Page 3 of A Rogue's Downfall
He shrugged as he opened the door into his dressing room and saw in some relief that his valet had arrivedand was already making his rooms look lived-in. Hedid not have any idea how he would go about it. Butperhaps, he thought, he should get some ideas beforethe next day dawned. Somehow, he thought suddenly,if anything was going to be set right, it was tomorrowthat it must be done. The memories of last yearneeded to be offset by better memories of this year iftheir marriage was to have a chance of becoming evenhalfway bearable.
“Higher with the topknot, please, Jessie,” she said when she was getting ready for dinner. And then, whenthe task was done, she realized that she looked almostmagnificent enough to be going to a ball. She waswearing the rose pink silk that she had had made forlast Season and never worn before tonight. By the timethe Season had begun last year, she had been marriedand with child and living—alone—at Reardon.
Staring at herself in the looking glass, she considered changing quickly into something a little plainer.But there was no time. Besides, she needed the boost to her morale that her appearance would give her. Shewas terrified. She had already thought of and rejecteda dozen excuses she might send down for not joininghim at dinner. She would not show such cowardice.She was his wife, his countess. They had been marriedfor almost a year. Was she to cower in her own roombecause he had requested the honor—his word—ofher company at dinner? She would not cower.
His coat and knee breeches—knee breeches just as if he were going to court or to Almack’s!—were black,his waistcoat silver, his linen a startling white. Helooked magnificent. As she joined him in the drawingroom, she felt the old catch in the throat and quickening of breath she had always felt at the sight ofhim. London’s most wicked rake, the man most to beavoided, though he had never shown any particularinterest in any of the young girls who had crowdedthe ballrooms and drawing rooms during the entertainments of the Season. She had fallen deeply—andsecretly—in love with him from the moment she hadfirst seen him. Just as almost every other girl haddone, she supposed. The eternal attraction of the rake.Of forbidden fruit. She had woven dreams about him.She had hugged her pillow to her at night, pretendingit was he. Poor silly girl that she had been.
He came toward her, holding out a glass. “Ratafia,” he said when she hesitated. She felt herself flush as shetook the glass and wondered if he remembered—or ifhe knew—that it had been gin at the opera house. Shehad never tasted gin until that evening. It had disgusted her and excited her. And four of them hadmade her light-headed, warm, and reckless. She hadnot been drunk in the way she thought of as drunkenness. She had not been insensible or fuddled in themind. She had known clearly what was happening atevery moment. It was just that she had been madeinto a different person, one who was willing to doeverything that normally was confined to her dreams.Like leaving the masquerade with the Earl of Reardon—she had known who he was from the first moment even though he had been masked and wearinga black domino.
She should not have been at the masquerade at the opera house. No decent woman attended such scandalous affairs. But she had been feeling upset and mutinous at her parents’ refusal to allow her to attend thePearsons’ Valentine’s Ball even though, unlike theyear before, she had made her come-out. They hadbeen obliged to attend a concert, they had told her.There would be time enough for balls and partieswhen the Season began later in the spring. But Duncan had arrived during the evening. Duncan was herdevil-may-care, irresponsible, lovable cousin, who hadbrought a message for her father from a mutual acquaintance and who was going to the opera housemasquerade. She had always been able to wind Duncan about her little finger. She had done so that evening and much against his better judgment—and herown—he had been persuaded to take her with him.Just for a short while, he had said. Just for a shortwhile, she had agreed.
But he had been a careless chaperon and appeared soon enough to have forgotten all about her. His companions had offered her drinks, and, nervous at theboisterousness of the masquerade, she had accepted.And got herself pleasantly drunk. And recognizedwith a leaping of the heart, the tall black-clad gentleman who had asked her to dance. She had dancedwith him for over an hour before agreeing that itwould be more comfortable to be private together fora short while. She had made only a feeble protestwhen she had found herself outside the opera house,then inside a carriage, and then inside a comfortablehouse alone with him.
She had been drunk but not insensible. Not at all.She could remember every moment. She could remember how his mouth had felt and how shocked and excited she had been when he had put his tongue inher mouth. She could remember where he had put hishands and what he had done with them. She couldremember the weight of his body and its splendid masculinity. She could remember the moment he had entered her body. She could even remember her surpriseat feeling no great pain and her realization that herinebriation was acting as a sort of painkiller. But nota pleasure killer. Fully aware of the horror she wouldfeel when she was sober, she had enjoyed every moment of the intimate play of their bodies. This waswhat he felt like, she had thought. This was what happened. At least this was what happened with an experienced rake. It was wonderful.
She had underestimated the horror that soberness brought.
“I have not poisoned it,” he said.
She looked up at him, startled. There must have been a long silence. She must have been staring intoher glass.
“Or would you prefer something stronger?” he asked. The wordginseemed almost to hang in the airbetween them.
“No,” she said. “I must keep my milk pure.” It seemed an unbearably personal thing to say. But whatdid she say to him? And what would he say to her?She realized more fully than she had yet realized thatthey were almost total strangers. Before last Valentine’s Day, they had never spoken. Since then theyhad married and had a child together, but they hadrarely spoken more than a dozen words at a time toeach other.
“Ah, yes,” he said, and she was aware of his eyes straying to her breasts. She lifted her glass to her lipsand realized that her hand was not quite steady. “Dinner is ready. I told Morse that we would come in assoon as you came downstairs.” He took the glass fromher hand and extended an arm for hers.
They had made love, she thought, remembering the feel of him inside her, what he had done there, andthe sensations he had aroused there. And yet apartfrom that, they had scarcely touched each other. Sheset her arm along his. Her fingertips rested againstthe back of his hand. She felt an unbearable physicalawareness.
What if he had come to exercise his conjugal rights? she thought suddenly and felt her fingers press downinvoluntarily on his hand. It was a thought that hadnot entered her mind until this moment. She had assumed that because he never had exercised his rightsin almost a year of marriage, he never would. Butperhaps her pregnancy had held him away at first.Certainly James’s birth would have held him at bay inNovember. Perhaps now after three months he wouldconsider her sexually ready again.
What if he had come for that? What if tonight... ?
“If I seat you at the foot of the table,” he said, “we will have to shout to converse.”
He seated her to his right, sitting at the head of the table, where she usually sat. He intended then thatthey converse? He seemed very close. The roomseemed horribly empty. The presence of Morse and afootman only succeeded in making it seem emptier.
“Is my s— Is James a good baby?” he asked. “Does he give you any trouble?”
She resented the questions. They seemed an intrusion. James was her baby. She had resented his taking the baby into his own arms earlier and carrying himover to the window in order to shut her out. She hadresented the way he had said, “Then he must be fed,”as if she would not have thought of it for herself. Howdid he think she had managed without him?
“He is my joy,” she said, not realizing until the words were spoken how theatrical they sounded. “Ofcourse he is no trouble. He usually sleeps through thenight now. That is good after only three months.”
The conversation seemed to be at an end. What if he wanted another child? The possibility had notstruck her before. There were plenty of women whohad babies yearly. The thought of becoming pregnantagain so soon, of going through the birthing processagain, terrified her. And humiliated her. She wouldhave no cause to complain if that was his reason forcoming home. She was his wife. She had not fullyrealized the helplessness of her situation until this moment. The helplessness of all wives. Perhaps he intended to stay until the deed was done, and he couldreturn to London and all his other women until thetime came to come back to claim ownership of another son. He would doubtless want another son.
Ifthat was why he had come. He had not said why. Perhaps only to spoil Valentine’s Day for her whenshe might at this moment have been enjoying it withHester and some of her other friends.
“Tell me about our son, my lady.” His voice was soft, but the command was unmistakable.
He might have been there to know about James for himself. But he might miss too much pleasure in London if he did that. She looked at him. His dark eyes—she could remember how they had gazed down intohers while his body moved in hers—looked steadily ather.
She licked her lips. “He likes to sleep on his stomach,” she said, “with his legs drawn up beneath him. He looks most peculiar. He was a very unhappy babybefore I discovered that.”
“I sleep on my stomach,” he said.
She almost laughed and then did. Her laughter sounded nervous and quite out of place.
“It is strange what can be inherited,” he said. “Perhaps I should tell you some of my other peculiarities so that you will know what to expect.”
