How to Wed an Earl (27 page)

A short laugh that was both bitter and hysterical escaped her. “I will always love you, Lucas. But I deserve more than a husband who stays with me only out of duty, and you deserve more than a wife whom you married because you had no other choice.”

The finality that rang in her voice chilled him. She was breaking ties with him, and he didn’t know what to say to convince her to not. “I don’t want a mistress,” he insisted. “Look, Penelope, I’m sorry I hurt you.” He held her hand against his chest. “I never meant to hurt you, but don’t do this, sweetheart. This isn’t what I want.”

She snatched her hand away. “Lucas, did you or did you not come to fetch me from Bouth only because of your father’s will?”

“Dammit, Penelope — ”

“And did you or did you not marry me to secure your inheritance?”

Christ
. “Yes!”

“Then ‘this’ is where we are, my lord.” She gave him scathing glance. “I let you make me feel like an unwanted fiancée for more than two decades.” She poked him in the chest. “And I let you manipulate me into becoming your wife.” She poked him again. “But I will be damned if I let you talk me into becoming your
whore
!”

And then she left his bedchamber, slamming the connecting door and leaving him to sleep alone for the first time since their wedding.

His jaw clenched as he watched her leave, fighting the urge to follow her into her bedchamber and show her just how badly he wanted her, to prove to her how badly she wanted him. He closed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists at his sides as he forced himself to remain still. Frustration welled in him. If he went to her now, she would probably make him beg to spend the night with her. He gritted his teeth. He was not going to beg her to let him bed her. Bloody hell, he was not going to beg
anyone
for
anything
!

He shucked his dark silk dressing gown and flung himself onto the huge, empty bed, determined to make his fully aroused body submit to his will. He forced his mind to think of mundane matters such as the state of the crops in his estates and the profits to be made in the latest shipping venture he’d invested in. But as the dawn broke and the rising sun’s rays flitted in through the gap in the silk curtains that hung by the window, Lucas finally accepted the fact that profits no longer gave him the satisfaction they once did. His last thought as exhaustion finally claimed him was a disturbing one.

He missed her.

His hand reached out to feel her side of the bed, and a surge of deep disappointment filled him when he found nothing but cold sheets waiting for his touch.

“Of all the damnable, annoying, bloody nerve!”

Lucas threw the documents he’d been trying to read for the fifth time on top of the disorganized pile on his desk in disgust as he muttered aloud to himself in his study. “‘This is where we are,’” he mocked. “I have a good mind to remind her precisely where the hell we bloody are!”

He threw his arm in an angry, sweeping gesture that encompassed the cluttered room where he’d ensconced himself for the past couple of weeks since his confrontation with Penelope. There were ledgers from his various estates piled on the chairs, and an overturned glass of brandy threatened to fall off the sideboard. The floor was littered with heaps of missives and bills. “We are in
my
house!”

Nelson emitted a loud yawn from the far corner of the room.

Lucas glared at the insolent dog. “That goes for you as well. If you don’t like the way I do things, then you can bloody well sleep somewhere else!”

In answer, Nelson got up, turned around three times and curled back into sleep. He felt more than a tiny amount of satisfaction that the dog apparently wanted to be where Lucas was, which was more than he could say for the dog’s equally exasperating owner.

Since their confrontation, Penelope had proceeded not only to banish him from her bed, but her entire life. She made no more amusingly sweet attempts to woo him or boss him around. Her laughter no longer rang out in the hall. There were no more of the teasing comments, moments of silent companionship, or the shattering declarations of love he’d become used to hearing.

He rubbed his face with his hands to wipe out the memories, the regret. His wife never did anything by halves. Penelope was now as determined to shut him out as she’d been steadfast in her devotion before that fateful day two weeks ago.

Two of the longest, most miserable weeks of his life.

Penelope immersed herself in meetings with Colonel Martin and his group, danced at balls as if she had no care in the world, and had reduced him to alternately hovering in his study or lurking in the halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Not that she was home all that much these days. He’d tried twice more to talk to her to no avail.

Whenever he found an opportunity to get her alone, Olivia or his increasingly impertinent butler, Finchley, interrupted them with news of some terrible household emergency.

Everyone was conspiring to keep Penelope from him.

As of this morning, he was done trying to talk to her. He would do something better with his time by burying himself with work, instead of torturing himself with memories of Penelope splayed enticingly across his desk.

I will be damned if I let you talk me into becoming your whore.

Bloody hell, if she ever talked about herself like that again, he would gleefully wash her pretty mouth with vinegar.

Lucas picked up the documents on his desk, intending to attempt to finish reading at least two lines this time. Work would remind him of his duty. This was what he’d wanted — a wife who didn’t bother him with expectations of any promises of spurious emotions so he could get on with his work and with his life.

He’d better get to it, then.

Many of his peers found work to be tedious and beneath them, but the truth was he loved this part of his responsibilities. He loved checking the details and knowing how his estates were doing. He loved knowing what his tenants needed and making plans of what to do next. Besides, contracts like the one he held in his hands in that very moment did not sign themselves.

The only one you can’t seem to love is me.

His gaze jerked to the space next to the silver inkpot at the corner of his desk. First, he would need a pen. There must be at least a dozen of the bloody things in the cluttered room, yet not a single one was to hand. The last thing he wanted was to waste precious time searching out the damned pens.

I let you make me feel like an unwanted fiancée for more than two decades.

With grim determination, he strode to the door and yanked it open to find Olivia, Westville and Finchley in the hall huddled together in what appeared to be a riveting conversation conducted entirely in whispers.

“I find myself in need of a pen,” he announced.

The three jumped guiltily at the sound of his voice, then proceeded to gawk openly at the sight of his nightclothes. They wore matching looks of confusion, as if Lucas had spoken in a language they failed to comprehend.

He leveled each of them a quelling glance, daring them to comment, before speaking once more. “A pen. To write with. There is none to be found in my study. I need one.” His gaze swerved to his butler. “Now.”

Finchley snapped out of his daze. “I shall fetch you a pen immediately, my lord.” He paused to give Lucas a sidelong glance. “Er, to write with.”

“Thank you.” He watched Finchley scurry to the end of the hall, turn his head first in one direction and then the other, before heading straight into the kitchens. He sighed in frustration and turned on his heels to return to his desk, vaguely aware of Westville and Olivia following him into the study.

“Good heavens,” Olivia said as she swept a crumpled piece of paper gingerly with her toe. “This is worse than we imagined.”

He shuffled some documents and tapped them on the desk surface. “I’m working.”

“On what?” Westville asked. “The revolution?”

Lucas dropped the documents, creating another jumbled pile on his desk, before glowering at his friend. “What the bloody hell are you doing here, Anthony?”

Westville grinned, undaunted. “I wondered if you would be interested in accompanying me and some friends to Tattersall’s for the auction.” His gaze lingered on the overturned brandy glass on the sideboard. “But it appears you are busy.”

He decided to ignore his friend’s mocking stare. “I have no need for new horses at the moment. There are other things that need my attention.”

“Like your beard,” Olivia said. “Honestly, Lucas, when was the last time you had a shave?”

His sister was becoming as brazen as his wife. At the moment, he didn’t need more reminders of the nymph who’d cast a spell in his house and turned everyone against him.

“In the very unlikely event the two of you failed to notice,” he said in a tone that made Olivia blanch and Westville raise his brows, “I am very busy.”

“Obviously or you would have had time to change clothes before venturing downstairs,” she pointed out.

Lucas tightened the belt of his dressing gown. He didn’t bother to admit he’d been sleeping in the study instead of enduring the cavernous emptiness of the bedchamber he’d shared with Penelope.

Olivia gave him a worried glance. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to talk about except that I am very busy and the two of you are wasting my time.”

Westville held his hands up in surrender. “Suit yourself.” His blue eyes gleamed with speculation. “Perhaps I should ask your wife for advice on which horse to buy, since I will be stopping to attend a meeting with her group before going to Tattersall’s.”

Immediately after imparting the information on Penelope’s whereabouts, Westville turned to leave. He took a single step before halting with a grunt. “I think,” he croaked, “I have found your pens.”

Westville used his foot to sweep away the discarded soiree invitation he’d stepped on, and three pens emerged from under his boot.

“He’s right!” Olivia said with good cheer. “Pens do tend to stay inside rooms like the study.” She clasped her hands together in front of her and turned to Lucas. “Well, brother, it looks like you shan’t be disturbed any longer. I bid you good day.”

Lucas returned Westville’s challenging gaze steadily and indulged in a fantasy that involved thrashing the other man to a bloody pulp. “I shall join you shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting,” his friend replied before adding, “Of course, if you take too long I might decide to go on my own.” Westville’s grin widened. “Meetings tend to adhere to very strict schedules, and Penelope would never forgive me if I arrive late. Charming woman, your countess. We’ve been spending quite a lot of time together recently — ”

Fine
. Lucas marched out of the study, noting that both Westville and Olivia turned to watch him as he passed them. He silently wished both of them to perdition. As soon as he reached his bedchamber, he rang for his valet.

What would he say to Penelope when he ambushed her in a meeting where she couldn’t dance out of his reach?

He rubbed his beard. First, he needed a shave.

• • •

“I am getting published!”

Penelope glanced up to watch a bright smile light up Mari’s beautiful face as they waited for the rest of the group to arrive for the meeting. Mari put down a tray of freshly baked teacakes on the table with a flourish.

“That’s wonderful news!” She reached for a teacake. “Congratulations.”

Mari sat on the cream settee opposite Penelope. “I’ve decided to stay with my aunt and uncle while I see if I can earn enough money to live on my own when my recipe book gets published.” She released a blissful sigh. “Isn’t it amazing? I might not have to go back to Bouth after all.” She leaned forward, and the sun glinted on her hair, creating a halo around her. “Do you remember how we used to daydream about living in a cottage together if Ravenstone never showed?”

Penelope chewed on her teacake, ignoring the protest of her suddenly dry throat. “Yes.”

“I’m hoping to earn enough to buy a little cottage somewhere, maybe open a shop with a big kitchen where I can bake and cook … ”

Penelope reached for her cup of tea and gulped down a healthy amount, managing to suppress a coughing fit as the scalding liquid burned its way down her throat while Mari continued to itemize her plans regarding the mythical cottage. Penelope listened attentively, grateful her recent tea problems had gone unnoticed.

She was happy for her friend. Really, she was. Mari was on the verge of living her dreams. And Penelope would be so much happier if only it hadn’t happened so soon after her own girlhood dreams had awakened her with the equivalent of a slap in the face. Maybe Mari would agree to let her live in the dream cottage, too.

She suppressed a grimace. Yes, she could live in a cottage, perhaps acquire the name “Mad Polly” and adopt thirteen cats before proceeding to spend her years making every situation uncomfortable for those around her by lauding about how much better things were in the good old days, before the whole world had turned against her.

Of course, she couldn’t live in a cottage with her friend. Because she was married to Lucas.

Lucas
.

Why couldn’t he love her? He’d been so kind, generous and tender with her. Even now, after all the things she’d found out about their marriage, she could almost fool herself into believing there was something in the way he looked at her whenever they passed in the hall, something that made her think perhaps …

She sighed. She was doing it again, making castles out of hay. What was the use of distancing herself from Lucas if she constantly sought for him in her mind? It was bad enough she had to keep a frenetic social schedule so that she could do nothing more at night than sleep. Even then, she indulged in fantasies about the way her confrontation with Lucas ended, alternative dialogues she absolutely knew would one day drive her mad. Her fantasies varied from one day to the next, but they all ended the same way:

She’d confronted Lucas with the truth Olivia had unwittingly revealed and listened as he explained the only reason he kept quiet was he’d fallen madly in love with her and was afraid to lose her. Afterward, he would drop on bended knee, begging her forgiveness.