by Amy Atwell
He studied her. “Something you cannot broach with your husband?”
“No, I—oh, Harry, does he still keep a mistress in Town?” she blurted out.
“Johanna! How do you know about—?” Harry muttered an oath. “Derek should never have spoken to Johnny of such things. Put it from your mind.”
“It’s rather a difficult topic to forget now that I’m his wife,” Johanna said.
“Do your best.”
“Just tell me yea or nay, that’s all I ask.”
Harry hopped up and stepped away as if distance from her were vital. “I don’t know. Derek doesn’t discuss his amours with me.” He turned horrified eyes on her. “And don’t you dare ask him, nor hint that you asked me. He’d be livid to learn you gave any thought to it.”
Johanna sank back into the cushions with a huff. Harry was right, but her mind was even less easy than it had been. Indecision gnawed at her, for if he couldn’t help her, she would need to seek further advice. And awkward as it may be, there was but one other source she could trust.
~
The rest of the week sped by in a blur. During the days, Derek would leave the house for places Johanna sensed she was safer not contemplating. In the evenings, they dressed and made their committed appearances where Derek would often adjourn to the card room and leave Johanna to her own devices. At an impasse with her husband, Johanna centered her attention on Olivia and Mr. Barlow.
Johanna delivered the lovers’ missives and tokens surreptitiously. She often accepted notes from Mr. Barlow at the parties and delivered them safely to Olivia while they strolled along New Bond Street together. She even agreed to a carriage ride with him one afternoon, which raised Paget’s brows. Once in the carriage, Johanna regretted her impetuosity. Mr. Barlow had brought along sheaves of parchment on which he’d scratched his poetry, and he urged her to follow along while he recited his finest pieces praising Olivia’s beauty. After an hour, Johanna wondered what she’d ever done to deserve such punishment.
Derek seemed to take no notice of the time she spent with Mr. Barlow, and Johanna found it a depressing sign that she couldn’t inspire jealousy in her own husband. She might have thought he didn’t care for her at all, except that each night in the privacy of his bedroom, he lavished her with the most intimate of attentions. When she whispered words of love to him, she swore a yearning ignited in his eyes, but he said naught in return. Humbly, she accepted his silence and awaited the day he would willingly share his secret with her.
~
July gave way to August on the night of the Worthing Ball, and fanning herself amongst the crush of guests, Rosalie Vaughan was forced to admit that the Season, overall, had been dismal. Olivia had failed to snare the attention of a duke, a marquess, even an earl. Curtis still didn’t have the dukedom he deserved. Derek and his bride continued to thwart her at every turn—she’d cornered them into a forced marriage, and they still managed to appear content. Happiness would be on the horizon next.
Unless she prevented it.
From her vantage point near the punch bowl, Rosalie scanned the ballroom. Her eyes narrowed as she caught Lord Worthing ushering Johanna onto the terrace. The night was warm, and torches would be lit along the paths in his gardens, Rosalie knew. The perfect spot to share a secluded tête-à-tête. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity.
Gathering her skirts, Rosalie pushed through the crowd until she found Derek near a potted fern opposite the orchestra. If her luck held, he hadn’t witnessed his wife’s escape with another man. She hurried to Derek’s side and laid hold of his arm. “My dear, I swear you’ve been avoiding me.”
Her accusation hit its mark, but Derek dredged up a polite reply. “Have you need of me, Mother?”
Aware she might have but this one chance, she launched her attack. “You married your heiress. I want to know when you plan to relinquish Ambersley to Curtis.”
He stiffened. “Curtis must show some maturing before—”
“Nonsense,” she hissed. “You’ve delayed this for years. You now have the money you promised to set aside for your brother and sister, Curtis has reached his majority, and Ambersley is in good repair. You can have no further arguments to prevent you from fulfilling your promise to me—and Reginald’s son.”
Derek watched the crowded floor, but could find no hint of Johanna in her rose-colored gown. “Have I not been clear? I’ll not dance to your tune. Until Curtis is ready for such responsibility, I’ll not hand him—or you—Ambersley.”
She straightened with a huff. “After all I’ve done for you, you continue to cross me.”
Derek snorted. “You’ve done nothing but drain my pockets. And that will stop, too.”
“After I made sure you got your heiress? Let’s be honest, Derek, she wouldn’t have married you without the threat of scandal.” Rosalie leaned back to watch her adversary while a smile hovered on her lips. Oh yes, that very word ’scandal’ put him on the defensive. “You should thank me.”
“Go to hell.”
Venom rose to her tongue. “How dare you? I’ve waited ten years to see my son get his rightful inheritance while you strutted about and put him off with your tales of duty. You took his father’s love, his title, his bride—you even supplanted him with that stable boy.”
Derek didn’t flinch at her litany of injustices. She pursed her lips and patted her turban. In a calmer tone, she said, “Cross me in this, and I swear you’ll regret it.”
This time, he laughed outright. “You cannot touch me with your threats.”
“No, but I can tell some very damning stories about your stable boy wife that will destroy her reputation. Be warned.” A smile lit her face as she backed away from him to toss her final verbal dagger. “Oh but then, she’s well on her way to destroying her reputation already.”
A tic in Derek’s cheek was the only sign of movement in his rock-hard face. His eyes glittered with tightly leashed anger. “You speak of her attentions toward young Barlow. He’s a pup—
“Barlow?” Rosalie allowed herself a throaty laugh, enjoying the delicacy of this moment. Finally, she would have her revenge on that interfering little chit. “My dear, Johanna’s moved far beyond impotent dandies. She’s out in the garden with our host as we speak.”
Fury flashed across his features before he masked it. Without a word, he strode toward the open doorway leading to the terrace.
Derek’s little wife was in for it now. Rosalie almost felt sorry for the girl.
Almost.
~
Grateful for Worthing’s silence as he escorted her outside, Johanna drank in the clear night air, hoping it would refresh her spirits. Without hesitation, she descended the steps from the terrace into the small formal garden. The hedges formed a maze of sorts, where many a reputation had been trapped, but even in the dark she felt no fear.
Worthing pulled her to a stop. “Is this wise, Johanna?” he asked with unflappable calm. “You said you wished to ask me a question, but I should think the terrace would be sufficient for that.”
“Please, my lord. My need is of a most delicate nature.” She looked up to find torchlight cast an amber glow that reflected the haughty aristocratic line of his nose and jaw. He looked cold and implacable, but she knew better. “If I may still claim you as a friend?”
His jaw softened with a reluctant smile. “You shall ruin my reputation.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued down the steps with her. “But I think it’s high time you called me St. John. It seems hardly fair to stand on ceremony when you continue to entrust me with delicate secrets.”
“Thank you, St. John.” Johanna squeezed his arm. Releasing a heavy sigh she gazed at the heavens. “I’d rather no one overhear us.”
He drew her to a bench and waited as she smoothed her skirts and sat. “You have my undivided attention, my dear. How may I be of service?”
Nervously, Johanna tried to find words to broach the painful topic.
&nb
sp; “Come. Out with it. Have I not proven trustworthy?”
“Most trustworthy, which is why I must impose upon you, that is—oh…” She paused once more before blurting out her troubles. “Do you keep a mistress, my lord?”
To his bark of laughter—quickly muffled—she added, “I do not mean to pry, but I’m curious to know why a wedded man still has need of a mistress, and I thought you might provide…some insight.”
She feared the question might offend him, but only concern painted his features as he seated himself and drew her hands into his. Just this tiny consolation made her sigh with all the pent up misery of the past two weeks.
“What’s this?” he asked. “You’re unhappy. Has Derek misused you? He’s not hurt you, has he?”
“No, not hurt me, except—he cannot love me.” She bent her head with the shame of it.
“He cannot…has he not bedded you?”
Johanna’s face warmed, and she looked away. “Oh, yes, we’ve…”
“Then, is it that you find no pleasure in his touch?”
She swallowed. She’d known this conversation would be awkward, so she could only be grateful that he treated the topic as commonplace. Bravely, she met his worried gaze. “He gives me much pleasure, more I suspect than many wives receive from their husbands.”
Worthing leaned back to study her. “Then forgive me for not understanding—”
“He speaks no words of love, and I cannot help but worry that he reserves them for another.”
“Ahhh.” Worthing nodded. “Now I see. But Johanna, you must understand, a man can feel love without speaking the words.”
“But that makes no sense to me.”
“No, I’m sure it doesn’t. Nevertheless, it’s the truth. As for mistresses—they rarely inspire deep abiding emotions. I’ve had a string of them and never loved a one.”
Johanna dared a glance at him, but not by a flicker of his eyes did he appear to be lying. “So, you think it’s possible Derek loves me, but says naught.”
“Have you told him?”
“I’ve tried, but he believes women are incapable of sustaining the emotion. He has so little reason to trust any woman.”
“All the more reason for him to discover he is wrong. Take heart, Johanna, I believe his feelings run deeper than you imagine.”
She stood, agitated by the hope he might be right. “Oh, would that were so.” Then an idea struck her. Before she could reason herself out of it, she sank back onto the bench and laid a hand against his firm jaw. “You’re a man, St. John, can you not teach me ways to make a man love me?”
He said nothing, and fearing she’d offended him by stepping so far beyond propriety, she met his eye to gauge his mood. He stared off over her head, his lips set in a grim line, his eyes glittering in the torchlight.
Behind her, she heard footsteps.
“I’m sure Worthing could teach you many things.” Derek’s voice sounded from the shadows. “But he knows too well the dangers he risks by dallying with another’s wife.”
Johanna stumbled to her feet, berating her own foolishness. Already, Worthing had stepped forward to shield her from her husband’s wrath. The two men squared off like roosters preparing for a fight to the death.
“I should think no one knows those dangers better than yourself, Derek,” Worthing replied.
Derek’s jaw locked in an uncompromising line. He looked her way, spearing her with angry eyes. “Johanna, go inside and wait for me in the ballroom.”
“No, you don’t understand—"
Worthing interrupted her. “Johanna, be a good girl and do as your husband bids. I promise, no harm will come from this.”
Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip as she considered both men once more. Their attention was so riveted on one another, she wasn’t sure either would heed her explanations. Knowing she’d driven the wedge between them even deeper, guilt enveloped her.
“Go!” Derek’s command spurred her retreat, leaving the two men alone.
“She’s misjudged you,” St. John said after she left. “She thinks you do not love her.”
Derek’s hands fisted at his sides, but he managed to control the initial urge to bash St. John in the face. “I’ll thank you to remember my wife and I need no help from you.”
“Your wife seems to think otherwise,” St. John replied evenly. “If you continue to hold her away as you have me, I fear she’ll stray.”
Derek tensed. “In your direction? Is that your excuse?”
“Don’t be an ass. You bloodied my nose once. I’m not inclined to provide you cause to do so again. But then, neither did I put her in your keeping to see her hurt.”
“I would never hurt her.”
“No?” St. John stared at him in silence. “She’s been married a fortnight and she’s unhappy. Whose fault is that?”
“My wife’s happiness isn’t your concern.”
“No, it’s yours. See to it.” With a nod, St. John shouldered past Derek.
Derek gripped his arm, bringing them nose to nose.
St. John’s teeth glinted in a warning grin. “What, will you mill me down at my own party? Take a little brotherly advice—stop fighting the world at large. Your worst enemy is yourself.”
“I hold what is mine,” Derek warned, his words vibrating with anger. “If I catch you with her again, I’ll run you through.”
St. John didn’t flinch at the threat. “Know this—I’ll not betray my friendship to her. If she comes to me again as unhappy as she is now, I’ll do anything in my power to help her. If that insults you, then I suggest you call upon me tomorrow to demand satisfaction.” With that, he pulled free from Derek’s grasp, straightened his coat, and returned to the house.
Derek exhaled slowly, expelling the murderous thoughts that had gripped him since he first saw Johanna touching St. John’s face. He thought of Reginald Vaughan’s silent acceptance of his wife’s promiscuity. One day you will love a woman with all your heart, he’d said, and then you’ll understand.
Derek did understand now, but he would never accept it.
And he’d make damn sure Johanna knew it.
~
Derek’s fury was further strained when he returned to the ballroom to find Johanna had disappeared. He was only slightly mollified to learn from Worthing’s porter that Lady Ambersley awaited her coach on the flagway.
With angry strides he stalked her, catching her as she ascended the coach. Without preamble, he pushed the footman aside and hopped in behind her, slamming the door upon them.
Across from him, she slid into the corner.
“The party is no longer to your liking, Madam?”
Her chin lifted a notch. “The present company even less so, at the moment,” she countered.
Damn her, she was looking down her nose at him. “Forgive me, wife, I hadn’t realized I hindered you so.” Derek’s words dripped sarcasm.
“You’re angry now, and there’s no point in discussing this until you will be reasonable.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, whether from a headache or to hide her tears, he knew not.
“I warn you, Johanna, on this topic, I fear you will never find me ’reasonable.’ So let me be clear.” He leaned forward, crowding her in her corner. “Whatever your plans with Worthing, forego them.”
“My plans—my God, what did Worthing say to you?”
“He didn’t compromise you with words, but it’s obvious he’s your devoted servant. Nevertheless, you’re my wife, and I’ll not share you.”
The lantern outside the coach window cast pale shadows across her face. “So, my lord, that is what you think of me.” Her words shook with repressed fury. With a half-hearted laugh she leaned forward and her eyes narrowed to dagger slits as they pierced him. “If you thought I had so little regard for my own reputation, I’m surprised you wed me to save it.”
“It was a mistake, I own it now,” Derek retaliated.
She jerked as if he’d struck her, but recovered quickly. “Be
that as it may, I spoke those vows. And what’s more, I meant them. I love you, Derek.”
“And what am I to believe? Your words or what I witnessed tonight?”
“When have I ever lied to you?” she cried.
He watched her steadily until her gaze dropped and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Softly, he said, “So, be warned. Give yourself to another man, and—at the least—I will spurn you forever. At the most, I’ll kill the blackguard. Do you understand?”
She remained silent, her face averted.
“Do you?” Derek exploded.
“More than you know.” Her voice sounded dead. “May I go home now?”
