“That won’t be enough. I’ve made a fool of him. He’ll demand retribution….” She leaned and kissed her friend goodbye. “I’ll survive. I always have,” she whispered under her breath.
As the carriage rolled on its way she didn’t look back. She’d learned that there was no point ever in looking back. The memories were too painful.
Amy stood hesitantly on the steps leading up to Lord Wolverstone’s, Marcus’s, front door. She could hardly believe she was betrothed to the notorious rake in England yet, having met him, she knew he was not as his reputation signified. The heady rush of happiness made her legs shake.
She knew she shouldn’t be here, but the scene in the modiste’s this morning made her stomach churn with worry. Something about Lady Orsini gnawed at her conscience.
Marcus had asked her for her hand, and requested that she make him happy. He’d not asked her to love him. He had not professed love for her either. Why would he, they hardly knew each other, and she understood few men of privilege did—love—that is. But she felt uneasy about marrying a man who might love another. That was something altogether different.
She moved up a step.
She’d heard rumors at Lady Somerset’s ball, that there may be something between the gorgeous, fair-haired French émigréé, who’d made a successful marriage to an Italian Conte, and Lord Wolverstone. There were rumors abounding that they had been lovers.
She understood that a man kept a mistress. That she could tolerate, if, and only if, the transaction stayed financial. But she could not bear to marry a man whose heart lay elsewhere. That would condemn her to a life of misery. For who wanted to be the cause of another’s pain?
Her foot took her another step closer to the door.
Did she really wish to hold such an awkward conversation? Would she like the answer if she did so?
She bit her lip, unsure of what to do next. Perhaps she should talk with her older sister, Clarissa, before doing something so foolish. Clarissa had recently married and had always been a source of sound advice to her younger sister.
Why did she suddenly fear this marriage? After all, what woman would not want to become Lady Wolverstone? The position alone would overcome any woman’s hesitation in marrying such a rogue, and the idea of sharing a man of such experience’s bed—delicious! He was handsome beyond compare. So why did she hesitate?
Too late! The front door opened and Marcus stood staring down at her. Upon seeing her, concern immediately flooded his features.
“Amy, is everything all right?”
Her heart began to race, almost propelling her up the stairs toward him. He looked as devastatingly attractive as ever, even with a frown on his handsome face. His thick, black hair was immaculately groomed and when he smiled at her, she flushed a little. While his high cheekbones gave his face an arrogant cast, his straight nose and nicely chiseled jaw made him every woman’s dream. Then why did she get the feeling he would never really be hers?
“If you have a moment, I’d like to talk with you.” Her words came out in a breathless rush as he walked down to greet her. She faltered. “Unless of course you’re busy…” She made to turn, “Of course you’re busy, silly of me”-
“Stop. Slow down. I’m never too busy for you.” He took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Come, let us have some tea; then you can talk with Mother and tell her all about your dress for this evening. She’s dying to know the color so she can ensure I wear a matching waistcoat.”
They were soon settled in the drawing room. The door remained open for propriety’s sake. His servants had brought tea and scones, but her stomached churned so much she knew she couldn’t eat a bite.
They sat in awkward silence. She could tell Marcus was getting impatient with her. Before she lost her courage altogether, she blurted out, “What is Lady Orsini to you? Is she your mistress?”
Christ! Amy’s question was spoken quietly but with determination. Marcus shifted uneasily in his seat. “She is an acquaintance I knew long ago.”
Amy’s eyebrow rose. “So, she is not your mistress?”
“No.”
He saw that Amy was not fooled. His mother had told him she was smart. “But she was?” There was no condemnation in her tone.
Marcus felt his face redden. Yet, as he would soon be taking this young girl to his bed, surely they could have a grown up conversation now.
“The relationship I had with Lady Orsini was in the past. I promise you that when we marry, I will not have a mistress. I’m sure we will both be content with each other.”
“How recently in the past?” she persisted.
Marcus ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure this is any of your business, Amy,” he said as kindly as he could. “I have reassured you about my lack of a mistress.”
She waved a hand. “I don’t care about a mistress, Marcus. I know most men of the ton have them. What I wish to ascertain is whether or not you are in love with another woman. If so, that would not be fair on either of us.”
He looked blindly to the door, hoping for the first time ever that his mother would enter and save him from this hell.
“Do you love her?” she prodded on mercilessly.
Marcus drew in a deep breath. “I beg your pardon,” he spoke in steel-clipped tones, “but I don’t believe that is any of your concern.”
Her eyes became round saucers of puzzled blue. “Not my concern?”
“I did not ask for your love and I did not offer you mine. I merely suggested that we try and make each other happy.”
She carefully placed her cup on its saucer. “Happy?” She looked him directly in the eye. “How can you be happy when you are not with the one person you love above all others? What about me? Will I always be compared to another and found wanting? Is that fair on you or on me? Tell me that, Marcus.”
He remained silent, searching for an answer he himself did not know. She then made a totally unexpected comment. “I think Lady Orsini is in trouble.”
Marcus’s head jerked up from where it had been lowered to avoid her knowing gaze.
She gave a wan smile. “I saw her crying at my modiste’s this morning. She is great friends with Monique Baye. They were discussing Lord Gower…”
“What’s that about Gower?” he snapped harshly.
Marcus knew who Monique was. Most of his former mistresses frequented her establishment.
“You sound jealous.” Amy smiled at Marcus and gave a small sigh. “You do love her…”
Marcus couldn’t seem to voice his denial. He did God, help him, he did. He loved Sabine and deep in his heart he knew he always would.
Amy pinched the bridge of her nose in confusion. “I don’t understand. If you love her, why are you not marrying her? She is a respectable widow.”
Pain carved through his heart. To have to speak of his humiliation was too much. “Because…because she will not have me.”
“Rubbish! Then you have not tried hard enough. If there is ever a woman in love with you, it is Lady Orsini. You should have seen how pale her face got when I told her of our engagement. Her friend had to support her.”
Marcus leaned forward in his chair. Could this be true?
“That is why I must know your heart. I couldn’t bear to be the cause of two people, who are so obviously in love with each other, not being together. I saw her pain and desolation….”
Marcus pondered Amy’s words. Did Sabine really love him? Then, if so, why did she keep him at a distance? He looked across at Amy. He would not find his answers here. But he knew who could tell him all he needed to know. He should have thought of Monique before.
“I would speak with her if I were you. Lady Orsini has to deliver something to Lord Gower tonight, and Monique is scared for her. I could hear it in her voice. I have never liked that man. He paws at the young girls whenever he thinks no one is watching.”
Before he could respond, he heard his mother’s footsteps in the hall. He saw his opportunity to leave. He was
on his feet before his mother entered the room.
“Mother, Amy has arrived to discuss her dress for tonight.” He looked at the clock on the mantle and then back at Amy, flashing a grateful smile at her. “I shall take on board all that you have told me, Lady Shipton.”
“Then you will give me your answer tonight?” she challenged him.
He bowed low over her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles, “I will. Thank you.”
“Secrets, I do love secrets.” He heard his mother say to Amy as he gathered his gloves and hat from the entrance table and departed the house in a desperate search for some long awaited answers.
The hushed silence that greeted his entrance at the fashionable modiste’s owned by Monique Baye was hardly surprising. He did not have a lady on his arm this time.
The ladies Arbuckle and Rutherford were looking through dress patterns and their mouths dropped open in amazement as he took off his hat and bid them good afternoon.
Before they could gather their wits, Monique herself came through the curtain at the back, and being the experienced modiste that she was, immediately broke into a smile. “Lord Wolverstone, you must be here to collect your mother’s dress. If you’d please step this way, I have some instructions regarding how it should be worn.”
Once they’d moved into her private sitting room, Monique rounded on him. “I trust you are here because you’ve finally come to your senses. You’ve got to stop her.”
He advanced toward her. “I want answers first. God damn it, I deserve answers. Tell me what happened ten years ago.”
Something sad and chilling flashed in Monique’s eyes. Suddenly his skin felt cold and clammy. He knew he would not like what he was about to hear. He stumbled for a chair.
Monique looked at him with pity shining in her eyes. “You do love her, I can see it. Then trust me when I tell you that you must talk to her. Force her to tell you the truth.”
“Why can’t you tell me? I’ve tried asking her. What is so terrible, that she cannot tell me?”
“I cannot betray Sabine’s trust.” She straightened and gave him a sly smile. “Have you met her son, Alfredo?”
“No.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the evidence of her marriage.
Monique pulled him out of the chair and began shoving him toward the store’s exit. “Go to her house now. Meet Alfredo, then ask her for the truth.”
Before he knew it he was back out on the street. Marcus knew something terrible had happened to Sabine; he knew it in his bones. He would go to her house and demand answers. And this time, he would not leave until he had them.
Chapter Twelve
Marcus was shown into the drawing room. Apparently, Sabine was not at home and none of the servants knew where she’d gone. Nevertheless, they invited him in to wait.
He looked grimly around the room and wondered how Sabine could abide living here. He instinctively knew that the leased house was not to her taste at all. The drawing room was shabby and in need of redecoration. She obviously had not lied when she’d indicated she was in London temporarily. So, her plan had just been to secure his help, get her revenge and leave. It had never been about them.
A wave of sadness and longing washed over him for what life could have been. A home, he truly wanted a home. However, the thought of sharing his home and his life, as well as his bed, with Amy Shipton held little appeal.
The minutes ticked slowly by; he was going mad with the waiting. Why had Sabine left so precipitously ten years ago? Monique’s cryptic words indicated that there was far more to this story than he’d originally thought.
When he finally heard rapid footsteps in the hall, he marched to the drawing room door and threw it open. The high pitched squeal of a young boy directed his attention to the bottom of the stairs.
A boy of about ten, Alfredo presumably, had slid down the stairs and landed on his bottom with a thump at the base of one of the intricately carved banisters.
He giggled in glee. “I’m not supposed to slide down the banisters. Mama says it’s dangerous.”
The boy picked himself up and moved toward Marcus, his face alight with mischief and curiosity. He looked up at Marcus and smiled, “Buon giorno, Sir.”
Alfredo. A cold, cold chill slid through Marcus’s veins, engulfing his chest. He stood looking down at a face he’d seen before. The hands of betrayal gripped and squeezed his newly blossoming heart, the tentacles of its barbed vines smothering his new hope.
But somehow this new found hope in his heart fought back; a gong clanged in his brain that said no, this is not right. But yet the proof was standing here before him. Ten years ago Sabine must have taken Gower as a lover, for there was no doubt that the child before him was of Gower’s bloodline. The resemblance was uncanny.
Alfredo’s smile slipped away and he took a step back in alarm at Marcus’s thunderous expression.
“Alfredo, come here at once.” A woman about the same age as Sabine hurried to Alfredo’s side and took his hand. Her mouth firmed when she noted Marcus standing there, transfixed at the sight of the boy. “Go up to your room, there’s a good boy. It’s bath time. I’ll be up shortly.”
Alfredo took one look at Marcus’s face and fled.
This prim and proper servant sparked yet another memory from deep within Marcus. “I remember you. You were in the Fournier household.”
Her expression remained grave. “Yes, my Lord. I was one of their maids.”
“You went with Sabine when she married?”
“Yes, I’m Claudette, her lady in waiting. I also serve as nanny to Alfredo.”
At the mention of the boy’s name, Marcus’s eyes momentarily closed.
“You will not tell the world who her son’s father truly is.” It was a command, not a question, and it was issued with contempt. Her antipathy was clear in her stance and from the flash within her dark eyes.
“I have no wish to tattle about Lady Orsini’s affairs.”
A heavy silence ensued.
Then Claudette’s eyes widened in comprehension. “You think she willingly lay with that despicable man, don’t you?” Her voice was incredulous. “Men! You are, par”- she spat and prodded him with her finger, overcome with anger. “How can you think she would do that when you were her world?”
A sound like an animal in pain escaped his mouth. Oh, God. Horror gripped him and almost forced him to his knees. He used his hand to brace himself against the hallway wall. He looked into Claudette’s face and saw the truth as plain as the new day. Bitter bile rose in his mouth. As understanding dawned over him he hastily covered his mouth; the urge to vomit was strong.
With sudden brutal clarity, he remembered Sabine’s words from the first night in Lady Somerset’s bedchamber. I have only ever willingly slept with my husband. He’d not understood the nuance behind her words until now.
He raised his anguished eyes to Claudette. “Why? Why, in God’s name, was I not told?”
“It was to protect you, of course, My Lord. She knew what you would do. Back then Gower was a champion swordsman. You, you… were not so good.”
Brutal fury engulfed him. It pressed outward until he thought he’d explode. “She should have told me.” The wrenching grief in him threatened to suffocate him. Ten years; they’d wasted ten precious years. For ten long years he’d hated her and loved her equally. Back then, he should have tried harder to see her. He had known, deep down inside, that his Sabine could not have played him false, but he had let his overweening male pride get in the way.
He felt a tear slide silently down his cheek.
Claudette cupped his chin and appealed to him. “She has gone again, to deal with that devil, because of her love for you and her child. Will you help her this time?”
“What… what are you talking about? Gower is ruined. She holds his vowels….”
He watched her raise an eyebrow.
A stark foreboding gripped him. “He’s threatened her, hasn’t he?”
Claudette nodded. “Gow
er threatened to tell you the truth if she didn’t sign the vowels over to him. He also threatened to make Alfredo disappear.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. She was trying to protect him again and he’d… he’d simply let her walk away.
“How long ago did she leave the house?”
“Too long, my Lord.”
That was all Marcus needed to hear. He ran for the front door. Luckily, Henry’s house was across the road. He’d need Henry’s help to get into Gower’s residence.
He had to get to her. He would save her this time. And when he got his hands on Gower….A black fury hazed his vision at the thought. His hands would not leave Gower’s body until he was dead.
Sabine took a hackney to Gower’s residence in Holborn. She could guess what he used this house for, and the type of women he brought here as it was in the seedier part of London.
She made the driver take her around the block for almost an hour before she summoned up the courage to face Gower. She listened to the horses clip clopping along the cobblestones, willing herself to find another way out of this mess. If not for her time with Marcus and her revenge for her parents deaths, she’d wish she’d never set foot on English soil again.
Realizing she’d run out of time, she signaled for the driver to stop. She alighted at the corner, five houses down from where her enemy lay curled up like a snake, ready to strike and fill her with his poison. Already she could feel fear clouding her brain and she needed to pause and think. Somehow she had to prevent Gower from touching her. She wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to survive him a second time.
As she forced her sluggish brain to think past the horrors of what Gower would be likely to do to her, she patted the small pistol that lay comfortingly in her pocket. In addition, it had been Claudette’s idea to wear trousers under her skirt. She would not make it easy for Gower this time. This time she’d fight back. She wasn’t a scared naive girl of eighteen anymore.
To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (Wicked Wagers BK2-Regency Romance) Long Novella Page 10
