Trent’s eyes danced with amusement. “Allow me.” He offered her his elbow and then tapped the Duke of Primwitty on the shoulder. “Excuse us, Primwitty. We’re going to sit down.”
“Yes, of course,” the duke replied. “I’m terribly sorry, Lady Audrey, for making you stand there.”
“That is quite all right.” It was better than all right, she thought as Trent led her around the chatting couples and into a pew. If she had not been standing there she may not have gotten to sit by Trent. Yesterday, she had been sure she had seen something different in his eyes when he looked at her. Something akin to tenderness mixed with longing. She was certain she was breaking down some barriers. Hopefully they would crash in time to save her from her father’s plans for her.
She settled into her seat beside Trent, a thrill running through her when his hard thigh momentarily brushed hers. She could have sworn his muscles tensed upon contact, but he moved his leg so quickly it was impossible to know for certain. Did he desire her as much as she desired him? If so, she wished he would stop fighting it.
She focused her attention on the front of the church where Whitney and Mr. Sutherland would stand and tried to stop the racing of her heart. She had to get herself in hand. The vaulted ceiling let in a flood of sunlight that shone down on the hundreds of roses decorating the marble stairs leading to the altar. She inhaled deeply of the rose-petal scented air and her pulse slowed just a bit until Trent leaned so close to her his crisp scent of soap and lemon filled her nose and his heat enveloped her. “You look so serious,” he murmured. “What are you thinking about?”
She turned her head to look at him. A frown creased his brow. She wanted to be truthful and give up the game of trying to make him realize he loved her, but she was afraid. She swallowed. A little truth was better than none at all. “I was just thinking that I want to get married here as well. And I would like hundreds of roses just like this. They look so lovely and have such a wonderful scent. Don’t you think?”
His frown increased. “I had not given it any thought. Do you have a candidate in mind for your wedding?”
Sally’s sudden appearance by Audrey saved her from having to either boldly lie or confess. The duchess looked at her with sparkling humor-filled eyes. “Darling, may Peter and I squeeze onto this row?”
Audrey glanced over her shoulder to the empty row behind her and her mouth fell open. Lord Thortonberry sat directly behind her, but other than that, the bench was empty. He smiled and waved and she returned his greeting as she scooted over to make room for Sally and the duke. Whitney had to have contrived inviting Lord Thortonberry to her wedding to try to continue to make Trent jealous. Audrey faced the front again and spared a glance for Trent. She barely contained her delighted laughter. He was glaring between her and Lord Thortonberry.
“Is that your candidate?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.
“Do be quiet!” Sally shushed. “Do you not hear the music signaling the bride’s march is starting?”
Audrey craned her head around and exclaimed with delight, quickly scampering to her feet along with all the other wedding guests. Whitney, with a wreath of white and orange roses in her hair and in a gown made of the finest Brussels lace, slowly moved down the aisle.
Before long, she stood before the altar and she and Mr. Sutherland pledged themselves to each other. As the ceremony came to an end, Whitney turned arm and arm with Mr. Sutherland and beamed at the crowd. Audrey beamed back. She was so happy for her friend. When Whitney and Mr. Sutherland strolled down the aisle, Audrey followed their departure, then stood with the crowd.
Trent was unusually silent beside her and a dark scowl had set on his face. She stepped into the aisle and was about to ask him what was wrong, though she suspected, rather gladly, that it was Lord Thortonberry’s presence, when Lord Thortonberry spoke. “Would you care to ride to the wedding breakfast with me? I’m taking Lady Caroline and her aunt as well.”
“She would love to,” Sally replied before Audrey could decline the offer. Behind Audrey, a disgusted huff came from Trent. His reaction brought a smile to her lips. Perhaps riding with Lord Thortonberry and Lady Caroline would be the proverbial last feather that broke the horse’s back.
Not long later, Trent prowled through the wedding guests gathered at his uncle’s home for Whitney and Sutherland’s wedding breakfast. Where the devil was Audrey? They should be here by now. As he rounded the dozen tables set up in the ballroom, he darted around his uncle and dodged his mother, who shot him a withering glance.
He strolled the perimeter of the room, then stopped, relief and tension flooding him at once. Exhaling at the same time the muscles between his shoulder blades bunched together, he stared across the room at Audrey. She stood to the left of the table that held the wedding cake and directly in front of the coffee and tea table. Beside her, under shadows cast from the large trees outside the window that blocked the filtering sunlight, was the fiend Thortonberry. This had to stop.
Trent pushed away from the column he’d leaned against, intent on striding across the room and sweeping Audrey away. Before he had taken two steps, Sutherland moved into his path. “I would not do that if I were you.”
“Do what?” Trent snapped, giving half his attention to Sutherland while keeping the rest on Thortonberry.
“I would not charge over to Lady Audrey and interfere while she is talking to Thortonberry, unless of course you have decided you want to court her. Then by all means, charge.”
Trent ground his teeth until his jaw throbbed. “I thought you did not like Thortonberry.”
“I don’t. But Whitney believes he has every intention of courting Lady Audrey and―”
“Maybe he does,” Trent interrupted. “But he has no intentions of ever giving up his mistresses, even when he is married. Lady Audrey deserves a man who will be devoted to her.”
Sutherland nodded. “I agree. But sometimes we cannot get what we deserve. Whitney told me on the carriage ride over here from the church that Audrey confessed yesterday at the picnic that her father intends to try to force her to marry some old lecher he has picked out for her. A man Lady Audrey cannot stand. Better she should marry Thortonberry than a man she detests.”
Trent shook his head, his body shuddering. “She would grow to hate Thortonberry as well when he left her alone in her cold bed night after night to go lie in the arms of some lesser lady.”
Sutherland eyed Trent with a critical squint. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. It is not your place to interfere. Do not be so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Trent growled.
“Yes.” Sutherland’s face hardened. “If you are not willing to court her, let her go.”
Trent opened his mouth to consent but snapped it shut. Sutherland was right. It was better she choose who she married than to have the choice forced on her. Yet the words of acknowledgement that Sutherland was correct would not come. Trent glanced at Audrey. She had her face turned up as Thortonberry spoke and a smile tugged at her lips.
Jealousy coursed through his veins and twisted his heart into a painful knot. “I could marry her.” Hellfire. Had he said that? He turned the idea over in his head. I could marry her. He would give her fidelity. Friendship. Passion. What he could never give her was his heart. Why had this idea not occurred to him sooner? He was obsessed with her, unable to quit thinking about her, because he desired her so much. Once he bedded her, the longing would ebb to a manageable level and what would remain would be perfect. A marriage of convenience with a woman he found beautiful and brilliant.
“Excuse me,” he said, not looking at Sutherland or waiting for him to reply.
He started toward her, intent on talking to her about them, but before he could reach her side, the bell for breakfast chimed and his mother appeared, demanding he see her to her table. Once he had his mother situated, he looked around for Audrey and found her at a table with Lord Thortonberry, Lady Caroline, Sally and Primwitty. There was not an empty seat at the table.
Briefly, he considered going over, but to what purpose? He would look like a jackanapes if he demanded she come sit with him. All through breakfast and the toasts to Whitney and Sutherland, Trent kept an eye on her. When she caught his gaze, he smiled and was gratified by the smile that lit her face and eyes in return. As he was considering the best way to go about asking her father if he could court her, his mother appeared at his table. “Dearest, I’ve a megrim. I wanted to stay until the happy couple set out on their wedding journey, but―”
“They are not taking a trip, Mother. Sutherland cannot presently leave his shipping company. It’s been several rough months for the business and he and Whitney decided to postpone a trip until things were settled.”
“I hadn’t realized,” his mother murmured. “Do you think they will notice if I depart early?”
Trent shook his head. He had already seen a few of his other family members slip away.
His mother smiled. “Will you fetch your brother? I believe he is in the billiards room. He promised to see me home.”
The conversation seemed to be flowing at Audrey’s table, but he was reluctant to leave and take his gaze off her. Blast his brother Marcus. It was just like him to thumb his nose at propriety and, instead of remaining in the ballroom, wandering off to see to his own pleasure. “All right,” he said when his mother began wringing her hands. By the time he located Marcus, who was in the garden flirting with a maid and not in the billiards room where he was supposed to be, Trent informed him that Mother was ready to depart and hurried back to the ballroom, only to run into his cousin Gillian, who was on her way out.
“Oh, Trent, I’m glad I saw you. Lady Audrey told me to bid you good day. Peter was not feeling well, so Lady Audrey hurriedly departed with the duke and Sally.”
Damnation. He had wanted to talk with her and tell her he was going to speak with her father about a courtship, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. He needed to relax. Tomorrow wasn’t so long, and it was not as if anything would change between now and then.
Early in the evening, Trent barged through his front door, swinging it open with such force his normally poker-faced butler, Pickering, gaped. Recovering quickly, Pickering drew to his full five-foot-six height and said in a dry tone, “A letter arrived for you, my lord.”
Trent shrugged out of his coat, handed it to Pickering and faced the graying man. The letter could wait. One thought consumed him. He had to send a note to Audrey’s father requesting an audience in the morning. “Fetch Harris to me.” Trent would jot down a missive and send his footman over to Audrey’s home tonight.
“Certainly, my lord.” Pickering turned on his heel and then paused and looked back. “Will you be going out tonight?”
Trent nodded. “Have Shaw set out my clothes for dinner at my cousin Gillian’s home. I’ll leave in an hour.”
“Excellent, my lord.”
Trent strode toward his study with thoughts of Audrey in his head. He had never intended to offer for her, but now that he had made the decision he was glad he had. This was the best course of action for both of them. He wanted her, and once they were married and he had her, this gnawing need to be around her would diminish and they could enjoy each other as friends. No. More than friends. He cared for her, but it would be in a reserved, careful way.
He opened the door to his study, went to his sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The liquid filled his mouth with bursts of smoky flavors and warmed his belly. Satisfied, he strode to his desk, propped his boots on the ledge and turned his chair so he could stare out into the darkening sky. He was going to be married. Sweat dampened his palms. He rubbed them against his trousers and peered out the window at the blooming rosebushes, but he no longer saw the bushes.
He saw Audrey in the pale lilac dress she had been wearing the day he met her. The image was one he’d recalled countless times. Once they were married, he could seduce her all the ways he’d fantasized about since that initial encounter. Most marriages were matches of convenience that benefited two people, and there was no reason he and Audrey couldn’t have exactly that sort of marriage. He had made things too complicated. Now they would be simplified.
Feeling lighter than he’d felt in ages, he smiled. Soon he’d ask her to marry him. She’d say yes. She was a sensible, astute woman. Immediately, he recalled her and Whitney’s schemes. Perhaps sensible didn’t exactly fit her.
He grinned. She was shrewd anyway. He had no doubt she’d see the value of a mutually beneficial marriage. If she didn’t, now that he was determined to marry her, he could easily show her the worth of their match one sweet caress at a time. His blood hummed through his veins with the thought.
A hard rap resounded on his door, followed by Pickering calling, “May we enter, my lord?”
“Of course,” Trent replied, wincing at the gravelly sound of his voice. He had to quit daydreaming about Audrey.
Pickering entered with Harris, the young footman, directly on his heels. The butler eyed Trent’s cluttered desk and his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Did you see the letter that arrived, my lord?”
Trent glanced down absently, prepared to hold it up to satisfy Pickering’s need to make sure he had done his duty in delivering it. Absently, he read who it was from and stilled his hand suspended in midair. Dinnisfree never wrote letters, let alone when he was on assignment. Trent turned the heavy cream paper over in his hands, broke the wax seal and opened the correspondence.
This letter will reach you before I do, but I had to tell you right away I believe Gwyneth is alive.
Shock slammed him in the chest and set his blood to rushing in his ears. He blinked and read the line again, yet it remained the same. Bloody, bloody hell. She couldn’t be alive. He’d seen her body himself. The image of her form burned beyond recognition became clear in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, his held breath filling in his chest until he felt he would explode. His cynical inner voice cut through the roaring noise that was the cacophony of swirling thoughts. I never saw her face.
Somewhere in the room, the loud crackling of paper made him cringe. Something hard jabbed his right palm. He dismissed the mild irritation, pushing every distraction away but the night he’d escaped Bagne de Toulon and gone to find her to confront her for what she’d done to him.
Her body lay in her bedroom burned black and reeking of charred flesh. The only way he’d known it was her was his signet ring he’d given her when they’d married. His thumb went automatically to his finger to caress the ring he’d retrieved from whom he’d thought to be Gwyneth. He inhaled sharply and the acrid, sickly sweet smell he would never forget filled his nose. Confusion clouded his thoughts. Instantly, he started to gag as he’d done that night.
“My lord?”
The words were like a shot in his ear, the warm hand on his shoulder intrusive and threatening. Trent jerked up and out of his chair. The years of ingrained combat training resurfaced in a flash. Blindly, he grabbed the unseen hand and twisted. Strike first for best protection. A loud yelp filled the room. Behind him, hands grasped and tugged. I won’t go back to prison. Can’t.
“Lord Davenport, you’re hurting him!”
The voice was urgent, desperate and familiar. Trent blinked and his study came back into view. He stared in horror at Pickering hunched before him, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Trent released his butler and helped the man to stand. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Sweat dripped down Pickering’s face as he straightened his coat and carefully pushed back the lock of silver hair that had become dislodged from its neat side-swept position. Once he was perfectly presentable again, the butler met Trent’s gaze. “Are you quite ready for Harris to run your errand for you?”
Trent looked between his gaping footman and his unflappable butler. The errand. His intended letter to Audrey’s father to speak with him about courting her. Trent shook his head. “Leave me.” He choked out the words.
With a swift nod, Pickering elbowe
d an unmoving Harris into submission. When the door closed, Trent collapsed into his chair and gripped his head. He stared at the dark wood of his desk. It was so dark it was almost black. Blackness threatened to consume him. Damn Gwyneth. Only she could manage to destroy a man’s life twice. Shame swept through him. To wish for his wife to be dead was deplorable and dishonorable. He was both. Had to be, because he did not want her to be alive. Yet she might live.
His gut twisted as hollowness filled his chest. He could not write that letter to Audrey’s father now. Hell, he really should not even go near Audrey. He wasn’t sure he could control himself around her. He couldn’t offer her marriage. He laughed bitterly. The muscles in his neck knotted, the tension moving down his shoulders in spiraling waves to his back. The scar on his right cheek throbbed. Another gift from Gwyneth delivered personally the one night she came to see him in prison.
His chest ached as if something were crushing him. Was that loneliness? He turned the feeling over and stilled. Shock reverberated through him. Not loneliness. Loss. Growing deeper and curling around his heart. Squeezing. Squeezing. He had not allowed himself to truly want a real connection with a woman in so long and now that he had― He roared in anger, picked up the glass on his desk and threw it across the room.
It smacked against the wall, glass shattering everywhere and showering the room with shiny slivers. It wasn’t enough. Tension throbbed in his veins. His muscles. His bones. Gwyneth had taken everything from him. His ability to trust. To love. And now she had marched back from her grave and taken Audrey. He shoved back from his chair, hooking his hands under his great wooden desk and heaving it up and over. It crashed against the floor with a thundering boom that reverberated throughout the room. Papers, pens, books and ink spilled across the floor a cream, white and black mess. A disaster. Just like his life.
Dancing With A Devil Page 9
