Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love)

by Callie Hutton

  …

  Eugenia sat on her bed, watching the rain fall and wondering what it was she kept doing wrong. After last night, she was certain Devon would continue to behave as the lover he had been.

  When he’d entered the breakfast room that morning, her hopes were high that things had changed between them. Although Lord Barrymore had kept her busy with a tale about his hounds—blasted man—she’d kept trying to end the conversation so she could turn her attention to her husband.

  Not that it would have mattered. It became quite clear once they’d said their good-byes to their host and hostess that nothing had changed. Devon had treated her with the utmost respect and consideration. He assisted her into the carriage, telling her he would be riding his horse so she could enjoy the ride by herself.

  Yes, indeed. Any hopes she’d had of doing something scandalous on the ride home died a painful death. No kisses, no touches, and no rustling of clothing while the countryside passed them by. Tears rimmed her eyes, but she refused to cry. She was made of sterner stuff, and would continue her campaign.

  …

  Two days later, she studied herself in her mirror, twisting and turning, admiring the sapphire blue gown with the lace on the neckline and at the edge of her sleeves. The color brought more depth to her eyes, and the light blue gross grain ribbon under the bodice, tying in the back, brought attention to her breasts.

  They were headed to the theater, where they would meet Mr. Cahill and his wife, Lady Beatrice. The youngest son of the Earl of Denbigh, Mr. Cahill was not one of her favorite persons. He had made no secret of the fact that he’d married Lady Beatrice for her fortune. Not that it was not done, but he seemed particularly proud of the fact.

  While a lovely young woman, Lady Beatrice, the eldest daughter of Viscount Harding, had an odd-shaped nose, which drew the eye of anyone speaking with her. Aside from that, she had beautiful hair and a nice form. Eugenia always enjoyed spending time with her, despite her husband. Although, truth be known, he was generally not in attendance when she’d seen Lady Beatrice.

  In addition, Mr. Cahill was not very discreet when it came to his mistresses, which annoyed Eugenia even more.

  With Eugenia’s reputation as cool and aloof and Lady Beatrice’s unfortunate facial components, they’d found themselves many times at balls without dance partners. She’d discovered that Lady Beatrice was funny, warm, and interested in many of the subjects that inspired lively conversations. The woman abhorred gossip, and had only kind things to say about people, despite the slights she’d received herself.

  Turning her attention back to her own dilemma, she decided that tonight, after the theater, she would insist on a long conversation with her husband about their marriage—and in particular, the marriage bed. Although her stomach cramped as she imagined the difficulty she would have with such a conversation, nevertheless, the time had come to stop this dance forward and backward.

  “You look lovely, my dear.” Devon stood at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up at her with appreciation.

  Her heart took a leap as she moved toward him. Dressed in his formal evening attire, the Earl of Devon was a sight to behold. His dark hair had been slicked back, but one errant curl had begun to make its way to his forehead. His starched white cravat, along with his white-on-white waistcoat and black formal trousers completed the picture of a handsome, well-dressed peer of the realm.

  And she loved him.

  Oh, she’d loved him from the time before they’d married, but now that love had grown into something else. Something strong and visceral. With the way he watched her, she could almost think he loved her back. But he’d never said the words.

  Would he ever?

  “I am truly looking forward to the performance this evening,” Eugenia offered as she turned so Bellows could drape her cloak around her. They were off to see Fun and Fright; or, How to Gain Consent, at the Adelphi Theater. “A number of people have told me what an excellent play it is.”

  “Then I do hope it lives up to your expectations.” Devon extended his arm to her, and they made their way to the carriage.

  It took some time for the vehicle to meander through the traffic and then the long line discharging passengers. Eugenia could feel the excitement in the air, and her spirit lifted just being at the theater with her handsome husband.

  After stopping to greet a number of theater-goers, they entered their box to find Mr. Cahill and Lady Beatrice already seated.

  “Eugenia, how lovely you look,” Lady Beatrice beamed at her from her seat.

  Mr. Cahill stood and took her hand. Despite wearing a glove, she almost felt the need to wipe her hand on a handkerchief after he kissed it. So unnecessary. “My lady, as always, you look splendid.”

  She dipped her head at his compliment and took the chair next to Lady Beatrice. “You look lovely yourself, Beatrice.”

  One thing she could say for the young woman. She certainly had a flair for picking the correct patterns and fabrics for her gowns. They always flattered her and made her prominent nose less noticeable.

  Both men sat behind the ladies, and Eugenia felt the loss of Devon not being beside her. Of course she was being foolish. If only she could figure out what else she could possibly do to make Devon understand she didn’t want things to be the way they had been for the first few months of their marriage. She wanted him to desire her enough to never want to replace his mistress. Tonight she would work up the nerve to tell him just that.

  Shortly after they settled in, the curtain rose and Eugenia was swept away into the magic of the play. She’d always enjoyed the theater, and she’d heard a great deal about this performance.

  Once the curtain came down for the intermission, she felt as though she’d awakened from a dream. She also realized she was thirsty. She turned to Devon behind her. “May I please have a drink? I find I am quite thirsty.”

  “Of course, my dear. Did you want to stroll with me to the lobby?” He reached his hand out, and she took it. They left the theater box hand-in-hand, which always felt so much more intimate to her than merely placing her fingers on his arm. Perhaps there was still hope.

  Several friends stopped them a few times, but eventually Devon retrieved a warm lemonade for her, which she sipped while they discussed the play thus far with Lord and Lady Mathers. Both couples agreed the play was indeed living up to expectations.

  They were almost back to their box when Lady Beatrice approached them. “Will you walk with me to the ladies’ retiring room, Eugenia?”

  Eugenia turned to Devon. “Go on ahead, I will join you in a few minutes.”

  Lady Beatrice linked arms with Eugenia as they made their way across the lobby. A footman stepped up onto a box and caught their attention as he announced the play would resume in two minutes.

  As the playgoers returned to their seats, Eugenia stopped and turned to Beatrice. “Oh, dear. Do you mind terribly if I return to my seat? I really do not want to miss any of the play.”

  Her friend waved her hand. “Go right on ahead, I will be only a few minutes myself.”

  Eugenia hurried off, anxious to be seated. She reached out to move the curtain aside to enter their box when she heard the word “mistress.” Immediately, she dropped her hand and listened. Every lesson her mother taught her about eavesdropping flew out of her head when she realized it was Mr. Cahill speaking.

  “If you haven’t found a new one yet, I have an invitation for you.” Mr. Cahill’s whiny voice grated on her nerves.

  “What is that?”

  “M’mistress has a friend who is looking for a new protector. She has made a special request to meet you.”

  Eugenia sucked in a breath and covered her mouth, her hand shaking. After an interminable amount of time, Devon spoke. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. I am meeting Maria after the theater. I would be happy to send along a note to her to meet us at her house with her friend. What do you say?”

  Eugenia counted every single heartbeat that pu
lsed in her throat as she waited for Devon to respond. Finally, after what seemed an age, he said, “All right. I’ll go with you.”

  …

  Devon was torn. He still had no desire to bed anyone other than Eugenia but, since the party at Barrymore’s estate, he found himself growing more depressed each day. Did she or did she not have a lover?

  What else could possibly have influenced her enough to produce a change so dramatic over the past few weeks? She was definitely not the woman he’d married. Not that he had any complaints—well, aside from a gown or two she’d worn. Her newly awakened responses to his attentions, and the—well, there was no other word for it—flirting and seductive behavior mystified him and led him to only one conclusion.

  A new mistress might soothe his ego. Yes. There it was. He was angry that Eugenia had turned to someone else for satisfaction.

  Have I ever given her any satisfaction before she took the initiative?

  That is not the point, he argued with himself. Proper ladies were supposed to be reluctant to do anything other than allow the most innocuous visits by their husbands. And gentlemen were to slake their passion on mistresses so as not to upset their wives’ delicate sensibilities. That had been drilled into him almost from the time he’d grown out of short pants.

  He was beginning to think he was the one with the delicate sensibilities.

  A few minutes after the curtain rose for the next act, Eugenia and Lady Beatrice entered the box. He smiled at his wife, but she merely offered him a brief nod and, with head held high and her back as stiff as a board, she took her seat and focused entirely on the play.

  Although she had sat mesmerized during the first half of the show, this time she merely stared at the stage, not laughing when the lines were funny or commenting to Lady Beatrice as she’d done before.

  Once the play ended, she stiffened when he took her arm in his to exit the theater.

  “Did you enjoy the show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it live up to your expectations?”

  “Yes.”

  He was puzzled by her manner, but perhaps she’d developed a megrim. They entered their carriage, and the vehicle set off. “I will be joining Cahill at our club for a few drinks after I leave you.” Devon spoke to the window of the carriage, since he was unable to look Eugenia in the eye as they traveled the road home.

  When she failed to respond, he turned to her. The moonlight spilling through the window lit her pale face. Her chin was raised, and she avoided his glance. She sat like the lady he’d always known, her hands resting in her lap, her back straight.

  Not wishing to pursue it, and trying to convince himself she was tired, or perhaps suffered from a headache, he turned once again to the window.

  After the footman opened the door, Devon stepped out and offered Eugenia his hand. She took it, her hand cold as ice through her glove, and again failed to meet his eyes. Once they were in the house, he bent and offered her a kiss on her cheek. “I will see you in the morning.”

  Again a curt nod, and she started up the stairs. He studied her until she disappeared down the corridor. Then, with a sigh, he returned to the carriage. “White’s.”

  If he didn’t know better, based on Eugenia’s behavior on the way home, he would guess she had heard the conversation between him and Cahill. But she had gone with Lady Beatrice to the lady’s retiring room, and had returned after the play had resumed—several minutes after Cahill had offered his invitation.

  Life had become difficult and frustrating. Once the Season ended it would be a relief to return to Devonshire.

  Maybe for years.

  He didn’t have to wait long once he’d settled in his seat at the club. A footman placed a glass of brandy in front of him when Cahill arrived. “Ah, glad you’re already here. I arranged to have Maria and Isabella—that is her friend—meet us in about a half hour. The ladies want to do some primping, it seems.” He grinned, and Devon felt as if he would bring up the little bit of brandy he’d consumed.

  “You’ll like this one. She’s perfect for you, big…you know.” Cahill extended his hands in front of his chest.

  Perfect for you.

  Eugenia was perfect for him.

  Cahill leaned farther in, motioning for Devon to do the same. “Isabella is very special. Has particular talents, if you know what I mean.”

  As the man continued to ply them both with brandies, along with stories of the various mistresses he’d had, comparing each one’s assets, Devon grew more and more despondent.

  Eventually, having had enough conversation, Devon downed the last of his drink and stood. “Let’s just do this.”

  Cahill hopped up and slapped him on the back. “Ah, I can see you’re anxious. No doubt you will wear Isabella out since you’ve been without a mistress for so long. You owe me for this one, Devon.”

  The woman’s house was in a part of town that housed several members of the demimonde. Margaret’s house had been only a few blocks over. As they made their way up the stairs, Devon felt as though he were marching to his death.

  The door was opened by a butler who must have also served as a bodyguard, given the size and demeanor of the man. “My lords, the ladies are expecting you in the drawing room. If you will follow me.”

  He led them down the corridor and opened a door, allowing them to precede him in. The room was lavishly done in reds and gold, reminding anyone who thought otherwise that the resident was no lady. The women reclined on two settees. Since Devon did not know Cahill’s paramour, he had no idea which one was Isabella.

  Both women were dressed in scanty gowns, jeweled fingers, and face paint. Devon’s stomach clenched at the scent of strong perfume and the sultry look on the woman who must have been Isabella, given that she stood and walked over to him, her hand extended. “My lord. I am so very pleased you stopped by to visit.”

  Devon took her hand. Soft and silky. Plump with jewels. Once again his stomach rebelled. “It is my pleasure.”

  Not true at all, of course. He began to sweat as he took in his surroundings, and the lecherous look on Cahill’s face as he eyed Isabella. Cahill nodded and winked.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  Isabella moved closer and ran her hands up his chest to encircle his neck. She cupped the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Sometimes if nothing else works, one must take drastic measures.”

  Secrets of the Bedchamber, p. 121

  Eugenia climbed the stairs to her bedroom with her head held high, her chin raised. Her back was as straight as the board her mother used to strap to it for days on end as a young girl. She walked with the grace and gait her mother had insisted upon. The switch that had landed on her legs when it wasn’t quite right had left marks she could still see in bright sunlight. Anytime Eugenia had failed to meet Mother’s expectations, she’d spent the night in her room with no dinner. And at times, no breakfast the next morning, either.

  She turned in a circle and examined her bedchamber. Perfect. Everything in its place, all her perfume bottles lined up, according to height. Just as Mother had demanded. Except for the few gowns she’d bought recently, everything in her wardrobe had been approved by Mother. Proper, modest gowns. Gowns that proper, modest ladies wore.

  Ladies who expected nothing from marriage but money and position. Clothing and jewels. Parties and balls. Children who would be raised by nannies and governesses. Sons who would be sent off to school when they were still mere children.

  A husband who would find satisfaction in the arms of a kept woman while his wife lay in her cold empty bed each night.

  She dropped her reticule on the dressing table and removed her earrings, laying them gently on the polished wooden surface. Placing both hands on either side of the perfectly lined-up perfume bottles, she leaned over and watched with fascination as one teardrop fell to the table. Then another one. Three more.

  She had lost. She’d tried her be
st, but she’d lost.

  Rage as she had never known in her life swept over her, drying her tears and practically doubling her over. She stormed to her bed and removed the book from under the mattress. With a scream that most likely would bring all the servants running, she threw the book across the room. When it bounced against the wall, she picked it up and chucked it into the cold fireplace, shouting words she didn’t even know she knew.

  With three strides—in a most unladylike way—she was across the room and ringing for Sally. While she waited, she threw open the doors to the wardrobe and pulled out every single item of clothing, tossing them on the bed.

  “My lady. Is everything all right? I thought I heard a scream.”

  Eugenia turned to Sally. “Everything is fine.” She pointed to the fireplace. “First, I want you to burn that book. Then I want you to pack everything up. We are leaving tonight for Devonshire.”

  “Burn the book? Leaving for Devonshire? My lady, can I get you a tisane? Perhaps a hot bath and a lie-down?”

  Eugenia gritted her teeth. “No. No tisane, no hot bath, no lie-down. We are leaving tonight, Sally. Forget burning the book. Just pack my clothes while I arrange to have a carriage readied for the trip.” She left the room, shoulders back, once more The Ice Queen.

  “Bellows, please arrange for a carriage to drive to Devonshire.”

  The aged butler, always the proper servant, gave a short bow. “Of course, my lady. What time in the morning shall I have the vehicle ready?”

  Eugenia sailed past him on her way to the library. “Now. I wish to leave now.”

  “My lady?” His startled voice carried down the corridor, until she closed the door behind her. She went directly to Devon’s desk and opened the middle drawer on the right hand side. She withdrew a metal box and lifted the lid, removing numerous bills and coins.

  “Please have a footman bring down the trunks Sally is packing.” Without a flicker in his direction, Eugenia swept by the butler and made her way back upstairs.

  Sally was frantic, folding clothes. “My lady, it will take hours to pack up everything.”