His Favorite Mistress (41 page)

As soon as he arrived home, Tony saddled a fresh horse and rode out with no clear direction in mind. In spite of the late hour, he couldn’t bring himself to go inside and upstairs to his bed, knowing how lonely the house would feel, how empty his bed would be without Gabriella there to share it.

For the first time in my life I am in love,
he mused.
And the woman I adore doesn’t believe me.
He gave a mirthless laugh at the divine irony of the situation and spurred his mount faster, tossing a coin to the toll keeper as he headed past one of the gates that led north from the city.

“Love Gabriella? No, I don’t love, Gabriella.”
The words he’d said, the words she’d repeated tonight, haunted him now. As if he’d awakened from a long sleep, he realized that he had loved her even then, had probably loved her for a very long time before that. Only he’d been too obstinate, too blind, to recognize what had been in front of him all along. Worse still was her admission that she loved him but could no longer bring herself to trust or to believe him. He’d taken her love without even being aware, then crushed it—crushed her. And now he was left with the aftermath. Maybe it would be better to leave her alone as she wished, let her lead her life without him. Perhaps he should even grant her the divorce she had once said she wanted. But selfish as it might be, he knew he could never let her go.

Out of the city now, he rode hard, the cold April night seeping through his coat sleeves and ruffling his hair. At length, he sensed his horse’s weariness and slowed the stallion to a walk. Only then did he realize he’d ridden halfway to Rosemeade. For a long minute, he debated whether to continue toward his estate or go back to the city. In the end, it was the fact that Gabriella was in London that decided his direction. With a soft command, he swung his horse around to retrace his path.

Gabriella slept little that night and even less the next, awakening tired and dejected. She’d heard nothing from Tony, not a word since he had left the other evening. Perhaps it was over. Maybe she had finally driven him away.

Ringing for her maid, she allowed the girl to assist her into a blue-and-white striped day dress, then made her way to the morning room for a cup of tea. As for food, she wasn’t sure she could tolerate more than a single slice of toast, her stomach queasy, her appetite barely existent. She was woolgathering over her tea fifteen minutes later when Ford appeared in the doorway.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the butler said, walking into the room. “These just arrived. I thought you would want me to bring them up.”

Her eyes widened at the vase of flowers he held. And not just any flowers, but long-stemmed roses—three dozen at least—their petals so vibrantly red they rivaled the richest, darkest wine she had ever seen. Their luscious perfume filled the air, compelling her to take a deeper breath to savor the fragrance.

Heavenly,
she sighed to herself.

“There is a card,” the butler informed her after he set down his burden, turning to hand her a small white card. With a bow, he departed.

Aware of her heart beating, she opened the note.

These reminded me of you. Sweet and passionate and undeniably beautiful. For your safety, I have removed the thorns, since I know I have hurt you enough already. Please forgive me.

Your servant,
Tony

She stared at the roses, the hand that held the card limp in her lap.
Forgive him,
he asked. For what? For claiming he loved her and not meaning it? Or for everything else that had passed between them? She noticed he’d signed the card “Your servant,” with no further exhortations of love. Yet what did he really mean?

In the past he’d given her many gifts, but this was the first time he’d ever sent her flowers. Would it be the last? Were these a parting of sorts? Confused and not knowing what to think, she crushed the card in her hand. But just as quickly, she smoothed it out again, reading the words one more time.

Unable to stop herself, she stood and crossed to the flowers. Cupping one blossom with a gentle palm, she leaned near and closed her eyes. With Tony in her thoughts, she breathed deep.

Another bouquet of roses arrived the following afternoon—vivid, perfect pink this time—together with a new note. It read:

These may be lovely, but they cannot begin to compare to you.

Your servant,
Tony

Gabriella set them next to the first arrangement and wondered if he would visit her.

He did not—nor did she see him that night when she attended the theater with Rafe and Julianna. Instead of watching the play, she spent the entire time glancing toward his box in hopes of finding him there, but he never appeared.

The next morning, however, another gift was delivered to the door—a box this time. Ford carried it upstairs and set it on the breakfast table before her. Only after he left did she yank open the big yellow silk bow and lift the lid to reveal a huge assortment of confections: candied fruits, delicate meringues, marchpane, clusters of sugar-coated comfits, taffy, and little honey cakes.

Something sweet for someone sweeter.

Your servant,
Tony

What is he trying to do?
she mused.
Seduce me again?
Unable to resist the temptation of a honey cake, she bit in. As she did, though, she vowed she would not give in to him.

Every day for the next week, he sent her a gift, each one accompanied by a card that he always signed “Your servant.” On the eighth day, however, the note said something different.

May I call upon you?

Tony

She sat for a long time in indecision before turning over the card and writing, “Yes.”

The following afternoon, Tony drew his carriage to a halt in front of Gabriella’s townhouse. After jumping to the ground, he gave his waistcoat a sharp tug and fought the tight feeling in his stomach.

In all his years, Tony couldn’t recall ever being nervous when calling upon a woman. The fact that this particular woman happened to be his wife made his reaction that much more singular. Reaching into his phaeton, he retrieved the nosegay of flowers he had brought for her, then navigated the short flight of steps up to the front door.

Instead of using his key, he allowed Ford to grant him entrance. After exchanging greetings, he was informed that Her Grace was in the sitting room expecting his call. Giving one last tug to his waistcoat, Tony went to find his wife.

She was seated in a pool of lively April sunshine, a pensive expression on her face as she gazed out at the garden below. A spark lit briefly in her eyes as she turned to find him in the doorway. “Tony.”

“Gabriella. May I say you look a picture.” And she did, her flawless, translucent skin aglow in a gown of shell-pink silk, some delicate lace edging the garment’s short, capped sleeves. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen her in over a week, but he thought she looked more beautiful than ever. “Is that a new dress?” he inquired, abruptly in need of something to say.

“Yes, it’s part of my new spring wardrobe. The one Lily and Julianna helped me select.” She stood, her hands crossed before her. “I hope you don’t object to the cost—”

“Not at all,” he assured. “If this is an example of your purchases, then I must say it was money well spent.”

Her expression softened, her hands falling to her sides.

“Here,” he continued. “These are for you.” Stepping forward, he extended the flowers he’d brought.

“Violets! Oh, aren’t they lovely!” Cradling them in her hands, she brought the bouquet up to her nose to sample their fragrance. “Wherever did you find them so early in the Season?”

“I am acquainted with a most excellent florist. It was a simple matter to obtain them.” Actually, locating such a large quantity of blossoms had not been easy at all, but he saw no need to tell her that. “I thought their color might complement your eyes,” he went on. “But I see now that nature gave you the far more interesting shade.”

She lowered the flowers. “Tony, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“The flowers, the confections, all the gifts you’ve been giving me lately.”

“Do you not like them? I can find something else—”

“Of course I like them. How could I not? But…why?”

“Do I really need to explain?”

She took a long moment to answer. “Yes, I believe you do.”

“All right then. It is my hope that I can show you what you will not let me say. It occurred to me that I never gave you a proper courting, so let me give you one now.” Catching hold of her hand, he brought it to his lips. “Please, Gabriella, let me woo you a bit.”

A faintly alarmed expression crossed her face as she pulled her hand from his grasp. “You courted me,” she defended. “We did all the usual things.”

“No, we played at doing all the usual things. What I did was seduce you, and you are entirely right to chastise me on that score. Now, enough of such talk. Go put on your pelisse and let me take you for a drive.”

“Now?”

“Of course, now. I brought the high-flyer phaeton. I thought perhaps you might enjoy a spin around the city. We can go to the park as well if you wish, but I warn you it will be crowded, even this early in the Season.”

His earlier nerves returned as he watched her hesitate.
Surely she isn’t going to refuse me?
he thought. But to his relief, she nodded. “I will only be a few moments.”

He wanted to go after her, but held himself in check. Despite his decision to court her, restraining his desire for her was not proving easy. But he would do it if it meant winning her love, and more important, her trust.

He knew she would let him back in her bed if he asked. She’d already told him she would honor her pledge to give him a baby. But if he went to her now, he knew she would think that was all he wanted—proof in her mind that his claim of love was nothing but lust in disguise.
Well, I will show her—I have to show her.
Anything else was unthinkable. And at least she had said she loved him. Surely that gave him some hope.

Her quiet footfall signaled her return. He shifted to find her in the doorway, stunningly pretty in a feathered bonnet and spring-weight, white pelisse. A familiar rush of desire swept through him, but this time he was aware of more, a swell of emotion that had nothing to do with physical need and everything to do with his heart.

How could I not have known?
he wondered.
How could I have failed to realize how much I love her, when she is as necessary to me now as breathing? And I’ve all but driven her away.
But he was going to fix that. He had only to find the means to convince her to let him.

Striding forward, he extended his arm. “Ready?”

She laid a gloved palm on his sleeve and nodded. “For a carriage ride, yes.”

Each morning after, Gabriella rose from her bed, telling herself that today she would refuse to see Tony and put an end to this foolish “courting” of his. But then he would show up on her doorstep with some gift in hand—flowers or confections, or sometimes a pretty trinket—and in spite of her best resolve, she would melt and agree to whatever it was he had planned.

They went driving and riding and for leisurely strolls in the park. He took her to Astley’s Amphitheater and the British Museum. He even escorted her shopping on Bond Street one afternoon, carrying her packages while she browsed for new linens for the dining room and silver candlesticks for the front hall. She’d thought that last might drive him away, but he’d been perfectly amenable to whatever she wished to do, waiting with seemingly unlimited amounts of patience while she mulled over her choices and made her decision.

In the evenings he was there as well, escorting her to balls and soirees and fetes where he always made a point of dancing with her at least twice, then taking her in to supper when she would allow him to do so. At both the theater and the opera she sat in the Wyvern box, and one evening the two of them dined in royal style at Carlton House with the Prince Regent himself.

At the end of that night, Prinny clapped Tony on the back and asked him what it was he thought he was doing, lavishing such marked attention on his own wife when he and everyone else in Society knew such things simply weren’t done between married couples.

As he answered, Tony turned his head and met Gabriella’s gaze. “Why, Your Royal Highness, I am merely demonstrating my affection. You see, she does not believe I love her.”

Prinny gave a shout of laughter, greatly amused. “And quite right she is to doubt you, considering what a rake you’ve always been. Your duchess is a wise woman.”

“Yes, sir, she is. But not, however, in this particular regard.”

His remark earned another laugh from the prince, and a frown from Gabriella.

Am I wrong?
she’d found herself wondering later as she lay alone in her bed.
Does Tony truly love me, and I am doing nothing more than torturing us both with my lack of faith? Or is Prinny right, and I am wise not to believe Tony?
Her mind had chased round and round in a terrible quandary until sleep finally gave her a few hours’ relief.

Now, as she sat sipping her morning cup of tea on the first day of June, she realized she might need to make her decision for another reason entirely. She was pregnant.

She’d been wondering for nearly two weeks now if such might be the case, but she’d waited, trying not to become too invested in whatever the outcome might reveal. But when her second monthly in a row failed to arrive, she knew she must be with child. Besides, she’d had other symptoms—unusual tiredness, sore breasts, and a queasiness that didn’t allow her to do much more than sip a little weak tea most mornings.

She should have been overjoyed at the prospect—and she was—yet she couldn’t help but wonder how Tony would greet the news. And how it might change this current relationship of theirs. Although maybe for all their sakes she should simply give him what he wanted and move back to Black House, even if she might still harbor doubts about the honesty of his protestations of love.