Mastering the Marquess (46 page)

She was safe.

She was safe.

The thought echoed again and again through his mind.

The Countess rose from the floor, attempting to stand straight. “I did not know you were in Town.”

“I gather as much, although I did send word that I would be here and that I expected you at dinner.” The count’s voice rang with displeasure.

“I did not receive your missive.” The Countess’s gaze dropped.

“Have you been home in the last week to receive it? It appears you have been indulging in other interests.” The count stepped toward her, held out his arm. “I believe I told you what would happen if I found you were causing trouble again. You assured me this would not happen.”

“I …” The Countess reached over and took her husband’s arm.

“I do not care. I believe it is time you travel with me. I am meeting some of my old war acquaintances in Scotland—northern Scotland. I am sure that you will find much to do among the sheep.” The count nodded at each gentleman and, with his wife’s hand upon his arm and his own hand holding it down securely, turned and left the room. “Goodbye. I trust we will not meet again, except in the ballroom.”

“I trust not,” Swanston answered.

“You’re letting her go, just like that?” It came out more of a whisper than the scream Louisa had intended, hoping all of the anger and fury she’d suppressed this night would finally be allowed to come out.

“It won’t be as simple as it appears. She will not be returning to London,” Geoffrey answered as he continued to loosen her bonds beneath the heavy cloak.

“And you think that is any type of answer?” Did her husband realize what she’d been through? At the very least, she felt, the woman should be imprisoned.

“What would you have me do, kill her?”

Yes
, Louisa’s mind screamed—although in truth she’d never wished anyone dead, and the thought of Geoffrey being taken in for murder chilled her.

“And if I involved the authorities there would be no way to hide this.” Geoffrey gestured about the room. “I do not wish anyone to know what has happened. Far better to leave it to her husband.”

The last bond loosened and Louisa felt her legs collapsing beneath her, her muscles
unable to hold her. Before she could fall, Geoffrey swung her up into his arms, the cloak wrapped securely around her.

“Is my carriage outside?” he asked, turning to Duldon.

“I took the liberty of bringing one of my own, one with plain doors,” Duldon answered. “I did not think you would want your crest seen.”

“Thank you. Will you be responsible for the cleanup here?” Geoffrey glanced at Frank and Jack, who were still standing against the wall, their eyes on Duldon’s pistols.

“Yes, I will take care of them—and everything else. Go and take care of your wife.”

It could not be that simple. It could not. Her body ached, along with her soul.

Louisa let her head fall against her husband’s broad shoulder. She wanted to scream and fight and to protest all that had happened, but she was simply too tired, too tired and too sore. Her eyes closed slowly. Maybe once she was home she would know what to do, know how to behave. Now she just wanted to pretend none of it was real, that none of it had happened.

She burrowed her face into Geoffrey’s jacket, reveling in the familiar smells of cheroots and leather.

Her mind began to drift as the fervor of the evening left her. It was so much easier to allow her mind to fill with Geoffrey’s scent and the scratch of wool against her lips than to think about how she ached and burned, to think about the fact that Duldon, the count, and the two louts had all seen her naked.

She might be the star of a scandal on the morrow, but for now she would think of Geoffrey’s smile one more time and let the world pass by.

Chapter Thirty-two

Swanston stared down at his sleeping wife. She’d drifted off before they even made it to the carriage and had not woken since. Every time the wheels ran over a rut he’d worried that she’d waken, that the motion would jar her, wake her to this nightmare he had caused.

Even when he carried her into the house and treated her injuries, she’d only moaned.

He buried his face in her hair, wishing for the smell of lemons and vanilla that normally clung to her. All he could smell was cinnamon. It was not an unpleasant smell, but he knew he would never smell it again without his guts churning.

How had he let this happen?

He had no answers. He had never been ashamed of who he was, of the things he’d done, but they had all led to this.

Could he ever make it up to her?

Did he even deserve the chance to try?

He thought about his father, about all the things he’d held against the duke for so long. In this moment it all seemed so trivial; none of it, he berated himself, could ever compare to the danger he’d unwittingly exposed his wife to.

He’d seen her look of relief when he arrived, watched her eyes grow big with hope. He had deserved none of it.

Turning away from the bed, he went to stare out the window at the nearly empty street. Signs of life were beginning to appear as morning light fought its way over the rooftops, but it would be a good hour yet before even the early morning deliverymen arrived.

Guilt had been his companion for years. He would survive.

He looked back at Louisa, her face hidden by pillows.

Or would he? Always before, control had been his salvation, but was it still? He was afraid that it was his desire for control that had brought him to this point.

But without control, what was there?

Louisa came awake slowly. Her eyes did not want to open, her body to move. The room was full of daylight, but she longed to escape back into sleep. Sleep was safe. In sleep she did not have to solve the problems of her life, to ask the questions that needed to be asked—questions for herself and Geoffrey.

“I see that you’re awake. You might as well open your eyes and get on with the day. It’s quite late, well after noon—and it’s Tuesday. Should I pour you tea or chocolate? The maid has brought both. There is no coffee so I imagine that you do not drink it.”

Louisa opened her eyes and blinked. Tuesday. What had happened to Monday? Surely it had been Sunday night when … She was not going to think about that.

What was Madame Rouge doing in her bedchamber?

She sat up with a start. She was in her own bedchamber, wasn’t she? Yesterday—or had it been the day before?—had been such a dream, such a nightmare, that she really was not sure what to expect.

No. She was not in her own room.

She was in Geoffrey’s. Although when she glanced at the pillows on the bed, she found no evidence that he had slept with her.

Her body screamed in protest as she pushed herself up to sit against the pillows. The welt on her upper thigh cried the loudest, but not an inch of her was silent—except perhaps her left little toe. It seemed quite content.

She tried to concentrate on that toe, on that one small piece of sanity in this whole crazy world.

“Ignoring me will not make me go away,” Madame Rouge said.

“I was sort of hoping you were not real,” Louisa replied, turning to look at Madame. In the daylight the bright red hair and cosmetics looked like a costume.

“I am not sure if I should take insult or not.”

“Not. I was just wishing that the last day or days were not real, and if you are here then I am afraid that they were.”

“Yes, I can understand that. I do, however, believe that you are a woman who always faces what must be faced; you certainly were on the two occasions that you came to visit me. And you have been asleep for well over thirty-six hours. Geoffrey was beginning to grow frantic.” Madame poured Louisa a cup of chocolate and milk, adding a heaping spoonful of
sugar, and handed it over. “Here, perhaps this will help.”

Louisa doubted that anything would help, but chocolate was not a bad way to try. “Thank you. Did you know that I was actually coming to see you Sunday night when this all began? It was while I was outside your house that I was waylaid by the Countess.” Even saying the name caused Louisa’s belly to tighten.

“No, I did not know. I cannot believe that she had the effrontery to take you at all—but at my house! If her husband had not already removed her from London I would certainly be paying a call on her—and not one she would ever enjoy.” Madame took a sip from her cup—tea probably, as it did not stain her lips. “Geoffrey mentioned that you were worried her punishment was not severe enough. I have never met the count myself—his tastes do not fall under my purview—but from all I have heard you do not need to worry. He is not known for being a gentle man. He may have ignored his wife up to this point because he did not wish to be bothered, but you can be assured that now that she has threatened scandal, that will change. I would not relish the position in which Lady Ormande will now find herself.”

Relaxing against the pillows, Louisa considered her reply. She did not wish to sound vengeful, but in truth she would have been quite content to watch the skin slowly being peeled from the Countess. However, with the whole matter out of her control, she would have to be satisfied. Perhaps it was for the best. “I will strive to accept that. I know that my thoughts on the matter are perhaps not balanced at the moment.”

“And for that you cannot be blamed, if my understanding of the situation is correct.”

Louisa dropped her gaze to her lap. “I am sure that it is.” She found it impossible to say more.

“Then let us deal with the practical matters first. Geoffrey told me he dressed all your injuries and said the only thing left to do was to have you take a hot soak with Epsom salts and a few cups of willow tea. I also have a few herbs that will prove quite helpful. However, I have more knowledge of these matters than Geoffrey, and am quite aware that not all injuries show. Did Lady Ormande do anything that would have—that could have—caused more internal injuries?”

Louisa felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I do not believe so.” She kept her eyes lowered.

Madame stood and walked slowly to the bed. “You do not believe so or you know so. If you have doubts, I can summon the woman who helps my girls with their female problems. She
is very knowledgeable and discreet. Anything you tell her will stay with her. She will not even tell me unless you instruct her to.”

“I do not need her. If things had gone on longer, I might have, but except for the crop it was more a matter of talk than anything else—well, except for the gag and restraints. I had never known being still could hurt so much.”

“The Countess has always been a foolish woman. There is a place for binding and making someone wait, but one must always be careful that they have a proper amount of movement. What she did was most careless. I have banned patrons for far less.” Madame placed her hand upon Louisa’s and patted it gently.

Careless? Louisa had a far different word for it. She did, however, appreciate that Madame was trying to calm her. “You have not told me how you came to be here? I cannot imagine …” Louisa was not sure how one expressed that she wasn’t aware courtesans were admitted into Mayfair, at least during daylight hours.

“Geoffrey invited me, and I owed him a favor. Although, to be frank, I would have come regardless; just don’t tell
him
that. He thought that you might be in need of someone to talk to, someone a little more neutral than himself. The fact that you were coming to see me, even before this happened, perhaps indicates that he was right.”

Madame stepped away from the bed and went back to the chair upon which she had been seated. Instead of sitting she reached behind it and pulled up a black hat heavy with veils. “And as for the how, I took a page from your own book. I am quite sure that no one awake before noon would have recognized me anyway, but I decided it was not worth the risk.”

“I thank you for that. I am still not quite sure why Geoffrey would have …” Again Louisa found herself without words.

“Would have thought that you had questions or concerns that he could not answer? Or rather, perhaps I should say that you would not ask. I am quite sure that he could—and would—answer whatever you cared to know, but I am equally sure he was afraid that you would not wish to speak with him. And perhaps he is a little afraid of facing you. It is clear that he blames himself for all that happened.”