned about.”
“Grandmother!” Justin cried in mock horror. “Have you ever known me not to heed your advice? You know you are the only woman who commands my compliance and devotion.”
“Then the bigger fool you, my boy,” she retorted, meaningfully throwing the trio into an awkward silence which was only broken when the butler announced the arrival of the Fairfaxes, the first callers of the day.
Immediately Straeford bolted out of his chair prepared to make his departure, but his grandmother forced him to abandon his plan of escape by reminding him of the words he had uttered just moments earlier about compliance. Fuming, he subsided moodily into his chair, and introductions to the Fairfaxes were made. The party soon increased in number, and the earl found himself surrounded by eager faces wishing to make the acquaintance of the handsome nobleman with the dangerous reputation. With gritted teeth he bore it until he was rescued by Lady Maxwell, who asked him to escort her to the library.
He had barely begun a speech of thanks for his deliverance when his grandmother cut in and began berating him for his conduct toward his bride. Was he deliberately trying to hurt the girl by leaving her open to ridicule? Returning to the city without her, bringing guests to the country when they were supposedly on their honeymoon. It was unforgivable.
Her tirade continued until Straeford hissed in a scarcely controlled voice. “I need not explain my behavior to anyone, my lady. Not even to you!” With that he slammed out of the room.
Seeing the look on her husband’s face when he returned to the morning room, Marisa did not question his decision to leave.
Hastily she said her goodbyes and followed her husband into the hallway. There they encountered a pale, shaken Lady Maxwell. Her appearance completely deflated Straeford’s wrath. Encircling his grandmother’s shoulders with his arm, he ushered her back into the library. After pouring her some Madeira, he knelt beside her chair, took her hand gently into his large, strong one, and whispered an apology. When the color returned to his grandmother’s cheeks, he kissed them both.
Later the scene replayed itself in Marisa’s mind. She had never witnessed this side of his nature before. His display of compassion and tenderness moved her deeply, and although she dared not tell him so, the idea nestled in her memory, and she treasured it in the days to follow.
Sitting in bed and drinking her morning chocolate, Marisa thumbed through a number of invitation cards that had arrived that morning. Ever since Lady Maxwell’s soirée three weeks ago, it seemed everyone was mad to take her up. She was mindful of a deep sense of gratitude toward the dowager who had generously sponsored her introduction to the ton.
There was an abrupt knock on the door, and Justin strolled into the room, dressed for riding. “Good morning, Marisa.”
His pointed use of her first name these days caused her some discomfort, which she tried to ignore. “Good morning, Justin.” The intensity of his magnetic gaze from those splendid green eyes brought her to a blush as she remembered the night she had just spent in his arms. It had left her confused. The thrill of his touch, his lips upon hers, their bodies melting together as one had aroused a passionate response in her. Then all tenderness disappeared. Smiling coldly at her, he had whispered, “Ah, my Lilith,” and taken her ruthlessly.
Looking away from his disconcerting gaze she asked, “Would you care for some chocolate?”
“No, I have already breakfasted and been riding.” He seated himself on the edge of the chaise longue.
“Riding,” there was a wistfulness as she spoke, “I have not been on a horse since we came to London.” She hoped he might take the hint and offer to take her, but instead he countered, “Too many late nights, I suppose. I see your tray is full of more invitations.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, and I don’t know which ones to accept.”
“Complaining, my dear? I thought this is what you wanted.”
“I’m not complaining. I just wish the pace were slower.”
Marisa tossed her golden tresses and slid out of bed, affording him a view of her shapely body in a sheer night dress before she pulled on a peignoir.
How quickly they learned the feminine wiles, Straeford thought. Last night she had enjoyed their sexual activity a little too much. In no time one man would not be able to satisfy her. Lady Maxwell’s impassioned plea of a few weeks ago had almost made him doubt his own estimation of his wife, but last night she had reaffirmed his original beliefs. Sitting back and crossing his arms, he eyed her smugly, and Marisa wondered just what he was thinking now.
“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked abruptly.
“There is a small card party at the Fairfaxes this evening, and then tomorrow we are promised to Lady Claridge…”
“No, not I, my dear, I have attended enough society functions in the last three weeks to last me a lifetime. You are well launched into the ton and can go on credibly without me at your side now. My defection will hardly be noticed.”
“But… I… have already accepted the invitations in both our names.”
“Then that is your problem. Doubtless you will manage. I am going out of town for a few days.”
“Out of town? But… Meg is coming… and there is the ball we are to give.” She was following him across the room and had laid a tentative hand on his arm. The unhappy look in her eyes gave him a moment’s pause.
“Be assured I shall return before then.”
The slight thawing of his tone gave her courage to ask, “How shall I get in touch with you? Where are you going?”
He stiffened and his eyebrows snapped together. “Where I go and what I do is no concern of yours!”
His belligerent statement hurt and angered her, and she turned her back to him. With that he stomped out of the room.
Why was he so cruel and unpredictable? These past three weeks he had been obliging and courteous, escorting her to the theater, a rout party, Vauxhall Gardens, and several other affairs. Then, when she was growing accustomed to his presence, expecting his support, he simplydeserted her. Very well, she would manage on her own. Richard Foxworth would be only too happy to escort her to the Fairfax and Claridge parties. And she would also accept Relington’s offer to ride with him in Hyde Park tomorrow after all.
“Would you care to handle the ribbons, Lady Straeford?” Relington asked as he tooled his horses through the park.
“Oh, I think not.”
“I’m not such a Corinthian, my lady, that I would mind your driving my cattle.”
“But I never have.”
“Then it’s time you did.” Promptly he placed the reins in her hands. “Steady does it,” he encouraged as he leaned closer to her, but she was concentrating too hard on his instructions to notice. “Shorten the ribbon a trifle for the direction you intend going. Good, good. You have a light but firm touch, all to the good.”
“I hope your tiger is not too nervous with me holding the reins.”
“Hawley? Never consider him,” he stated with insolence. “Ah, another curricle is approaching. Let us move to the right.”
The approaching conveyance carried Carol Fairfax and her fiancé, Marc Belvoir. Drawing rein, the two couples conversed pleasantly, exchanging the gossip of the day, and then moved on only to stop again as more of their friends and acquaintances hailed them along their route.
The hour passed quickly and soon they were on their way back to Berkeley Square. As they approached her home, Relington returned to a topic which had been mentioned earlier.
“So, the ear
l is out of town, and you will be attending Lady Claridge’s ball alone.”
With some indignation she replied, “ I assure you I will not be alone. Richard Foxworth has kindly offered to take me.”
“Ah, and I was just about to offer myself as your escort.”
“That is kind of you, but I’m sure your own wife would prefer you accompanied her.”
He shook his head negatively. “That is impossible, dear lady, since Amanda left for the country quite suddenly yesterday.” A meaningful look accompanied his unexpected words, causing a sudden chill to invade her entire being. With great effort she strove to control her chaotic feelings. Unconsciously, she twisted the straps of her reticule until Relington’s hand rested on her agitated fingers, forcing them still. Unable to meet his gaze or speak without betraying her emotions, she continued to stare at their interlocked hands.
“My dear, it may be painful for you, but you must accept the truth…”
“No, I refuse to listen! Please say no more on the subject.” She spoke in short, choppy sentences as she tried to collect her thoughts. “Thank you for the drive. There is no need for you to see me to the door. Good day, Lord Relington.”
Relington watched her go. He was quite pleased with himself and this day’s work. Already his words were having an effect on her.
Shaking with rage and humiliation, Marisa paced her room like a caged animal. So, her husband was with Amanda Relington! Soon every gossip in London would hear of it. Why had Justin chosen that vixen of all women to be his mistress? His mistress! Dear God, her husband had a mistress! And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
The pacing stopped. Her anger ebbed to be replaced by despair. In total dejection she leaned her head against the window pane, staring unseeing into the street below. The light went out of the day, and still she remained frozen in her misery.
“My lady,” Lucy peeped her head around the door. “Shall I lay out your dress for Lady Claridge’s ball?”
“I’ve decided not to attend, Lucy.” Exhausted, Marisa slipped onto the chaise longue and rested her head against the pillows.
“But, your ladyship, everyone will be there. It’s to be one of the grandest affairs of the season. ‘Tis the on dit in the servants’ hall.”
“Oh, is it?” The countess permitted herself a half smile, slightly amused by her maid’s remarks.
“No disrespect intended, my lady, but it would be corkbrained not to wear that pretty new yella concoction and go out for some fun.”
Marisa was perturbed by the girl’s unsolicited informality. She was about to reprimand her for the liberty she had just taken by addressing her in such a casual manner, when the girl added, “I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t expect you to sit ‘ome blue-deviled because he can’t join you this night.”
Under her lashes the countess surreptitiously studied the girl. What had she heard? Was her husband’s affair already common knowledge? Would it be duly reported that she was sitting at home brooding over it? No, that would never do! Shaking off her lethargy, she rose proudly from the chaise longue. “I’ve changed my mind after all, Lucy; you may help me dress.”
The countess wore a classical high-waisted gown with a low decolletage. The pale yellow skirt of chiffon was slightly flared at the back, and the long, close-fitting sleeves were transparent. The costume was completed with the Straeford emeralds which hung from her neck and ears. At the last minute she decided to slip the emerald ring she rarely wore onto her finger.
She was pleased with her appearance, and Fox-worth’s praise as he placed an appliqued shawl about her shoulders added to her confidence.
The countess was never gayer, flirting and dancing with every gallant who sought her hand, revelling in the attention accorded her and hoping Straeford would be apprised of her success. Until tonight it never occurred to her that her subdued reception by the polite world was in part caused by her husband’s formidable presence. That was all changed now as her customary friends and acquaintances, the sedate matrons and quiet gentlemen, were replaced by the more dashing, reckless members of the ton. It was heady stuff to be surrounded by so many admirers and flamboyant ladies, and Lady Straeford sparkled for their benefit cavorting with Foxworth, toying with Relington, and captivating half the men at the ball. No one would accuse her of wearing the willow for a faithless husband.
It was just before the supper dance that Lady Maxwell finally cornered her and led her away to one of the withdrawing rooms where she mildly reprimanded her for her unusual behavior.
“What is the matter, child?”
“The matter?” Marisa prevaricated. “Why, nothing is the matter. I am just learning how to behave like any society belle.”
“This is not like you, Marisa. Consider what you are doing before you regret it and make a mistake…”
“Regret… make a mistake?” she retorted almost hysterically. “That is not putting it half strongly enough, dear lady.”
“Straeford…”
“Straeford is… I do not wish to discuss him! If you will excuse me, I think I am engaged for this dance.”
She took herself off and continued her madcap fling until the early hours of the morning when she returned home.
Lucy slipped the emeralds from about her mistress’s neck, and waited to receive the other heirlooms from the countess to be placed in the jewelry box. Suddenly Marisa stumbled to her feet, a stricken expression distorting her features.
“What is it, my lady?”
“The ring… it’s gone!”
“Oh, madam, no!” Lucy looked agog as her ladyship held her empty fingers out to her.
“I always meant to have it adjusted only…” she did not finish her thought aloud but it echoed in her mind. Only, I wanted Justin to make the gesture…
“What are we to do, my lady?”
“I must contact the Claridges… and Richard Fox-worth. If I did not lose the ring at the ball, I may have lost it in the carriage. Quickly, some note paper.”
It was after six o’clock in the morning when she received word from both parties concerned that neither was able to locate the jewel. Consequently, in the cold light of dawn, Marisa sat huddled in a chair, clutching at the shawl about her, racking her brain, trying to decide what to do next. Straeford would have to be told.
Seated on a footstool near her mistress, Lucy noticed that the countess was trembling and attempted to put her to bed, but Marisa rejected the idea. As exhausted as she was, she knew sleep was impossible unless she had come to terms with the calamity facing her. Suddenly a solution presented itself to her. She would go see her father and ask his advice. He might be able to help her.
Although it was barely seven o’clock in the morning, Lucy could not persuade her ladyship to wait a minute longer, and they were soon on their way to the Loftus residence in Bloomsbury.
Loftus was about to leave for his office in the city when his daughter arrived. Shocked by this unexpected visit, he quickly ushered her into his private study where Marisa’s calm completely deserted her, and she buried her face in her handkerchief weeping softly.
“My dear child, whatever is the matter?” He was deeply concerned and expected to be informed of the most dreadful mishap. This was not at all like his daughter. What could it be to bring her here still attired in her evening clothes?
When she finally regained her composure and explained her misfortune, he was relieved. A lost or stolen emerald ring, even if it were an heirloom, seemed a small matter to him. Nevertheless, he assured her that if it had been stolen and not lost, he could probably locate it through certain business associates of his.
“It will take a few days to come up with it. In the meantime you go home and relax. Stop worrying.” Angus frowned, not liking the unhappy troubled look in his daughter’s eyes. Could one heirloom ring have caused that, or was there something more? Guilt was not an emotion he was familiar with, but niggling doubts about her happiness kept crossing his mind lately, ever since he h
ad learned of Straeford’s coming to the city without her. Impulsively, he kissed her cheek. “I’ve missed you, my girl.”
“And I you, Father. Won’t you come to visit soon?”
“You know my views on that, daughter.” He suppressed his natural loving instincts as he was reminded of his goal. “I’m not a gentleman born, and I don’t intend to interfere once my children are established. I’ll be content to remain in the background.” He tweaked her chin. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t pay you an occasional visit. You say the earl is out of town? When does he return?”
“Oh, soon.” She flushed slightly under her father’s scrutiny. It would be impossible for her to tell him about Justin and Amanda even though he was the one who had informed her of how it would be. Quickly she changed the subject, reminding him that John and Meg were to spend the next month with Straeford and her so that they might participate in the Season. Loftus was only too eager to discuss the future of his two younger offspring with her. He cautioned her to watch John closely because he was acting strangely and was not looking forward to the coming weeks. There were no such reservations where Meg was concerned. She was impatient for her entree into society, and he expected her to be a tremendous success.
Meg whirled before the mirror in her pretty pink frock admiring her own dark beauty. “I still don’t understand why the earl isn’t here to accompany us to the theater. I hope he’s not planning to renege on his part of the bargain.”
In sudden irritation Marisa grasped her sister by the shoulders and shook her. “Haven’t I asked you not to speak in such a vulgar manner?”
Meg shrugged loose of her sister’s light grasp and pouted. “There’s no need to get violent about it.”
Disliking her own lack of restraint, Marisa held out her hand to her sister, who reluctantly accepted it. “I’m sorry, dear. Let us be friends. This is an important night for you, and I don’t want anything to spoil it. Shall we go? John is waiting for us in the drawing room.”
“I do hope he is not foxed,” Meg whispered as they came in on their brother who was lounging on the settee. “It’s becoming a most distressing habit.”
Tender Torment Page 16
