Page 6 of Escape of the Bridegroom (Escape #2)

A t first Aidan found it rather a humorous and deserved irony that although Sanderly sat at one side of his wife, Helena’s husband had been placed at the other.

Only then he considered what Archer’s spite might make him say and, more to the point, how this might humiliate Eve.

He did not flatter himself that she cared whose bed he slept in—so long as it wasn’t hers—but it couldn’t be pleasant for her to learn this piece of gossip, no doubt spiced up by Archer’s malice. Aidan should have warned her, though his mind rather boggled at explaining the situation to his clearly innocent young wife.

“I’ll tell you what,” he muttered to Sanderly, taking the seat next to him once the ladies had withdrawn and the port had been passed around the table, “this marriage business is more complicated than it looks.”

“Are you warning me off the institution?” Sanderly inquired.

“Lord, no. Your case is different.” He gave a quick, rueful smile. “Truth to tell, yours is the kind of case I rather imagined for myself in a few years. A young lady who was suitable, pretty, and congenial, to court and marry.” Under Sanderly’s sardonic gaze, he suddenly remembered Alicia Eldridge and gave a twisted smile of apology. “Sorry. I suppose our situations are not so different after all. What did you say to get rid of her?”

Sanderly did not ask who or what he meant. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Forgive the intrusion, but does your Miss Cole know of your past—er...entanglements?”

In anyone else, he might have imagined a faint flush rising to the cheeks. “Miss Cole knows my past is no threat.”

Wolf sighed. “ That is the difference. I’m not much used to discretion.”

“You don’t say so,” Sanderly drawled.

“Damn it, I’ve told you how things are. Mine is a marriage of convenience. I just don’t want to humiliate the girl.”

“How very touching.”

Actually, it was. Aidan, unused to considering other people at all—let alone those who had been tied to him by trickery like a millstone around his neck—found, against his will that he felt responsible for Eve. With regret, he saw his anticipated bout of lusty pleasures vanishing from his grasp.

Because of the ball the following evening, which would go on into the early hours, it was assumed everyone would want an early night and plenty of rest. So Aidan knew he would have to be quick in finding a moment to speak to Helena.

For once, fortune favoured him. As the gentlemen made their way to the drawing room to rejoin the ladies, he caught sight of Helena’s graceful figure rounding the curve of the staircase from the landing above.

He hung back, letting the others precede him, and then walked back to Helena.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “Escaping the little wife already?”

“Not at this precise moment,” Aidan said, well aware that his entire bolt to Grand Court, via the exciting prize fight where he’d won a hundred guineas by wagering on the better man, had been about escaping his wife. “In fact, I want to talk to you about her.”

“Shockingly bad ton, Aidan. Or must I call you my lord again?”

“You can call me anything you like so long as you don’t upset my wife.”

A flush rose up her neck, mottling her usually perfect skin. “I assure you I have no intention of speaking to your wife. She has no ton at all.” And she swept rapidly into the drawing room.

Aidan followed more slowly. The conversation had not gone quite as he had planned. In fact, he perceived he had offended Helena—her pride, not her heart which he knew instinctively had been no more involved than his in their pleasurable relationship. He preferred to be on good terms with everyone, so he thought seriously about sitting beside her and trying to make things right. However, he had got what he needed from her, a promise not to embarrass his wife, so it seemed safest not to rock that particular boat. Not until he had had a chance to explain to his wife.

***

L IKE EVERYONE ELSE in the drawing room, Miss Harriet Cole, seated beside the new Lady Wolf, saw Helena Archer re-enter the drawing room only a few seconds behind the gentlemen. She looked rather flushed and agitated. And only a few steps behind her, came Lord Wolf.

She felt a spurt of irritation. Normally, she rather liked Wolf. He was charming and good-natured, and had never, to her knowledge, spoken against her beloved Sanderly. She had been glad to accept her betrothed’s request that she look after the new Lady Wolf, having a certain empathy for outsiders in a society which was still new to her. And she knew the source of the request was Wolf himself.

However, she found she rather liked her ladyship on her own account. She was shy and quiet, certainly, but she had a quick sense of humour that made her eyes laugh. But seriously, how dare Wolf ask for their help with his struggling new wife, while he himself cavorted so indiscreetly with his mistress?

Hopefully, the girl had not noticed. But when Harriet turned to her, a bright remark on her lips about the music they had been discussing, she saw that Lady Wolf was looking straight at Mrs. Archer.

Her ladyship dropped her gaze immediately, her long chestnut lashes veiling her eyes. But not before Harriet had glimpsed a very odd expression indeed. It seemed to contain dawning understanding, and something else that looked almost...stricken.

Ignoring Harriet’s remark, she asked, “Is that lady who just entered Mrs. Archer?”

“Yes,” Harriet said uneasily. “Why?”

“No reason. Except I sat beside her husband at dinner. Have you attended the opera at Covent Garden then?”

Harriet allowed the subject change, but she now had an additional reason to look forward to her moonlight stroll with Sanderly. This had become a habit since their betrothal a matter of days ago. No doubt everyone knew, but even Lady Grandison turned a blind eye to the impropriety, since they would be married very soon.

With a little shiver of anticipation, Harriet rose as the company began to break up and made her way to the back terrace where her betrothed awaited her. Although her heart melted when his face lit up, she grasped his arm with unusual briskness and began to march rather than stroll toward the maze.

“What is Wolf up to?” she fumed. “He is the one who should be looking after her and yet he flaunts his mistress in her face.”

“Hardly,” Sanderly said mildly. “I rather think he was trying to ensure her co-operation in his discretion.”

“Well he managed to achieve the opposite!”

“Ah. She noticed then?”

“Oh, she noticed.”

He closed his warm fingers over hers on his arm. “Don’t break your heart over it, Harriet. Theirs is a marriage of convenience. I daresay they will rub along together well enough in time, but for now their hearts are hardly engaged. And believe me, Wolf had no time to tumble anyone.”

“Oh,” said Harriet, who was still rather vague on what tumbling entailed, though she looked forward to learning. “Perhaps she was just angry then.”

“It seems likely. And her heart is not engaged either.”

Harriet considered this for a moment. “What makes you think Lady Wolf is indifferent to her husband?”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t know him well enough to be anything else. She even refers to him as Lord Wolf , not as Wolf or Aidan or even my husband , as though they were complete strangers. I would doubt they have had any but the shallowest of conversations, and not many of those.”

“Poor girl,” Harriet murmured, trying to imagine the awfulness, the fear, of being married to a complete stranger. Or any man, really, who was not Sanderly. A husband had such power over his wife...

“Are you easy on the matter now?” Sanderly asked.

They entered the maze gate, and turned toward the bench on the left, immediately behind the high hedge. Sanderly took her into his arms and butterflies soared in her stomach and her veins. But she caught his face between her hands to halt whatever he intended.

“No. I’m not easy, Serp. There is more to this. Some part of Lady Wolf’s heart is engaged. I saw it in her eyes.”

He regarded her in silence for a few moments. “There’s no point in telling you not to interfere in their business, is there?”

“Not interfere ,” she said unclearly. “But...don’t you want to help Lord Wolf?”

“No,” Sanderly said frankly. “I’d much rather kiss you.”

And since that suited Harriet entirely, she returned his embrace and lost herself in her own love.

***

W HILE CHATTER AND LAUGHTER went on all around her, Eve tried to maintain a faint smile and an attentive expression. But she hardly heard a word.

She felt utterly confused and not a little shocked. In her world, respectability—not merely the appearance of it—was all, and adultery was plainly wrong. In response to some criticism of their aunt’s, Miranda had once scoffed that the aristocracy cared nothing for such petty bourgeois morality. And it seemed she was right.

If Lord Wolf loved Mrs. Archer, it explained some of his ferocity at being “forced” into marriage. And why he had bolted to this party, told no one of his marriage, and been so angry that Eve had followed him. He had come to tell Mrs. Archer first.

It seemed Eve was not the only one who had lost someone in this marriage she should never have allowed.

Not that Mrs. Archer appeared to be lost to him. They had clearly enjoyed some kind of encounter before walking separately into the drawing room. If Eve had needed confirmation, Harriet Cole’s anxious observation provided it.

It was not surprising. Little more than a week ago, Lord Wolf had been a young bachelor with a certain careless, restless charm that was no doubt appealing to many women. His temper seemed somewhat erratic, but that, Eve suspected, was her fault, for everyone else she had met regarded him as amiable and good-humoured.

So she pitied him a little for his tragic love for Mrs. Archer, even while she disapproved. And she hurt somewhere, though she couldn’t quite understand how or why. Marriages of convenience left a trail of sadness in their wake. And considering Mrs. Archer’s unpleasant husband, no wonder she had fallen for Lord Wolf. Perhaps their love was of long-standing.

Either way, the question remained, what should Eve do about it? Pretend she didn’t know? Avert her eyes and say nothing? Sooner or later she and Mrs. Archer would be thrown together, and for some reason that appalled her. Mrs. Archer must hate her. The rest of the party clearly knew about the affair and were either laughing at Eve—the plain wife married for her money—or pitied her. They already despised her for her birth.

In the midst of all these people, she had never felt more alone.

She folded one arm across her stomach as though to quell the source of pain.

Pride. It is only pride.

That being so, what should she do?

Nothing .

Only doing nothing was alien to her nature. She wished she knew what kind of woman Mrs. Archer was. If she was worthy of Wolf. Once she knew that, perhaps she would see her way clear. Besides, her pride rather demanded that she show the world, especially her husband, that she cared nothing for the existence of a mistress.

Snapping herself out of her reverie, she realized that people were beginning to say goodnight and retire. Searching for Lord Wolf, she saw him at the other side of the room, making his way toward her.

It was now or never. She rose, moving swiftly away from him toward the window, where Mrs. Archer still sat among her friends. What excuse did she have for approaching a stranger?

Good evening, Mrs. Archer. I believe you are a friend of my husband’s.

Hardly, everyone here appeared to be his friend. She should turn away now...

But Mrs. Archer rose from her window seat, laughing at something that had been said. Beginning to walk away she glanced back over her shoulder to add some rejoinder, and Eve had her excuse to stop for fear of them walking into each other.

And suddenly all eyes were upon them. Mrs. Archer’s companions became suddenly aware of her and developed avid expressions of anticipation. The noise in the room seemed to quieten, but no doubt that was Eve’s over-sensitive imagination.

Mrs. Archer halted too, and, slowly followed the direction of her friends’ attention.

Eve smiled. “Excuse my clumsiness—I almost walked into you. I’m Lady Wolf.”

She saw her mistake at once. There was no softening, no timidity or shame in the hard eyes that met hers. Instead, there was a flare of something very like triumph.

Mrs. Archer looked her up and down without hurry. She twitched one lip with clear contempt and was clearly about to turn away.

The cut direct . The most fearsome social weapon known to man. Or woman. Eve’s blood ran suddenly cold.

And then an arm slid through hers.

“There you are,” Lord Wolf said beside her. “You must be exhausted after your journey, so let us retire. Good night, all.”

“Good night,” Eve managed and was whisked away with faint echoes following her.

Lord Wolf’s grip was like steel, his body rigid as he swept her through those lingering in the drawing room and those making their way across the landing to the staircase. Despite the faint smile on his lips, and the odd word thrown to friends and acquaintances, his eyes were as harsh and dark as a stormy sky.

Inexorably, he all but marched her upstairs and along the passage to his bedchamber. He must have looked like an eager bridegroom, only Eve knew the truth.

He was furious because she had erred in some way she didn’t quite understand.

As soon as they entered the room, he kicked the door shut and all but threw her from him. A lamp had been lit but turned down low. It only emphasized the darkness of his face.

Fury blazed out of his eyes. In those moments, she knew he hated her.

“What in God’s name were you thinking?” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Are you determined to shame us both?”

The injustice of that took her breath away, causing disastrous words to burst from her lips.

“It is not I conducting a public affair with a married woman under the nose of my despised spouse. And hers.”

“More revenge? You imbecile! You opened yourself to be truly despised. You were this close to the cut direct!” He threw up his finger and thumb, almost touching. “And everyone saw it! We will be laughing stocks.”

“You mean you might be,” she retorted. “I already am one.”

“And no wonder! Have you no idea how to go on?”

“Clearly not. You should have listened to me at the outset and allowed me to stay at the inn—which rather makes you the imbecile.” She swung away from him, appalled by her own childish words which were greeted with stony, seething silence.

“Go to bed,” he flung at her at last, like a parent to a naughty child.

Two swift footsteps, behind her, the sound of the door wrenching open and closing with little attempt not to slam it. And then his steps fading, the sound of his distant voice exchanging friendly words with others.

But not with her, never with her.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them absently with the backs of her hands, then changed out of her evening gown with some difficulty. In her nightgown and robe, after a cursory wash, she found a spare blanket in the cupboard and curled up with it on the sofa at the foot of his bed.

Despair swamped her.

***

T HE COSY SALON NEXT to the library had been given over to those gentlemen who retired and rose late, even in the country. A fire was lit to stave off the night chill, and card tables were permanently set up for the guests’ entertainment.

Play at the Grandisons’ parties was traditionally deep and Aidan had so far avoided it. But the room and the company were convivial, and in his rage he had nowhere else to go unless he strode out into the darkness, which, God knew, was tempting.

However, even by the time he reached the salon, his temper was cooling and he was aware, yet again, that he had been unfair to her. He had rescued her from Helena’s cut direct in the nick of time, and in truth, his anger had been largely against Helena—and himself for not paying close enough attention. He should not even have been surprised, let alone annoyed, by Eve’s ignorance of society’s unspoken conventions. She had no one but him to teach her and he, careless to a fault, took the oddities of his class far too much for granted. He had grown up with them, with friends and uncles to keep him right as a very young man.

Eve, without a mother or experience, was understandably ignorant. The knowledge that he had no right to blame her did not help his temper. He could not be in the same room as her right now.

Gritting his teeth on the thought that there was only one more day of this torment to go, he opened the door of the salon and stepped in to the cosy glow.

Some tobacco smoke from a pipe or two and even a cigarillo, hung in the air.

“Wolf!” The cry went up from a few of the occupants. Someone even let forth a wolf-howl, an old joke from his one year at Oxford. Others raised their glasses to him in more decorous welcome.

Aidan smiled by way of acknowledgment and went to pour himself a glass of brandy. He needed it.

Unusually, Snake was present, perhaps combatting the lusts of the flesh. Harriet Cole was good for him. He was not quite so free with his devastating tongue, which lacked the edge of viciousness that had made him both feared and fascinating. In fact, he was in danger of becoming sociable. More like he had been at school.

Odd to see the snake charmed if not tamed. For some reason, this added to Aidan’s restlessness, his sense of missing something, of wanting something, only he didn’t know what.

He wandered around the tables at first, sipping his brandy and exchanging comments and jests with the players until he relaxed into the familiar and sat down for a game of whist.

Allowing himself only the remains of the hundred guineas he had won at the prize fight, he won often enough to keep him there.

Eventually, in a much better frame of mind, he rose with his luck about even with his losses and went upstairs to bed.

He hoped he would find Eve asleep. That way, she wouldn’t notice when he slept beside her. Not that he had any intention of touching her, but he was too tall to be comfortable on the damned sofa.

He opened and closed the door softly and by the dim light of the low-burning lamp he saw that the bed was still made and untouched.

Dear God, she’s bolted.

For an instant, he felt dizzy with panic at what accident might befall her alone in the dark. He presumed she had gone to the inn, though he doubted she had disturbed the stables for a vehicle when she had none of her own here.

He strode to the wardrobe in search of his cloak—and saw that her gowns still hung there, including the one she had worn this evening. Her hairbrush still lay on the dressing table, an unfamiliar tin of toothpowder on the washstand.

She would not bolt with nothing.

Slowly, he turned and walked forward until he saw her lying huddled on the sofa. A single blanket covered her. Her loose chestnut hair fell across her cheek.

Asleep, she looked so utterly vulnerable that his throat tightened. Something glistened on her eyelashes and her face, as though she had been weeping before sleep took her.

Guilt smote him.

But he could not leave her lying there like that while he spread himself in luxury on the bed. Bending, he slid one arm beneath her curled shape, in the vague region of her waist, and the other at the curve of her knees, and lifted her.

She stirred, making a somehow touching sound in the back of her throat, but she did not wake. The poor girl was exhausted, and no wonder.

He walked with his surprisingly light burden to the bed, and she turned her cheek into his shoulder.

There was no severity now about her face. Relaxed, her mouth was sweeter and the long eyelashes fanned against her cheeks emphasized the refined beauty of her bones. In fact, she was lovely.

Arousal stirred.

Ignoring it, he balanced some of her weight on his raised thigh, while he drew back the bedclothes with one hand. Then he laid her down gently, blanket and all, and pulled the covers over her.

He had undressed and washed before he recalled that he had brought no night shirt. It was summer after all and he had not expected company—apart from the sort that did not require clothing.

A breath of laughter caught in his throat. Oh well.

Leaving on his drawers for his wife’s sake rather than his own, he lay down on top of the bed, and tugged the tucked in covers free to double over himself. They almost covered him.

He fell asleep with his wife’s unfamiliar scent invading his senses. Oddly, he didn’t mind.