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“Notice him!” Fitzroy replied. “I could quite easily adopt him, if I thought that his mother would give him up. Don’t stint on apples from the store, now, will you?”

  Fitzroy exchanged his short crop for the driving whip that George offered, and swung himself into the phaeton.

  As he gave his team their heads and swept out of the yard, he still took the time to wave and smile to the little family.

  Joanna walked away, then dropped onto a marble seat near the lawn.

  She could almost hear his implacable voice: I most particularly don’t want children.

  Why? Why had he said it? What on earth was she to make of him? It seemed the most unlikely attribute for Fitzroy Monteith Mountfitchet, but he was obviously wonderful with children and liked them.

  So why did he not want his own?

  The only answer that came to mind was that he didn’t want children with her, and of course he would never sire bastards.

  Joanna leaned her head onto her palms and forced herself to face it.

  Her art was the most important gift in her life. But something had changed in her since she had made that absolute statement to her mother. She had shed tears over baby Elaine because a strange longing had seized her heart and would not let go.

  She did want to paint, but she also wanted babies.

  It was a strange and desolate revelation.

  * * *

  Fitzroy spun his bays around the corner of his property, only to be forced to pull up sharply. One of the horses reared a little, and took a firm hand to bring back under control.

  His brother, mounted on a black gelding, blocked the road.

  “For God’s sake,” Fitzroy snapped. “I’m in a devilish hurry.”

  Quentin swung his horse out of the way so that he could ride alongside the carriage.

  “You’re always in a damned hurry. I want but one word from you. Lady Carhill? May I pursue her?”

  “Chase any lady you like!”

  “I rather thought you had a proprietary interest. You don’t wish to court her?”

  “Devil take it,” Fitzroy said. “I do not. If there is any lady that I would really like to woo, it’s my wife. Make what the devil you like out of that!”

  Fitzroy whipped up his team, not caring that Quentin was left staring after him as the phaeton disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  * * *

  Joanna wore her wedding dress to Lady Reed’s ball. Mrs. Price had made some alterations to it, taking out the lace insert at the neck, so that it swept low across her breasts, shortening the sleeves, and trimming the ivory silk at neck and hem with an elegant border of chocolate piping.

  Her new dresses weren’t ready yet, and her life at Miss Able’s Academy hadn’t prepared her with many ball gowns.

  Fitzroy did not take her.

  She had not seen him since he had driven his team of bays from the stable yard.

  He had not joined her in Lady Mary’s drawing room later that day. Instead his sister received a bouquet of flowers and a charming note of apology.

  So Joanna traveled with her mother, though she and Lady Acton discussed nothing but fashion during the journey. They were on their way to a society event, that was all. As the new Lady Tarrant, Joanna must put in an appearance.

  If Joanna’s mother had either concern or curiosity about her daughter’s hurried marriage, she did not express it.

  Fitzroy was already there. Joanna saw him as soon as she entered Lady Reed’s ballroom. He was taller than most of the men, with an easy, commanding presence that could never be overlooked.

  As if drawn to notice her in exchange, Fitzroy glanced in her direction. He gave her a quick, impersonal nod, his gaze bleak and his face rigid, then returned his attention to his companion.

  He was engaged in a very obvious flirtation with a petite redhead, apparently their hostess.

  Lady Acton’s eyes narrowed a little, but she said nothing as she took her daughter about to introduce her to the company.

  Joanna had no reason to care, did she? Theirs wasn’t a real marriage. Fitzroy could flirt with any female he liked, and he had even given her permission to take lovers, as well, if she wanted.

  However, Joanna had no desire to take a lover, though it wasn’t long before her dance card was filled. She moved through the dances with a succession of young men, some of them old friends of the family, some total strangers.

  She could not imagine beginning an affair with any of them.

  Through all of it, she watched Fitzroy. His flirtation was growing more serious.

  A shameless intimacy was developing in front of everyone there: a touched hand, an inclination of the head, a certain way of smiling. Lady Reed seemed to be melting, as if she were a small planet spinning too close to the sun.

  Fitzroy dropped his dark head to the flame of her hair and laughed at something she said.

  Joanna closed her eyes. Of course he had mistresses. That had been understood from the beginning. But he could not! He could not do this so publicly!

  She glanced back. Lady Reed had allowed him to slide an arm about her waist. Fitzroy touched one finger to her lips and let it linger there for a moment, then he led her from the room.

  The eyes of most of the crowd watched it happen, before some of those eyes moved to stare at Joanna with curiosity, or sympathy, or heartless glee.

  As soon as she could, without it being obvious, Joanna left her partner and the ballroom.

  The intense, angry humiliation of it burned in her heart, though she didn’t want to care. What an outrageous betrayal! He had promised to keep up appearances in public, hadn’t he? Obviously this was his idea of maintaining his reputation—that of a rake—and he had no concern whatsoever for hers.

  She entered the small powder room set aside for the ladies and sank into a chair, afraid she might cry, bawl like a child, and determined not to do so.

  The door opened behind her.

  “I’m not sure whether to envy or pity you, dear child,” a woman’s voice said.

  Joanna looked around. A beautiful blonde was smiling archly down at her.

  “I am Elizabeth, Lady Carhill, a particular friend of your husband’s. All of us adore him, of course, though it’s very hard to imagine being married to him. I’m sure we can’t understand why he should wed a girl fresh from the schoolroom at a moment’s notice. Should it fill our hearts with covetousness or compassion? What’s he really like—is it glorious or dreadful?”

  Joanna sat frozen in her chair. What on earth was this?

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lady Carhill opened her fan and toyed with the silk tassel on the handle.

  “A man like Fitzroy? On your honeymoon? Of course you know what I mean. But when he was so desperately in love with his Spanish wife . . . It must be very difficult for you.”

  “No, not at all,” Joanna replied. “Why should it be?”

  Lady Carhill laughed a little unsteadily. A slight odor of wine colored her breath.

  “Well, we can all envy someone who has the right to claim the brilliant Lord Tarrant as her own. But, alas, it’s rather sad to see the little wife so obviously neglected, while he disappears into private quarters with Lady Reed. Lady Reed, of all females! I was told she would be next. But perhaps she has the headache and he merely comforts her?”

  “Perhaps the pain is his,” Joanna said sharply. “And she comforts him.”

  “No doubt she does.” Lady Carhill gave a deep sigh, tilting her blond head ruefully to one side behind her fan. “And if Fitzroy wants a woman with enough experience to do it right, I suppose Lady Reed has plenty of comfort to offer. He was mine the last time, and he will bed Lady Kettering next Friday. It’s all arranged.”

  Joanna stood up.

  So this is what they mean when they talk about a man being a rake? A different woman every week, and in public, with no shame at all!

  She wanted to go home. Not to Fitzroy’s house, but to King’s Acton, back to the s
afety of her childhood and a life lived in innocence, now forever shattered.

  Leaving Lady Carhill nervously folding and unfolding her fan, she marched back into the hallway.

  * * *

  “Do you think he is down to her petticoats by now?” someone asked with a hint of petulance.

  Joanna turned to find Quentin grinning down at her. He was clearly three sheets to the wind.

  He winked at her like a conspirator.

  “I imagine the petticoats were shed some ten minutes ago,” Joanna said, her cheeks burning.

  “Don’t you want revenge?” Quentin stepped closer. “I should, if it were me—even though I didn’t love her—if my wife did that in front of the entire ton.”

  Joanna felt hideously vulnerable, though she was determined not to show it.

  “What kind of revenge?”

  Quentin touched her cheek with his fingers. “What’s sauce for the goose is an entire feast for the gander, I should think. How he would hate it, if you paid him back in the same false coin!”

  Joanna had very few reserves left. She was afraid she would shatter and make an embarrassing scene. The temptation to allow Quentin, or anyone, to take her in his arms and hold her was almost overwhelming.

  From some deep well she dredged up another few moments of courage.

  “Are you offering yourself? You think I should start an affair with my husband’s brother? If it’s outré for brothers to share a mistress, surely it’s unseemly for them to share a wife. Fitzroy was forced into this marriage to save your neck, for heaven’s sake. He never claimed to love me. Good Lord, why does everybody hate him so much?”

  “I don’t hate him.” Quentin brushed his folded knuckles over her earlobe. He was still smiling, very handsome and a little disheveled. “I just hate to see what he’s doing.”

  Joanna pushed his hand away. Humiliating tears still threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  “Do you? I’m sure I don’t see why.”

  “By God!” His eyes narrowed as he enfolded her fingers in his strong palm and held tightly to her hand. “Don’t say that you’ve fallen under his spell, too, in spite of his malevolence? For God’s sake, my dear girl, he’ll break your heart!”

  Quentin was very foxed, with the clear confidence and muddied judgment of several hours of heavy drinking behind him. He carried her fingers to his lips and kissed them fervently.

  “Run away with me, Joanna!”

  “Run away with you? Are you mad? I thought only this morning you were planning the conquest of Lady Carhill?”

  “I was,” Quentin said, turning her hand palm up and kissing the inside of her wrist. “But my present mistress must be discharged first. To run away with you again now would infuriate her. Perhaps then she would release me from her clutches?”

  Joanna choked back a small, bitter laugh. “I had no idea that being a rake was so complicated.”

  “Yes, it’s delicious. Never take a lover who’s not English, Joanna. Damn it if you aren’t too good for Fitzroy! Don’t let him destroy you as he’s destroyed the others!” Quentin pulled her into his arms. “Leave him, why don’t you? He’s more the devil’s disciple than I am.”

  A man spoke from the shadows in a voice as biting as a winter wind in a graveyard.

  “Last time we had true love in a tavern. Is it now to be a cuckolding in the corridor?”

  Chapter 10

  Joanna spun about to see Fitzroy staring soberly at her as she stood wrapped in his brother’s embrace. Lady Reed was nowhere to be seen.

  “It’s only solace,” Quentin said, releasing her. “What the devil did you mean by what you said to me this morning? If you must insist on such public neglect of your wife, the horns will no doubt sprout quickly enough.”

  “For God’s sake, go away, Quentin!” Fitzroy seemed only infinitely weary. “I don’t think Joanna can take much more.”

  Quentin stared at him for a moment, then with a wobbly bow to Joanna, left them.

  Fitzroy stalked up to her.

  As the light caught his features she felt her heart catch. Her artist’s eye pierced his cool control to the turmoil beneath.

  Like the vampire, Joanna thought suddenly, caught out in the open at dawn—on the edge of dissolution—eyes reflecting an incredulous shock and an infinite regret. While I stand here in my made-over wedding dress, feeling sorry for myself. What, what is happening?

  “Joanna, I have nothing to say but that I am most deeply, sincerely sorry for this whole shabby business. You shouldn’t have come, but I knew of no way to avoid it without causing even more comment. May I take you home?”

  The quietness in his voice frightened her, for it threatened to disarm her completely. It would be easier to cope with that bitter, sarcastic man who had first surprised her with Quentin.

  She turned away from him, lifting her chin.

  “It would be the most convenient way to avoid more scandal, wouldn’t it? Is my public humiliation to be on a regular basis, or just every Friday?”

  He caught her arm and turned her to face him. “Why Friday?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Perhaps I didn’t quite understand our bargain when we made it, but I did promise not to interfere in your life. Bed any woman you please. Why not a new one each week? It’s nothing to me.”

  His face was set, rigid. “Who told you?”

  “Lady Carhill. Oh, fiddlesticks! I’m more than ready to leave.”

  Fitzroy snapped his fingers for a servant and ordered the carriage. A few minutes later he helped his wife into the plush interior in silence. To Joanna’s astonishment, he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against the warm strength of his body.

  “There aren’t apologies enough in the language, Joanna. But I’m sorry that Lady Carhill chose to take out her frustrations on you. None of this is your fault.”

  Joanna lay enfolded, dry-eyed, his heart beating steadily beneath her cheek.

  She felt angry, and wretched, and filled with miserable indignation. But his mouth against her hair left her mesmerized, drowning her sorrow and her hurt in a sea of longing.

  * * *

  “Well?” The word conveyed an exquisite archness of tone. “And how was he, our puissant Fitzroy Mountfitchet?”

  Lady Reed looked up, her face pale. Her red hair was a little disordered, as if carelessly bundled back into its pins. Her friend wafted her fan idly, the large sapphire on her finger catching the candlelight in a blaze of blue fire. The two women sat alone in a private parlor away from the noise and bustle of the ball.

  “Glorious,” she whispered. “And incorrigible. Why did you suggest that he’d want to become my lover? Why? I did everything just as you said, and I know he desired me quite desperately. He’s a man, after all.”

  “And yet?”

  “In spite of everything I made him do, he didn’t seem humiliated, and he would not bed me. In the end he was merciless, in that cold, implacable way he has, mingled still with ineffable charm. I don’t know if he’s quite human. But it was as if some part of him weren’t even there, so that I had no power over him. While if he’d so much as snapped his fingers, I’d have licked his damn boots.”

  The fan stopped moving for a moment, though candlelight still glittered on the ring.

  “He is humiliated, Lady Reed, and the damage is sinking deeper every day. More deeply and more permanently than even he may think. Did you see the little wife, her eyes like saucers? He will hate himself, loathe himself, for doing this to her. This sudden marriage adds such a delicious piquancy to our game, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t care about the game you’re playing. I just wanted him, that’s all, and I thought I could punish him a little for not similarly desiring me. That’s why I agreed to your demands, as well as it settling my gaming debt.”

  “Indeed. So it has. Meanwhile, as an additional delight, we have Richard Acton waiting in the wings, not even aware that he has more than a walk-on part.”

  “Why do
you want to hurt him so much? All this seems a pretty savage revenge for some minor lapse of gallantry.”

  The fan closed with a snap. The soft accent became more marked.

  “A minor lapse? For God’s sake, for what he did in Spain, death would be too easy.”

  But Lady Reed laid her red head on her arm and began to weep.

  * * *

  Joanna stared down at him, despising herself for wanting him to stay after what he had just done.

  “You’re going out again? Now? It’s almost dawn. Why?”

  They had not gone to her studio when they came back from the ball. Joanna could not paint. She had far too many strange emotions seething in her to do anything but go to bed and try to forget it all.

  Her husband had brought her back to their house, escorted her to the door of her bedroom, and turned away. But he was not heading toward his own room. He was going back down the stairs that led onto the street outside.

  Before she could stop herself, her deadly question slipped out into the silent hallway and hung over Joanna like the Sword of Damocles.

  Fitzroy was instantly arrested. He stopped and turned around.

  “Does it make a difference?”

  She didn’t want to show so little pride, to open herself for another wound, but the words came out anyway, clipped and angry.

  “Aren’t you going to explain?”

  “I can’t. But not because it’s you doing the asking. Try to believe that. Nothing I do is a reflection on you. Try to sleep, Joanna.”

  With an odd, crooked smile he picked up his hat and saluted her briefly, before he opened the front door and disappeared.

  * * *

  Fitzroy rode fast into town. It had been worse than he could have imagined with Lady Reed. Ugly, destructive, a travesty of everything he had ever felt or desired about women. The foulness of that shameless manipulation tasted like ash in his mouth, poisoning the blood.

  It wouldn’t matter if he were the only one being damaged. But there was Joanna, with her brave defiance and unexpected compassion in the face of his outrageous behavior.

  He hadn’t wanted to marry her, but she moved him more deeply than he could understand. All he wanted was the chance to find out why, to court her and discover more about her. Instead he was pursuing women he didn’t want, slaughtering his wife’s innocence and faith in the world.