Scoundrel (40 page)

She would rather hear Remmington reassure her on that point. At least Digsby had the courtesy to tell her. “Thank you, Digsby. I appreciate your insight on the matter.”

He bowed, then left Lily alone with her thoughts.

“There is no longer any need to keep ourselves in seclusion,” Remmington announced at dinner that night.

With a single look, he told Digsby to refill his glass of port. Lily found that unusual in that he never drank more than one glass of wine with dinner, and they’d just started the main course. She glanced at her plate as she lifted a forkful of spring peas, with another covert look at the positioning of her gown. She’d dressed in deep purple silk that night, the gown’s square bodice cut so low that she feared she would fall out of it. Remmington took no notice of the gown, her discomfort, or anything else about her appearance. She already regretted the extra time she’d spent on her hair and clothing when it seemed obvious he didn’t appreciate the effort.

One of the peas began to roll off her fork and she tried to correct its balance. She knew a moment of horror when it rolled off the fork in the opposite direction. The pea landed on her chest and disappeared into the cleavage created by the tight bodice of her gown. At the same moment she heard Remmington choke on his wine. She glanced up to see him wiping his face with his napkin, checking his sleeves and jacket for further damage. She took advantage of his distraction to retrieve the errant pea and slip it between the charger and her plate. Digsby remained at his place near the buffet, his gaze on some unknown spot near the chandelier. She released a slow sigh of relief. No one had noticed her mishap.

Remmington cleared his throat. “Yes, well. As I was saying, there is no longer any reason to keep to ourselves. I happened to run into your father at White’s this afternoon, and he mentioned that he would like to host a ball in our honor the week after next. It seems the ideal opportunity to make our formal bow to society as a couple.”

That news surprised her. “Papa hasn’t hosted a ball since my mother died.”

“Yes, he mentioned that fact. He also asked if he might impose upon you to help with some of the planning. Musicians, refreshments, invitations, and whatnot. He intends to ask Lady Bainbridge and Miss Stanhope to act as hostesses, if Miss Stanhope feels recovered enough by that time to attend. However, he felt the planning might be too much for them to take on, considering Miss Stanhope’s weakened condition.”

“Sophie and Lady Bainbridge won’t return from Holybrook House for another two days,” Lily said. “I received a note from Sophie today. She sounds much recovered, but I don’t think she will feel up to planning a ball. I’ll call on Papa tomorrow to begin the arrangements.”

“Very well.”

“I hope Sophie can manage a visit to my seamstress,” she mused. “I will need a new gown for the occasion, but I never know what style or fabrics to choose. Sophie has a good eye for that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think you should force your friend to sit through a fitting and hours at a seamstress’s shop.” Remmington glanced up and she wondered if he hadn’t indulged in too much wine. There was a slightly glazed look about his eyes. He picked up his fork and knife, then cut into a slice of roast beef, his attention focused on the task. “Why don’t you arrange to have the fitting here at the house? I happen to have a certain eye for fashion myself, and I would be happy to lend my opinion.”

She was a little surprised that he showed any interest in the matter. “Are you certain you wouldn’t mind?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he shrugged. “Not at all.”

A quarter of an hour later, he finished his third serving of port and set the glass aside, a signal that the meal was at an end. She laid her napkin down and stood up as well, then he escorted her from the dining room. He released her hand when they reached the staircase.

“I have some papers that need my attention in the library,” he said. “I will join you upstairs in an hour or two.”

She tried to hide her disappointment with a forced smile. He’d made the same excuse the night before, and he hadn’t joined her for nearly four hours, rather than one or two. “I shall see you then, my lord.”

She was asleep by the time he came to her bed. He had her nightgown removed before she was fully awake.

“I did not think you were coming.” Her voice sounded breathless. He brushed her hair aside to press light, sensuous kisses against her neck. “I know I’ve occupied most of your time these past weeks. Are you terribly far behind in your work?”

He made a hushing sound in the back of his throat. His hand stroked a path from the back of her knee, over her hip and waist, to settle against her breast. Then his hand moved lower and Lily soon forgot about his work, forgot about everything but the exquisite beauty of their lovemaking.

He held her for a long time afterward, and she lay very still in his arms. Each night he made love to her for hours, yet he also taught her how to return the pleasure he gave, to explore the passion they shared. She always fell asleep cradled in his arms, his hands stroking her hair or skin, his lips pressed against her forehead or temple. In the morning she always woke up alone.

When they first returned to the town house, she learned they wouldn’t share a room when Digsby delivered her baggage to this one. She’d expected as much.

Only couples too poor to afford separate beds shared one—or those too much in love to be apart even at night. That certainly wasn’t the case in her marriage. She rarely saw Remmington during the days. More and more, she saw him only at dinner, then afterward for a few hours in her bed. Each day he grew a little more reserved in her presence, a little more distant, the silences between them a little more uncomfortable. She pressed herself closer to his side, laid her hand over his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart, and knew in her own that she was losing him.

She bolstered her courage to ask him why. His hand continued to rub her back, gently massaging the muscles until she couldn’t keep her eyelids more than half open. Her lips parted to ask the question, even as her eyes drifted closed. Moments before she was asleep, she felt him shift her onto the bed and ease his arm from beneath her shoulders. Her eyes wouldn’t open, so she tried to reach for him. She couldn’t seem to move, forgot why she wanted to in the first place until she felt his warm breath against her face. He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, his words so soft that she could barely hear them.

“Goodnight, darling.”

She smiled and fell asleep.

The next morning Lily ate another breakfast alone, wondering how Remmington managed to rise so early when he went to bed so late each night. He was in his library already, the door closed, with word to Digsby that he had important work to do and shouldn’t be disturbed. She was almost beginning to anticipate that announcement from Digsby each morning.

After breakfast she went to the sitting room and composed a short note. In it she asked Remmington if he would take her on a ride through the park at three o’clock that afternoon. If he wouldn’t make time in his day for her, she would have to schedule it. She refused to be ignored any longer. Her ploy of scheduling his time would be better than an outright confrontation, she decided. Their ride would present the perfect opportunity to broach the subject of his schedules and routines, and why he ignored her each day. She asked Digsby to deliver the note with Remmington’s lunch, then departed a short time later to call on her father.

The plans for the ball and her father’s company provided a welcome distraction. They spent the morning deciphering one of his Greek scrolls, then discussed the ball over lunch. She took her leave just before one o’clock, so she would have plenty of time to change and look her best for their ride.

When she walked into the town house, Remmington was just leaving. She continued into the foyer and waited for him at the foot of the staircase.

“Ah, there you are, Lily.” He adjusted his cravat as he walked down the stairs, then stopped his descent one step short of the landing. His hand rested on the newel, a pose that emphasized the strong, handsome lines of his body. He wasn’t dressed to go riding. “I left a note in your room. My brother arrived in Town last night, and I promised to meet him at White’s this afternoon. We’re having dinner there tonight as well. I hope you don’t mind if we postpone our outing until another time.”

She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “I didn’t know your brother was in Town.”

“He sent a note around this morning. I’m afraid I committed to the engagement before I received your request.”

Lily gritted her teeth. It seemed he wasn’t so busy that Trevor couldn’t disturb his precious privacy. That disturbed her plenty. “I see.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “If you are set on an afternoon outing, I’m certain Trevor will understand if I send my regrets.”

“No,” she said in a controlled voice. His suggestion would only make her feel as if she’d begged for his time. She would not beg. “That will not be necessary.”

He began to walk past her, and she laid one hand against his sleeve. “Have I done something to make you angry?”

He stared down at her hand, as if startled that she would be presumptive enough to touch him. “Of course not, Lily. I am not the least angry with you.”

“It’s just that you seem so… so distant of late.” Aware of Digsby, who hovered in the foyer behind them, she leaned closer so the servant wouldn’t overhear her. Remmington leaned away, as if he could not bear to be near her. The reaction so surprised Lily that she forgot what she wanted to say.

“We are not becoming distant,” he told her in a firm voice. “We are simply settling into a routine. Married couples do not need to live in one another’s pockets.” He glanced at the clock in the foyer. “I’m already late. You will have to excuse me.”

He lifted her hand for an impersonal kiss, then turned and walked away. Lily stared after him in dumbfounded silence, her grip on the banister so tight that her knuckles turned white. The meaning of his schedules and pointed absences became suddenly clear. Remmington was using his bent for order and routine as an excuse to turn their marriage into one typical of the
ton
. He expected them to go their own way during the day and meet only at night, for only one purpose. She wondered if he would be a “considerate” husband once she became pregnant, and ignore her completely.

The sound of the front door as it closed behind him seemed to shake her from her thoughts. She lifted her chin and marched up the stairs. Remmington wanted a marriage of convenience. He was about to be sorely disappointed. She didn’t have any intention of being the least bit convenient until he admitted that a real marriage needed some measure of love to survive. And they
would
have a real marriage.

Remmington found his brother at a corner table of White’s, his face buried behind a newspaper. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down and poured himself a brandy.

The paper lowered slightly and Trevor peered over the top. “Just fine, thank you.” He cocked his ear to one side. “What’s that? Ah, yes, a perfectly dreadful trip. Rain from here to the border. My driver complained of his gout the entire time. And your tenant problems are solved, due in no small part to my Solomon-like wisdom. Thank you for asking.”

“I am not in the mood for humor today,” Remmington advised.

Trevor ignored the warning. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he laid his newspaper aside. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself in my absence, brother. All London is abuzz with gossip of your surprise marriage and subsequent duel with George Allen. Your reputation has moved from wicked to notorious.” He inclined his head slightly. “My congratulations.”

“It was not a duel,” Remmington snapped. “At the time I shot Allen, he was threatening to shoot my wife.”

The smile disappeared from Trevor’s face. “Are you jesting?”

“No, I am not.”

“I’d heard some odd rumors,” he mused, “but I didn’t give them credit. Most people are saying that Allen dealt you a grievous insult and was foolish enough to provoke you into a duel.”

“I believe Sir Malcolm started that rumor,” Remmington said. “It is the story I prefer. There would be a greater scandal if the truth came out.”

“Don’t tell me that your wife and George Allen…”

“No, it was nothing of the sort. Unfortunately, many would make that mistake.”

“I see,” Trevor mused. “You came to your wife’s rescue and no one will ever know of your heroic efforts. Is that the reason for the long face tonight?”

Remmington’s scowl darkened. He surprised both himself and Trevor by admitting the truth. “My heroic efforts are part of the problem, but not their lack of appreciation. That wasn’t Allen’s only attack on my wife.”

He summed up the events that took place since the night he met Lily. He ended with Allen’s last ill-fated attempt to harm her. “Do you know what she said when it was over?”

Trevor shook his head, fascinated by the tale.

Remmington’s hand tightened around his brandy glass. “She was afraid that Allen would shoot me. She cried because she thought I would be arrested for killing the bastard.”

“It sounds as if she cares for you a great deal,” Trevor said.

“She fancies herself in love with me.” Remmington frowned. “At least, she did. Considering the current state of our marriage, I would no longer swear to that fact. I fear my attitude of late is a sore trial to her temper.”