CHAPTER FORTY
Meg woke the next morning in her bed. She sighed and stretched. Had she and Hart actually done what she remembered doing last night? Had she actually performed the scandalous act Lucy had explained to her? She’d pinched herself to ensure she wasn’t dreaming. It had happened. The night flashed through her mind in a series of highly tempting images. A smile spread across her face. They’d consummated their marriage in her bed. There was no doubt about it.
She reached out, wanting to trace the outline of Hart’s muscled shoulder with a fingertip. Goose bumps popped along her skin as she remembered in explicit detail everything they’d done last night. Her dreams had come true. She was married to Hart, was desperately in love with him, and he’d made unforgettable love to her. It was so much better than she’d imagined. She would tell him she loved him now. He had to believe her after last night.
Her searching hand met only with the sheets. She turned over and sat up. The space next to her was empty.
She frowned. Perhaps he’d had an appointment today, some reason to wake early and leave. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to bother her. She slid from the bed and padded over to her wardrobe to get another dressing gown, which she pulled on and fastened around her waist. Then she made her way over to the door between their rooms. She knocked once, tentatively, and was greeted with, “Come in.”
She pushed open the door. Hart sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots. His valet was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t help but smile at him. “Good morning, husband.”
“Good morning,” Hart replied. He didn’t look at up at her.
Something was wrong. “I thought we might have breakfast together.”
“I have some business to attend to.”
“Very well.” She forced herself to nod. “Will you be home for dinner?”
He finished with his boots and stood. “No.”
“But I thought—”
His face turned to stone. “Look, Meg, last night didn’t change anything.”
The smile vanished from her face. Those five words sent ice water slicing through her veins. Those five incomprehensible words, uttered from her husband’s handsome yet treacherous lips.
Last night didn’t change anything? It didn’t make sense. They’d made love. They’d consummated their marriage. Was the man mad? What they’d done last night had changed everything. For Meg at least.
She didn’t utter a word. She stood, blinking like a fool, trying to make sense of how her world had gone from perfection to confusion in the span of five words.
Hart strode to his wardrobe and choose a coat. “Things can be … pleasant between us but there’s no need to lose our heads.”
“Pleasant between us?” she echoed, confused. She knotted the dressing gown tighter around her middle, pulling the collar together to cover her throat.
“Yes, like last night.” He turned to look at her, shrugging on his coat.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to look away. “Pleasant is the word you use for what happened last night? Pleasant?”
He made his way across the room, stopping to scoop up the dressing gown she’d dropped last night from the floor next to the bed. He handed it to her. “You know how these things go, Meg. You’re not a child.”
Her head snapped to the side as if he’d slapped her. “What ‘things’?”
“Ton marriages. We can be cordial to each other. Have fun every now and then and go about our days normally. No need to be in each other’s pockets, is there?” He looked as if he was trying to manage a smile for her. “What happened last night doesn’t change anything,” he repeated.
The words ripped like a knife through her heart. What was wrong with him? She didn’t understand.
Then it struck her. It hit her over the head with the force of a club. What they’d done last night hadn’t been special to him. He’d done it before, probably with dozens of women.
It had been special to her. Too special. His words devastated and angered her, but she couldn’t let him know it. She must feign nonchalance. He meant to keep his distance and she must, too.
“Of course not,” she murmured in a monotone voice.
Numbly, she turned away from him. She moved toward the adjoining door, entered her own room, and silently shut the door behind her. She leaned back against it, closing her eyes and forcing herself to take a long, deep breath. Tears rushed to her eyes but she refused to allow them to fall. She was through crying over her husband. If he wanted to keep her at arm’s length, she wouldn’t fight him.
She shook out her hair and lifted her chin. She would simply go about the business of being a good wife. Even if her husband was absent. She was used to being alone. She was accustomed to living in a household full of unspoken words and anger.
She rang for her maid and asked Emily to draw a bath. While she waited in the antechamber for the footmen to bring up the steaming-hot buckets of water to fill the tub, Meg fought more tears as well as the urge to stomp into Hart’s room and demand an explanation. Once the bath was ready, she dismissed the servants, shed her gown, and slid deep into the water, letting it cover her head. She bobbed to the surface and grabbed the bar of French soap Emily had left on the stool next to the tub.
Last night in Hart’s arms, in Hart’s bed, she’d known he felt something for her. Perhaps not love, perhaps not yet, but something deeper than lust. He’d been so caring, so gentle, so attuned to her. He’d so obviously wanted to make it good for her, and he had. He had. She refused to believe it meant nothing to him. That it didn’t change anything as he’d said. Why did her husband have to be so confoundedly stubborn?
She finished her bath and rang for Emily again. The maid hurried to help her dry off and dress.
“Has His Lordship left?” Meg asked while Emily arranged Meg’s hair.
“Yes, my lady, I believe so.”
He’d said he had business to attend to but no doubt he’d gone to his club again. He wasn’t coming back tonight. She could feel it. He’d told her as much when he said their night together didn’t change anything. He intended to go right on behaving as if he weren’t even married. Just as Sarah had predicted.
Meg had had enough. He was out at his club doing as he liked. By God, she would do the same. Once Emily finished her ministrations and left the room, Meg sat down at the small white writing desk in the corner of her bedchamber and scribbled off a note to Sarah asking her to come and get her tonight on her way to the latest ball.
* * *
“Hart’s going to be there tonight,” Sarah said hours later as their coach rattled along toward the Hartleys’ soiree.
Meg was busily plucking at the strings of her reticule. Her head snapped up at Sarah’s words. “How do you know?”
Sarah bit her lip, a guilty look on her face. “He told me.”
Meg had shared enough of the details with her friend for Sarah to know they’d finally spent the night together and that Hart had told her it didn’t mean anything. Sarah had promptly declared her brother a fool and apologized to Meg. Meg had told Sarah she didn’t want to discuss her maddening husband any more this evening. She’d hoped to forget all about him until Sarah informed her he’d be at the party.
“You saw Hart today?” Meg smoothed a hand over her skirts, feigning nonchalance.
Sarah winced. “He came over to speak to Christian this morning. On his way out Hart asked where I’d be going tonight and when I told him the Hartleys’, he said he planned to go, too.”
Meg’s brow remained furrowed. “Why would he go there? He prefers his club and his gaming hells.”
“It is curious,” Sarah agreed. “You didn’t tell him you’d be there, did you?”
Meg shook her head. “I didn’t even know I would be there until after he left.”
The rest of the way to the party, Meg stared out the coach window into the darkness. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Why would he want to attend the Hartleys’ party? Would he
be angry with her? Would he ignore her? Would he even notice her? God, she’d rather he was angry with her than distant.
The coach pulled to a stop in front of the Hartleys’ town house. Sarah and Meg alighted and Lord Berkeley escorted them inside. Meg stayed by Sarah’s side and did her best to make a show of talking and laughing with Sarah and Christian’s friends. Anyone watching her would have thought she was having a lovely time.
But her eyes darted around the ballroom, looking for her husband. She’d been there the better part of an hour with no sign of him. Perhaps Sarah had been mistaken. Perhaps Hart had changed his mind. Perhaps he’d come and gone already.
Yet another hour passed before Lady Cranberry stopped Meg near the refreshment table. “Ah, Lady Highgate. I saw your husband out on the veranda. I congratulated him but I’ve yet to offer you my best wishes on your marriage.”
“Th … thank … you,” Meg managed. She wasn’t used to people calling her Lady Highgate, let alone speaking to her.
Lady Cranberry moved off into the crowd and Meg took a deep breath. The veranda? That’s where he’d been all this time. Why did she have a sinking, awful feeling he wasn’t alone?
Meg took her time sauntering toward the veranda. She didn’t want Lady Cranberry, one of the ton’s biggest gossips, to see her fly off in search of her husband like a jealous fishwife. Instead, Meg meandered in that general direction, greeting people and stopping for strategic conversations with friends of Lucy’s or Sarah’s, all the while trying to tamp down her panic as she speculated about who Hart was with on the veranda.
When she finally reached the French doors that led outside, Meg took a deep breath and peeked out. The veranda appeared to be empty, but she couldn’t see the entire space. She pushed open the double doors and walked out into the soft night air. Taking another deep breath, she turned the corner to see the rest of the space and sucked in her breath. Hart was there, tall and handsome, dressed in fine black trousers with a black coat and expertly tied white cravat. As Meg suspected, he wasn’t alone. He towered over a gorgeous brunette who wore a sparkling silver gown. The lady laughed at something Hart said. She turned her head and Meg caught a glimpse of her.
Lady Maria Tempest.
As Meg watched wide-eyed, Lady Maria lifted her hand and brushed the hair away from Hart’s forehead. It was a tender gesture … an intimate one.
Meg hadn’t even realized she gasped until Hart and Lady Maria turned to look at her.
“Meg,” Hart said. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. He looked more bothered at the interruption than guilty. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for my husband,” Meg ground out. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gloved fingers digging into the opposite elbows.
“Is this your wife, darling?” Lady Maria said in a sultry voice. “She’s absolutely adorable.”
Meg had had enough. She’d tried to tell him the truth. Given him her body. Nearly admitted she loved him. He was a fool. Worse than a fool. He was an arse, a scoundrel, a rogue. He could have his lover. Meg was through with him.
She eyed them both up and down. “My apologies for interrupting.” She picked up her skirts, turned on her heel, and stalked away.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The next day Lord Berkeley’s coach set out from London, jostling its way north toward Christian’s estate in Northumbria. Sarah and Meg were ensconced inside.
“You think I shouldn’t leave, don’t you?” Meg asked. “You think I’m being a coward.”
Sarah tugged at her glove and pressed her lips together. “On the contrary, I only wonder why it took you so long. My brother is being a world-class ass and doesn’t deserve you. I hate to say it, but this is what I was afraid of, Meggie.”
Meg pressed her gloved hand to her forehead and leaned against the velvet-tufted seat. “I have only myself to blame. It is what I wanted. Or at least what I thought I wanted. Now I must live with it.”
Sarah leaned over and patted Meg’s knee. “We shall stay at Berkeley Hall as long as we choose. Don’t worry about a thing. Mrs. Hamilton will take excellent care of us,” Sarah finished with a nod.
“Do you think he spent the night with her last night?” Meg asked with a groan. “No. I don’t want to know.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Who? Lady Maria?”
“Yes,” Meg murmured. “I hate myself for caring.”
Sarah shook her head. “He slept on our settee last night. Couldn’t even make it up to the guest bedchamber, he was so deep in his cups.”
Meg’s head popped up. “Your settee? Truly?”
“Of course I didn’t tell him where I was off to this morning. Or with whom. He doesn’t deserve to know as far as I’m concerned.”
Meg pulled her reticule off her wrist and set it on the seat next to her. “Thank you, Sarah. You’re a dear friend. What does Christian think of this debacle?”
“You know Christian. He adores Lucy and always has. He’s an admirer of her schemes. He’s convinced it will all work out. I even reminded him of how angry he was with her last year when she inserted herself into our affairs.”
Meg sighed. “Christian is a kind soul. I wish your brother was more like him.”
“My brother is a stubborn ass, much as I am. I nearly ruined my future with Christian because I wouldn’t admit I was wrong. I only hope Hart comes to the same realization before it’s too late.”
Meg pressed a hand to her cheek. “It may already be too late.”
“Please don’t say that. I didn’t ask you before because I didn’t want to pry, but now I feel I must. Did you ever tell him what you were going to say to him that night in Lucy’s garden? Did you ever tell him you’ve loved him for years?”
Meg leaned her head back against the seat again and groaned. “No, and he wouldn’t believe me if I tried. I’ve attempted to tell him several times that he was wrong about what happened in Lucy’s garden. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hear the truth.”
“I’m sorry, Meggie.” Sarah took a deep breath. You may not want to hear it, but the truth is I think you both carry some of the blame. Hart was horribly hurt by Annabelle Cardiff’s treachery and he’s never been one to trust easily. He knows we planned the events in the garden and I cannot entirely fault him for being angry. However, he’s had plenty of time to calm down and hear you out, yet he stubbornly refuses to do so. But you’re being stubborn, too. I think you should tell him you’ve loved him. It has to make a difference.”
Meg stared out the window. Sarah made a good point. Hart wasn’t a complete victim, but neither was she. However, telling him she loved him, especially after he’d been so cavalier about their night together and had run off to meet with his mistress, was too painful to contemplate. What if she told him the truth and he rejected her? She couldn’t bear it.
The only thing she knew for certain was that leaving for Northumbria was the right thing to do. She had to go. For her own sanity. She couldn’t stay with him, give him her body at night, and pretend they barely knew each other during the day. She didn’t know why she thought things would be different once they made love, but they hadn’t been and it broke her heart.
It also made her angrier than she’d ever been. Especially after she saw him with his lover the very next night. The image of Lady Maria brushing the hair away from Hart’s forehead was burned in Meg’s brain.
Meg wouldn’t be like her mother, a wife whose husband spent more nights in someone else’s bed than her own. On the other hand, she couldn’t give him both her body and her love with nothing in return. She refused to be the laughingstock of the ton, everyone knowing her husband spent time with other women.
She needed time to be alone or at least away from Hart. It was lovely of Sarah to not only give her a place to stay, but also come with her and keep her company.
Meg refused to spend any more of her life unwanted and unloved, on the sidelines of every dance, on the sidelines of life.
* * *
Where the bloody hell was his wife? Hart stomped out of her bedchamber, a note she’d left him crumpled in his hand. He’d come home from Sarah’s house this morning prepared to speak to Meg. He’d known she was angry with him when she’d seen him with Maria last night. How the hell did she know what Maria had been to him in the past? He’d gone in search of Meg soon after she’d left the veranda, only to find she had left the party.
Their night together had been … unforgettable, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall in love. She would destroy him the way his mother had destroyed his father, making him bitter and angry. To that end, he’d refused to chase her around last night. Instead he’d drunk far too much and ended up passed out on his sister’s settee. This morning he was sober and planned to ask Meg why she’d left. He wanted to talk to her, perhaps even explain the scene she’d witnessed. A completely innocent scene, but he could imagine how it must have looked.
But Meg was gone. Her valise was missing and the note she’d left on her bedside table said that she needed some time to herself to … think. What the bloody hell did that mean? She hadn’t even mentioned where she’d gone and he couldn’t guess. Her father didn’t own an estate. Hart’s parents were hardly apt to have allowed her to go to their estate.
Was she staying with friends in town? She wasn’t at Sarah’s. He’d just come from there. The Duchess of Claringdon’s perhaps? Damn it. He’d have to clean himself up and go over to the duchess’s house and fetch his wife. Blast. Blast. Blast. He didn’t know how to be a husband. He was making a bloody muddle of it.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Hart was sitting in a far-too-delicate chair in the Duchess of Claringdon’s drawing room, staring at a cup of tea he didn’t want, trying to allow enough time to pass before he could politely ask after his wife’s whereabouts. They’d discussed the weather and politics. He had no more patience.
The Right Kind of Rogue Page 19
