Mutual Consent (8 page)

Lord Chatworth was unaccountably sorry for his discourtesy toward his unwanted wife. It was an emotion as surprising as it was annoying. “I think also that it is time that we establish a more familiar footing, my dear.”

He was amused that she stiffened, and he smiled, an arrogant mocking-smile expression. “I do not go back so soon on our agreement, my lady, never fear. Unless you wish it, of course.” He paused, to give her time to reply, and his amusement was strengthened by her quick shake of her head. “I meant merely that we cannot go on addressing one another forever with such formality. I think that it is common practice for a wedded couple to make use of each other’s Christian names. Especially as we have our unique business arrangement, I think it will facilitate matters if we should practice a little less formality. I am Marcus to my friends.’’

Babs smiled a little, wondering with a touch of wistfulness if that was what she was: a friend who chanced to have married him. She thought not, but she could not very well refuse to agree to his suggestion. It would be churlish in the extreme. “Very well, my lord. I so agree.”

Lord Chatworth smiled. He leaned forward from his chair to offer his hand to her. She laid her hand in his and his strong fingers closed about hers. “Obviously it will take practice on your part, Barbara,” he said teasingly.

Her attention was centered on the warm strength of his clasp. How much she wished that she could believe that it was there for her. She said unthinkingly, “I prefer to be called Babs.”

Even as she sat reduced to speechless amazement by her own unaccountable confidence, the earl nodded. “Babs it is, then,” he said, rising from his chair. Still holding her hand, he drew her up to stand with him. “I hope that this is the beginning of a most profitable relationship for us both.’’ He raised her fingers, and his lips brushed lightly across her skin.

The parlor door opened at that fortuitous moment. The earl was still holding her hand as the footman entered. The manservant’s quick eyes took in the charming position at a glance, but his expression did not reflect his startled thoughts. “My lord, you requested to be notified when a reply to your note had been received.”

“Ah, yes.” Lord Chatworth held out his hand peremptorily. The footman came over, conveying a silver salver with a single folded note resting upon it. The earl took up the note and broke the seal. He waved the footman out.

After perusing the note swiftly, Lord Chatworth turned to Babs. “I had a bit of business to see to when we got to the house. I hope that you do not mind it, my dear, but I fear that I shall be going out this evening. It is the sort of engagement that I prefer not to put off.”

Babs smiled and there was a wealth of understanding in the depths of her green eyes. She had caught the faintest hint of scent wafting off the note. “Of course, my lord. I understand perfectly, and to be truthful, I prefer to make mine an early evening. It has been a very eventful and fatiguing day, as I am certain that you will agree.”

Lord Chatworth bowed. His mouth was curled in that peculiarly arrogant smile that so set Babs' teeth on edge. “Quite so. I shall be hard put to do justice to my engagement,” he said softly, his thoughts already on his mistress.

Before she could stop herself, Babs made an abrupt gesture of distaste. She realized what she had conveyed to the gentleman standing beside her, and she gave a rueful laugh. “It will be more difficult than I bargained to learn to be the wife that you wish of me,” she said.

“I do not think it will be at all difficult to recall once you learn just where the lines are drawn, my dear,” drawled Lord Chatworth, annoyed by his wife’s temerity in showing her disapproval.

The blood rushed to Babs’ face. She bit her lip in vexation. Fortunately for her pride, the footman had already returned to his duty and so was not witness to the heavy set-down she had received. She drew her breath and said, “We have an agreement, my lord, it is true. But I do not think that it includes baiting each other.”

“My apologies, my lady.” Lord Chatworth bowed once more and he courteously offered his arm to her so that he could escort her to an early dinner. But he once more wore that infuriating smile.

Babs refused to glance at him as they left the parlor.

Babs saw from the serving of the first course that the earl’s attention was not really with her. He had a distant expression in his eyes that she thought she knew very well. She had learned long ago as a child that to interrupt her father’s reflections was tantamount to requesting an instant rake-down. She had no reason to believe that the earl was any different in his reactions, and so she was extremely wary of giving offense in any way. She replied politely and civilly when his lordship spoke to her, but otherwise she did not elaborate on any topic or introduce conversation of her own.

They talked in a desultory fashion of the wedding, of the various dishes that were set before them, of the probable duration of Lady Azaela’s stay in London, but nothing was touched upon concerning the matter that had brought them so abruptly and irrevocably together.

Lord Chatworth was bored out of his mind with his dull-witted wife. He had spent an hour and a half over dinner in his bride’s company, making several attempts to launch small conversation, but to all his efforts she replied mostly in monosyllables.

The earl studied her across the table as he drank from his wineglass, and he wondered what he had possibly seen in her at their first meeting to give him the impression of intelligence and suppressed passion. She had been nothing but meek and smiling and unobtrusive the entire evening. She was lovely enough, he supposed, critically surveying an attractive face framed by the stunning auburn hair, her graceful neck and shoulders and rounded bosom. But she was without personality and he discovered that, without some spark to ignite him, her beauty left him entirely unmoved. He could scarcely have been more eager to leave her for more stimulating company.

His thoughts curled idly to the lady to whom he was engaged that evening. He smiled faintly, and anticipation put a peculiar edge to his pleasant thoughts.

The covers were removed and his wife was rising from the table, preparatory to leaving him to his wine, as custom demanded. “I shall say a good night now, my lord, since I know that you will be going out later,” said Babs.

“Indeed, I shall probably not join you for coffee,” he said.

She inclined her head, perfectly understanding that her company would not be required anymore that evening.

Lord Chatworth rose politely in a show of courtesy as she walked out of the dining room.

As the door swung shut, he sat down and picked up his wineglass. At the butler’s inquiry, he waved away the suggestion of a fresh bottle of claret. “I shall finish what I have. That will be all, Smithers,” he said.

“Very good, my lord.” The butler bowed and exited the dining room, leaving his lordship to his solitary after-dinner wine.

Shortly thereafter, the earl also left the dining room, but he did not rejoin his wife in the drawing room. He went upstairs to change into evening clothes and emerged to request that his carriage to be brought around.

Within a very few minutes the Earl of Chatworth settled into his carriage and rolled away from the town house.

It was not a long ride and quite soon the carriage stopped. The earl got out and climbed the steps of a fashionable town house. He rang the bell. The door was opened without delay and the porter bowed to him, accepting his hat and gloves. He was expected and was shown immediately upstairs into a private sitting room decorated in tawny yellow silks. The bric-a-brac was Oriental, as were the hangings, the carpet, and the multitude of sofa cushions.

Lord Chatworth had been a frequent visitor to the private apartment and he was therefore incurious of the mysterious aura of the furnishings of the room. He poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter on the occasional table and made himself comfortable on one of the settees. He fully expected to be kept waiting as punishment for his sins, and he was not disappointed.

Some twenty minutes later the hangings that hid one of the doors twitched aside and the lady of the house entered the room. She stood quite still, allowing her gentleman visitor a full span of moments to study her. She was a sloe-eyed, raven-haired beauty, her hair cropped in wispy short curls that enhanced the size of her magnificent eyes. Her sensual mouth was naturally red and was at the moment caught in a delicious pout. She was attired in a revealing gown of thin silk, decorated with a froth of lace at the low décolletage.

Lord Chatworth felt desire rise in him at sight of her exquisite beauty. He made no effort to disguise the expression in his eyes. He smiled, that peculiar smile that hinted at so little and hid so much. “Lady Cartier.” His voice was low and caressing.

As she regarded the earl, the lady’s own eyes were quite cool. She did not return his smile. She walked toward him and her graceful movement allowed the silk to hint even more vividly that she was wearing little or nothing under the gown.

The earl had risen at her approach and now she gave her hand to him. “Well, my lord?” she asked in a neutral tone.

Lord Chatworth turned over her hand and placed a lingering kiss against her wrist, knowing well how sensitive she was at that particular point. “You are stunning this evening, my lady,” he said formally, taking his cue from her own rigid civility. There were twin points of laughter in his eyes as he looked down into her face.

She pulled her hand free and turned half away from him with a petulant shrug. “I think that you owe me at least an explanation, my lord.”

Lord Chatworth stepped closer, but he did not actually touch her, allowing his proximity alone to work upon her. His breath ruffled the wisps of hair on the back of her slender neck. “Such formality between us, Beth. You are annoyed with me. I cannot think why, however, unless it is because I am a trifle late for our appointed engagement this evening. Very well, I shall apologize for my tardiness. Does that satisfy you?”

She rounded on him, her breasts heaving with emotion. Her hands were clenched at her sides. Her dark eyes flashed. “You know very well that it does not, Marcus. I am speaking about your wife.’’ She practically spat the hated word. “Have you any notion what I felt to read in the
Gazette
of your marriage? That you had wedded—and done so without a word to me!”

“I was not aware that I required your permission, my lady,” said the earl deliberately.

Lady Elizabeth Cartier heard the chilliness in his tone. She saw how his expression had closed, and at once she changed her tactics. It was not in her plans to permanently alienate him. She laid a hand against his shirt front. “Of course not, Marcus. It was just such a shock, that is all. And I could not but wonder whether I was to be supplanted in your affections,” she said softly. Her long nails lightly scraped the fine linen shirt, scoring the warm flesh beneath.

Lord Chatworth bent to place his lips beneath her ear and proceeded to trail a series of light kisses down her neck. She arched her neck like a cat to allow him better access. She gasped when his teeth unexpectedly met in the softness of her bare shoulder. There was controlled passion in his low voice. “My dear Berth, what has my wife to do with this? Or this?” His hands came up to graze her through the gown.

Lady Cartier thought the lady in question had a great deal to do with it. She had long since fancied herself in the role of Countess of Chatworth, and she had been complacently certain that she had the earl firmly caught in her toils. She had thought it merely a matter of time before he came to the point and offered for her hand. The notice of his sudden marriage had destroyed both her hopes and her conviction that he was hers alone.

She held him off a little longer in hopes of learning what she could, but was wise enough to tease him as she did so. She slid her hands up under his coat to push it off his shoulders, which effectively hindered his own distracting explorations. “I was devastated, Marcus,” she whispered against his lips. “I care so desperately for you, you see.” Her hands were busy with his shirt buttons even as she leaned closer to him.

Lord Chatworth shrugged, as much to relieve himself of his restrictive garment as to indicate his indifference to her revelation. “I would not so easily set you aside, Beth. It is a marriage of convenience, and as such shall not interfere with our arrangement. Indeed, what is between us is of far more interest to me.” As his coat dropped unheeded to the carpet, he tore off his cravat. His shirt was pushed open and her hands slipped inside.

“So I should hope, my lord,” she breathed. Her nails scored his naked back and she pressed close against him.

He laughed low in his throat. His eyes blazed with desire as he pushed her away so that he could look down into her half-closed eyes. As she met his gaze, her lips curved in an inviting smile.”You know well enough how to please a man. That is more than I ever heard of any wife doing,” he said hoarsely. He pulled her roughly into his arms and his mouth descended hungrily upon hers.

Much later, Lady Cartier bade a fond farewell to her lover. After he had left her, she went to the window and lifted one curtain to await his emergence from her front door. She watched him go down the steps of her house to enter his waiting carriage. The streetlamp shone briefly on his face before he ducked inside. The night was still young and she should have been disappointed that the earl had not remained until morning’s light. But she had been wise enough not to tax him about it. It was not in her plans to be seen as demanding or unfeeling of his wishes.

She would leave that to the earl’s wife to provide.

The carriage below rolled away. She dropped the curtain and turned back into her bedroom, raising her arms above her head to stretch languorously. The fact of the earl’s marriage had shaken her greatly, but his offhand assurance and his subsequent actions had left her in little doubt of where she stood.

This wife of his lordship’s was a nuisance, of a certainty, but she did not think a nuisance that was likely to hinder her forever. Sometime during their assignation, at a moment when she had long since discovered a man to be at his most vulnerable, she had wormed out the information that the earl had married only to secure a matter of business.