Page 82 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
With her heart hammering, Daisy moved into the doorway. She could see only the profile of what appeared to be an older woman. Bishop was leaning toward her, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped before him.
“To be clear, this will not be a pleasant experience for you. Divorce is granted—”
He came to an abrupt halt and jerked his attention toward Daisy, who was hovering there, trying to comprehend what she was hearing. No, it was obvious what she was hearing. What she didn’t understand was the reason behind it.
“If you’ll kindly excuse me for a moment,” he said to his visitor, even as he was already unfolding his body before all the words were spoken, before she’d acknowledged his request. He crossed quickly over to Daisy, wrapped his large hand around her upper arm, and drew her into the hallway, a good distance away from that yawning doorway. “What are you doing here at this hour? Is something amiss?”
His brow was deeply furrowed, but all she could surmise was that yes, something was terribly amiss. “What are you doing with that woman?”
Unfurling his fingers, he released his hold on her. “Mrs. Bennett is in want of a divorce.”
Her throat went so dry that it actually hurt to pushout the coming statement with conviction. “You’re going to pretend to have an affair with her.”
He studied her for what seemed an eternity before finally he smiled, the smile that had first taken her breath. She had a strong urge to smack it right off his face. “You’re jealous when you have no reason to be.”
Perhaps she could play cards after all, was not so easy to read because what she was feeling was not jealousy—well, maybe a touch of it—but confusion, hurt, and resentment all forged together into a blade that seemed to be piercing her heart. “She’s going to be coming to you.”
Apparently, accurately gauging the tone of her voice, he quickly sobered, all hint of teasing gone. “Yes.”
“What about us?”
“This doesn’t affect us. We will continue on as we have been doing.”
Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe, as though she’d been stuffed into a corset four sizes too small. How was it that he believed this didn’t affect themat all? She’d thought him a man of intelligence, a man who keenly understood women. But herunderstandingof him felt remarkably off-kilter. Disappointment and fury began simmering and weaving together like wisps of smoke striving to become solid. “What night will be my night?”
“Marguerite—”
“What. Night?”
His frustration was evident while he glanced around the corridor as though he might discover the answer hidden there. “I’ll give her Thursday, I suppose. All the other nights are yours.”
Until another woman showed up in need of assistance and Daisy would lose one more night. “What notation will you put in your appointment diary to identify me? Or have you already penned me in?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Marguerite.”
“Don’t be ridiculous? You are carrying on as though nothing of any substance exists between us. As though we are pretend as well.”
“You know this is what I do. Help ladies forge a path to divorce. Their affairs are pretend, but not yours. Yet even so, we can’t acknowledge our relationship in public. What we have is secret. It must remain so.”
“Why? Do you think I would be ashamed to be seen with you? I wouldn’t even care if all of London speculated that we were lovers. I can withstand the gossips believing I’m having an affair, as long as I am the only one with whom you are associating. But what I will not tolerate is being considered one of many women thought to be warming your bed. I have my pride, and I know my worth.”
She knew how much helping women meant to him, that he was devoted to his cause, but she couldn’t reconcile that he believed having a sullied reputation was the only way that he could offer assistance. “Become an MP, work to change the laws so it’s not as difficult for a woman to get out of an untenable arrangement.”
“I won’t do this from a distance. I won’t find it satisfying. I won’t win.”
She stared at him, struggling to comprehend why being intimately involved was so deuced important to him. Because of what his mother had suffered, yes. But there was more to it than that. “Win? What are you striving to win? Are you playing a game... with whom? Every husband who is not ideal?”
“This has nothing to do withtheirhusbands.” Anger rippled through his voice.
If not their husbands... dear Lord. His mother’s husband. “Your father? That’s it, isn’t it? Somehow, it’s your father. But how does any of what you’re doing affect him?”
“Because when I’m written up in the papers as a fornicator, it brings him shame. Because he is reminded that he should have liberated my mother, not killed her. For him there is no path to redemption except through me. It was the reason he wanted me in the clergy. But I will not assist him in receiving absolution. He will rot in hell.”
“Is he even aware of this game? At what point do you win? When he is dead? When your life has almost run its course? After you’ve sacrificed any chance of happiness at all?”
He lowered his head, his eyes blazing into hers. “What of you? Your mother chose poorly so you will not even entertain the idea of marriage. You have chosen to make no choice at all. I havechosenthis path and I will see it through. I will ensure these ladies do not suffer my mother’s fate.”
“By being judge, jury, and executioner of a marriage without even knowing all the facts? I overheard you. You don’t have any earthly idea what prompted her coming to you.”
