Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (41 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

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BOOK: Lessons From a Scarlet Lady
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“I hired someone to follow her and she somehow became aware of it.”
Rarely had Robert seen Colton look so uncomfortable. It took a moment to assimilate the information. Robert was mystified. “Why?”
“Because the inept bastard slipped up, obviously.”
“No, I meant why would you ever hire someone to follow Brianna?”
“Because I thought . . . no, I wondered if perhaps . . . oh hell.” Colton shoved his fingers into his hair and said heavily, “I worried she might be unfaithful. I was wrong, as it turns out, but she isn’t in a frame of mind to forgive me. We’ve barely exchanged a word in two days.”
“Unfaithful?” Robert stared, not sure how to react. “Brianna? Why the devil would you think that?”
“I obviously had some compelling evidence or I wouldn’t have taken things so far,” Colton muttered. “It turned out just to be a misunderstanding of gigantic proportions, but I still say it isn’t surprising I came to the conclusions I did. That aside, I need to find a way to reconcile with her. I requested an audience so I could formally apologize, but she refused. I am, quite frankly, surprised she hasn’t left me and gone without permission to Devon and her parents.”
The note of despair in his brother’s tone did not escape Robert, though he was stunned that Colton, who usually thought everything through with a thoroughness that bordered on obsession, had made such a grave mistake. When deep emotion was involved, it was clear Colton wasn’t quite as keen-minded.
Brianna would never even consider infidelity. Robert knew it as certainly as he knew the tide would come in on a predictable timetable. She was deeply in love with his brother—probably almost as much, Robert realized, as Colton was in love with her.
“She hasn’t left,” Robert ventured to guess, “because even though you’ve hurt her and insulted her integrity—then even worse, demonstrated an ignorance of the depth of her feelings—she loves you enough to stay. I am going to wager that as much as you wish to endeavor to make this right between you, she wants it even more. That is to your advantage.”
A flicker of relief washed over Colton’s face. “Do you think so?”
“It doesn’t mean you won’t have to grovel, Colt, and as far as I can tell, being an exalted duke does not train you in the art of groveling.”
His brother gave a small grunt. It was hard to tell if it was assent or the opposite. “I think I am willing to do whatever it takes. I do not want her unhappy with me, but I especially do not want her
unhappy
. I have no idea how to rectify the situation.”
“I may have a few thoughts.” Robert felt a slight smile curve his lips. Soothing ruffled females was something he’d done before, and actually, he thought he was rather good at it.
“Excellent,” Colton said. “Help me and I’ll do my best to make sure Sir Benedict doesn’t wring your neck when you impart to him your wish to marry his daughter with all due speed.”
 
They were upstairs in her father’s study.
Robert, her father, and the Duke of Rolthven.
Rebecca sat in the music room, idly toying with the keys of the pianoforte. At least she’d stopped pacing. That had become exhausting, and she could swear she’d worn through part of the rug.
She couldn’t believe it was finally happening. It was like a dream. Robert Northfield had come to formally ask for her hand in marriage.
Robert.
A wicked rake, a scandalous rogue, a libertine of the first order—or was he? When she suggested the other night—when she’d snuck away from the ball and almost encountered catastrophe with her inopportune arrival at an event where apparently proper young ladies were not welcome—she was willing to consider a stop at his townhouse before he returned her home, he had refused, insisting he could wait.
Not very rakish. She loved him all the more for it. And even more for allowing himself to be persuaded otherwise.
It was just as she’d told her mother. Robert had an overall gloss of easy charm and careless behavior, but underneath she’d known the substance of the man. He’d been gentle, ardent, and though she’d demanded wickedness in his arms, what he’d given her was instead exquisite pleasure and tenderness. He would make the perfect husband; she knew it.
Now, as long as her father felt it also, she might end up being the happiest woman in England.
But it was hardly a given. She’d turned down far more eligible gentleman with bigger fortunes, and even more elite places in society. Nor did any of them have his less than pristine reputation.
Unable to take it any longer and needing to soothe her soul, Rebecca picked up the first piece of music she could find and began to play. It was an unfinished piece she’d been working on weeks ago, before she’d slammed into the man of her dreams while trying to escape Lord Watts. She hadn’t made progress since that definitive moment.
Her hands stilled when the door opened.
Not until Robert leaned an elbow on the instrument did she realize she was holding her breath. “Very nice. Yours?” he murmured.
She registered the faint smile on his well-shaped lips and elation soared through her. “Mine? Care to clarify?”
She meant a great deal more than the unfinished quartet.
He nodded slowly, looking impossibly handsome with his golden brown hair and intense blue eyes. “Yours.”
Had her father really agreed?
“I suspected as much from the very beginning.” He smiled in the way only he could, a tantalizing lift of one corner of his mouth. “I’ve wondered if perhaps you’d composed the music you played for us at Rolthven.”
“It’s an unladylike occupation to compose music, I realize.” Her heart had started a hammer staccato in her chest.
“I like it when you are unladylike.” Robert’s voice held a sultry note. “The other night comes to mind. I actually believe you promised me you would be unladylike on a regular basis. I’m going to hold you to that vow, you know, as well as the others we will make to each other.”
Thinking of the book and its outrageous suggestions, Rebecca blushed. She said in a hushed voice, “I take it, since you are still here, my father was . . .”
“Agreeable?” He looked amused as she trailed off. “Not at first, I admit. But between your mother—who was true to her word and intervened—and my father’s friend Sir John, who is also a friend of
your
father, I at least have had some aid in repairing my reputation. There are other mitigating factors like the fact your cousin, who got me into trouble with your father in the first place, hasn’t shown much Christian rectitude in that he’s now bound for the colonies rather than face his recurring gambling debts. Your father has reluctantly decided I might not be such a blackguard after all.”
Robert had finally told her, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, why her father held such a dislike for him. She had been furious on his behalf at her weak cousin for assigning blame to someone who had done nothing but try to help him. “I’m glad he knows the truth.”
“Colton, also, has an amazing presence when necessary.” Robert grinned. “He was the one who pointed out the merits of a hasty marriage, lest I lure you to more reckless behavior. He didn’t say so, but my older brother essentially implied that unless they lock you away, given my reputation, how could your father be sure a scandal didn’t linger in the future? Why not a marriage instead, to forestall any catastrophe?”
“You haven’t lured me into anything,” Rebecca protested. “I told my mother the truth. Quite the opposite. I was the one who asked
you
.”
Robert just lifted a brow. “I don’t care if your father knows whether or not his worries have substance. Colton’s method of subtle persuasion worked.” He smiled. “No one understands better than my respectable brother what strikes terror into the hearts of other respectable people.”
He came around the pianoforte and sat down next to her on the bench. One long finger reached out and struck middle C. The note quivered in the room. Rebecca could acutely feel the press of his muscled thigh against hers. He turned, so close she could see the blue of his eyes with vivid clarity. “You are sure,” he asked softly, “you want this?”
She could, she realized, quite possibly stare into those mesmerizing eyes forever. “Yes.” No hesitation.
“I have no practice.” He grimaced. “Well, I have no practice being a husband, something you might wish to note.”
“Usually one doesn’t,” she said with all due practicality, “when one marries for the first time.”
He smelled marvelous. She was learning that enticing, spicy masculine scent. Who would think a member of the male species, which favored horses and rooms full of tobacco smoke, could smell so wonderful?
As if they were in sync in some mystical way, he leaned forward just enough and said, “I like your perfume. That first night, in the garden, I think it was what I couldn’t forget about you afterwards. That, and the unique color of your eyes.”
He was going to kiss her. She desperately wanted him to kiss her. And then to lean her down on the bench and take her again as he’d taken her the other night. “I shall endeavor to wear that particular perfume all the time.”
“And your hair.” He lowered his head just a little.
“I analyzed the color in my mind. I’d never done that before. That alone should have told me something. A grown man sitting around philosophizing about the hue of a woman’s hair has some sort of affliction.”
“It isn’t a disease.”
He touched her chin. “Isn’t it?”
She was no match for him, but she really didn’t want to resist him in any way, so what did it matter? Rebecca licked her lips. “What color is it?”
“What?” He seemed focused on her mouth.
“My hair.”
Robert brushed his lips against hers, apparently mindful of the open door to the music room. “Oh. I’m still not sure. I may have to study it for the next fifty years or so.”
“That sounds lovely,” she whispered. “Is this really happening?”
He laughed, a low, heated sound. “I keep asking myself the same thing.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The true test of a man’s affections is his ability to
apologize when he is mistaken. If he does so, if he is
sincere, you will be able to tell from the look in his
eyes. I can’t describe it, but trust me, you will know.
Love has a luminescence all its own.
From the chapter titled: “Does He or Doesn’t He?”
 
B
rianna paused in the door of her bedroom. It was occupied, which she had expected, but she
hadn’t
expected her husband to be the occupant. An evening gown was laid out on her bed, and Colton sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on her as she stood in the doorway. He looked relaxed, his hand cupping a snifter of brandy, but there was a set to his shoulders that told her the nonchalance was feigned.
“Are you going to come in?” he asked as she still stood there.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. How long was she permitted her affront? His suspicions had been unforgivable. Absolutely so.
Except she worried she already had forgiven him. She
missed
him. To a certain extent, once her outrage had faded to misery, she understood his doubts maybe a little. It didn’t excuse him, but Brianna did suppose her inexperience had been part of the problem also. All she’d wanted was to please her husband. It had sounded simple at the time.
It wasn’t at all simple now.
“It’s your bedroom. You’ll have to visit it eventually,” he said in a mild tone. “Aren’t you going to change to go out? You must come in here to do so.”
That had been her intention, since even if her personal life was a shambles, it would make matters worse to have everyone in society know it, and she’d accepted an invitation already. “Where’s my maid?”
“I dismissed her for the evening.”
His presumption made her blow out a short breath. “I suppose I can do my own hair.”
“Or not do it at all.”
“Colton—”
“When my father died, I was lost.” The words fell quietly into the room. “I don’t expect that tragedy to absolve me, but I do request, as your husband, a chance to explain my recent actions. Can’t you grant me that much?”
He never spoke of his father. And the word
request
held a humility that spoke volumes. Brianna moved into the room, shut the door, and without speaking sat down at her dressing table, facing him.
Whatever came next, she needed it.
They
needed it.
“I was only twenty.” He smiled faintly. “Your age, I suppose, so maybe you can imagine it. I feel vastly older sometimes. Suddenly all these people depended on me. He was strong. Vigorous. There was no reason to think my father would come down with a cough and be gone within literally a few days. I didn’t believe it had happened until my mother turned to me, weeping, and asked me what we were going to do. Everyone was looking at me,
to
me, for direction. That was when I realized I really didn’t know.”

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