by Dorothy Mack
“Angel, forgive me for being such a brute,” he muttered urgently, drawing away from her abruptly. He ran a trembling hand through his already disordered locks. “I I’m afraid I’ve had too much to drink, but that’s no excuse. I gave my word.” His voice trailed off and he swayed slightly.
Angelica sprang to his side and put a supporting arm around his waist. The huge bed was the closest piece of furniture, and she urged him backward two steps, pushing him down onto it.
Suddenly she was no longer afraid. Even drunk, Giles could not act other than as a gentleman for long, she exulted.
“Are you all right, Giles?” Her eyes and voice were anxious as she loosened the belt of his robe.
He smiled crookedly into her eyes before lying back on the pillow and closing his own. “Yes, darling, though I don’t deserve to be. I’ll go in a minute when my damned head stops spinning.”
“Nonsense. What you need is rest. Go to sleep.”
The meaning of her compassionate but ill-considered words slowly penetrated her consciousness, and she eyed him somewhat nervously for a moment or two, prepared to evade any advances on his part. As his eyes remained closed, she breathed a sigh of relief and blew out the candles on the bedside table. Using her hand to feel the way, she groped a path around to the other side of the bed. Obviously, in his condition, he had slept the second his head hit the pillow. In any event, he was her husband and she loved him, she thought fatalistically; let happen what happens.
It could not have happened much more quickly. She eased herself carefully onto the bed so as not to disturb him and settled herself comfortably on her pillow almost at the edge of the big bed. Immediately a powerful hand encircled her waist, pulling her easily to the middle of the bed.
“I never felt less sleepy in my life,” he murmured in her ear with a hint of laughter in his voice.
She stiffened instinctively, but his lips on hers stifled any protest she might have been considering. All the fierceness had gone from his manner. By the time that first kiss ended, she was long past protesting anything. His warm, persuasive mouth and caressing hands were evoking a sensuous response to meet his own. She obeyed him implicitly and was grateful for his gentleness as he taught her what love between a man and a woman could mean. During the one painful moment before her body accommodated itself to his, he held her so tightly that he absorbed some of the shock that rippled through her.
“I promise it will never hurt you again, love,” he whispered against her lips. Afterward he held her quietly, stroking her hair which he had undone from its plait and softly kissing her eyes and lips. His thumb traced the velvet smoothness of her cheek and jaw line.
In those wordless moments in his arms before sleep overtook them, she knew utter contentment. She was on the threshold of sleep when his hands moved lower, caressing her in a manner that aroused wholly unsuspected sensations within her. His lips became insistent again. This time she met his passion unflinchingly, glorying in the shared ecstasy of complete possession.
It was like a minor death when at last he withdrew and lay back, closing his eyes. She would have felt completely abandoned if it had not been for the arm he kept securely about her, even though he was practically asleep.
There was a rosy glow from the fireplace which gave enough light so that she could make out the huge black shapes of the wardrobes against the wall. Annie had not drawn the curtains tightly. She could tell by the faint gleam between them that the night was moonlit. She turned her head cautiously to observe her husband. She could only just make out the dark line of his eyelashes against his cheeks. A deep sense of love for this enigmatic man pervaded her being.
“Giles,” she murmured, more in wonder than for the purpose of communication.
He stirred slightly and his arm tightened about her waist.
“Darling Alicia.” The muttered words were almost inaudible, but his wife heard and her body jerked spasmodically, just once. She held her breath then, but except for another slight movement of his encircling arm, the man beside her remained still.
“Alicia!” The name had been little more than soundlessly breathed, but now it reverberated in her brain as if that organ were a hollow drum, and the pain of it increased in volume until she actually tasted blood where her teeth had gripped her bottom lip fiercely to prevent a wail of anguish.
She had thought he wanted her, and all along he had been pretending it was his first love he was holding in his arms.
No doubt in his condition any woman would have served the purpose. She had been so happy, but it was a false happiness based on shadow. And now reality had intruded, robbing her even of the memory of his tenderness. It had been meant for another woman.
It was sheer torture to have to lie motionless in his arms when her clamouring nerves jumped to be free of the embrace. She wanted to leap screaming from this bed and scream and scream and scream until she dropped from exhaustion. Instead, she dug her nails into her soft palms and lay rigid, feeling waves of humiliation wash over her. She was so hot she feared she would suffocate, but she must not disturb him. She would not place herself in the position of having to listen to an apology from her husband for calling her by another woman’s name. She’d die first! So, feeling hot and cold by turns, Angelica lay a hairbreadth from her husband’s still form but more estranged spiritually then ever in their acquaintance, until the glow had faded from the fireplace and only a faint, sizzling noise issued from across the room.
At last, very gingerly, she released herself from the weight of that arm which now repelled her and edged cautiously away from his warmth. And at last, she gave in to the bitter tears crowding her eyelids. She lay perfectly motionless and let them fall unheeded onto the pillow in an agony of regret. Giles had been angry when she had referred to herself as a substitute bride on their wedding night, she remembered. At the time she had meant a substitute for Barbara, and he had denied this. Now she knew she and Barbara and every other woman he approached were no more than substitutes for his lost love. The bitter knowledge numbed her heart. Eventually, the numbness spread to the rest of her body and she slept.
There was a persistent light behind his eyes that would not be shut out. Giles closed his eyes more tightly, and a band of pain spread around his head. Opening them to find moonlight streaming in on his face, he shifted his position irritably, but the pain inexorably followed him. He held himself very still to discourage it. Something about his surroundings penetrated the ache in his head and touched his consciousness. The position of the windows was wrong. He frowned and stopped hastily because it hurt. Raising a hand to his head, he encountered a silken strand of hair and froze for an instant. Very carefully, he eased the hand away from the hair and raised himself on one elbow, closing his eyes until his head felt steadier.
“No,” he said in denial, but when he opened his eyes again, his wife’s sleeping form was still there. “Dear God, I couldn’t have.” He concentrated on remembering his actions that evening. He had gone to Brooks’s after the scene with Angelica, but her face had gotten between him and the cards so he had left early. He’d drunk rather a lot there, and he recalled taking the brandy up to his bedchamber while he waited for his wife to return home. The more he’d thought about that scene in the bath, the more irritated he’d become by her resistance to him.
He had promised himself to go slowly and try to win her love before exercising any husbandly rights. Their relationship had been deepening — he was sure of it. She had seemed so content with him. Then why such fury today? There had been no answer earlier, and there was none now. The more he dwelt on her cold rejection, the angrier he had become.
His lips tightened as his recollections ended in his room. He didn’t remember coming in here. Surely he could not have forced himself on her. He was sweating profusely now, staring down at Angelica’s averted face. Her hair in wild disorder streamed across both pillows. How lovely she was. Perhaps she had come to him willingly after all.
An unwelcome picture o
f her furious face as he had left her this afternoon rose before his eyes. She had resisted his embrace with all her strength. He wiped his forehead across his sleeve and noted absently that his hand was shaking. He certainly had the king of all hangovers, he acknowledged wryly. It took another long moment to gather the resolution to lean toward his wife, searching for something which might relieve the impending sense of dread creeping over him. As his reluctant eyes took in her appearance, he was almost overwhelmed by sheer self-loathing. Her lower lip was slightly swollen, marred by a smear of dried blood. The long, bronze-coloured lashes clung together in damp clusters on cheeks from which the tear stains had not yet faded.
At the sickening realization that he must have raped his own wife in a drunken stupor, he groaned aloud, then held his breath as she stirred slightly. He ached to take her in his arms and comfort her, but of course that solace was denied to one who had caused her distress.
Giles’s exit from his wife’s bed matched her entrance in caution. His eyes never left her face, gleaming pearl-like in the moon’s radiance. She made not the slightest movement, scarcely seeming to breathe. He would have drawn the curtains more securely, but he needed the moon’s path to guide him to his own bedchamber, for he dared not light a candle.
The curtains in his room were full open as he had pulled them on his return from Brooks’s, for Giles disliked being put to bed by his valet. He crossed to the windows and stood there silhouetted in the moonlight, a tall figure, broad of shoulder but now slightly bent with his hands at his sides slowly clenching into fists. He remained untouched by the soothing beauty of the night, staring unseeingly at the moonlight with corrosive, self-loathing thoughts for company.
The next morning Angelica breakfasted in her room, not having sufficient resolution to face Giles across the coffeepot. She had fallen into a deep sleep of exhaustion and slept later than usual, so this deviation from her customary routine was less remarkable than it might have been.
Everything that had happened came flooding back to her with her first emergence from that friendly oblivion. Instinctively, she turned and saw that he was gone with a sense of loss but no surprise. She could not evade the bitter conviction that he had made his escape as soon as the effects of the brandy had diminished enough for him to discern that she was not his adored Alicia. After the agony of emotion endured in silence, she no longer felt the urge to scream her pain, nor did she possess the required strength.
She thought dully that she could almost hate Giles for causing her to feel so deeply before he demonstrated how little she meant to him. Billy was used to say she had the devil’s own pride. Perhaps it was true. She knew she would not willingly meet her husband again until she could assume the same cold indifference he sometimes displayed toward her.
Not even Jenny’s cheerful presence could lighten her mood; she felt chilled to her soul. The child chattered on of nursery happenings and displayed two paintings that would have thrilled Angelica in a more receptive frame of mind. As it was, it required a palpable effort to say all that was proper. Hopefully Jenny had not noticed anything amiss.
The rest of the day passed inevitably, and though she displayed a certain tenseness each time a door opened, she was spared a meeting with her husband.
Their first encounter took place on the following morning. She entered the library at Giles’s bidding after again breakfasting in her room to learn that he was driving down to Desmond House to attend to some pressing affairs with his bailiff.
She heard him out in unresponsive silence, never once raising her eyes above his tiepin after an initial swift glance. His erect figure and coldly remote expression did nothing to melt the ice which seemed to have formed around her heart. Immediately after he finished detailing his intentions, she rose from her chair, prepared to bid him a formal adieu.
His eyes, which had been on some papers in his hands, flashed to her face and he got quickly to his feet.
“Wait, Angelica. Before I go, I must make you my sincere apologies for … for my behaviour the other night. I told you I would make no demands on you. It is not my custom to break my word, but I’m afraid I had drunk too much. For that, too, I apologize. You have my word of honour that you will have nothing to fear in the future.”
Angelica had watched him intently during this formal speech, searching for something, some hint of emotion in his face or voice. She found none. He was paler than usual and he toyed incessantly with a letter opener on the table, but face and tone were expressionless. Another layer of ice formed within her. He had apologized, but he had offered no explanation other than the fact of being foxed. Neither had he asked for forgiveness. He left her nothing to say. To question him might lead to revelations that would only reemphasize his lack of personal feeling for her. It was sufficiently humiliating to have responded so passionately to lovemaking that was merely the result of a drunken impulse. Obviously he was embarrassed and wished to forget the episode completely. Well, so did she wish to forget, desperately!
Her clear, slightly scornful green eyes met his squarely and her small, firm chin lifted proudly.
“Goodbye, Giles. I hope your trip will be successful.”
Her pride, her devilish pride, enabled her to maintain a steady, level voice and a steady, level tread to the door, which she closed ever so quietly behind her as if afraid one tiny sound might cause the whole house to explode.
The only sound in the library was the sharp, clear snapping of the ivory letter opener and the subsequent small thuds as its two pieces hit the table almost simultaneously.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
During the three weeks that Giles was away, Angelica settled back into a tolerable routine. Acting as duenna for the lively Lydia left her little time for brooding, and she succeeded in pushing her personal problem to the back of her mind. When it threatened to emerge, she would seek out Jenny’s company. The little girl, with her bubbling affection, was a constant delight to her new mother. The three lovely Weston ladies became a common sight walking or driving in the park. Even in London, spring had turned the world a tender green and gold.
Their progress during these expeditions was nearly always impeded by the fortuitous appearance of one or many of Lydia’s suitors. When questioned by her sister-in-law, the young girl laughingly declared that the encounters were but fortunate coincidences.
“Do not perjure yourself, my dear,” Angelica replied dryly. “I am not so green as to accept that. I must be failing in my duties as chaperone if you are managing to make assignations under my watchful eye.”
Lydia dimpled unrepentantly. “You are a dear dragon, Angel, but I have my methods.”
Angelica also had made conquests among the London beaux. Although she had little taste for fashionable flirtation and none at all for dalliance, there were a surprising number of gentlemen who saved their best stories and most clever quips for Lady Desmond’s ears in the hopes of bringing into play that enchanting smile which started in her flowing green eyes, subsequently revealing perfect teeth and the most beguiling dimple at the corner of her mouth. Not having a frivolous nature, her smiles and kind words were bestowed rather less frequently than by the more dashing of the town’s charmers, but several of the most sought-after gentlemen of fashion deemed the reward worth their best efforts. Though she would not tolerate a single cicisbeo, it was undeniably gratifying to be admired, particularly after having her self-esteem so bruised by her husband.
Whether her husband was equally gratified by the evidence of his wife’s popularity that greeted him on his return to town was a question no one among his acquaintance felt competent to answer. Desmond had never worn his heart on his sleeve and he did not do so now. Certainly it was observed that his eye was often upon his wife at those events they attended together, but he made no noticeable attempts to discourage any of her admirers, nor did he appear to suffer from the smallest pangs of jealousy. He paid the usual charming compliments to the most admired females, but if he had set up a new flirt since his m
arriage he was discretion itself. No lady who had observed the mocking light in the viscount’s eyes dared preen herself on having captured his heart, however extravagant his compliments.
Interested spectators (and there were legions following the newsworthy manner of the viscount’s marriage) differed in their interpretations of the relationship between Desmond and his wife. Certainly they were seen together less frequently than before their marriage, but that was to be expected. After all, in society it was considered bourgeois to be forever in one’s spouse’s pocket; it simply was not done. True, Lady Desmond never appeared to be in alt when her husband graced her with his presence, but then, a lady would scorn to make a show of herself in this manner, and she was undeniably well-bred. The more romantic among their acquaintance might deem it a love match, since no one could deny that, though her birth was well enough, Angelica Wayne had been completely ineligible with respect to fortune. The less charitable (and they were decidedly in the majority) held the opinion that Desmond would have married anyone after that sordid elopement on the part of his former fiancée. As for the girl, she’d have had to be a pretty fool to whistle a title and a fortune down the wind, whatever the state of her affections.
As for the principals themselves, they treated each other with truly exemplary courtesy. If Angelica no longer found her husband’s warm gaze on her when she accidentally happened to glance his way, she refused to admit disappointment even to herself. If the discovery that the polite little smiles his wife allocated him failed to reveal her elusive dimple disturbed the viscount, he concealed it admirably. In any event, they passed so little time in one another’s company that it was possible these small circumstances went unnoticed. Fortunately, it escaped everyone’s notice that they spent exactly no time at all in each other’s exclusive company.
