But the tone had changed when Sam had found his own reason to dislike the newcomer. After the ladies retired to the parlour, Colver had mentioned his service in the army. The former navy doctor had turned the conversation to detailed analyses of every battle fought in the past fifteen years, while making sure that Colver’s glass was never empty.
When the precious Richard had staggered from the room to relieve himself, Sam had announced, ‘If that man is an officer and a gentleman, then I am Lord Nelson.’ He went on to say that, while the man appeared to have served in the campaign he described, his knowledge of the battle was probably gained by watching it over his shoulder as he deserted his comrades.
Colver had returned to the room, Sam had opened another bottle and things had gone downhill from there. By the time Evelyn had collected her remarkably clear-headed husband for the walk back to the dower house, the servants had been forced to carry an unconscious Colver to his room. Michael was already feeling the effects of too much port and the folly of trying to keep pace while drinking with the military.
Now there was a knocking on the locked door, assuming the hammering was not just in his head. He glared at Brooks, the valet. ‘See to that. And tell whoever it is that I am not in the mood for company.’ Then he kicked off his own boots and stretched out upon the bed, waiting for death or morning.
But the valet did not return. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, Madeline was standing before him, hands on hips.
‘Do not look at me in that way,’ he said, too tired to pretend that he was not angry.
‘And do not hide behind locks when I wish to speak to you. I told Brooks if he tried to prevent my entry, I would call the footman and have the door removed from its hinges.’
‘Very well,’ he said. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the headboard, trying to maintain his calm. But for once he did not wish to settle things diplomatically. He wanted an argument. ‘What do you wish of me?’
‘I want to know what you intend to do about our guest.’
‘Colver is your problem, not mine.’
‘But you did not need to invite him to stay,’ she said. ‘Nor did I appreciate your attempt to place him next to my bedchamber.’
‘Was that not what you wished?’ he said. ‘When I came upon you this morning, you were declaring your love for him.’ It was a word, nothing more. And though he was uncomfortable when she said it to him, he hated to hear it applied to another.
‘I did love him,’ she said, refusing to deny it. ‘But that was in the past. Did you expect me to lie about it, as you did when you said I told you of him?’
He laughed. ‘What a curious omission that turned out to be, for I am sure it is an interesting story. I was not lying. You did not mean to tell me of him. But I learned of him all the same. You were weeping for him in your sleep on the night we married. Begging him to rescue you. From me.’
She looked shocked at this and he could not resist adding, ‘You still call his name in your sleep sometimes when we are together.’
‘We were to be married,’ she snapped, as though that was explanation enough.
‘And you believed that?’ He laughed again, enjoying her discomfort. ‘He never meant to marry you, you stupid girl. He tricked you out of your maidenhead. Then he left you. I wonder how many other fiancées he ran to the army to escape. And how many he has gained since returning.’
‘That cannot be true.’ Her voice was soft and trembling with rage.
‘Did you imagine him remaining celibate for you, all the long years?’ Perhaps tomorrow he would regret how much pleasure it gave him to hurt her with the reality of it, but tonight it was vindicating. He raised his arms to heaven and then dropped them. ‘But I forget. You claimed you thought him dead. He looks whole enough now, does he not? I am sure, when next he tricks you out of your clothes, you will find his body unmarked.’
‘How dare you?’ She was white with rage, swaying on her feet, as though the burden of carrying both the truth and the baby was too much for her.
‘How do I dare?’ He touched his own breast with a forefinger. ‘I am sorry if you do not wish to acknowledge the obvious. But what a surprise that now that you have married me, he’s located his lost love. What could be so different?’ He laid the finger on his chin, as though contemplating. ‘I would guess he is after two things—to bed you and to be paid to go away after.’
When she spoke, her voice was as dead as her complexion. ‘If you are so sure of this, then I ask again, why did you invite him to stay?’
She was standing so close to the bed that he could smell her perfume while she stared at him with those bottomless dark eyes. Something at the core of him was shouting that he should stop being an ass and admit his mistake. Then he could order the lout from the house and things could return to normal.
Instead, he spoke the truth.
‘Because I could not resist the chance to acquaint myself with your tragic lost love. And to discover if it is true that, as you insist, you have not seen him in years.’
‘Why should it not be true?’ The fact that she could not guess his intent was proof of her innocence.
But he could not stop badgering her. ‘Do you deny that you were intimate with this man?’
By the look on her face, he knew that he had uncovered the one secret she had wished to keep. ‘On the night we met, I never claimed to be innocent. I didn’t get the opportunity to.’ Her voice was still quiet, but in shame, not anger.
‘You let me assume it ever since,’ he reminded her.
‘Because you wished it to be true,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But did you ever question, your Grace, how there come to be so many fallen women in this country for you to make sport with? Not everyone can afford to be as pure as you expect them to be. Nor are some of us so fortunate as to have married the first man we loved.’
‘Fortunate?’ he said with a smile. ‘You think it would be fortunate to have married a deserting soldier instead of a duke?’ Perhaps she did. If she loved Colver, she would have wanted to marry him.
She had claimed to love Michael, as well. It was another proof that words were cheap.
‘On the night we met,’ she said, ‘I had chosen to meet my new employer in Dover for a reason. That was the inn where I had stayed with Richard the night we said goodbye. I prayed that he would come for me and give me children of my own. It was him I was hoping to see. You came to me instead.’
‘So you say.’ It explained the welcoming arms he remembered and the way she’d cried in her sleep. But there was another possibility. ‘It does not explain how I came to be in the wrong room that night,’ he said.
‘You were drunk,’ she reminded him.
‘I had never been so drunk before that I could not find my way.’
‘There is, as they say, a first time for everything.’
‘Or you could have learned of my identity and tricked me into the wrong room. It would have been a most profitable way to explain an indiscretion that had already taken place.’ It was a wild assertion, but it made as much sense as what had actually happened between them.
She gasped. ‘You think that I was already with child?’
‘It would have been extremely convenient for you to find a member of the peerage drunk enough to be gulled into taking on this mess.’
‘How dare you?’ He had forgotten the voice she had used upon him in those first days when she had hated him. ‘It is one thing to doubt me. But to doubt your own child? That is beneath despicable, St Aldric. The baby is yours. Do not think to deny it now.’
‘That is just it. I can’t deny it. I have accepted you for all to see as my wife and the mother to my heir.’ It was happening again, just as it had in Dover. He had drunk too much and gone too far. But this time he was hurting her with words, displaying every
irrational fear without thinking of the consequences.
‘Then let me assure you,’ she said, stepping back out of reach of him. ‘You may believe what you like. But I am willing to swear on the Bible, if there is one to be found in this den of iniquity, that the child I carry is yours. I had not seen Richard for years before this morning. When I parted with him, it was in the sincere belief that he would return for me and make me his bride.’
‘Very well,’ he said, wishing that a simple agreement could take back the horrible things he had already said.
‘But what I do not understand is why it should matter to you who I love, or who I am with?’
‘You are my wife,’ he reminded her.
‘And you promised me, from the first, that you wanted nothing more from me than the child.’
Of course he had. But had she forgotten what had happened these past months? ‘I thought...’
‘That there might be something more between us?’ She smiled sadly. ‘So did I. I even embarrassed myself by announcing my love for you. Since you did not answer in kind, I have come to assume that my feelings are not reciprocated. If that is true, you can hardly demand that I be faithful to you.’
‘You are my wife,’ he repeated.
‘And you, St Aldric, are blind to your surroundings.’ She glanced at the room around her. ‘Your parents were married, were they not? Did they not teach you what it means to have a marriage in law and not spirit? You want someone to share your bed. I understand that, for it was what I wanted when I came to you that first time. And when we are in bed we suit well together. But I will not always be young and pretty. Some day you will tire of me, and that will be the end of it. You will take a lover and I will regret that I did not leave when you gave me the chance. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a trying day. And, much as I might like to, I lack the energy to leave you tonight.’
Chapter Sixteen
To Maddie, the arrival of Richard Colver was proof that one did not necessarily want to have one’s prayers answered. She had waited for this moment for so long, never thinking that it would be unwelcome or that Richard would turn out to be anything less than the handsome hero she remembered.
Last night at dinner, his easy smile had looked more like a leer. She could see traces of grey in his hair, the red in his eyes and the sallowness of his skin. The changes looked more like dissipation than age. And during what should have been a polite dinner, she had caught him admiring both her bosom and Evelyn’s as though he expected them to be served for pudding. He had no trouble availing himself of his Grace’s meat and wine, shovelling the food into himself as though he could not decide whether to eat or stuff his pockets and run.
Had he always been like this? Because it seemed that the duke had been right: the man to whom she’d given her innocence was a selfish, greedy swine. He had not loved her then any more than he did now. She could not imagine he was here for any reason but to make trouble.
And he had succeeded. It had led to the row she’d had with St Aldric before bed. If he had simply been jealous, she might have flattered herself that he cared for her more than he did. Judging by the smell in the room, he was as drunk as he’d been on the night in Dover. Though he might promise that the scratches on his shoulder were enough to keep him sober, they had failed to do any good yesterday. He’d questioned her honour and accused her of lying about something so important as to the paternity of their baby. His doubts hurt far worse than the absence of loving words.
It had been a miserable few minutes, but she had come away with a new understanding of several things. For one, she was sure that she wanted nothing to do with Richard Colver. She would not go so far as to call herself a fool for loving him. She had been an innocent, young girl and could not have known better, but only an idiot would go to him now.
Another less pleasant truth had come out, as well. She still loved St Aldric, even after the horrible things he had said. But he had made no similar declaration, nor did she suspect one was on the way. When confronted with difficult truths, he’d announced she was his wife, treating her like any other property. He had not cared enough to keep her safe from Richard. In fact, he’d gone out of the way to throw them together. She would have no help from her husband in ridding herself of this nuisance, since he did not care enough about her to remove the man himself.
She doubted Michael would welcome her infidelity. In fact, he seemed to expect it, even though she’d given him no reason. Nor had he promised her that he would be faithful. When she had told him he’d grow tired of her, there was no vehement rejection of it. When given a chance to prove her wrong, he had not promised to cherish her for ever. He had simply stared at her, as though amazed that she had the nerve to point out his hypocrisy. It showed that he felt nothing at all for her other than hurt pride that she had not been a virgin when he had first lain with her.
If they were not careful, they were destined to follow the path of his parents. And, much as he claimed to hate the past, he was doing nothing to prevent the repetition of it.
She would leave before that happened. She did not want to see women sneaking into the duke’s chambers, nor did she wish to flaunt lovers in front of him. In the past months, she had begun to imagine a future for them that was quite different from the original plan. They would share a life together. There would be a houseful of children. Even if St Aldric could not manage to love her, he would adore the children. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along?
If not, she would have enough love for all. She absently touched her stomach, as though she could offer some reassurance to the baby resting so close to her heart.
But now she was back to the place she had started: in a loveless marriage and about to produce a single child.
This morning, when she came down to breakfast, there was no sign of St Aldric. Richard was sitting at the head of the table as though he belonged there, with heaped plate and an ironic smile.
Maddie made a mental note to invite Evelyn and Sam to every meal from now on, even if it was necessary to claim illness to get them to the house. ‘Good morning, Mr Colver.’
‘Good morning, your Grace.’ He stood for a moment and bowed, then sat and went back to eating.
She enquired after the duke. The footman informed her, with a meaningful cough, that his Grace had elected to take meals in his room. She’d have called him a coward for refusing to meet a rival, but to force himself to stay in the duke’s wing, a place he could hardly abide, was its own sort of punishment. After last night’s excesses, she hoped his head ached, as well.
For herself, her appetite had fled with the argument and no amount of Wow-Wow sauce was likely to bring it back. She had slept poorly as well, for the baby would not allow her a moment’s comfort.
But neither St Aldric’s suffering nor her own rid her of the problem at hand. ‘Well, Mr Colver,’ she said again, unsure of how to start the conversation. ‘it has been lovely seeing you again after all this time.’
He grinned at her, taking another swallow of coffee. ‘And more than lovely to see you, my dear. It is good to find that you have fallen on your feet after the time we spent together.’
As opposed to falling on her back? she wondered. Many women in her situation had been forced into a far more dishonourable course of action after being abandoned by a lover. ‘Now that you have assured yourself of my safety, you will most likely want to be moving on,’ she suggested.
‘I see no reason why I should. Your husband invited me to stay as long as I wished,’ he reminded her.
‘But that does not explain why you are here in the first place,’ she said.
‘I wanted to be sure that you are happy,’ he said.
If he had two good hands but had not written her, then her happiness had not occurred to him in several years. ‘Your concern for me is touching,’ she said, ‘but unwarranted. Now that
I am married, I am quite secure.’
He sighed. ‘It is a shame that we are not all so fortunate.’
He referred to himself, she supposed. But she was at a loss as to what he expected from her. She thought for a moment and put on an attitude of optimism and encouragement, just as she did when dealing with sulky children. ‘It is true that life can be difficult. But when one perseveres and applies oneself to betterment, there is no telling what can be accomplished.’
‘A noble sentiment,’ he agreed. ‘Success is possible when circumstances do not work against one. When one is betrayed by a lost love, for instance. With marriage comes certain expectations, and the dissolution of a betrothal ends them.’
True, she supposed, but how did it pertain to this situation? ‘Since I have married,’ she assured him, ‘no damage was done.’
‘To you, perhaps.’
It took her a moment to realise that he was referring to himself, but his dejected look was spoiled by the fact that his cheeks were bulging with St Aldric’s bacon. ‘You cannot seriously claim breach of promise,’ she said.
‘You promised yourself to me. Then you abandoned me to marry St Aldric.’ He had the nerve to look injured.
‘Because I thought you were dead,’ she reminded him, snorting in disgust. ‘Next you will be saying that I took your honour.’ St Aldric was right. The man was an ass. He had used her and abandoned her. Now he was trying to find a way to use her again.
‘I would not have made love to you had I not thought you serious and constant in your affections,’ he said. ‘In waiting for you, I have denied myself the opportunity to marry well. Now I have nothing. Not even you.’
The fact that she placed last in value told her everything she needed to know about his true feelings for her. ‘And what do you expect me to do about your tragic circumstances?’
The Fall of a Saint Page 17
