The Earl's Untouched Bride (32 page)

'Don't you like it?' He felt as though an iron fist had squeezed his heart. He had been so sure she would love seeing her work professionally bound.

'Like it?' she raised tear-drenched eyes to his. 'I love it. Did you...?' She stopped, shaking her head. If he had not meant the words, she did not want to hear the denial from his own lips. Far better to cling to the illusion that he felt some affection for her than to have her dreams shattered.

Hesitantly, Charles took a step towards the bed. 'I wanted to do something to demonstrate how sorry I am for forcing you to destroy that other sketchbook. It was quite wrong of me.'

'Oh!' Her head flew up, her eyes looking curiously wounded.

He clasped his hands behind his back. He would have thought his apology would comfort her. Perhaps it had only reminded her what an unfeeling brute he could be.

'I was acting completely out of character that night,' he admitted. 'My state of mind at that time was not... That is, Heloise...' He swallowed, searching for the words that would convince her, once and for all, that he was not the tyrannical bully he had shown himself to be during those few mad days in Paris. 'You have a remarkable skill. I admire it greatly. I have no wish to stifle your talent. I know I made a great deal of fuss, saying I did not want people to see your work, but that is not how I feel about it now. Now I have come to know you better, I know you would not do anything to embarrass me, or the name of Walton.'

'Not deliberately!' she cried, kneeling up and moving towards him, her hands outstretched. 'I did not mean to make a spectacle with your neighbours at Wycke...'

'You did not!' he vowed, taking the final step that brought him within touching distance. Taking her hands in his, he said, 'I was proud of the way you managed to make some of the most cantankerous, narrow-minded provincials look like rational, attractive people. With only a stub of pencil and some rather ancient writing paper!'

'Truly?'

He sat on the bed next to her, drawing her hands close to his chest. 'Heloise, when will you learn that I never say anything I do not mean? In fact, the next time we go to the country I hope you will spend some time making sketches of my favourite vistas. It is long past time that I put up some original artwork in this place.' His gaze flicked round the uninspiring collection of oils that graced her walls, and he grimaced. 'Your work would at least have the bonus of being amusing.'

'I draw people, though, not scenes,' she protested.

He cut her off with a smile. 'You do scenes. And you capture the atmosphere of a place. Have you forgot this?' He leaned down and flicked through the pages of the book until he came to the depiction of their first night at the theatre. 'Looking at it brings back the atmosphere of that night so vividly I can almost smell it.'

'But it is the people that create the atmosphere...'

He shook his head. 'Heloise, you have more talent than you give yourself credit for. I know you focus on the people, and regard the background only as the setting for your caricatures, but even in the few strokes you begrudged the curtains round Lensborough's box you captured the very texture of the velvet. If you wanted, you could capture not just the scenery of my home but its very essence. When you know it better. I feel sure that even now, should you decide to draw the ruined tower...'

Their eyes met and held as they remembered that afternoon they had become lovers. The book slid to the floor, forgotten, and they moved into each other's arms.

'I shall ring and have supper sent up,' Charles said, much later. 'There is no point in dressing for dinner now. And we would be eating it alone, wherever we took it. Robert is in no fit state to appear before you, my love.'

Rolling onto his side, he propped himself on his elbow.

'We had no need to fear that Robert would suffer alone. While the bells rang out all over London to celebrate the nation's victory, those who could not stand the pain of their bereavement gravitated to his rooms and made a valiant attempt to drink my cellars dry. You may be surprised to hear Lord Lensborough himself is one of those currently nursing a hangover down there.'

Heloise was beyond making any response. He had praised her work, taken her to bed in broad daylight, and called her his love. Yet downstairs Robert and his companions were mourning the shameful waste of so many young male lives. It was wrong to experience any measure of happiness when so many were grieving.

'I will visit with him tomorrow,' she declared. Tonight was just for her and Charles.

'Tomorrow will be soon enough,' he agreed, making her heart soar. 'Robert's rooms are no fit place for a lady at the moment. But now he knows we have returned, it may be the push he needs to begin sobering up. And his friends will feel they may safely leave him now that we have come home.'

Her brief moment of joy dissolved. Charles was not thinking of how delightful it would be to have a romantic supper in bed with her. His priority was still Robert's well-being.

'You are not upset, are you, that I will be otherwise engaged tomorrow?'

As if she were a spoiled child who had to be constantly amused!

She lifted her chin. 'I do not need you to dance attendance on me,' she declared proudly. 'Even when I first came to London, did I not manage to amuse myself?' Flushing darkly, she added, 'Perhaps that is not such a good thing to remind you of. But I will do better now. I will not go to gaming hells, or masquerades, or gamble with military gentlemen again, I promise you!'

'Even if you should do all of those things,' Charles declared, 'I should not banish you to the country. If you get into any sort of trouble you must tell me straight away, and no matter what you have done I will help you.'

'I have just told you,' she snapped, 'that I won't get into trouble!'

'Well, we'll see, shall we?'

Crestfallen that he still assumed she would get into some sort of trouble the minute his back was turned, she rolled over and pretended to go to sleep.

Over the next few days Heloise was carried along by a determination to prove to Charles that in spite of his misgivings she
could
behave herself when the need arose.

She usually slept in until quite late. For, although she scarcely saw Charles during the hours of daylight, whatever time he came home, he never failed to come to her bed.

Once she had washed and dressed, she liked to take an airing in the park, although she made sure both Sukey and a footman always properly escorted her. When she returned there was always some little gift from Charles for her to unwrap
—
proof that he was appreciative of her efforts to reform. She spent the hours before dinner either reading the poetry, or pressing individual blossoms from a posy
—
or, once, attempting to put together the cleverly designed portable easel he had purchased. And she spent the hours after dinner waiting impatiently for him to come home.

She might even have felt a measure of contentment if only she'd had Robert to keep her company during the long, dull evenings. But whenever she went and knocked on his door there was always already a group of grim-faced young men sprawled about the rooms, and a distinct aroma of alcohol in the air. The fact that all conversation ceased the moment she walked in made her feel increasingly awkward about intruding. He had friends about him. That was the main thing. And who better than those young men, with military backgrounds, who could understand far better than she could What he was going through?

She was selfish to wish he would at least let her in for half an hour, so that she had someone to talk to. She sighed now, picking up the latest novel that Charles had sent her. Did she not have so much more now than the last time she had been in London? She might not go out, but then she had not really enjoyed many of her outings anyway. Particularly not once she had locked horns with Mrs Kenton.

She shivered, applying herself to words that she had a vague recollection of reading before. It was not an easy story to get into, but she wanted very much to be able to tell Charles that she was enjoying it. Even though she was having difficulty working out what the story was supposed to be about, she sighed. Still, though the story itself was not very interesting, she did love the fact that Charles had bought it for her. He was so generous.

'... so generous that it quite makes up for the coldness of his public manners...' she heard Mrs Kenton whispering.

That Woman! The moment her mind strayed in her direction, her words flooded her mind with her poison all over again.

She shut the book with a snap, and went into her bedroom. She would sketch until Charles came home. That always made her feel better.

But though she sat at her drawing desk, and took the charcoal in her fingers, her mind remained devoid of inspiration. She could not think of a single thing she wanted to draw. She had not been anywhere or seen anyone since returning to London to fire her imagination at all.

There seemed to be nothing but a great emptiness all around her. When Charles came in, far earlier than she had expected, she was so relieved to see him that she flew into his arms. She knew he would not rebuff her these days. On the contrary, he seemed only too keen to strip her naked and kiss and caress every inch of her, until she was mindless with pleasure and he was completely exhausted.

She looked down at him, as he lay sleeping beside her later, a troubled frown creasing her brow. If only she had never met Mrs Kenton. For then she would be completely happy, thinking that the way he behaved was an indication that he felt something for her. But she
had
met Mrs Kenton, and she knew that he took similar pride in his performance in bed, no matter which woman shared it.

And, on reflection, she could not read very much into the fact he sent her gifts every day, either. Mrs Kenton had told her how generous he was to his mistresses.

He had never given her a single thing before he had taken her to his bed. With a pang of shock, she realised that, far from being a mark of his approval, those gifts were more like payment for services rendered.

He was treating her just like he would treat his mistress!

No, on second thoughts he was not even treating her so well as that. At least a mistress got an outing every now and again. She had met Nell in the theatre, and at Vauxhall Gardens, and although everyone said Lord Lensborough was a hard man, even he had given Nell her own carriage and pair to drive about in the park.

She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest as she grew more and more upset. He had said before they married that as his wife she would move in the first circles. But she didn't. She never went anywhere. It was as if he was ashamed of her!

She could barely look at him when he rose the next morning to be about his business. Business which, she thought huffily, he could as well conduct at home, if he had a wife he trusted. If he really was engaged in politics. She sniffed. For all she knew he could be out carousing with his friends, or even trawling Covent Garden for a new mistress.

'Heloise?' he said gently, noting the stiff set of her shoulders under the blankets. 'I can see you are not happy with me this morning.' Or indeed any morning. 'This state of affairs cannot continue.' Fortunately he would be able to conclude his involvement in party affairs today. And then he would be able to devote himself entirely to getting his wife to admit that being a partner in a marriage of convenience was not the end of the world. 'When I return tonight, you and I need to have a serious talk.'

She shut her eyes tight on the wave of pain that assailed her. She had known it! She had known it from the first! She had only ever been a poor substitute for Felice, and now he could not even continue to use her as he would use a mistress. He was tired of her.

Had he already found her replacement? Was that where he went every night, when he said he was engaged in state affairs?
Affaires
, more like! And she, rather than demanding he treat her with respect, had welcomed him into her bed whatever time of the night he rolled in, with open arms, like the lovesick fool she was! She should have known when she'd had to go to such lengths to seduce him that he would not stay faithful for long. If he had ever found her in the least bit desirable he would have made the first move!

'In the meantime, I should like you to have this.' He went to his jacket, which was hanging on the back of a chair, delved into the pocket, and extracted a black rectangular box. 'I had meant to give it to you last night, but...' He smiled wryly at the memory of her flying to his arms, and more or less dragging him into bed.

'Don't remind me!' she flung at him waspishly.

He frowned as he approached the bed, where she was sitting with her knees hunched up, a mutinous glare on her face. He faltered, wishing with all his heart that she did not feel so ashamed of experiencing desire without love.

'Here,' he said, proffering the jeweller's box.

Until now, the gifts he had bought her had been trifling things, meant to amuse her and remind her he was thinking of her, though he could not be with her. But he had never forgotten her face when she had spoken about the Walton diamonds. She had thought he did not care because they were old. She seemed to have thought that if he cared about her he would have bought her something new. And so he had sought to redress that error in the purchase of these pearls. Pearls for purity. For she was the purest woman he had ever known. Besides which, he could not wait to see how the ear drops would look against the glorious silk of her dark hair.