Page 6 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
The box was too lonely without Antonia and Emma to join her. Their husbands had purchased the box together years ago and the six of them had spent countless evenings there. Now, Antonia was sailing for Tahiti with Lord Cullen Allardyce. Last month, Antonia had literally walked away from her life, her business, her department store in London, with nothing but the clothes on her back to be with him. Emma was in Cumières, France, running champagne vineyards with her husband, Julien Archambeau, Comte du Rocroi. Both of her friends had gone on to new lives, new loves, and she’d been left behind with an empty theatre box and an empty bed.
But more than she missed her friends, she missed Adam. She missed the bed and the sex the most. She and Adam had fought hard and fornicated harder... And, oh, how she missed it. Sex had been on her mind all day yesterday, making her ache, making her want as she’d gone through the ritual and the pain of privately marking Adam’s birthday. Last year, Antonia had been with her. This year, she’d had to face the day alone.
It wasn’t just the physicality of the sex she missed, it was the emotional connection, too. The knowing look they could cast one another across a room that saidI want you. Only you in this whole wide world. The precious moments afterwards when the world narrowed to only Adam’s arms, when there was peace, when the newspaper didn’t intrude and it was truly just the two of them. Bed was their safe space. Perhaps that’s why she liked it so much. In bed, they could talk about anything, say anything. She’d never felt more connected to Adam than when they were in bed together. In bed, she could forget all she’d given up for him and remember the glory of what they had together.
Thatwas what she missed, what she craved, what she envied Emma and Antonia for. They had that again, for a second time. Of course they did. They were both generous and kind. They’d loved their first husbands. They’d been good stewards of the love they’d been given. They’d proven to the fates that they were worthy of having that love again. She wasn’t like them. She’d fought with Adam, she’d resented that Adam wouldn’t allow them a child, that she’d given up her family, such as it was, and the life she’d thought she have for him. In return, she’d expected some sacrifice on his part. But there’d been none. Adam was uncompromising, unyielding in all aspects of his life and his principles, even when it came to his wife.
She’d not honoured those principles as she should have. She’d lost a good man and that loss posed a dark question that loomed large in the deep hours of the night when ghosts walked hand in hand with regrets: was she worthy of love a second time? She had to prove herself worthy of love, of Adam. Justice for the dam would do that, would prove that she’d been a good and loyal wife who had loved her husband.
Then,he’dappeared in her box, Lord Umberton, and made it clear she needn’t be alone, at least not physically. Oysters and champagne could easily lead to other things—things she might have taken him up on last night if her common sense hadn’t intervened. He could only give her sex. He was a stranger. He couldn’t give her the rest.
In the moment, his invitation had made her wonder if the interest in the Bilberry Dam had simply been an excuse, a conversational opener, a reason to meet her. The thought had lasted until he’d manoeuvered the morning appointment out of their interaction. Either he didn’t take no for an answer, or he truly did want to discuss the dam. The businesswoman in her hoped for the latter. Perhaps her articles were beginning to bear fruit, perhaps this man might become an ally. The businesswoman also hoped that by morning light with her vulnerability caged, he would not be so handsome and that he’d be late—something that would make him unlikeable. She desperately needed him to be unlikeable, desperately needed to have something with which to temper her reaction to him.
But he wasn’t late. Nor was he early, not even by a blameable minute. He had the audacity to be punctualandhe was still handsome, perhaps even more so than he’d been last night. In the daylight she could make a study of the interesting juxtapositions he presented: the tousled waves contrasting with the immaculate clothes; the razor-sharp nose abutted by the soft gaze of his eyes from behind the round rims of wire frames.
Had spectacles ever looked that sexy on a man before? They were a definite lure, baiting a woman to draw near, to sit on his lap—no, not merelysit—to hike her skirts to her knees, straddle him and face him eye to eye as she removed those wire frames so that nothing stood between their mutual gaze while she went on to remove other items: his cravat, the ruby tie pin within its folds...
She refocused her thoughts on the study she was making of him. If it weren’t for the obviously advertised expense of his clothing and its excellent cut, one might take him for a new Bohemian—who lived outside of society’s restraints. But he was quite the opposite by dint of his title. Anyone bearing the title ‘Lord’ wasnotoutside society’s constraints. Her uncle had been keen on reminding her of that. A lord’s niece, like herself, had obligations, too. Obligations she’d not upheld. She’d been cast out for those transgressions.
It was a reminder, also, that for all the lap-straddling fantasies running through her head—fantasies in which she was the initiator—that he was not powerless. She had only to look at the body beneath his high-end clothes to know that. The breadth of his shoulders, the leanness of his waist, the long length of his trousered leg all reinforced the message that beyond the inviting depths of his curls and the warmth of his eyes, he was a man confident in his own power, his own appeal.
‘I trust I don’t disappoint?’ Umberton said casually, taking a seat as the door shut behind him.Therewas that confidence she’d noted in him, the confidence to nonchalantly toss off a nuanced phrase with its double meaning and the confidence to correctly attribute her gaze to the interest he raised in her. It was not arrogance that drove him to it. Experience, perhaps? How many women had looked on him and not found him wanting? Perhaps it was the same experience that led her to understand his interest in the box last night had extended beyond their mutual fascination with the Bilberry Dam. This was like recognising like.
‘Not in the least, Lord Umberton.’ She took her seat behind the desk, noting that his gaze had followed the swish of her skirts. ‘Did you enjoy the rest of the performances last night?’ She would test him and his authenticity before they went any further. Was he really interested in the dam? How truthful would he be about his motives?
‘I did not stay, Mrs Griffiths.’ He favoured her with a smile and his topaz eyes teased. ‘There didn’t seem to be a reason to after you turned down my table at Rules.’ Score another point for him. Lord Umberton was punctualandtruthful. He had indeed departed the theatre straight away when he’d left her box. She knew because she’d spent the rest of the evening scanning the crowd for him and not caught sight of him. Not that she’d admit it, especially not to him. There was a thin line between confidence and conceit, and she would not unnecessarily feed his ego.
He asked the reciprocal question demanded by politeness. ‘Did you enjoy the performances, Mrs Griffiths?’
‘They did what they were supposed to do.’ She offered a polite smile and smoothly moved the conversation to the business at hand. ‘What can I help you with regarding the Bilberry Dam?’
He leaned forward, his gaze friendly but intent. ‘I am looking to have my curiosity satisfied. TheLondon Tribunehas run an article this week regarding responsibility for the accident, and other articles about the same have been run earlier in regional papers owned by your corporation. I am curious as to the purpose.’
The response made her prickly. She had real work to do. She did not have time for the mere satisfying of a man’s personal curiosity or answering to a private citizen. ‘So, like the entitled lord you are, you thought to invade my privacy by approaching my theatre box during non-business hours at a non-business venue and simply ask me why my newspaper publishes what it does? You do see the audacity in that, don’t you?’
She certainly saw the fault in it and the fault was all hers. She’d encouraged this when she should have evicted him from her box. In a moment of weakness, a moment of missing Adam on a difficult day, she’d had her head turned by a handsome man. She should have challenged him the moment he’d suggested the appointment. Instead, she’d opted for petty raillery over rising early that contained a hint of bawdry innuendo. ‘Do you have appointments atThe Timestoday as well? Perhaps you’d like to discuss with them why they didn’t run a follow-up story to the newly signed Perpetual Maritime Truce in the Lower Gulf?’
He chuckled at her attempt to shame him with hyperbole. ‘The Bilberry Dam is much closer to home and it is an issue which has already been settled. News by its very definition isnew, something that is as yet unexplored or shared with the masses. What is there new when it comes to the dam?’ He paused, a question on his handsome face. ‘Youareaware that a case cannot be reopened and retried without new facts, are you not?’
‘I am aware of how the law operates, Lord Umberton.’ Her temper rose. He was baiting her on all fronts. She did not care for the condescension veiled as ‘politely informing’ her about the function of the law.
‘Then youdohave new information?’ he said eagerly. ‘The articles hint at it, but one wonders what the sources might be and why they weren’t brought forward earlier when all of this was considered the first time.’
The man vacillated like a weathervane. What should she pay attention to? The eagerness in his voice because he meant to be her ally and wanted to test the veracity of her claims before he aligned himself? Or should she be wary of the discreet, polite jabs his conversation took at her knowledge of the law and the lateness of presenting this recent angle? Or, a third option reared its head to make the game even more complicated, was he baiting her in the hopes of fishing for information? Did he want her to spill all she knew? If so, for what purpose?
In defence, she took a leaf from his own book. ‘I’m not sure how muchyouknow about quality journalism, Lord Umberton, but an honourable reporter protects their sources.’
He levelled his gaze at her, the topaz of his eyes sharpening at her tone. ‘Let me ask you this, then. Are you instigating this or is the paper reporting on behalf of others?’
‘I can’t reveal that.’ She held her ground, wishing she could dislike his line of questioning as much as she liked his gaze. Any other man would have been evicted from her office by now. ‘I don’t see how it makes a difference, nor do I see what business it is of yours. Why are you interested?’
‘Because I sit in the House of Lords and the dam accident was the product of communal negligence. I would like to see that an accident of that magnitude does not happen again. There are other dams in England, Mrs Griffiths.’ He paused before adding sharply, ‘Perhaps that makes my curiosity less banal to you.’
That sounded more like an ally despite the rebuke and Fleur felt a trill of excitement race through her. It was beginning! Shortly after the dam accident last year, she’d hoped MPs would introduce legislation on their own after the call to action from the Holmfirth report which had been clear that laws were needed. But after a year, nothing had been forthcoming. Yet here was traction at last and from higher up the ladder of power than she’d dared to hope. She might get both justiceandthe long-elusive legislation passed with a man like Umberton on her side. And his friends. Where he led, surely others would follow.
‘I think you and I may have almost got off on the wrong foot, Lord Umberton.’ She smiled, determined to seize the opportunity.
‘Almost?’ He arched a dark brow, but his eyes were flirting with her. ‘You’ve called me audaciously entitled and accused me of using that title to selfishly satisfy my curiosity.’
