Page 27 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

C ordelia and Jane returned home late after the Darnley ball. Cordelia still floating like a cloud after the sweet yet delicious way Christian had woken her this morning. Not that anyone knew as to the reason behind her jovial and lifted spirit, but that she did was all that mattered.

Although he did not attend this evening’s event, he had promised to attend the Ravensmere ball in two days, which more than satisfied her need to have him at her side.

“I’m to bed, dearest,” Jane said, bussing her cheek with a kiss. “I shall see you in the morning.”

Cordelia handed her shawl and gloves to a waiting footman, her cheeks still warm from the revelry and conversations of the evening. “Of course. I shall see you at luncheon.”

“Yes, breakfast I fear is too close to attend.”

She chuckled, and for a moment watched Jane ascend the stairs.

About to follow, she paused when voices drifted across the foyer.

Cordelia glanced toward the library, it’s door slightly ajar, spilling light into the hall.

The footman bowed and slipped away, leaving her alone.

Alone, except for the people who conversed in Christian’s private sanctuary.

A chill stole through her. The pit of her stomach clenched in dread. Before she knew what she was about, she found herself striding toward the library door with no thought of propriety or who Christian may be alone with.

Cordelia pushed the door wide and stilled.

Her heart stopped.

He stood with a woman in his arms. Not just any woman, Cordelia recognized her at once. She had glimpsed her at Greenwich. His mistress.

“Hetty, is it not?” she spat, glad her words came out clear and without emotion. What are you doing, Christian?” Cordelia’s voice rang through the room, low with fury. “What is the meaning of this?”

Christian’s head jerked up and immediately the woman pulled back, shock upon both their faces at being discovered.

Any fragile hope Cordelia had nurtured—that their marriage, for all its hasty beginnings, had grown into something more—crumbled into dust. After this morning, his words of adoration, his lovemaking, which she could not name it as anything else, fell away, meaningless and hollow.

What a consummate actor the duke was.

Her husband had not cast his mistress aside at all. Now, he was bringing her here, back to their home. The realization and pain of that truth almost severed her in two.

Perhaps Hetty was the true reason he avoided the ton . Why attend balls and stand united with his wife, when he could spend his evenings here—comfortably, secretly, passionately—in the arms of his paid amour?

“Cordelia—” Christian began, taking a step toward her.

She held up a hand, stopping him from proceeding further.

“Do not come near me. Is this what you do when I am at balls, at dinners with friends? Do you summon your mistress to our home? Or do you usually go to her, and tonight she merely had the audacity to step foot into Mayfair?” Her voice sharpened, each word slicing like glass. “How dare you.”

“Cordelia, let me explain. This is not what it looks like?—”

“Not what it looks like?” she cried, the urge to weep rising, but held back by fury.

“I know what I saw—you were holding her, you bastard! And here I was, fool enough to think we were forming an attachment deeper than friendship. Fool enough to believe that perhaps you even loved me.” Her chest heaved.

“You never loved me. You only married me because my sister caught us in an uncompromising position. You’ve been placating me ever since, pretending.

” Her voice broke. “I cannot believe I married you. I would rather have been ruined than tied to a man who treats me so poorly—who betrays me with a three penny upright!”

The woman gasped. “Excuse me, I am not?—”

“Do you not take money from men for your services?” Cordelia snapped. “If that does not make you a cyprian, then pray, what does?”

“Cordelia, Hetty is not here to be with me.”

She barked out a laugh and shook her head, clasping her hands before her to stop them from shaking.

“I have no quarrel with your trade when it does not touch me. But when it is my husband—when it is my life—then I will not be silent.” She paused.

“How dare you, Your Grace, place me in such danger. I will never forgive you for this.”

The woman’s lips pressed tight, before she reached for her shawl. “I think I should go, Christian.”

Christian?

Cordelia closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm. She could not attack anyone, would not revert to physical harm, even if she longed to scratch out this other woman’s eyes and offer a solid upper cut to Christian’s jaw.

“Yes,” Cordelia cut in, her voice firm. “You should. And know this, you will discuss nothing with my husband later. Now you may leave.”

She did not know where her courage came from. Perhaps from years of watching her father show no respect to her mother—or to any of them. Years of enduring his infidelities until bastards, half siblings, had been born in the city. Perhaps, at last, she had her mother’s fire.

“Cordelia, calm down?—”

The words struck like a slap. “Calm down?” she spat. “You ask me to calm down? You are sleeping with her and with me. Do you think I wish to catch the pox? Or any other disease you might bring home?” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I am leaving. I want nothing to do with you.”

She turned, storming toward the stairs, but Christian’s footsteps followed hard upon her heels. Before she reached her chamber, he seized her arm and wrenched her around.

“Listen to me,” he said fiercely. “There is nothing happening between me and Hetty. She came here because she is in trouble?—”

“I do not care!” Cordelia shouted. “I do not want to hear about your whore, or her troubles, or anything else. You have been avoiding me at every ball, every party, every gathering. And now I see why. You are not my husband at all. You are a liar, a cheater.” Her voice cracked, raw with anguish.

“At least now I know where I stand. Our marriage is nothing but a farce. I have been smiling through every event, pretending, while you—” her hand shook as she gestured back toward the library “—have been otherwise engaged.”

“Do not speak so crudely,” he bit out. “That is not what is happening.”

“I saw it with my own eyes!” she cried. “Do not insult me with excuses. You would never forgive such a sight if it were me. And I will not forgive it in you.”

Christian’s grip loosened, his voice rough.

“I do not attend balls with you because I dislike them—not because I wish to hide you or I’m ashamed of our union.

I never enjoyed them, Cordelia. Before you, I went only out of duty to Jane.

Now… Now there is no need. We are married and you may chaperone my sister.

” His chest rose and fell. “It is nothing more than that.”

Cordelia yanked her arm free. Her heart pounded, her breath came sharp, but her voice was steady.

“You are a powerful man,” she said, trembling with fury, “but tonight you have proven yourself an inconsiderate one. And I will not live as my mother did, silent, humiliated, diminished.” She started for her door, and she heard him follow.

“You warned me that you could not promise fidelity, and foolishly I thought that if I proved to you that I could be more in every way, keep you satisfied, that you would not look elsewhere.” Cordelia swiped at a tear that slipped down her cheek as she rang for her maid.

“I should have protected myself from falling in love with you, but I did not and now I will pay for that vulnerability. You may leave.”

She crossed her arms, not wishing to discuss anything further with Christian. All she wanted was to be gone, and soon she would be.

“Cordelia, please listen.”

“Leave,” she shouted, her voice breaking. “There is nothing more to discuss. If you wish for company, I suggest you travel to wherever it is you’re keeping your strumpet. My bed will be cold this evening.” And every evening thereafter.