Rebel Love (Heart's Temptation Book 2)

by Scarlett Scott

  She’d simply have to wait until the morning for her answer, if indeed there was one. For a long time, she lay in the quiet emptiness of her bed, smelling Jesse on her sheets, praying he hadn’t left her forever this time. The tears, when they came, slid down her cheeks. The violent sobs claimed her just as surely as her husband’s possessive lovemaking had done.

  The next morning, Bella’s heart was galloping faster than a racehorse when she entered the breakfast room. She hadn’t dared to confide in even Smith about Jesse’s disappearance the night before. Her maid had simply chatted happily away and styled her in a jaunty silk morning gown of striped ivory and navy. Bella hadn’t even paid any attention to her toilette, she’d been so preoccupied with wondering whether or not her husband would be waiting for her at the breakfast table.

  But now, her fears were answered as she crossed over the threshold of the small yet brightly lit room to discover Jesse was already seated with a filled plate before him. He was perusing a newspaper as if he hadn’t a care. The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding slowly released. He was still here. Thank the blessed angels.

  He looked up and stood at her entrance. “Mrs. Whitney, you’re looking exquisite as ever this morning. I trust you slept well?”

  In truth, she was quite fatigued, so tired her eyes hurt. Of course, perhaps the crying she’d done had contributed to that. Heavens, she hoped her eyes weren’t puffed. She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t slept at all. She wanted to demand to know where he’d gone. She’d heard of husbands keeping mistresses. It was a common enough practice in the Marlborough House set. But she hadn’t believed Jesse would ever be such a man. Theirs had been a love match. Hadn’t it?

  She faltered on her way to the table as her emotions clamored to be released, but she was ever aware of the presence of the butler presiding over the sideboard. A footman seated her and she kept her silence, afraid she would say something utterly foolish and opting instead not to say anything at all.

  “Lady Bella?” Jesse persisted, his tone marked with unease. “Is something amiss?”

  She met his gaze across the table. “I’m not certain.”

  His brows snapped together in a frown. “I see.” He turned to the servants attending them. “Jackson, would you be kind enough to allow me a moment of privacy with Mrs. Whitney?”

  The butler bowed. “Of course, sir.”

  Bella watched the servants leave them in respectful haste before turning back to her husband. “You must simply dismiss them, Jesse, not offer explanation.” She wasn’t certain why she was chiding him now, except that it was a childish way of lashing out when he’d hurt her the night before.

  He stared at her, his expression indecipherable. “I will endeavor to take that into account. I wouldn’t wish to offend your English sensibilities.”

  Her words had hit their mark, but she felt no satisfaction. “It is simply that you must never become too familiar with them.” Of course, she considered Smith a confidante, but that was neither here nor there. She was punishing Jesse the only way she could. Every bit of her was desperate to know where he’d gone, why he’d left her.

  “Thank you, Bella.” His tone was polite, but she detected an undercurrent of impatience. “Shall I make a plate for you?” He rose and strode to the sideboard without waiting for her response.

  “Yes,” she said quietly, still hopelessly confused.

  He brought a plate laden with eggs and sausages to her. As he placed it upon the table, he leaned into her and kissed her neck. “This is how I prefer to wish my wife a good morning,” he said lowly.

  She couldn’t repress the shiver of desire his kiss and nearness sent through her. Bella turned to him, trying to steel herself against the sight of his handsome face and tempting lips so close to her. “I woke last night, and you were gone,” she began hesitantly, “when I had asked you to stay.”

  “Ah, is that what’s distressing you, sweetheart?” He smiled, his dimple appearing. “I wondered what had you looking so cross.”

  “It is merely that I asked you to stay,” she said again, feeling a bit foolish in the face of his charm.

  “I’m sorry.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I simply returned to my chamber. I didn’t want to disturb you if I had a nightmare.”

  “You returned to your chamber?” She searched his gaze for any sign of dishonesty. “When?”

  “Just as soon as you were fast sleep.” He winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul that you snore.”

  He was lying. The heavy stone of dread was back in Bella’s stomach. She opened her mouth, about to ask him where he’d truly been, why he was prevaricating, but she was afraid she wouldn’t want to hear the answer. Her grip on happiness was yet so new, so tentative. She trusted him with her heart. He wouldn’t betray her, not the man she’d come to know and love. Perhaps he had simply gone to his study for a drink, she reasoned, before returning to his chamber. He’d told her at Wilton House that he sometimes suffered from nightmares. It all made sense.

  She relaxed, the tension in her body easing. “I don’t snore,” she protested, at last realizing what he’d said.

  Jesse just grinned before kissing her. It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, their mouths opening. The desire he’d brought raging to life the previous night sluiced back over her like hot bath water. She rested her hands on his shoulders, angling her head to allow him better access.

  He groaned, breaking the seal of their mouths. “You’re every bit as tempting in the morning as you are in the evening. If I don’t get my arse back over into that chair, I’ll be taking you right here on the breakfast table.”

  “Good heavens,” she murmured, catching her lower lip between her teeth. In truth, she wouldn’t mind if he did. But she supposed that would be rather depraved of them indeed. “You’d better return to your chair, in that case. What if Clara happens upon us?”

  “Ah, I fear you’re right.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek before straightening. “It’s a damn good thing I have you to keep me in order from this point forward.”

  “It is indeed,” she agreed, deciding the matter of his disappearance was firmly resolved. Surely it was simply a misunderstanding. She loved her husband, and that was all that mattered. Yet there remained a lingering speck of doubt in her mind, unwilling to be entirely banished.

  Bella closed her volume of The Eustace Diamonds with a snap and a sigh. At long last she’d finished reading the novel that had been her constant companion over the last few months of upheaval and change. How she dearly loved a good book, and now that her life had finally calmed down, she could once more set her mind to the pleasant pursuit of great literature.

  She’d settled into a comfortable, if somewhat unfulfilling role as Jesse’s wife. She had been raised to manage a large household, but she found she was scarcely needed at her new home in Belgravia. The housekeeper Jesse had hired, Mrs. Beeton, was well-versed in the art of directing the servants and keeping the house running smoothly. Monsieur Billard was a talented chef from the Continent, capable of wooing their palates each evening with wonderful sauces and roasts. Everything was perfect. Or so it seemed.

  The worldly trappings of her life hid the loneliness that had begun plaguing her with increasing insistence in the time since she’d become Mrs. Jesse Whitney. Jesse had found a sure footing in London. He was consumed by devoting himself to his business, so much so that she often didn’t see him until the evenings over dinner. She hardly even knew what he was about during the days, but she supposed it wasn’t her right to ask if he didn’t deign to offer up the information on his own. Each night, he visited her chamber and made love to her, bringing her incredible pleasure, before slipping away to his chamber.

  She’d discovered a new loathing for being left alone, and she couldn’t shake the fear that beneath his charming smile and knowing hands there lay a deeply wounded man. He was keeping something from her. She could sense it the same way she could smell rain on the air. But
just what that was, she feared she’d never know.

  The door to the library opened, disrupting her morose turn of thoughts. She took off her spectacles, startled to find Clara entering the room. Though she wore her customary drab black dress, her expression was less guarded than was ordinary. Bella noted that her stepdaughter had finally chosen to heed her advice, eschewing the severe hairstyle she’d been wearing for a loose, more feminine coiffure. Her hair had been curled at her forehead, and the bulk of her long locks were tied at her nape, sweeping down her back in another series of corkscrews. Perhaps it was a sign of progress, small though the concession was.

  “Clara,” she greeted. “What brings you to this moldy old corner of the house?”

  The girl faltered. “Have I interrupted your day, my lady?”

  “Don’t be a featherhead,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Do come in and sit down. I’m in need of company. I’m merely surprised to find you in the library, is all. I thought you said you hated books.”

  Clara’s cheeks went pink. Though she crossed the room as Bella had directed, she remained standing, her hands clasped behind her back as if she were a penitent awaiting punishment. “Perhaps hate was a strong word.”

  Her accent was much more pronounced than Jesse’s but just as lovely to the ears. They’d been spending quite a bit of time together during Jesse’s absences, and unless she was mistaken, Clara was slowly warming to her. “Your hair looks very handsome, my dear.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome.” She considered the girl, thinking that she was softening toward her as well. Although their initial meeting had been frosty, the cold between them had gradually begun to thaw. “Won’t you sit? You’re giving my neck a beastly cramp.”

  “I don’t wish to impose,” she said hesitantly, swaying slightly as if tempted to sit but not sure if she ought.

  Bella suppressed a smile. “Clara, sit down. You’re not imposing in the least.”

  Clara at last did as she was instructed, seating herself primly. She possessed polished manners, which was most fortunate. “It’s merely that I wanted to tell you I’ve reconsidered your offer.”

  “Ah.” Though she was pleased, she didn’t dare show it. Clara was still naturally stubborn, after all, and there was no need to tempt her. “I suppose you’re speaking of my suggestion that we outfit you in a new wardrobe and you take finishing lessons?”

  Her stepdaughter’s golden brows snapped into a ferocious frown. “With respect, my lady, I don’t feel that I need finishing lessons.”

  She well understood Clara’s sentiments, as she hadn’t wanted them herself. But to blend and mingle in society, particularly for a young girl who had been raised in an entirely different manner, Bella deemed it an absolute necessity. “I sympathize with you, but you truly must. Pray recall that your circumstances are now vastly altered. You have my promise that I shan’t find anyone as horrid as my mother did for me when I was your age. Indeed, you’d shudder to think of the governesses I suffered before finishing school.”

  Her candor won a reluctant smile from Clara. “It isn’t as if I were raised in the wild. Richmond is a wonderful city, and I long to return one day. I don’t think England is for me.”

  “Nevertheless, you are the responsibility of your father and me until you’re wed.” Heavens, she was beginning to feel decidedly motherly toward the girl. When had that happened? “England isn’t all bad, is it?”

  Clara primly adjusted her skirts. “I shall always love Virginia.”

  Bella couldn’t blame her. “No one ever said that you cannot, my dear,” she reassured her.

  Before Clara could respond, a rap at the library door stole their attention. Jackson, their butler, was looking customarily formidable. Bella had already discovered the man was formal almost to a fault and nearly incapable of offering a smile. She was equally determined to make him crack. Perhaps it was the child in her that had never quite become a woman entirely grown. But she was enjoying the freedom running her own household afforded her. Escaping the dowager’s wingspan had been a boon in more ways than she’d envisioned.

  “Lady Stokey,” intoned Jackson, stepping aside to reveal their unexpected guest.

  Tia, Lady Stokey, breezed into the room like a beautiful little butterfly. She was dressed to utter perfection in a vibrant shade of purple silk only she would have the courage to wear. Her skirts were gathered in an elaborate waterfall of lace and bows. Bella hadn’t seen her new, albeit unlikely, friend since her time at Marleigh Manor, and she was pleased to see her again now.

  Lady Stokey wrinkled her nose in a fashion that was somehow still patently ladylike. “Dear me, whatever can you be doing in the library of all places? I daresay it smells of must and old boots in here.”

  Her words earned a chortle out of Clara. Bella cast a halfheartedly censorious stare in her stepdaughter’s direction before offering their guest a welcoming smile. “Lady Stokey, how lovely to see you again. I’m afraid you’ve caught us in the one room of the house I love best.”

  “Gads.” Lady Stokey seated herself on a Louis Quinze chaise with dainty care. “Libraries are dreadfully boring. I can’t think why you’d harbor such a tendre for them.”

  “Books aren’t boring,” Bella countered, unabashed. She knew she wasn’t conventional by any means. Ladies were meant to paint watercolors and embroider the family linen. But she’d never done what was expected of her, and her marriage to Jesse had amply proven that.

  Lady Stokey winked. “I suppose it depends what books you’re reading, Lady Bella.”

  “I prefer Trollope myself.” Bella cast a glance toward the rapt audience they had in Clara. Lady Stokey was a trifle too fast for a girl of Clara’s years, but she couldn’t help but to like the woman. She had a charm that was as naughty as it was irresistible, as though she were privy to a secret joke that everyone else ought to know as well. Bella cleared her throat and then immediately hoped she wasn’t turning into her mother. Oh dear. At least she’d always have a far better understanding of the English language than that august lady.

  “I haven’t an inkling who the fellow is, nor do I care.” Lady Stokey laughed. “I suppose you’ll think me dreadfully small-minded, but I’ve never been a reader. I dearly love dresses, however, which is why I’ve interrupted your little library soiree.”

  Bella was curious. While she hadn’t invited Lady Stokey, as Cleo’s sister and an acquaintance, she was always welcome to call. “Indeed?”

  “My dear sister has told me you’ve written with the plight of our wonderful Miss Jones.” Lady Stokey turned her attention to Jesse’s daughter. “I understand that you’re in need of schooling in our barbaric English customs, and that you’ll shortly be in need of a new wardrobe when your time of mourning is over. Lady Thornton has deemed me a worthy ally in your quest. What do you think, Lady Bella?” She turned her attention back to Bella as she asked the last question.

  She thought that Lady Stokey would make an excellent guide to Clara, as long as she didn’t encourage her natural inclination toward being a minx. But she didn’t dare say as much in front of her charge. Instead, she nodded. “I think that would be more than generous of you, and a great help to Clara. We were just now speaking of her future plans, so it’s quite fortuitous that you have come to us.”

  “Indeed? I can’t say I’ve often been blessed with good timing. It’s what rendered me a widow, you see. Although, having known Lord Stokey, I must say that perhaps it was good timing I possessed after all.” Lady Stokey beamed, clearly in a role that suited her. “This is going to be quite fun. My life has been deadly dull for the last little while, and I’m in desperate need of enlivening company.”

  Bella couldn’t resist a grin. “Our dear Clara can more than amply provide you with that.”

  Her stepdaughter’s eyes widened with what appeared to be surprise. “I hope I haven’t caused you a great deal of trouble, my lady,” Clara offered, sounding sincere. “I k
now I have not always treated you with kindness.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but Bella wasn’t certain she’d ever get one from her. They were, after all, two women who’d been thrown together by the oddest whims of fate. Bella never would have imagined she’d one day have a stepdaughter from Virginia, just as she suspected Clara had never thought she’d leave the land of her girlhood. But time could heal all wounds. Well, nearly all wounds, she rethought grimly. It seemed that Jesse’s wounds would never completely mend.

  “Of course you haven’t,” she returned, opting for honesty. “But in fairness, you’ve experienced no ends of upheaval, and I shan’t blame you.”

  Lady Stokey clapped her hands. “Enough with the maudlin sentiments. We’ve a wardrobe and a comeout to plan. I do hope Mr. Whitney’s pockets are deep.”

  And with that, the three ladies set about planning Clara’s unexpected future.

  A few days later, Bella was once again left to her own devices for the afternoon. Clara was busy with finishing lessons and Jesse was away on business. He’d left her with a kiss and a smile that morning, setting off to inspect some buildings he said he intended to purchase. Real estate was how he’d made his fortune, and Bella respected his determination. He was a quintessential American self-made man, and although the old society matrons still frowned upon such an unthinkable role, she was proud of him.

  But she still missed her husband. She’d seen more of him during their time at the house party than she did now that they lived in the same edifice. With a heavy sigh, she turned her attention back to the volume of poetry she’d been attempting to read. As happy as she was, as much as she loved her husband, there remained a niggling feeling within her that something was wrong. He was not giving his entire self to her, and his withholding was beginning to wear upon her.

  Jackson appeared in the door then, giving her a start. Blessed angels’ sakes, the man had a way of creeping about stealthily. She almost never heard his footfalls. His face was dour as ever.