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Two lines appeared between his eyebrows. “I do not know what you speak of. A guest came to me, and I conversed with her. It was nothing more. I certainly have no interest in her any more than I did in Lady Clarissa. But… are you jealous?”
“No!” she hissed, the word bursting forth like a shot from a catapult. “I am most certainly not jealous. You are free to do whatever you please. You are free to do whatever you wish to do. But I will not have you display your rakish ways in front of all these people.”
Rhys grabbed her by the shoulders and looked at her with a sternness she had never before seen.
“The only person drawing attention to us right now is you, by acting the way you are. There is nothing between me and any of those ladies. As for my rakish ways, I did not intend to reform, but it seems I have. I have not seen the inside of a gentlemen’s club since I married you.”
“Then where were you last night?” she asked.
And then it dawned on her that she sounded like a jealous wife. She had to stop right now.
She shrugged his hands off her and shook her head. “It does not matter. Wherever you were, whatever you did, it does not matter. You can have as many mistresses as you wish.”
“That is very gracious of you. I believe most wives would not be quite so liberal regarding their husbands’ affairs, but I thank you. And yet I must tell you that I have no interest in taking a mistress. Certainly not Lady Sandler.”
“Oh.” The wind had been knocked from her sails. “Well, whatever lady you prefer, you shall have her—just as soon as our arrangement is over.”
“Very well. I have a meeting with the Duke of Windsor soon. Once I can be certain that our partnership is solid, and once you and Lady Woodhaven have bought the building, then there will be no further reason for us to fake a happy marriage. Have you decided which property you wish to take? The townhouse or the country estate? Or shall I buy you another house?”
She took a breath, the cold winter air stabbing her lungs. Why had her uncle decided to host a tea party in the garden in November? True, it had been unseasonably warm, but it seemed so odd—and yet strangely fitting.
“I have not decided.”
“Well, you have to. Because the time will be here before you know it.”
And then Rhys walked past her, back out into the garden.
She watched him cross the grass to where his friend Gideon was sitting beside another gentleman. Then, he sat, grabbed a glass filled with brown liquid, and drained it.
As she watched, she felt as though her heart were truly breaking. She had known for days that their union would soon be over, that they would both be free. But the truth was, she didn’t want to be free of him.
She wanted him. She wanted them to be together. She wanted him to love her. She wanted to be allowed to love him.
But she understood now that that was foolish, and would never be.
CHAPTER 27
Charlotte sat in the conservatory that evening, looking up at the stars. The night sky was clear, with not a cloud in sight.
She had come to this place often since discovering it when touring the house. She had even taken her meals in there. It was quiet, peaceful, and beautiful.
She was lounging in her chair, watching the stars dance across the sky. She had felt like a fool after her uncle’s tea party. She had been jealous; there was no denying it.
And why had she been jealous? Because she loved her husband. Because she had made a cake of herself. She had allowed the attraction that had bothered her all this time to take over, to take root in her heart, and now she was utterly lost.
Rhys would never be hers. He was a rake. The rake of rakes…
She had fought her father so that she did not have to marry Lord Emery, a cruel man who would’ve had carte blanche in every corner of London. Instead, she had married another rake. Another man who would never be hers.
Rhys was, by all accounts, less horrid than Lord Emery. Yet, he had enough scandal attached to his name that he’d been forced into marriage. No matter what he said, she was sure he, too, had carte blanche in every port.
He had sworn there was nothing between him and Lady Clarissa, and he had sworn again the previous night that there was nothing between him and Lady Sandler. He had sounded genuine, and yet he had gone out at night more than once and not come back until morning. So what did that mean?
“Are you speaking to yourself?” His voice came from behind her, and she leaped out of her chair, spinning around so quickly that the chair tipped back and forth with a loudthudin the glass-enclosed space.
She gasped because she was in her nightgown, having not expected him. Quickly, she pulled on her robe and tied the sash at her waist.
“It is not polite to sneak up on ladies.”
