Page 39 of The Banished Bride
A righteous anger helped stem the tide of emotion flowing down her cheeks. She would never have fallen in … bed with him had she known he was no better than all the other philanderers the Sprague Agency for Distressed Females were used to investigating.
And how dare he imply that the unfortunate interlude in Scotland should have the least effect on the original offer that he had made to his nominal wife. A deal was a deal. This was purely business, and she wasn’t about to let yet another quirk of male pride wreak havoc with her life.
Somehow or another, this charade of a marriage was going to be put to an end. And she, for once, was going to reap some reward for having uttered those vows such a long, long time ago.
Aurora gave another sniff and stared out the small window at the bustling scene on Bond Street. An assortment of smart carriages and phaetons vied to squeeze past the drays and wagons, while on either side of the cobbled way richly dressed ladies and natty gentlemen strolled past ornate shop fronts. She supposed she should have been captivated by all the new the sights and sounds before her, but in truth it was impossible to dwell on aught but an entirely different picture.
The raven locks, though still long, had been neatly trimmed, and his cheeks were smoothly shaven rather than covered with a rough stubble. Fine linen and tailored melton wool had replaced the rough garments of a nondescript laborer and an intricately knotted cravat covered the spot where once an intriguing bit of dark curls had peeked through his open shirt.
She sought to stifle a sigh. The first notes of his deep baritone voice had caused her insides to melt, and for an instant it had been not anger and hurt that had quickened her pulse but rather joy and desire. Lord, she had wanted nothing so much as to fling herself into his arms and feel the reassuring warmth of his broad chest, the firm strength of his muscled shoulders ….
The hardening of her mouth turned the sigh into more of a snort.
It was true that Alex was a very attractive man. But he was also a lout and a liar. And a practiced lecher, she reminded herself with some heat. The skill of his kisses and his intimate caresses made it quite clear that he had a good deal of experience in more than the art of warfare. She blinked on recalling a certain book among his things. Tactics and training, indeed! The major was well schooled in storming the strongest of defenses. And obviously well used to coming out on top.
Wretched man! Using such sentiment like a piece of ice to cool the heat flaring up in her very core, Aurora flung herself back against the squabs. She would cease to think about the sensuous curve of his lips and the strong line of his jaw. Nor would she dwell on how his sapphire eyes sparkled with the rich intensity of two precious jewels, for in reality they was only paste, a mocking imitation of something of real value.
Just like the rest of him.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the townhouse on Half Moon Street, it was no longer the trace of tears that marred her countenance but a ferocious scowl.
“Oh, dear,” ventured Miss Robertson, on looking up from the book she was reading as Aurora stalked into the cozy sitting room. “I take it that one or two complications arose during the meeting?”
“Complications?” Aurora threw her reticule down onto the nearest chair, resulting in the muffled sound of breaking glass. “That, my dear Robbie, could be the understatement of the century.”
The bangof the door still reverberated in his ears as Alex regarded the waxed panels with a mixture of anger and exasperation. She was right. His last statement had hardly been a very gentlemanly—or a very wise—thing to say, given what he knew to be her sentiments on the relationship between men and women.
It had been cruel to speak as if what had taken place between them had been purely physical. Though he had yet to unravel the tangle of her emotions, he sensed that she had suffered a loss of more than her maidenhood that fateful night. The fact that she had fled, without so much as confronting him was a mark of how deeply she must have been hurt. There were not many situations, he mused with a flicker of a smile, that would put Aurora Sprague—or rather Fenimore—to flight. Had she been frightened as well as wounded?
But why?
Hell’s Teeth.It was not as if she had been less secretive and tight lipped about her past. She had no right to accuse him of subterfuge when she was as guilty of disguising the truth as he was.
Still, he should have tempered his cynical response. However, the truth of the matter was that he had not exactly been thinking clearly. Indeed, he had not been thinking at all, forhis brain had suddenly refused to function properly the moment she had first turned around.
It still wasn’t.
Aurora was his wife.
Surely he was dreaming! Or foxed. Or insane. His hand raked through his locks, as if searching for some other plausible explanation. But no, fingers scraping scalp forced him to admit he was unfortunately awake, and unfortunately sober. His sanity, however, was still in question.
A timid knock came from the other side of the polished oak. His gruff reply caused it to open a fraction, allowing a pair of anxious eyes to peer in.
“Milord ….”
With a harried sigh, he motioned for Perkins to enter.
“Lady Woodbridge insisted on signing the papers, saying that should you wish to amend any of the first pages, she, er, had no objections.” He cleared his throat with some nervousness. “You made quite clear that you wished to settle this matter as quickly as possible. Shall Seymour and I see that the relevant parts are revised and petition filed today?”
Alex stared at the sheaf of documents in the other man’s hands. “Leave them with me.”
“But sir?—”
“I said, leave them.”
A certain young lady might be impervious to his tone of command, but it seemed to have the desired effect on others. The papers immediately dropped to the table with a thud. “Yes, milord!”
Alex was still looking at them a short while later as they lay beside him on the seat of his carriage. Wrapped neatly within a binder of leather, they looked to have been shuffled, squared and put well in order. He wished he might say the same forhis thoughts. His mind felt as jolted and jostled as the wooden wheels flying over the cobblestones.
