by Lucy Monroe
“Will I see you tonight, my lord?”
Bloody hell. They were back to my lord again. “I’m afraid not. I have other plans this evening.”
Perhaps an evening without his company would improve her attitude toward him.
She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern his thoughts, but finally nodded and turned to go inside.
Bloody hell. He wished he could rid himself of the feeling that he was losing her.
***
Irisa made her way upstairs, her mind filled with confusion. To what extent did Lucas accept the ton’s double standards for gentlemen and ladies? Far enough to justify keeping a mistress while engaged to another woman? He expected such exemplary behavior from her. He wanted a paragon for a wife...the perfect lady.
Although he was willing to marry her despite her illegitimacy, he had made no secret of the fact he wanted her to be above reproach in her behavior. No doubt he expected even more circumspection in her behavior than a woman that had no blemish on her past.
Even so, her heart insisted that Lucas would not insist on such high standards for his wife if he were not willing to live up to them as well. Had he not told her he had vowed not to become like his mother?
Pansy was waiting when Irisa entered the bedroom. “We’ll ‘ave to rush to get you ready, milady. ‘er ladyship has plans for dinner at the Bilkingtons before going to the musicale.”
Irisa did not move to undress. “First tell me what you learned from Cook.”
Pansy did not meet Irisa’s eyes. “No time to talk about that now. You’ll be wanting a bath before dressing.”
“Tell me.”
Pansy wrung her hands. “Now, milady, servant’s gossip is not proof of anything. ‘Tis still gossip just the same.”
Irisa’s stomach plummeted. “Enough. I want to know what you learned.”
“It seems one of the kitchen maids is sweet on his lordship’s underfootman.”
Right at that moment, Irisa could not work up even the slightest interest in the budding romance. “So?”
“So, they’ve been steppin’ out like.”
“And?” Didn’t she realize that drawing it out like this was making it worse?
“’e told ‘er that ‘is lordship visits a woman what used to be an actress regular like. The underfootman didn’t know if they had relations or not, seeing as how Lord Ashton does most of his visitin’ during the day, but ‘e knew the woman’s name and direction.”
Irisa reeled at the news. It was true. No. No. It couldn’t be. There must be an explanation for Lucas’s behavior. She could not think of a remotely plausible excuse for her fiancé to visit the home of a former actress other than some sort of illicit relationship.
She briefly considered facing him with the question directly, but dismissed it as impossible. If he were innocent, he would be furious she doubted him, just as Thea had said. Besides, if he thought ladies were not supposed to discuss their own legitimacy, as he’d said the day he proposed, he would surely disapprove of her asking him about such a scandalous matter.
And all that aside, could she trust him to tell her the truth? If he were the sort of man who hypocritically expected perfection from his wife while living a life of licentiousness in secret, he would feel no compunction about lying to her as well. She could not believe her Lucas was such a man, but she had to know.
Blind faith in a gentleman’s honor was a recipe for disaster. Hadn’t her father shown her that well enough? He pretended to be so perfect when in truth he had betrayed his first marriage most horribly.
Lucas had said she would not see him later, that he would be busy. Did he plan to visit the former actress tonight?
Years of perfect behavior and rigid self-control melted away under the onslaught of fear and emotions knotting her insides. Acknowledging her love for Lucas had made her vulnerable in a way she had spent the past four years trying to avoid. She could not bear it if she were to discover after marriage that she had set herself up for a lifetime of the same painful rejection she had known from her parents since causing Jared’s disfigurement.
She had to see for herself if this very night her fiancé had plans to betray her. Being the perfect paragon he expected her to be could not compare to the importance of knowing whether she was marrying a man who could be trusted or a philanderer in saint’s garb.
“Pansy, tell my mother that I’ve come down with a sick headache. Then I need you to get me a disguise.” A sense of freedom she had not known in years pervaded her being as she feverishly began plotting. “I think the stableboy and I are a similar size. See if you can’t get hold of his clothes.”
Pansy looked poleaxed. “You want me to borrow the stableboy’s clothes? For you, milady?”
“Yes. Hurry. We must plan.” Despite the painful uncertainty prompting her actions, a thrill of pleasure at the prospect of going on an adventure shivered through her.
It had been so long since she had let the other Irisa out, the one who feared nothing, least of all society’s conventions. Her parents did not approve of this Irisa. Indeed, Lucas would be shocked were he to realize she even existed, but Irisa knew that this adventurous creature was the true woman that lived beneath the façade of the paragon she tried so hard to be.
CHAPTER SIX
Irisa tugged at the unfamiliar scratchy fabric of her breeches.
Pansy had ensured that the stable boy’s clothing was clean, but Irisa had had no idea that even clean, the rough wool would chafe the tender skin of her thighs so thoroughly. How did gentlemen stand such daily discomfort? Perhaps the finer fabric of their clothes made for greater comfort, but did they not feel terribly exposed in breeches and pantaloons?
She certainly did. It did not help that the course linen top clung to her upper body now that the thick fog and drizzling rain had soaked it through. It was a good thing the darkness and aforementioned fog would keep her well hidden. Her curves were too rounded to be mistaken for anything but feminine under the now revealing fabric.
If she ever did something like this again, there were several things she would do differently. Not least of which would be to wear a coat. She shivered with cold as she tucked her blonde hair more firmly into the cap on her head.
Bloody hell, these clothes were uncomfortable. Irisa’s mind wrapped around the curse with satisfaction. She had spent years trying to act the part of a perfect lady and what had that gotten her? Had it earned her Mama and Papa’s respect and approval? No. Even less their love. While her ladylike ways were her chief attraction to Lucas, that knowledge hardly comforted at the moment.
If behaving a little more outrageously would have prevented the heartache she now experienced while standing in the rain outside a small house in an unfashionable, but not seedy, part of London, she wished with all her might that she had done so. There was still the slim possibility that Lucas’s relationship with Clarice de Brieuse, the woman who lived in the house, was innocent. It seemed unlikely however. Lady Preston, with her own profligate ways, was in a position to be in the know about things of this nature and she believed the French woman was Lucas’s mistress.
Though she had tried to ignore them, Irisa had heard whispers that Lady Preston had had no less than six lovers in the past two years. For a moment Irisa found herself diverted from her situation to consider that piece of information.
Did the woman’s affairs last four months apiece or had some been shorter while others lasted longer? How did one go about having affairs? Papa and Mama would know, or she would not be here, but neither were likely to share that information with her. If she asked, Mama would think Irisa had taken leave of her senses.
It just seemed that since her life had been affected quite unpleasantly by the concept, she ought to at least know the basics of how an affair was conducted. Pain lanced through her as she realized that unfortunately, she was probably about to find out and all object curiosity fled.
This was not just an interesting exercise in gaining know
ledge. She did not want to see Lucas in another woman’s arms, but she could not bear to remain ignorant of the truth. She had tried to convince herself that her spying would result in proving Lucas’s innocence, but it had not worked.
Logic stood firmly in the way.
What possible reason could he have for a relationship of such duration with a former actress other than an affair?
Four years was a long time. Perhaps Lucas loved the other woman. He would not marry her. His sense of duty was too strong for him to take for his countess a woman of questionable reputation, much less one who did not belong among the beau monde. Were the circumstances of Irisa’s birth well known, she had no doubt he would never have sought her acquaintance, never mind courted her.
But they had met and he had pursued her. She could still remember the way tingles had shivered through her body and her heart had picked up its rhythm when his bottle-blue eyes met hers for the first time. He had taken her hand to bow over it and even through the gloves covering her fingers, she had felt a connection that had shocked her.
Those same fingers were almost numb with cold and her heart beat a nervous tattoo of unpleasant anticipation. The excitement of her adventure had palled as she waited in the damp night for him to make his appearance at the home of his supposed mistress.
She could not believe another woman had a claim to Lucas’s passions. Because her own heretofore unknown passion was so violently aroused by Lucas, prior to accepting his proposal, she had naively convinced herself that he was similarly affected, even though he did not express it. It had been easy to believe he was protecting her from a compromising situation until after their wedding.
However, the growing suspicion that Lucas did not exhibit passion in her presence because she did not inspire it was all but settled in her mind. He did not want her because he did not love her and he did not love her because he loved someone else. His mistress.
The sound of carriage wheels and horseshoes scraping the street sent Irisa further into the shadows of the building. She waited with dark premonition for the carriage to stop and its party to alight. A figure clad in gentleman’s garb stepped with familiar grace to the cobbled street and Irisa’s heart seemed to stop beating. The many-caped greatcoat did nothing to disguise the broad shoulders of Lucas’s tall figure.
Numb horror invaded Irisa’s being as she acknowledged that up until this very moment, she had continued to hope the rumors had been just that.
But it was Lucas who knocked on the door. It was Lucas who stepped inside the house as if he had every right to be there.
Forcing herself to face the full extent of the awful situation, Irisa inched toward the light that spilled from a small crack in the drapes covering the parlor’s window and peered in.
A breathtakingly lovely redhead sat calmly on a sofa next the fireplace. She looked up with a warm smile when Lucas was shown into the room. He had removed his greatcoat and Irisa found that an additional act of betrayal. He clearly meant to stay awhile. He leaned over and kissed the creature’s cheek and that act of casual intimacy was more than Irisa could take.
She slid to the ground, her back against the cold stone of the house and let tears course down her cheeks unheeded. She had committed the unpardonable act of falling head over heels in love with the man she intended to marry and in doing so had exposed herself to the pain of a woman betrayed.
***
Clarice pulled Lucas down onto the small sofa next to her, her face wreathed in a brilliant smile. “Thank you for coming by this evening, Ashton. I know you are busy with the Season’s activities and your fiancée.”
In truth, Lucas did not mind a break from the whirling round of social commitments. Watching Irisa dance in the arms of other gentlemen was becoming increasingly difficult, particularly when her mood toward him had become so distant.
“Do not concern yourself. You said you had something important you wished to tell me.”
“Ouí. Oh, Ashton, Maurice has proposed,” Clarice said, her soft voice vibrating with happiness.
Lucas smiled. “That’s wonderful news. I cannot think of a man more worthy of your company. Have you accepted his offer?”
The joy in Clarice’s eyes dimmed a little. “No. I could not without speaking first to you.”
“Surely you realize that I would be pleased by such an event,” he assured her.
Maurice was another French ex-patriot like Clarice. He had come to England during the French Revolution. The younger son of a noble family, he had decided that starting over in England had been preferable to death by the guillotine. He was several years older than Clarice, but she did not appear to mind.
“He wishes to return to France.”
The words hung in the air with the weight of a heavy blow.
Lucas should not be so shocked. Now that the war was over, many of France’s nobility were returning to the home of their birth. The fact that Maurice wanted to marry Clarice and take her with him spoke clearly of his deep affection for her. That did not ease the pain in Lucas’s chest, however. If Clarice returned to France, she would undoubtedly take her daughter as well. The thought of not seeing those clear blue eyes so like his own again for a very long time, if ever, staggered him.
Clarice was watching him, tears in her crystal-clear eyes. She understood his pain. “Ashton, you have been more generous than any other gentleman would be. Your brother, had he lived, would have offered me money to see my baby placed elsewhere and that would have been the end of it.”
Lucas wanted to deny it, but he knew she spoke the truth. James would not have considered the child of his mistress as anything more than a temporary inconvenience.
“That would have been his loss.”
Clarice swallowed and nodded. “I don’t know if I have ever told you how much I appreciate what you have done for me. When I first came to you I was terrified, certain you would either deny my claim or if you did believe me that you would take my baby from me.”
“Yet you came to me anyway.”
“I was desperate.”
Yes, she had been desperate the first time she had met him, desperate enough to try to seduce him. She had also been pregnant.
“I have never regretted taking responsibility for you and my niece. You have been an exemplary mother.”
“Mercí.”
“You will have Maurice contact my man of affairs to discuss the terms of your settlement.”
Clarice’s eyes grew round. “I have no dowry. Maurice understands and has accepted that.”
“On the contrary. You have a very respectable dowry and I will be settling an appropriate sum on my niece as well. You will bring her to England to visit occasionally, won’t you?”
Clarice threw her arms around him. “Of course I will and you must come to visit us as well. Maurice would be very happy to see you again.”
She let him go and sniffed. He handed her his handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes. “I hope Lady Irisa knows what a truly wonderful man she is marrying.”
He wasn’t at all certain that she did, but he could hardly ask Clarice to tell her.
***
Irisa did not know how long she spent sitting outside Clarice de Brieuse’s home. She had stood up, driven by an inexplicable compulsion, to peek once more into the drawing room only to see the redhead throw her arms around Lucas in a very intimate embrace, a more intimate embrace than Irisa had ever shared with him.
She had slid back down the wall and once again given in to her emotions. Her tears had finally ceased and her body no longer racked with silent sobs, but she could not seem to make herself move. The misery of Lucas’s betrayal and rejection weighed her body down as surely as if the stableboy’s clothes had turned into one of the heavy suits of armor in Langley Hall’s long gallery.
She did not want to think of what Lucas and the beautiful blonde woman were doing, but images of them locked in one another’s embrace tormented Irisa until she feared her tears would start all over again. Th
e sound of the door opening and Lucas’s leavetaking finally galvanized her into action. She slowly stood, feeling like a very old woman, as the sound of Lucas’s carriage moved off into the distance.
The fact that he had not seen fit to spend the entire night with his mistress afforded no consolation to Irisa’s shredded emotions. Even if she had not loved him, the fact he found another woman desirable when he was so neutral toward her person would have been enough to decimate her feminine pride.
The fact she did love him increased her pain a hundred times.
She had to go home.
Sneaking back into the house turned out to be easier than she expected, but she had not considered what she would do regarding her chilled state when she had managed to gain her own room. She couldn’t very well call for a hot bath or tea at this late hour without arousing suspicion, but her body was now shaking with cold.
She would have to make do with drying off and dressing in her warmest nightrail. She did so, hanging her damp clothes over the back of the chair behind her privacy screen. Pansy would discreetly take care of them in the morning.
Pulling an extra quilt onto her bed, she burrowed under the covers, seeking warmth and relief from the painful shivering of her body. There was no relief for the pain in her heart. Although her body eventually warmed, she did not go to sleep. Her mind was too active to allow that blessed respite from her emotional pain. The future stretched out before her like a Drury Lane tragedy.
If she married Lucas, her heart would die bit by bit as she attempted to live with the knowledge that the man she loved had given his heart and body to someone else. It was not to be borne. She would rather be alone than married to a man who could not love her.
He approved of her, which was a far cry from the tender affection she craved. She understood now. His deep sense of duty had instigated his desire to marry and that same sense of duty would insist he marry well. Irisa’s place in the ton was irreproachable because no one knew of her illegitimacy. She was well born, proper in her behavior, modest in her dress and mindful of her duty as a daughter and future wife.
