Chapter Thirty-eight
REBECCA WONDERED IF HER emotions were always going to get so out of hand when she was around Rupert.
She walked away from him. There was just no talking to the man, and he made her so bloody furious she was once again saying things she’d rather not say. But it was his house! So walking away from him here meant he could follow her—and he did.
She didn’t know where her trunks had been taken. Too angry to find the butler to ask him and too angry not to look for them herself, she began opening doors upstairs. Normally, she would never do anything that rude, but nothing about her current emotions was normal, and Rupert was dogging her steps.
When her hand reached to open the next-to-last door in the long corridor, Rupert warned, “That’s…not…”
He didn’t finish. Standing behind her once she’d opened the door, he could see that she’d found her trunks stacked in the large room. She didn’t hesitate to enter.
Neither did he, and his tone was about as adamant as it could get when he said, “You are not staying in here.”
It was a wonderful room. Dark blue and burgundy blended well in the plush carpet. Light blue and pale cream in the wallpaper made the large paintings with their dark wood frames stand out nicely. The thickly cushioned upholstery on the cherrywood sofa and reading chair was light cream, such a stark contrast with the dark carpet. The low table between them was a piece of art itself, the legs of it were so intricately carved.
The drapes at several windows were yet another shade of dark blue, embroidered with silver threads. An easel stood by the largest window, the painting that was apparently being worked on turned toward the light so she couldn’t see what it was of. Several bookcases were so filled there wasn’t room for even one more book. Twin bureaus, larger than any others she’d ever seen, sat side by side and were likely custom-made. A white marble fireplace wide enough to easily heat such a large room took up a good part of one wall.
Two other doors were on one wall, possibly leading to a water closet and a wardrobe, or connecting to another bedroom in the style of some master suites.
The entire room was grandly elegant, and the large bed, thrust oddly into one corner of the room, prompted her guess “Your room?” She tried to keep her voice neutral as she added, “I quite agree, I won’t be staying in here. Charles must have presumed this was the logical place to put my trunks when I told him I am the new Lady St. John.”
“On a first-name basis with my servants already?”
She turned around to find him walking across the room to stand in front of the easel like a guard dog. As if she cared that he painted or wanted to know what he’d find of interest to paint.
In reply to his question she said, “I merely heard your servant’s name, but, fine, henceforth I will call him your butler, just as I will call this your house, just as I will call that”—she stabbed a finger toward the corner—“your bloody odd bed.”
“What’s wrong with my bed?”
“No one situates a bed so that one can only get in or out of it on one side unless it’s a matter of not having enough room for it, which hasn’t been the case for your beds. All three of them now that I’ve had the misfortune to view have been shoved into corners.”
“You call that odd?”
Rebecca drew in her breath as he approached her. His expression had turned entirely too sensual, reminding her of the night they made love.
He must have been remembering the same thing, because he added, “I don’t recall your being bothered by the bed in my room in the palace. In fact, you hardly seemed to notice it that night because you were paying so much attention to me. Don’t you remember?”
How could she forget! But she wasn’t going to admit that. Her blush, however, probably admitted it for her, so she quickly moved away from him.
“Did you ever think to ask why the beds are arranged that way instead of making snide assumptions?” he said, causing her burning cheeks to get even hotter. “There is nothing wrong with this arrangement—in fact, there is a good reason for it.”
Now, thankfully, that he was no longer talking about their night of lovemaking, she was able to say, “Very well, I’ll bite. What is the reason?”
“It’s really none of your business, but since you’ve made an issue of it, I’m going to tell you. It’s an appalling shortcoming of mine that I toss about so much in my sleep that I used to fall out of bed occasionally. Of course, it never happens when I have a soft bedmate beside me, which tends to lure me in the direction of warmth even while I’m asleep. But since that isn’t usually the case here, to keep from waking the rest of the family when I hit the floor, I’ve found this a safer position for my bed.”
She would never have imagined such an answer or that he’d admit it. And he’d made her feel that she ought to apologize.
So she was amazed at herself when she said quite scathingly, “What, the housemaids aren’t pretty enough to tempt you?”
“Certainly, but mother frowns on that sort of cavorting in her house.”
“I thought this was your house?”
He shrugged. “So it is, but since I share it with my family, I still respect her wishes on the matter.”
Rebecca blushed again. Why couldn’t she have just apologized as she should have? But she still couldn’t bring herself to do so even now. She turned about to leave his room instead.
Without stopping, and in a completely dismissive tone, she said, “I’ll find your butler and have my trunks moved immediately.”
“Do you realize how far you have overstepped the bounds, Becca? I would suggest a more conciliatory attitude henceforth.”
She paused. “Or?”
“I will put you in here.”
She turned about to gauge the seriousness of that statement. She caught a glint of mischief in his pale blue eyes, and something else. Was it desire—or anger? It had to be anger. And she wasn’t supposed to be furious when he’d accused her of all sorts of bad behavior she was innocent of?
“You know, I told you that night I went to your room that I was assisting your friend Nigel, at his request,” she reminded him. “You never bothered to confirm that, did you?”
“What’s your point?”
“I never would have gone to your room if he hadn’t assured me that you would act as a go-between for us.”
“Yes, I did speak to Nigel and he confirmed that he told you to use me as a go-between. But, Becca, we both know you had other opportunities to deliver your information. Instead you broke all the rules by entering my room, late at night, fully expecting to find me abed at that hour, and that’s what has put us in this intolerable situation. So there will be no blame-passing, Becca, when we both know exactly where the blame lies.”
She shook her head in frustration. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that I disagree. I might have been naive, but I didn’t set out to seduce you! Please do us both a favor and don’t pull a leaf from my book by spiting yourself to spite me. This will be a hands-off marriage just as you described it—for the duration.”
“Actually, the way I described it was—a hands-off marriage until proof can be established. You don’t really think I’ll keep my hands off of you if we do end up having to remain married, do you? But don’t try to tempt me in the meantime. If that is your current plan, to move in here to seduce me again so you really will get pregnant, I warn you—no, I promise you—you will regret it.”
“And to think I used to liken you to an angel. I truly must have been out of my mind.”
She mumbled that to herself on the way out the door, too low for him to hear. She’d let anger push her into coming here. She’d let anger widen the breach between them. But it wasn’t anger filling her chest with pain just then. And it wasn’t anger that brought tears to her eyes.
Chapter Thirty-nine
THE WOMAN MADE HIM crazy! Rupert wondered how the deuce was he going to survive this close proximity to Rebecca. Bloody hell, he still want
ed her badly, but he resented being manipulated into marriage by a scheming chit, no matter how desirable he found her. She’d be tempting him every time he turned around, all in supposed innocence. And it would work. There was no way it wouldn’t work when she already tempted him—without even trying.
Rupert stayed in his room until Rebecca’s trunks were removed, and a few minutes longer until he heard a door slam down the hall. She was going to chase him out of his own house. He could see no other solution.
He was halfway down the stairs when his step slowed to a halt. What was he doing? Since when did he choose the cowardly path? She really was making him crazy, to jump so quickly on such an easy out. He bloody well had more fortitude than that. And he knew her game plan! He just needed to ignore his immediate instinct for self-preservation long enough to come up with a plan to counter hers.
He was still standing on the stairs when the front door opened and his cousin Raphael Locke and his wife, Ophelia, stepped inside. The damn Season! He’d forgotten how many of his Locke relatives showed up in London at this time of the year. And they all visited his family, of course, some for weeks at a time. His cousin Amanda, Raphael’s sister, was likely to arrive, too, since she was still on the marriage mart. She preferred to stay at his house where she had three likely escorts in him and his brothers, rather than with her own brother, who preferred to stay at home with his wife and young daughter.
Raphael and his wife’s arrival cemented Rupert’s decision. He’d have to stay. He knew how easily Rebecca would insinuate herself into the hearts of his family if he wasn’t around to warn them of her duplicities. She was too adorable and amusing not to. While most men would be appalled to find a female in their family displaying an intelligence that equaled their own, the Lockes and St. Johns didn’t fall into that group.
Still to this day, Rupert was dazzled by Ophelia Locke’s incredible beauty every time he saw her. There was just no getting used to a face that unique. Ophelia and Rebecca would probably have a good deal in common, too—no, that was the old Ophelia he was thinking of. She used to excel at manipulating situations to suit herself, and resorting to lies to do it, just as Rebecca did. Ophelia was a raving beauty, unparalleled in that regard, yet she’d actually not been likable because of those bad qualities. But marriage to Rafe had turned her around completely. There was nothing not to like about the Ophelia who’d married his cousin.
“Didn’t expect to find you here, old chap,” Raphael said when he caught sight of Rupert.
Rupert grinned and traversed the remaining steps to join the couple in the hall. “I try to limit myself to spending the night with only three women a week these days. You’ve caught me on one of my odd days.”
“Was hoping not to catch you a’tall,” Raphael shot back. “Came by to visit with Aunt Julie, anyway, so you can run along.”
Oddly enough, Raphael Locke was only half-joking. He didn’t experience much jealousy over his wife since he had no doubt about her love for him, but Rupert had provoked that jealousy one time too many. It had all been fun and games for Rupert when he’d flirted with Ophelia quite often in those first months of her marriage, but Rafe, who was well aware of his cousin’s skirt-chasing reputation, hadn’t found it the least bit amusing.
“What he meant was, we thought you might still be abed at this hour,” Ophelia said, trying to make Rafe’s dismissal sound a little more amiable.
“Don’t worry, luv”—Rupert winked at Ophelia—“I’m used to his insecurities by now.”
Raphael snorted and, as he marched to the parlor, shouted, “Where are you, Aunt Julie? You need to send that scamp of yours on an errand while I visit.”
Ophelia scolded Rupert lightly, “I know you aren’t serious, and at least you have stopped trying to seduce me at every turn as you used to do. But you really need to let him know you aren’t serious.”
“It was all fun and games, m’dear.”
“Nonsense. You did it just to spark your mother’s ire.”
“That, too.” Rupert grinned.
“And my husband’s.”
Rupert chuckled, “That, too.”
“So it’s time to stop provoking him, don’t you think? I do like visiting your family, but it takes me days to convince Rafe to bring us to town—because of you.”
“Good God,” they heard Raphael exclaim in the other room. “When did that happen?”
Rupert sighed, prompting Ophelia to ask, “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, but then that’s merely my opinion. My mother, on the other hand, probably thinks nothing could be more right with the world. But I’ll let her tell you. She’s probably busting at the seams.”
He extended an arm toward the parlor. Ophelia gave him an annoyed look, then moved ahead of him.
But his mother didn’t keep her in suspense. As soon as Ophelia appeared in the doorway, Julie announced, “Let me be the first to tell you about Rupert’s marriage. He’s found himself such a delightful girl, and they’re already expecting an addition to the family.”
Rupert leaned back against the doorframe and banged his head against the wood. Trust his mother to spill all of the beans at once.
Ophelia glanced back at him and, in a tone that was as close as she got to a pout these days, said, “I like weddings. Why weren’t we invited?”
He closed his eyes. “Perhaps because no one was supposed to know about it yet.”
“Yes, he wasn’t even going to tell me,” Julie added, though by her wide smile, she wasn’t the least bit upset over that. “But I quite forgive him for it, now that I do know. You must know her, Rafe. She’s a neighbor of yours. She even told me she might have gotten into the family sooner, that she had set her cap for you long ago.”
“Oh?” Ophelia said, raising a brow at her husband.
Raphael blushed slightly. “I’ve no idea whom Aunt Julie is talking about, m’dear. She hasn’t said whom he married yet.”
Rupert’s eyes were open wide now. It all came together in his mind—the reason for what Rebecca had set in motion. None of it had anything to do with palace intrigue, and everything to do with her own mercenary agenda. She had really been after marriage all along, one way or another—into the Locke family. He’d merely been her stepping-stone.
Chapter Forty
I’M THE BRIDE,” REBECCA said from the doorway, bringing the room to momentary silence.
She managed not to blush while making such a bold statement. But there was no reason to beat around the bush, especially when she’d caught Raphael’s remark as she approached the room. She should have just retreated when she heard so many voices in the parlor. But she didn’t move into this house to hide. She was there to assure her place in Rupert’s family—for her baby’s sake, and this was a prime opportunity to do that.
Her remark brought every eye in the room to her, including Rupert’s. “You forgot to say lucky bride, didn’t you?” Rupert asked in a low voice as he stood beside her.
That was the usual response of a new bride, she supposed, but it definitely didn’t apply to her. “No, I didn’t,” she whispered back with a false smile. “But I managed to withhold the ‘unlucky’ that was on the tip of my tongue. You can thank me later.”
He snorted. She left his side to move farther into the room to join her mother-in-law on one of the brocade sofas. Julie was beaming at her. Raphael was smiling, too, probably having recognized her. Ophelia was the only one giving her a bemused look.
“You look familiar, though a name isn’t coming to me. Haven’t we met?” Ophelia asked finally.
“Yes, not long after you married. I was with my mother when we came to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Yes, of course!” Ophelia exclaimed. “Lilly and Rebecca Marshall. I remember now—and that your mother said something that day that sparked my curiosity.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think she meant for me to hear her. She mumbled rather low just after she was introduced to me, ‘Well, that ex
plains that.’ Perhaps you recall and know what she was talking about? I had a feeling the remark was about me.”
Rebecca burst out laughing, recalling the day they met Ophelia Locke for the first time. Rebecca had understood then how Raphael had succumbed to Ophelia so quickly. The woman was beyond beautiful. There were simply no words to describe it. Lilly had been of the same opinion and summed it up in those few simple words: “Well, that explains that.”
“Indeed, it was about you,” Rebecca said with a grin. “For several years my mother and I had been entertaining the idea that Raphael would make me a fine husband. So when he up and married you, out of the blue, without even a courtship making the rounds, we were quite curious to know why. But we merely had to meet you to understand why any man would have rushed you to the altar, once he gained your favor.”
Ophelia was blushing now at the compliment, but her husband explained, “Oh, our courtship, as unusual as it was, made all the gossip mills in London. Phelia can tell you about it sometime. Word just hadn’t reached Norford by the time I brought my wife home.” Then he teased Rebecca, “I hope you weren’t too disappointed?”
“Oh, I was devastated, to be sure—for about an hour,” Rebecca teased back, making them laugh before she assured him, “You were merely an ‘idea’ for me, after all. Something not to take seriously, but to look forward to when I came of age. You just married before I got there!”
They all laughed—except Rupert. His scowl was so black he took it straight out of the room before anyone noticed. Rebecca caught it though before he so rudely left her alone with his family. She should have let it go. She should have taken that opportunity to explain things to the Lockes without Rupert giving them his deluded version. But she’d already told Julie the situation, and Julie could tell her relatives if she chose to. Rebecca excused herself and went after Rupert instead.
She didn’t have to go far and followed him down the hall to the room he disappeared into, just catching the door before it closed in her face. She pushed it open. He swung around to pin her with his narrowed, pale blue eyes.
A Rogue of My Own Page 19
