The Seduction of His Wife Page 3

  Because if she didn’t retrieve the painting, she feared Richard would find out about it. She wished she’d never set eyes on her husband. Wished he hadn’t threatened to come home. Though she had a hard time believing he would come to the town house.

  How long had he been in England? She knew he traveled the world extensively, was sure he had a house in India, too; that was the extent of her knowledge, since he’d never bothered to send his father word of his whereabouts. And it wasn’t as though he’d write to her or, God forbid, pay her a visit when he was in England. Why should he visit her? He hadn’t even come home for his father’s funeral.

  Fate was cruel, vicious.

  She stood and untied her apron strings, trying to rid her mind of all the questions and worries plaguing her.

  The drapes were drawn back, the sun warming the room quickly at this hour. Not only would she swelter in here midday from the midsummer heat, but she’d not be left in peace hiding in here past lunchtime. Her sisters would come looking for her soon if she didn’t meet them for a walk, as was part of their usual morning ritual.

  When she stepped outside, her sisters were sitting around the wrought-iron table in the small garden path, luncheon already set up.

  Abby, the youngest sister, looked up from her book and raised a conspiratorial brow. “See, I told you she’d be down before the noon hour. Guilt at abandoning us to our own devices has a tendency to gnaw at her.”

  “Couldn’t you have stayed in your painting room for a while longer?” Grace asked.

  “I’m sure you were minutes away from retrieving me. What did you lose, Grace?”

  Grace sulked. “My pearl earrings.”

  “You really should know better than betting your odds against Abby.” Emma rubbed her hand over Grace’s arm in a soothing gesture. “I don’t think you’ve ever won.”

  The footman standing by the serving cart pulled the cast-iron chair out for her. When she settled her skirts under the table, he dropped a serviette in her lap. A plate of fresh fruits and another with layers of sandwiches was set in front of her.

  “Thank you. Take a break indoors,” she told the man.

  With a bow, he retreated. Today, private matters amongst sisters needed to be discussed, and Emma did not want to hear whisperings of it from the staff at a later date. They had pristine reputations to keep intact. Well, her two sisters did. Emma was merely tolerated in society. She’d long ago been scorned for her inability to keep her husband from wandering foreign lands, indulging in all sorts of trade. Then there was her longtime association with the Duke of Vane—the only person to ever befriend an awkward young woman whose husband had run off. Vane was also the embodiment of the word wicked, and a pleasure seeker in the most carnal of senses. It was no wonder so many thought she was having an affair with such a man: Many women couldn’t resist him.

  If word ever escaped that she painted erotic scenes that some of the richest lords owned, she’d be completely banished from polite society.

  Emma had filled Grace in on everything that had happened in the bawdy house when they’d gone up to bed the previous night. Abby probably knew all those details by now. Emma hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk about the letter Waverly had written. She’d not be able to hide it much longer since he planned to visit her at Mansfield Hall.

  Grace was the first to break the silence. “What are you going to do about Waverly?”

  She leaned back into the cold support of the chair. “I don’t know.”

  “Didn’t he at least leave a note?” Abby’s eyes widened when she didn’t respond. “I knew it. Tell us what that rapscallion said.”

  “He said he would meet me at the country house. We will have to leave tomorrow.”

  “And what of your husband? What will you do if he comes here looking for you?” Grace asked.

  The idea was so ludicrous that she laughed. “Richard will not come here. Not with the three of us in residence. I’m worried, yes, because I’ve made a mess of things. It was unwise of me to sell that portrait.”

  “Emma, you’re being too hard on yourself. Your art is very exclusive and should have never found itself in the hands of that scoundrel.”

  “What am I going to do if Richard finds out?”

  “How will he?” Grace said.

  Emma did not want him to come home. Not with everything in her life upside down at the moment. Perhaps her sister was right. Perhaps her secrets were safe.

  “Now, what do we do with Waverly?” Abby asked.

  Emma cast her eyes toward her half-empty plate. “I’ll figure him out when the time comes.”

  “I ought to pay the man a visit, give him a few choice words to swallow.” Grace forked a mouthful of melon viciously.

  “You can’t. Let me handle Waverly my own way.”

  “I don’t think you can reason with the man. It’s obvious what he wants,” Abby was quick to say.

  “And what is that,” Grace shot back.

  “I may not have married, probably never will, seeing as I’m so long in the tooth, but I’ll not play ignorant with my sisters. I know what happens in the marriage bed, and outside of it for that matter.” Abby gave them both a piercing glare that dared them to ask more. “Don’t you see what Waverly wants?”

  Yes, she’d suspected Waverly’s intentions in luring her to a house that catered to women with loose morals.

  “Abigail Anne Hallaway, you will not say such things!” Grace admonished. “Some devil has taken hold of your tongue.” Did Grace wish to shield Emma from this truth? It was pointless to do such a thing.

  “I think the devil more or less ran away with it long ago.” Abby grinned at them both, closed her book, set it on the table, and picked up a vine full of grapes.

  Emma cut off a retort from Grace. “Leave Waverly to me.”

  Grace ripped off a chunk of bread from the center of the table and sat heavily in her chair, glaring at Abby.

  “Why do you suppose he never showed?” Abby remarked, finger tapping her lip in thought as she focused on Emma again.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he saw Richard and decided to leave? Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he’s already revealed the truth.”

  “He hasn’t. We would have heard something by now.” Grace patted her hand in a comforting gesture. “We’ll have to wait and see what happens when we return to Mansfield Hall.”

  All three sisters nodded their agreement.

  “Come on,” Emma suggested. “Let’s go for a walk and leave this mess behind us at least for the remainder of the day.”

  Grace nodded. Abby tied her straw bonnet under her chin before they were arm in arm venturing back through the house and toward the park.

  “I still want to know what you’ll do if your husband does come home?” Grace asked with a wistful sigh. Always the romantic.

  “Do you really think he will?” Silly of her to ask, but the old hope of having him near, of having him come to see her as he used to when they courted so long ago, was taking root in her heart. “He never wanted a wife.”

  How it pained her to know that for the truth. Given half a chance, she knew she could have been a good wife to him. It seemed too late for such youthful fantasies.

  “When men grow older, and you know I speak from experience,” Grace said, “they want to settle down into a quieter life with their wives at their side.”

  “I daresay,” Abby put in, laughing, “Asbury isn’t so old as your husband was, Grace.”

  Grace and Emma both giggled with the assessment. Richard had turned thirty-one two months past. Grace’s husband must have been in his sixth, almost seventh, decade when he’d passed away.

  “True,” Grace said. “But he probably wants children before he’s too old. My husband already had children to take over his title and lands.”

  Did Emma want to be a mother? It seemed unlikely at this stage in her marriage. Especially after all the years she’d craved her husband’s attention and received none. But the fact
of the matter was, she was aging, and she wanted children very much.

  When she was growing up, she’d always thought she’d have her own brood by the ripe age of twenty-seven.

  She’d waited on her husband too long, wasted too many years pining after something that wasn’t meant to be. For the time being, she had her paintings to keep her time occupied. Not that she could share it with the world since they were mostly of an erotic nature. But it was something to keep her mind engaged.

  They walked down the winding path of the Serpentine and sat on a bench to watch the ducks swim by.

  Finally, Emma said, “Children would be a welcome distraction, and wouldn’t be able to leave me so readily as my husband did.”

  Abby gave her a pensive look. “You were both so young that it’s not fair to fault either of you in a failed marriage. We are surrounded by failed marriages. Most of our acquaintances will never have the security of wedded bliss.” She scrunched up her nose. “Asbury should have known better than to keep running away from his life here. It’s done neither of you any good. A shame really. And you are a fine woman, Em. Don’t let that blackguard husband of yours make you think otherwise.”

  “I don’t think otherwise.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Abby tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let the sun warm her face.

  “You know things could change for the better if he does come home,” Grace interjected. “You got on well enough when you were younger. People change over time.”

  Never could a statement be truer. She had changed a great deal over the years, mostly in the last three years since Richard’s father had passed away. The man had been like a father to her. Her father-in-law had given her wings and set her free. He’d been a good man and was everything Richard apparently was not.

  “I never spent any time with Richard outside the watchful eye of our chaperone. Someone was always five feet behind us making sure we acted appropriately. Most visits, we hardly had the opportunity to talk.”

  “Yet in those allotted times, he was always pleasant with you,” Grace pointed out.

  “I wonder if it was an act. Something to keep his father happy. I can’t blame him for leaving; he was a young man bent on adventure. I was still a child in his eyes.”

  From the moment he’d entered her bedchamber on their wedding night, she’d started to cry. And she’d continued to cry for the remainder of the evening. She’d ruined a perfectly good wedding day by turning into a sniveling, whining young woman. He’d done his duty, and of course she’d let him. Without so much as a good-bye, he had left her that very night.

  She shivered despite the warmth outside. She didn’t like these memories resurfacing. It had taken her years to bury the happy and sad memories in the back of her mind. She wished she could banish Richard completely from her thoughts, but doubted he’d ever completely disappear from them.

  Chapter 4

  How can you miss that which you do not know?

  The housekeeper opened the door instead of the butler. The older woman stared at him in shock. Richard couldn’t blame her. He’d not set foot in his town house since his father’s death. The woman looked as though she’d faint from his presence.

  “My lord,” she said on stepping away from the doorway to admit him into the house.

  “Is my wife in residence?”

  That had been on his mind all morning. Had she stayed in Town, or had she left for Mansfield Hall at first light?

  “Not at the moment, my lord.” Richard had always been careful to avoid staying at the town house whenever Emma was in residence. He had no plans to avoid her this time. “She’s gone for a walk with Lady Grace and Miss Abigail.”

  “Send your mistress into the parlor when she’s back. And have the master bedroom set up for me. Mr. Lioni will occupy the guest room closest to the stairs.”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  The woman walked down the hall at a clipped pace to do as he bid. Dante came through the door the next moment.

  “How long are we staying?”

  “I haven’t decided. We might travel north to my family estate.” Much depended on his wife. He was looking forward to seeing her again. “If anyone knows I’m in London, there’s nothing to stop them from calling on me. I can’t see anyone with this obvious pain in my side. I won’t reveal any weaknesses to potential enemies.”

  “We should consider leaving London immediately.”

  “I’m in too much pain to be jostled around in a carriage. We’ll go in a few days.” His wife was sure to flee for their country home after seeing him. “You’ll have to book passage on the rail to Matlock. We’ll take a carriage the rest of the way.”

  He hadn’t been home to the estate since his wedding day. What would Emma think of his return? Strange that he’d not been able to rid his mind of his wife since last night. She was turning into a damnable nuisance. This desire to see her baffled him. His business took precedence. Always had. Or so it had always seemed in the past.

  There was one important fact that remained: He wasn’t a young man anymore. While his father had been alive, it hadn’t much mattered whether or not Richard had stuck around. The title, the estate, all the entailments had been his for three years now, and he’d done nothing with them.

  He’d meant to come home to England after his father’s death, but he’d been caught up in the politics of his trade. Once his business was sold, he’d have a great deal more time to do his title justice, and fill the role properly as the Earl of Asbury. Part of that meant making peace with his wife and securing the family seat for future generations of Mansfields. And in securing his seat, he’d not be cuckolded by one of her lovers. Seeing her last night had proved that he couldn’t leave her to her own devices any longer.

  He’d not been completely deaf to the gossip surrounding her over the years. There were rumored affairs. Actually, one rumored affair, with a man known for his proclivities where the fairer sex was concerned.

  Richard had settled into a wingback chair, a glass of lemonade in his hand to stave off the heat of midday, when he heard the commotion from the hallway. His wife rushed into the parlor with her hat in hand, gloves still on from her walk.

  Emma tipped her head down in a curtsy. Her blonde curls were loose and spilled around her heart-shaped face. When she looked back at him, he was stunned to silence by her appearance.

  He hadn’t gotten a good impression of her in the dimly lit room last night. Under the full brunt of the sunlight coming in through the open windows, she was a remarkable woman. Her skin was speckled with the lightest of freckles over her thin nose and high cheekbones, which were rosy from her exertions outdoors. Wide, round eyes that were as green as raw jade stared back at him in silent astonishment.

  Had he struck his wife speechless? She’d rendered him quite unable to find his tongue.

  Her height lent her a litheness and agility that made him want to caress her as he would absently stroke a cat. Even her form was pleasing with its curves at the bosom and hips. She was more beautiful than any of the more exotic women he’d spent company with. More striking than he ever remembered or imagined possible.

  He stood, remembering his manners too late. Damn her ability to make him speechless.

  “Emma.”

  “What are you doing here?” she said in a rush, nibbling at her lower lip.

  “This is my house.” He didn’t mean to bite out his words so harshly, but must she question his intentions?

  “You never stay here when I’m in Town.”

  “It seems I need to look out for your welfare. Make sure you act as your position dictates.” He meant it teasingly, but the words came out cross.

  The color drained from her face. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Damnation. He was making a bloody mess of this. “It means you are no longer allowed to venture out in the evening without telling me your whereabouts.” There, that was said without an edge of anger.

  “You have no
right.”

  There was a fire about her that he hadn’t expected. He was intrigued by this new contrast in her character. It was better than the meek obedient young woman she’d once been. Though that didn’t mean he’d tolerate her traipsing around Town with a string of lovers in her wake.

  “As your husband, I have every right.” And he’d be damned if his wife ran wild, mingling with all sorts of degenerates. She was no longer free to do as she pleased if that was how she planned to go about her evenings.

  “One could argue against the fact that you are any sort of husband. I’ll continue doing as I’ve always done.”

  “No. You won’t.” He set his glass on the tall side table and took a step toward her. “It’s within my rights to lock you in this house if it’ll keep you from attending places not fit for a lady.”

  “I dare you to try.”

  He ignored her boldness. He would not be told no. “Don’t tempt me.”

  She raised a brow and pursed her lips. “If you succeed in keeping me here, I will do everything in my power to make you regret coming home.”

  With that, she turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind her. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. That was not the start he was hoping for.

  * * *

  Emma locked herself in her room the first chance she got. She didn’t know what else to do. What else she could say.

  Her husband had really come home. Had wasted no time in installing himself here after their first meeting in a dozen years. It all felt like some cruel joke on her. With the threat of Waverly revealing her art to the greater part of the world, why did Richard have to come home now?

  He was mistaken if he thought he could walk back into her life. If he thought he could control her every move.

  There was nothing to do but leave. Which she’d been planning to do regardless of his presence.

  She needed familiar, comfortable surroundings right now. She knew Richard stayed in their London house on occasion when she was in the country. So whenever she was here, she always imagined his presence. Could even swear she felt him like some sort of ghost, even though he was flesh and blood. She’d never liked this house.