by Lucy Monroe
“That must have hurt you a great deal.” Irisa’s voice was husky with emotion.
He did not deny her claim. “I became responsible for the title at a very young age, too young to curb her dissolute ways. But when I left school and took over management of the estate entirely felt the time had come to try. I spoke to her about the impact her behavior had on the reputation of our family.”
“She did not listen, I imagine.”
“She was offended her son would have the temerity to lecture her. Unfortunately, she found me as tedious as she found my father before me. We were not close, but after that conversation, a chill developed between us.”
“I’m sorry.” Irisa’s sweetly compassionate voice reached deep inside to a place he had kept closed to others since his father’s death.
“Mother was the first person to call me Saint Ashton. She frequently mocked my tendency toward dullness and respectability. Her friends took the name up and soon the rest of the ton knew me as The Saint.” But he was not a saint. He was merely a man who wanted to do right by his title and the people who relied on him for their living.
A soft sound of distress came from the other side of the carriage. It reminded him how very unalike his fiancée was from the woman who had given him birth. Irisa hated to see others hurt; she would never mock anyone, much less her own son.
He gritted his teeth against memories that should no longer have the power to wound. Ridicule had been one of his mother’s favorite forms of amusement and both looking and sounding so much like his father, he had been her chief target. “I vowed never to be like her.”
“You promised yourself you would not marry a woman like her either, didn’t you?” Irisa asked in a low whisper.
He turned his head and flipped back the curtain to look out the carriage window into the foggy London night. “Yes.”
A small rustle of silk was all the warning he had before Irisa landed on the seat beside him, her little hand clutching his bigger one tightly. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I didn’t mean to hurt you tonight. You must believe me.”
He returned the pressure of her hand. He did believe her, just as he was absolutely certain that she had not dressed in her low cut gown to attract other men. Irisa’s honor ran bone deep.
“Were you testing the bounds of our relationship little one?” It was the only explanation he could come up with.
“You could say that.” She sounded resigned.
Had she expected more freedom? Did it upset her that he had drawn a line on her behavior? She had not responded favorably to his attempt to guide her regarding money.
Her father ignored too much and she had become accustomed to a surfeit of independence. Once they were married, she would accustom herself to their respective roles and learn that hers was not an unpleasant one. Or so he hoped.
“We will be happy together, little one. Trust me.”
She did not answer.
***
Lucas watched his fiancée dance with Wemby and frowned.
She wore the same expression of polite interest she had worn in his own company for the past week; ever since the night she had donned that outrageous dress. The dress that had taken over his dreams. No, not the dress. Irisa.
He had woken up sweating and stiff as a spike several times. Images of his hands peeling the gown away from her tantalizing curves tormented his mind and body. Had the dress been cut a half an inch lower, he would have been able to see the color of her aureoles. Trying to imagine what shade of pink they were had been driving him mad.
He wanted her with a hunger that he had never known before, but that is not what bothered him at the moment. He had almost accustomed himself to this constant state of aroused desire. What bothered him now was that he knew that expression on Irisa’s face covered boredom when she was with Wemby.
What did it cover when she was with himself?
They were to be married in a matter of weeks and yet he felt an insane urge to spirit her off to Gretna Green. A sense of foreboding and fear that he was going to lose her plagued him, but he had been unsuccessful in pushing the wedding date forward.
Langley and his lady treated Lucas’s suggestions to that effect as a joke. Irisa had been right when she said her mother would require significant time to prepare for the wedding. He had not taken in Lady Langley’s social stratagems when assuming she would fall in with his plans. She made it clear, in a very civilized way, that she intended to get the maximum social benefit possible from her daughter’s wedding.
It occurred to him that he did not particularly care for either of his intended’s parents. And although she was clearly fond of them, Irisa held a part of herself back from them as well. She did not talk freely like she did when she was with her sister. The knowledge that now she treated him much the same way as she did her parents clawed at Lucas’s insides.
He could not understand it. He knew it had something to do with that night and his reaction to her gown, but he did not know how to fix it. He felt as if he had failed a test. Yet, he could not comprehend how.
It galled him to admit it, but he would almost be willing to let her dress in such a fashion if it would bring back the open warmth of the woman he had proposed to. This card copy of his fiancée drove him mad.
He watched with bitter resignation as she took her leave of Wemby and turned to make her way toward Lucas, that damned polite smile pasted on her face.
***
Irisa did not let her smile falter, although her fiancé’s look was certainly less than welcoming.
His scowl was as black as the hair on his head. He had been short tempered ever since her last disastrous attempt to discover his true feelings toward her. She could not decide if she had given him a complete disgust of her, or if the incident had been forgotten...in his mind at least.
His behavior had grown very confusing. He spent more time than ever at Langley House, but was moody and edgy while he was there. She could always rely on his escort during the evenings, but he did not appear to enjoy himself at the balls, routs and musicales they attended.
He extended his arm to her and she settled her hand against the solid muscle of his forearm before joining him on a stroll about the ballroom. He ignored attempts by others to gain their attention and continued walking, which was most unlike him.
Thus far she had pretended ignorance to his fits and starts, but her patience had evaporated along with his deteriorating temper. Her own mood was not the most fortuitous. His Grace had come to Town for the Season and had made it very clear he found the company of any member of her family objectionable.
His hatred for her was so pronounced, there were already stories circulating amongst the ton speculating as to its cause.
Despite her imminent marriage to a well-placed peer of the realm, Papa and Mama were furious with her and she’d spent the afternoon listening to a rant on what a terrible daughter she was. At one point, she had been certain Papa was going to strike her as he had on a few occasions when she was little, but he did not.
All in all, she felt misused by her nearest and dearest and she refused to politely ignore the angry cast to Lucas’s face one moment longer.
Flicking open her fan, she waved it slowly in front of her. “Is anything the matter, my lord?”
His eyes narrowed at her formal address and she stiffened her spine. It had been his decision to maintain a certain level of distance during their engagement.
“Nothing is the matter. I just find I am not eager to spend the evening amidst the ton tonight.”
She fought to hide her disappointment at his words. She did not believe him for one moment. His black mood was not such a recent phenomenon. His refusal to share the true reason for it hurt her. The one thing she had been able to count on to this point with Lucas was his openness in talking to her.
“That would explain your lack of enthusiasm for this evening’s entertainment, but not your rather morose behavior these past days, my lord.”
“You find me
morose, little one?”
She did not know what amused him about her opinion, but there was a definite spark of lazy humor in his eyes.
“Well, perhaps morose is doing it a bit brown, but you have hardly been in a congenial mood lately,” she admitted.
He covered her hand with his own, brushing it with his thumb. “Perhaps I am merely impatient for our wedding and finding the wait chafing?”
She looked into his eyes, trying to decide if he was teasing her, or not.
“From your behavior toward me these past weeks, I find that difficult to believe.” She could barely credit she’d said the bold words aloud, but did not regret them in the least.
His brows rose. “What do you mean? Have I neglected you in some way and offended your womanly sensibilities? I assure you that I am most impatient for the wedding to take place.”
It was an effort to keep her expression serene. How could he be so dense? Did he expect her to spell it out for him?
“Why are you so eager, my lord?”
He shrugged. “For the usual reasons that a gentleman wishes to claim a lady for his own.”
She would not be so easily fobbed off. “What reasons are those? I admit to ignorance in this area.”
“Just as it should be. Do not worry, my dear.” He ceased stroking her with his thumb and patted her hand with the affection Mr. Wemby might have shown one of his hounds.
Although, come to think of it, Marcus Wemby was more loving toward his dogs than Lucas was toward her. Anger bubbled under the surface of her ladylike façade.
“After we are wed, you will learn all you need to know regarding these matters.” Even his tone was condescending. “For now, you will have to trust me when I say that I eagerly look forward to making you mine.”
His attitude pushed her beyond caution. “I find that most difficult to believe, Lucas. Your actions thus far do not indicate any sort of eagerness on your part for the more intimate aspects of marriage.”
At least the infernal patting stopped. Lucas ceased movement entirely. It would have caused a small commotion were they not that very moment standing in almost concealment by a large potted plant. The green fronds brushed the black fabric of Lucas’s coat. His immobility and shocked frown made her nervous.
She snapped her fan closed. She would not be intimidated. “I’m getting a little tired of you looking at me as if I had grown another head, Lucas.”
“Perhaps the problem is I cannot fathom what is going through the one you’ve got,” he replied, sounding confounded.
That did not make her feel one whit better. It had already come to her attention that Lucas did not understand her. If he did, he would have handled the days of their engagement in a far different manner.
“Is it so perplexing for a lady to want some token of a gentleman’s affections?”
He frowned. “Have I not given you that?” He looked meaningfully down at the betrothal ring he had given her the morning the official announcement had come out in the papers.
She gritted her teeth and counted to ten, but it did no good. The man insisted on remaining obtuse. “I am not speaking of things, my lord. What I allude to is much more intimate in nature.”
There. She could not get any blunter than that. If he still chose not to understand, she would cry off the engagement because of sheer inanity on his part. She would not risk having stupid children.
She need not have worried. Lucas understood perfectly. His entire being seemed to swell with outrage. All of the sudden, the height she had found so masculine, now seemed intimidating.
“A lady does not consider such things and she never speaks of them.”
He sounded just like her old governess. How dare he presume to know what ladies thought of? The Polite World might dictate what she could acceptably talk about, but did he truly believe even her thoughts were governed by the appearance of empty-headed perfection ladies of the ton were obliged to put forth?
“This lady definitely thinks of those things and I can tell you my thoughts during our engagement have not been pleasant ones.” She frowned up at him, more words pounding inside her with the demand to be uttered. “The prospect of a cold marriage bed is not in the least appealing, I assure you.”
Without responding to her outrageous statement, he started walking again.
“Where…where are we going, my l-lor-Lucas?” she asked, correcting her address of him when he glared at her with eyes that reflected a fury she’d never suspected he was capable of.
“We will make our excuses and return to Langley House,” he bit off. “There are several details regarding our marriage that apparently need to be discussed.”
His voice could have razed steel and she had no desire to be the one cut up by it.
It was bad enough to contemplate discussing such intimate matters with him, but she was certain she did not want to do it when he looked and sounded so terrifyingly angry. She had to get hold of the situation. Lucas was simply not rational enough for a conversation of this magnitude.
“I think not, my lord. I have promised several gentlemen here a dance this evening. If I were to leave after the way you’ve monopolized me this past half hour it would invite comment of the worst sort.”
The spine of her fan bit into her fingers through her gloves and she realized she was gripping it much too tightly in her tension.
He frowned and looked around, seeming to finally become aware of the curious glances directed their way. “Very well. I see that you are well taken care of. I think I will repair to my club for the rest of the evening. We will continue our discussion later, in privacy.”
“That would no doubt be best.”
He inclined his head. “As you say.”
Although she angry with him, she was nevertheless grateful he wanted to finish the conversation. However, perhaps she should not be surprised. From the very beginning of their association, Lucas had shown an unexpected willingness to discuss uncommon subjects with her. She should never have hesitated so long to bring this one up.
A small voice taunted her that it was not merely the thought of discussing things of an intimate nature that had made her hesitate. If she were honest with herself, she would admit she had also been more than a little afraid of what Lucas would have to say, or not say, on the subject.
He silently escorted her to her mother’s side and then took his leave of them both. Irisa had to stifle an urge to sink into the nearest chair. She felt as if she had barely averted disaster. She could only hope that when she and Lucas talked later she would be able to keep her tongue in her head.
She wanted answers, not to bait the man and she did not wish to say anything that would expose her own vulnerability without first finding out the extent of his feelings for her.
Her partner came to claim her for the next dance and she was forced to fix her attention on him and the protection of her toes. The silk slippers that matched her pale pink gown would not stand up to being trod upon from his rather zealous feet. Cecily Carlisle-Jones was in their set and Irisa’s already beleaguered emotions took another beating as the girl gave her sidelong glances and then said things to her current partner which caused the gentleman to look at Irisa.
At one time, Cecily had been Irisa’s bosom beau. Unfortunately, when Thea had come to England, Cecily made it clear she had no intention of consorting with a lady who had chosen to marry the illegitimate son of a duke’s daughter. Irisa had no choice but to sever their connection.
Losing her friend had hurt, but not as much as knowing Cecily had spent the last four years saying catty things behind her back. The only respite had been the year Cecily had spent in mourning after her young husband died from influenza.
Irisa shuddered to think what would happen if the other woman ever learned of Irisa’s own illegitimate status at birth. She forced herself to look away from the other woman and concentrate on her own partner’s throughout the remainder of the country dance.
Several sets later, she moved around
the ballroom floor in search of Mama. She had left her partner, Mr. Wemby again, discussing hounds with a genuinely enthused debutante. Irisa would not be surprised if a match was declared before the end of the Season. She was happy for him and relieved for herself.
His attentions had grown marked again and he had grown almost flirtatious since the announcement of her engagement. Some gentlemen found married ladies more congenial companions than debutantes, but Irisa could not imagine Mr. Wemby in the role of cicebo. Frankly, she did not want to imagine any man in that role in relation to herself.
Mama was gossiping with Lady Preston and did not notice Irisa’s approach. Irisa did not immediately make her presence known. Mama’s opinion of the fast young widow was less than favorable and finding them together in a low-voiced tête-à-tête rendered Irisa momentarily mute.
“Really, I cannot imagine why you think I would be interested in such spurious gossip,” Mama said with well-bred disdain.
“Come now. It’s no secret among the ton that Ashton keeps a mistress. You make yourself appear goosish attempting to pretend ignorance,” Lady Preston replied, her voice amused.
“What if he does? For all his reputation as a saint, he is still a man and not yet married. He will no doubt give the creature her walking papers well before the wedding.”
Mama’s words spun in Irisa’s head like a whirligig and her heart refused to beat. Lucas had a mistress? Surely not.
“The liaison is a long-standing one.” Lady Preston was speaking again. “I have heard rumors that she has been under his protection for the last four years, or more. I would not count on Lord Ashton ending it merely because he has chosen to do his duty to the line.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Strange. Until that very moment it had not occurred to her that Lucas might have proposed merely out of duty.
He was only eight and twenty. Surely he had several years before he must needs worry about setting up his nursery. Yet, the presence of a mistress in his bed would explain the lack of intimacy between him and Irisa.
