Page 40 of The Banished Bride
Aurora was his wife.He repeated to himself again, though the words still seemed as incomprehensible as a passage of the Sanskrit.
Contemplating the almost farcical turn things had taken only caused his brooding mood to grow worse. By the time his butler threw open the front door of his imposing townhouse he was in the blackest of humors, and his polished Hessian beat an angry tattoo down the checkered marble floor as he stomped to his study. Scowling, he tossed the package containing the annulment papers on his desk, took a cheroot from his humidor and struck up a light. Then, as a plume of smoke rose up toward the painted ceiling, he paused for an instant, catching sight of his reflection in the gilt mirror over the mantel.
He wiggled his brows. The left corner of his lip moved up and down.
Ridiculous. He didnotmake a face, odious or otherwise.
Another series of wafting rings drifted through the air.Damnation, he fumed, drawing so hard on the tightly rolled tobacco that the tip glowed a fiery orange. He had every right to be burning with anger. Any husband would be in a foul temper on discovering that the female who, above all others, was supposed to accord him unquestioning respect was obstinate, willful, disobedient and possessed of a tongue like a saber.
Not to mention having a mind of her own that was just as sharply honed. How dare she refuse the protection of his name, however meager the benefits had been. How dare she risk her neck—and name—in dangerous exploits. How dare she make it so plain that the idea of him as her husband was a horrible one.
Alex swore again and began pacing before the banked fire. Aurora had entirely too many radical notions to make a proper,biddable wife. He should be delighted with the notion of ending the marriage now that he knew to whom he was legshackled.
Hmmph.With a grunt of satisfaction, he tossed the half-finished cheroot into the hearth and took a seat at his desk. His eyes fell once again upon the legal documents. The sooner they were filed, the sooner he would be free to choose a docile, well-mannered young lady from among the highest circles of thetonto be his countess. Someone who would not dream of voicing her own opinion or contradicting his orders.
The package was shifted to the corner of the desk. He would deliver them back to Perkins once he had a chance to make a few final adjustments to the details of the monetary settlements. But first, there were a number of other pressing matters that needed his attention.
For the next several hours Alex forced himself to pore over a sheaf of papers concerning his various estates and investments. Finally, he threw down his pen in frustration, realizing that he hadn’t been paying the least heed to what he had been reading. What the devil was wrong with him? On countless nights, in countless dreary surroundings, he had fallen asleep dreaming of what it would be like to have a real home of his own. Now fate had dealt him a lucky hand and he should be chafing at the bit to make the most of it. Much as he had pretended otherwise over the years, he cared deeply for his ancestral lands and looked forward to the challenge of building a stable, meaningful life for himself.
So why was his mind wandering so far astray that it might well have still been in India?
The ledger in which he had been writing snapped shut. A glass or two of fine brandy would no doubt help settle the strange agitation affecting his thoughts. He rose and walked in the direction of the formal drawing room, his steps echoing through the deserted hallways. A lone maid peeked out of themusic room, then ducked back inside. Two footmen carrying a settee out of the morning room scurried toward the back stairs, neither daring to venture a glance at the new earl. Trying to ignore the sense of malaise that continued to grip him, Alex picked up his pace, determined to loosen its hold with as much of the aged French spirits as was necessary.
Once he had poured a stiff drink, he sought to relax, but his eyes couldn’t stop from roaming around the ornate space, taking in the gilt chairs, the brocade sofas, the perfectly creased draperies, all of which looked to have been undisturbed for months, if not years. Lord, he hadn’t realized that Woodbridge House was so empty. Chillingly empty. With a stab of fierce longing, he found himself missing the warmth of companionship, the heat of a shared smile, the spark of soft laughter.
His gaze fell on the classical painting above the fireplace. It depicted the Goddess Diana in full hunting regalia. Bow at the ready, eyes alert, chin tilted in youthful confidence, she looked fearless and undaunted by the dangers that might be lurking in the woods around her. Alex stared at the lovely profile, struck by how the artist had captured both vulnerability and strength in the feminine features.
All at once, the glass of spirits shattered against the marble of the hearth.
Women!
He had never allowed any female to pierce the armor of his indifference with her arrows, but it seemed that all the recent upheavals in his life had caused a momentary chink in his defenses. Even so, he should have been far too experienced in dodging danger for the barb to have found its mark.
His teeth clenched at the sight of the amber liquid dripping down the veined marble. It wasn’t as if any real blood had been spilled. The wound was no more than a mere prick, heassured himself. Why, he had only to retreat to his club and the familiar camaraderie of fellow men for the discomfort of it to be quickly forgotten. The shuffle of cards and the savoring of a good claret would in no time banish any lingering rawness caused by thoughts of a certain young lady.
Turning away from the shards of glass buried among the embers, Alex rang for his butler and gave orders for the carriage to be brought around. His hat and greatcoat soon appeared, along with his elegant gloves and walking stick, and within minutes he was off.
There was no discernable change in White’s from ten years ago. He handed his things to a grizzled porter who had undoubtedly served his father, then made his way to one of the gaming rooms, fully intent on falling into an evening of deep play and equally deep cups. It was a blessed relief to see nothing but male faces, he thought on regarding the various tables. The gravelly tones and bawdy comments of the masculine voices sounded just as familiar here in Mayfair as they did in Bombay and Lisbon. It should prove a most satisfactory way to while away the hours until dawn.
A second glance around the room caused him to hesitate. For the most part, the crowd was made up of strangers. There were several men whom he vaguely recognized, but each of them was too engrossed his own game and his own friends to notice the figure at the door. Alex shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, strangely loath to approach any of the groups. In glum silence, he listened to the soft slap of cards, the rattle of dice and the murmured exchanges of triumph and disgust.
“I say, Woodbridge, is it?” A gentleman seated at the nearest gaming table looked up as one of his companions shuffled the deck in preparation for dealing a new hand.
Alex nodded, trying to match the beaked nose and wavy blond hair combed straight back from a high forehead with an actual name.
“Thought I’d got it right. Heard Ainslie greet you the other day as you were leaving Weston’s. Newly arrived from the Peninsula to take up the title, eh? Word has it you have seen action in all manner of exotic locales during your years away from English soil.”
A ghost of a smile played on Alex’s lips. “It appears you are remarkably well informed, sir.”
“Surely you haven’t forgotten how quickly every bit of gossip and all the latest ondits make the rounds about Town,” replied the other man with a hearty laugh. He gave a wave of his hand. “Come, join us. I’m Uxton.” His gesture swept to the others gathered around the green baize. “And this is Foxcroft, Hartsleigh, Cresthill and Grenville.”
They all exchanged polite nods as room was made for another chair. Alex sat down, telling himself he should feel quite gratified that things were going according to his plan. He would soon be trading jovial banter and gibes with new friends, and listening with detached amusement to good natured asides about other members of theton. Several bottles of claret were ordered and he settled in to enjoy his companions and a long night of play.
Their conversation soon caused his spirits to plummet. The observations were shallow, the comments vacuous. They appeared interested primarily in chipping away at the reputation of others in order to build up their own stature, rather than engage in any meaningful talk. All at once he found himself wishing he could hear Aurora’s assessment of the present company. It was her sage judgment and forthright opinion that he valued above all these others. He knew all too well how her sharp insight would cut right through the pompous pretensionand self-important smugness he could see firmly entrenched on the five faces circling the table.
Damnation.It made no sense at all. He was furious with her, and yet he missed the sound of her voice, no matter that the words were more often than not saying something outrageous. More than that, he had to admit that what he really missed was the feel of her slender fingers entwined with his. Her touch was what would help soothe the cursed chill of loneliness from his bones.
The contents of his glass disappeared in one swallow, and with it went all desire to remain where he was. Somehow the idea of gaming and drinking no longer held any appeal when it was Aurora’s face he saw on every card and the memory of her sweet embraces that had him growing more intoxicated by the moment ...
