Seven Nights to Forever (37 page)

There really wasn’t a
need
to make the long walk back to the docks. He could work there or here. Either way, a long, lonely night stretched ahead of him.

Ah well, he thought, barely able to summon the effort to care. At least it was something he was well acquainted with.

“No need to bother with the dining table,” he told Hiller as the man saw to lighting the fire in the hearth. “I’ll take supper here.” For some reason, it felt less lonely to eat at his desk versus all by himself in the formal dining room. Servants stationed along the wall, each
clink
of his silverware echoing in the room. A cup of coffee at the long mahogany table before leaving the house in the morning never bothered him, but suppers were an entirely different situation. And after having shared a few with Rose . . .

The expected ache flared across his chest. Knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it, he simply let out a resigned sigh and waited for the ache to subside.

The fire lit, Hiller stood and tipped his head. “And Mrs. Archer requested to speak with you. She’s in her bedchamber.”

Brow furrowed, James opened his mouth, the word
why
on his tongue, and then snapped his jaw shut.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Archer?”

James shook his head. A servant would not have the answer. It wasn’t as if Amelia would give an explanation to accompany her request. He couldn’t recall the last time she had wanted to speak to him. If she needed him to serve as escort outside of the Season or if she planned to host a supper party, she sent him a note. As long as he wasn’t home when she was apt to be up and about, then days upon days could pass without even laying eyes on her.

“Mrs. Archer seemed her usual self at supper.”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at the footman’s attempt to be helpful. His unease must be obvious, either that or Hiller knew Amelia’s request went so far beyond the norm as to unsettle him. Pathetic, really, that his servants were aware of how much he loathed even the thought of speaking to his wife.

“Thank you, Hiller. I best not leave the lady of the house waiting,” he said as he pushed from his desk.

No need to delay the inevitable. It would only prompt Amelia’s ire. As he made his way upstairs it occurred to him that perhaps she simply wanted to discuss Rebecca. Perhaps she knew Brackley was due to call tomorrow and wanted to ensure he would handle the meeting appropriately, because, of course, a common merchant’s son wouldn’t be capable of managing such a task on his own.

He stopped before the door at the end of the corridor. Fist poised to knock, his stomach clenched into a hard knotted ball. A tight sensation spread up to engulf his chest, sending his pulse racing. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the last time he had stood on this spot had been over two years ago and the outcome had been disastrous. Holding up his unbuttoned trousers with one hand, his shirt clutched in the other, he had fled through this door. Actually fled, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

One deep breath, and then another. Ignoring her request was a coward’s option, and while he might sometimes show himself to be rather pathetic, he was no coward.

His sharp rap snapped along the corridor.

“Enter,” came Amelia’s muffled voice through the door.

Refusing to allow himself to think on it, he turned the knob and stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. Her bedchamber mirrored his own in size and shape. Large, with ample room for the necessary furniture along with a seating arrangement near the windows. Clad in a simple violet evening gown, Amelia sat on the ice blue brocade settee, a silver plate of tarts on the side table by her elbow.

He kept his gaze from straying to the large four-poster bed as he passed it, the plush rugs muffling his footsteps. He stopped a couple of paces from her and clasped his hands behind his back.

She didn’t look up from her perusal of the book of fashion plates on her lap. “We are remaining at home tonight.”

He waited for the explanation that was clearly not forthcoming, and then nodded once.

Without a care in the world, she turned the page. The silence stretched on. Too long. Did she expect him to leave? Was that all she wanted to tell him—that they were staying home tonight? Wouldn’t a note have been sufficient?

He fought the urge to shift his weight. He was just about to ask if that would be all, when she spoke, her voice easy and unconcerned.

“Did you have a pleasant holiday in the country?”

“Yes.” At least up until the last morning, but Amelia certainly did not need to hear such details.

Another flip of a page. “Did your guest enjoy herself as well?” He swore his heart stopped. That tight sensation seized his chest. He could feel the color draining from his face.

She looked up and arched an inquiring brow. “Yes or no, James. Did your guest enjoy herself?”

Shock locked his mind, leaving him unable to determine the best response. A yes or a no would confirm Rose’s presence, but it felt so very wrong to deny, to lie, to reply he hadn’t had a guest, even though it could save Rebecca from her spite. It would be akin to denying the very existence of the woman he loved.

“I will take that as a yes. Or at least you believe she did,” she said, not disguising her thoughts on the matter. Carefully coifed blonde head tipped down, she closed the book and set it at her hip, her movements graceful and elegant. Then she stood and pierced him with cold, hard light blue eyes. All vestige of politeness gone from her features. “Are you dim enough to believe the truth would never reach my ears?”

Who had told her? The Webbs would never pen Amelia a letter. No one at Rubicon’s besides Rose knew his family name, let alone his address, and informing his wife about his time with Rose would lose the house a customer. Had one of his own servants overheard his conversation with Rebecca on the morning of his departure? The door to his study had been open. Had it been Amelia herself?

No, no.
She would have caught him before he left the house, would not have waited a good week after his return to lay into him.

This was the reason why she had stayed home. He had not been mistaken. Rebecca had been referring to a supper party tonight. Whoever had told Amelia about Rose had done so today. There was no way she could have kept
this
contained for more than a few hours.

She took a step toward him. Before he was aware of it, he had taken a step back.

“Did you run from her bed as you did mine? Do you remember, James, how quickly you fled? Your limp cock dangling between your legs,” she taunted, a cruel smile teasing her lips, taking the utmost pleasure from the opportunity to remind him of that night.

Rapid and harsh, his pulse slammed against his eardrums. He could practically feel her grab his ballocks, sharp claws sinking deep to rip them from his body. It was all he could do to not cringe, look away, to betray how much her taunts hurt. Hell, how he hated that she could reduce him to this with but a few words. Cut him down, until he felt like she was towering over him.

“You’re nothing but a coarse, clumsy oaf. Inept.” Disgust written all over her face, Amelia raked her gaze down his body. “I would hazard a guess she is with another man right at this moment, who can do for her what you cannot.”

Rose would be with another man soon. Six days and she would lie with another, and then another, and another. He winced, breaths catching from the pain.

Small fists clenched at her sides, she advanced on him. His back hit the wall. She was so close her skirts brushed his legs. The sweet, cloying scent of her perfume made his stomach turn. Desperate to escape, desperate not to endure another word from her lips, he darted his gaze to the door, but he couldn’t reach it without pushing her away. His arms locked at his sides, refusing to lay a hand on her. One touch and he had no doubt the gossip would be spread about the ton that he was an abuser of women.

“You are pathetic. A poor excuse for a man.” Her sneer cut right through him. “Who was she, James? Certainly no acquaintance of mine. No such lady would even take a second look at you. But it matters not who.” The gloating condescension slipped away, replaced with barely leashed rage, her slim body vibrating with the force of it.

She whirled away, stalked a few steps from him, her skirts swishing angrily about her legs. Just when he began to breathe easier, when he made to take a step from the wall, she turned on her heel and advanced on him again. His shoulder blade bumped the painting behind him, the gilt frame banging against the wall. By God, he was retreating from a little slip of a woman who barely reached his chest.

“What matters is that you did. You seem somewhat able to run a business,” she said, clipped and short, jaw clenched. “Therefore I will assume your memory is not overly faulty and you do recall our conversation in regards to such arrangements.” She stared up at him, nostrils flaring, a flush staining her cheeks crimson. “How dare you defy me?” she shouted, so loud the sound smacked his ears, left them ringing. “I am done with her. Done!”

Dread flooded him. “What?” he croaked.

“You cannot claim you were not well aware of the consequences, yet still you chose to humiliate me.” Pure malice shone from Amelia’s eyes. “I have had enough of pretending as though I care about that silly girl. Of associating my name with hers.”

“No, Amelia. Please.” Was he actually begging her? Was that his pitifully weak voice? But he could do nothing less. Had to try, though he knew it would not sway her one bit. She would take her wrath out on Rebecca, make his sweet sister pay. Rip Rebecca’s happiness from her because he had been selfish enough to want but a glimpse of his own. “Please, Rebecca did nothing wrong.”

“By tomorrow evening she will be ruined,” she continued, deaf to his pleas. “No man will come near her, let alone allow his name to be sullied by her. She will be branded a harlot, a whore, shunned from polite society. No one will—”

It was as if something inside of him snapped. “Enough!” Shoulders back and standing tall, he took a step forward, stepping into her.

Startled, she backed up a step.

He kept advancing, pushing her without touching her to the center of the room. “You will do no such thing.” He did not shout.

His voice was actually quite low. A low, threatening rumble that just hinted at the rage now thundering through his veins. “You will not say a word against Rebecca. I have tolerated your venom for years. Lived under your rules without protest. Said not a word as you took lover after lover. But this? You have pushed me too far. I expected you to withdraw your sponsorship, but you will
not
go so far as to ruin my sister out of spite. I will not tolerate it.”

“You have no choice but to tolerate it, James,” she shot back, clearly struggling to maintain her hold over him.

“Yes, I do have a choice. I should have exercised it long ago, should have known you would not see your promise through. I want you out of my house tonight. Go to your father’s. I do not care what excuse you give your acquaintances or him, but I want you gone.”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Yes, you will,” he said with a determined calm he did not feel in the slightest. Never before had he been tempted to strike a woman. But at that moment, he had to force his arms to remain at his sides. Every cruel word she had ever slung at him roiled within, forming a noxious mass of pure, unadulterated loathing. “I do not want to lay eyes on you again. And if you dare to speak one word against my sister, you will find yourself not only ruined but left with only the clothes on your back. Do not forget, madam, under the law I own you. I am your husband.”
But not for long.
He kept the last bit to himself, unwilling to show his hand just yet. In any case, it was much more satisfying to leave her in suspense. Let the worry build until it consumed her.

He turned on his heel, left her ashen faced, jaw hanging open. He shut the door behind him and then closed his eyes, his hand still on the knob. Damnation, he was shaking. Not from fear or dread over what was to come, but from anger. Rage. Not only at Amelia, but at himself. For allowing himself to have remained in this marriage for so long. For allowing that
woman
to ever hurt him. He could still taste the self-disgust, thick and heavy in his mouth. The absolute humiliation. But never again.

He felt not a drop of remorse for what he was about to do. The end result would see her reputation ruined beyond repair and would see him free.

He would be free. That last obstacle gone.

A smile curved his lips, hope filling him once again. So sweet, so pure. The very definition of bliss. And it made his eyes prick with the threat of tears.

She
could be his. Forever.

He allowed himself a moment to bask in the happiness, and then with effort he reined himself in. Days stretched ahead of him before he could drop to one knee. Many tasks to attend to. Rebecca, his solicitor, his banker, a meeting with his servants to ensure they were aware Amelia was no longer welcome at the house—

A small hand settled on his forearm. “James?” came a low voice near his shoulder.

He opened his eyes. Rebecca stood beside him, remorse written all over her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a choked whisper. “I had no idea. If I had known, I would never have told her.”

“It was you?”

“I didn’t know. I swear it, James. We were in the drawing room this afternoon, discussing suitors, and I . . .”

“It’s all right. Come with me.” With a gentle hand, he led her to the yellow sitting room. The door was open. Only a small guest room separated it from Amelia’s. No doubt Amelia’s shouts had traveled easily through the walls.

The moment he shut the door, Rebecca picked up where he had cut her off. “. . . mentioned that I didn’t want a husband who had a mistress. That I understood most married men, even you, kept them, but that I . . .”