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Authors: Miranda Neville
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sent him abroad again. The trouble was, he was no longer unencumbered.
A door connected to the chamber that housed the countess. He’d often visited his mother in that room, once his father had left the house. She liked the company of her children in the morning, after she had risen. How eagerly he and Amelia had awaited the summons that gave them a welcome respite from their studies and plunged them into the enchanted, scented world of Anthea, Lady Windermere. For a moment he was ten years old again, showering his twin with hair powder under their mother’s amused gaze. He ached to step through that door and discover that the two females who’d dominated his childhood were still alive and still laughing.
Instead he would find his unwanted wife.
He had to admit that under other circumstances she would no longer be “unwanted.” Her looks had improved, greatly, since their marriage. In her personal appearance she showed signs of the good taste so lamentably lacking in her additions to the decoration of the house. He hated to think what she might have done with his mother’s chamber.
He’d looked into her eyes that afternoon and had the oddest desire to kiss her lying mouth. If not for Julian, damn him, he’d be quite eager to join her in bed, but his intention of resuming marital congress with his wife had been complicated by the discovery of her infidelity. His immediate reaction was to cast her off, but things weren’t as simple as that. Only by siring an heir were the greatest financial advantages of his marriage to be reaped; he needed to maintain relations with Denford, at least for now; and a divorce was unthinkable if he was to have any future success in his career. It was highly unlikely that such a scandal would allow him to achieve the post of foreign secretary.
Clearly he was never going to enjoy the kind of love that his oddly matched parents had enjoyed, but when he wed Chorley’s niece to gain back Beaulieu he’d given up that chance. He ought, at least in theory, to be able to live with a faithless bride, as long as discretion could be maintained. Such a marriage was hardly unheard of in the higher levels of society. In one area, however, he’d discovered a sticking point: His children must be his own.
Until he was certain that Cynthia was not with child by her lover, he would not share her bed. In the meantime, he’d pretend to resume his friendship with Julian and get him to sell the pictures to the Prince of Alt-Brandenburg. After that he would decide what to do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant for the dastardly duke, and Lady Windermere would need to atone before she was (perhaps) magnanimously forgiven on a promise of future good behavior.
Pacing around the room he was drawn to that door. Placing his ear against it he heard nothing. His wife must have dismissed her maid some time ago, as he had his valet. Then he heard a latch, and soft footsteps in the passage outside their rooms. He sped over to his own exit and discovered her holding a candlestick and headed for the stairs.
“My lady.” He bowed ironically.
“My lord.” Her free hand clutched at her pale blue satin wrapper, liberally trimmed with lace. With golden hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked more like an angel than an adulteress.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I was going down to fetch my book.”
“Why not ring for a servant?”
“They have retired and it’s no trouble for me to go. I am not ready to sleep.”
She blushed, as well she might if she intended to slip out into the garden and meet her conveniently located lover. Damian made one immediate decision. If he was to be cuckolded again, it would not be by Denford. His wife had enjoyed Julian’s attentions for the last time and he would make sure of it, even if he had to personally stand guard.
“Go back to bed, my dear,” he said. “If you will tell me the title, I will find your book.”
“Thank you,” she said.
A door connected to the chamber that housed the countess. He’d often visited his mother in that room, once his father had left the house. She liked the company of her children in the morning, after she had risen. How eagerly he and Amelia had awaited the summons that gave them a welcome respite from their studies and plunged them into the enchanted, scented world of Anthea, Lady Windermere. For a moment he was ten years old again, showering his twin with hair powder under their mother’s amused gaze. He ached to step through that door and discover that the two females who’d dominated his childhood were still alive and still laughing.
Instead he would find his unwanted wife.
He had to admit that under other circumstances she would no longer be “unwanted.” Her looks had improved, greatly, since their marriage. In her personal appearance she showed signs of the good taste so lamentably lacking in her additions to the decoration of the house. He hated to think what she might have done with his mother’s chamber.
He’d looked into her eyes that afternoon and had the oddest desire to kiss her lying mouth. If not for Julian, damn him, he’d be quite eager to join her in bed, but his intention of resuming marital congress with his wife had been complicated by the discovery of her infidelity. His immediate reaction was to cast her off, but things weren’t as simple as that. Only by siring an heir were the greatest financial advantages of his marriage to be reaped; he needed to maintain relations with Denford, at least for now; and a divorce was unthinkable if he was to have any future success in his career. It was highly unlikely that such a scandal would allow him to achieve the post of foreign secretary.
Clearly he was never going to enjoy the kind of love that his oddly matched parents had enjoyed, but when he wed Chorley’s niece to gain back Beaulieu he’d given up that chance. He ought, at least in theory, to be able to live with a faithless bride, as long as discretion could be maintained. Such a marriage was hardly unheard of in the higher levels of society. In one area, however, he’d discovered a sticking point: His children must be his own.
Until he was certain that Cynthia was not with child by her lover, he would not share her bed. In the meantime, he’d pretend to resume his friendship with Julian and get him to sell the pictures to the Prince of Alt-Brandenburg. After that he would decide what to do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant for the dastardly duke, and Lady Windermere would need to atone before she was (perhaps) magnanimously forgiven on a promise of future good behavior.
Pacing around the room he was drawn to that door. Placing his ear against it he heard nothing. His wife must have dismissed her maid some time ago, as he had his valet. Then he heard a latch, and soft footsteps in the passage outside their rooms. He sped over to his own exit and discovered her holding a candlestick and headed for the stairs.
“My lady.” He bowed ironically.
“My lord.” Her free hand clutched at her pale blue satin wrapper, liberally trimmed with lace. With golden hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked more like an angel than an adulteress.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I was going down to fetch my book.”
“Why not ring for a servant?”
“They have retired and it’s no trouble for me to go. I am not ready to sleep.”
She blushed, as well she might if she intended to slip out into the garden and meet her conveniently located lover. Damian made one immediate decision. If he was to be cuckolded again, it would not be by Denford. His wife had enjoyed Julian’s attentions for the last time and he would make sure of it, even if he had to personally stand guard.
“Go back to bed, my dear,” he said. “If you will tell me the title, I will find your book.”
“Thank you,” she said.
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