His Lady Mistress (32 page)

Now it ripped him apart to see her like this and to know that but for his own irresponsibility and its consequences, he could have been looking into the future. His future. And hers. But all he could taste were the ashes of the past.

He didn’t realise how long he had been there until a halt was called to play and they all sat down under a tree to share a sizeable repast. His mouth practically watered at the sight of what he thought
might
be plum cake and biscuits, washed down with what was no doubt lemonade.

Champagne and lobster patties never tasted that good.

He should go. Verity could not possibly get into trouble in this company, always excepting the odd stray cricket ball, but
somehow he remained. Watching, soaking up their pleasure like a thief. Knowing that it was just making the pain worse. Seeing what he had wanted. And could not have—unless he broke that damn vow. A vow he was fast coming to realise he should never have made. A vow that should never have been asked of him. But the fact remained that he had made it. If not willingly, at least in full knowledge of what he was doing…no, not full knowledge. He’d been—how old? Twenty-seven? He hadn’t really understood the enormity, the responsibility of his unexpected accession to the title. He had been full of determination that Richard should never see himself as ‘Max’s spare’.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he would ever want his own family. Not just an heir, but children, sons—and daughters—who would share the summers and cricket matches of childhood and munch plum cake in the Green Park as they fended off a couple of greedy spaniels.

For the first time it occurred to him that he had never really cared that Freddy was the heir. He just hadn’t liked being seen as little more than a back up. He needed to talk to Richard. Explain his decision…His decision? Dazed he realised that he had already made his choice. That it had been made watching Verity and these boys. She was his. She had trusted him, loved him. And he loved her too much to ask her to be his wife—his lover—but never bear his child. He couldn’t do that to her.

He blinked as he came around the corner within view of the house. Richard’s curricle stood in the road and a footman was heaving luggage into the boot. Damn! Where the devil was he off to, just when he was needed?

He lengthened his stride and reached the bottom of the steps just as Richard limped out of the door, shrugging himself into his driving coat.

‘Where the devil—’

Richard cut him off. ‘Blakeney. I’ve had enough of Lon
don.’ He nodded to the footman. ‘Thanks, Charles. That’s all.’

‘Yessir.’

The groom holding the horses looked at Richard expectantly.

‘Ah, Payne. Walk ’em, please.’ He turned to Max.

‘I need to talk to you,’ said Max. On the street wouldn’t have been his choice of venue, but needs must.

‘Mmm. So I see,’ said Richard. ‘First things first. I’m going down to Blakeney because I think you and Verity need time
alone
to sort out your marriage. Sorry if I’ve gone beyond the line, old chap, but there it is.’

‘Just…just what…’ Max tugged at his cravat ‘…um, what do you think needs sorting out?’

Richard spluttered. ‘Confound it, Max! Do you need it spelt out? I want to be an uncle! Does that help?’

Max felt his jaw drop. ‘An uncle?’

Richard grinned sheepishly. ‘Oh, very well. And a godfather. In fact, I’ll damn well call you out if you ask anyone else!’

‘Not…not an earl?’ The moment the words left his lips Max knew his mistake.

‘An earl? How the devil can I…?’ Richard stared, his eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. ‘Damn it, Max! Is
that
what this has all been about? Did Mama…?’ He swore violently. ‘She did! You’ve been putting Verity and yourself through hell over my supposed expectations? You
idiot
! As if I minded being
your
spare!’

He barely paused for breath. ‘Listen, Max—if Mama dragged some deathbed promise out of you, forget it. Utter fustian! She had no right! She said something of the sort to me, but she was rambling. I didn’t take her seriously! I never expected you to stay single for
me
. I thought you
preferred
it.’ He grinned slightly. ‘After all, your mistresses were the prettiest in London.’

He ran his hands through his hair. ‘The only good thing
about the whole business is that it stopped you marrying years ago out of some stupid sense of duty to the blasted title! At least it kept you free for Verity.’

Max shut his eyes, remembering his mother’s words. He’d come to sit with her, to say goodbye, and try to make his peace with her. But all she’d been able to think about had been Richard’s future. His brother’s life—ruined, as she put it, by his reckless nature, because he’d dared Richard to ride that damn horse.

‘Max…’ Richard’s voice was very quiet ‘…she was wrong. Wrong to blame you. Wrong to ask that of you. Good God, I could just as easily have been maimed or killed out in the Peninsula if I’d joined the army! I never did have your luck. I got on the blasted horse because I wanted to.
My
choice.
My
decision. All you owe me is a pack of brats in your image. Or, better still, Verity’s. She’s prettier.’

Max let out a great sigh. ‘I came to that conclusion myself. That was what I needed to tell you.’

Richard’s mouth twitched slightly. ‘I see. Well, I didn’t say it at the time, but I will now—congratulations on your marriage, brother. I’ll be off.’ The lingering irritation in his eyes dissolved into a raffish twinkle and he added, ‘Enjoy your honeymoon.’

Watching Richard drive off, Max heard his cheerful prediction over and over:
Enjoy your honeymoon
. First he had to convince the bride. And before he did that he had to tell her about her inheritance. Her independence. To truly win her, he must first give her the means to fly.

Chapter Fifteen

‘W
hy didn’t you tell me?’ Verity struggled to understand what Max had told her. Her grandmother had changed her will. Twice. She had been disinherited because of the Faringdons’ lies. It all made sense now. No wonder they wouldn’t let her leave and forced her to change her name. They had stolen everything.

With a sickening lurch of memory, she heard her uncle, offering to sell her to Max as his doxy. Perhaps he regretted not accepting the offer. A vile little voice suggested something else—
a man has no claim on his mistress’s private fortune.

‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ she asked again painfully. Not that it would make any difference.

He cleared his throat. ‘The lawyers came to me at Blakeney. You didn’t see them. It was after our—’

‘I see,’ she said. After all, he hadn’t
needed
to tell her. She had no say in what happened to the money, no rights beyond what her husband granted her.

‘No. You don’t!’ he said sharply. ‘You were upset enough after what had happened between us. I had no idea what, if anything, could be done about the will and I decided to find out before telling you!’ The taut, hard note in his voice lashed
at her. No doubt he had not wanted more feminine tears to deal with.

Fighting tears, she nodded. ‘And what have you discovered, my lord?’ She thought he stiffened.

His voice hardened even further. ‘I met with your uncle and cousin. I offered to settle for fifteen thousand pounds and the jewellery.’

With careful hands, she set her tea cup down on the table. ‘Fif…fifteen thousand, sir?’

‘And the jewellery. Anything you don’t like, you may give to Miss Faringdon.’

‘And the jewellery,’ she repeated dutifully. Then, ‘Why?’

‘Why?’ The topaz eyes narrowed.

‘Yes. Why? Do you need the money, my lord? Does it compensate in some part for an unwanted marriage?’ For a brief moment she thought that something inside him had nearly escaped its leash.

Then, in quiet controlled tones, ‘No, Verity. I don’t need the money. But you need it. I wanted you to have something that was unequivocally yours. Not mine.’

Not mine.

Heartsick, she focused mercilessly on that. Understandable that he should grasp the chance to provide for his unwanted wife without broaching his own fortune. In a queer way he was right. She would certainly feel better about it. It remained only to know when he envisaged her departure.

Better to know at once. Better the surgeon’s knife than a long drawn out torture. ‘Then, you will arrange with the lawyers for a—what is the term? A deed of private separation?’

A moment’s chilled silence hung between them. The only thing to move was the relentless pendulum of the clock on the chimney piece, telling Max that it was all too late.

He inclined his head. ‘That is the correct term, madam.’

‘Thank you, sir. I am very grateful. When…when would you like me to leave, my lord?’

‘No.’

‘I…I beg your pardon?’

His voice expressionless, he said, ‘I won’t release you.’

‘But—’

‘No!’
The protest burst from him. ‘Dammit, Verity! You told me you loved me! Do you think I’ll just let you leave?’ He strode towards her, intent on taking her into his arms.

‘A mistake,’ she said quietly.

He stopped dead, fear choking him. ‘A…a mistake?’

‘Yes. I…I was mistaken.’
Mistaken. Mistaken to trust him with her heart.

He had destroyed her love for him. Very carefully, he said, ‘I see. That changes everything.’ He had to think. Fast. He could force nothing from her, but he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t!

‘We shall discuss this again,’ he continued. ‘I have a…responsibility for you. It must be quite clear to me that you are sure of your own mind. If, in six months, you still desire it, I shall see the lawyers. Arrange to settle the lease of a house on you.’

She flinched. ‘No…I would rather—’

‘You will remain my wife,’ he said harshly. ‘As such you will live in one of my houses and remain at least nominally under my protection. And I will not agree to a separation in under six months. Those are my terms, madam. You may take them or leave them.’

Her eyes searched his face. ‘Max—please—’

‘Six months,’ he insisted.

‘Very well,’ she whispered.

He bowed and walked out. Six months. He had gained six months in which to rekindle her love.

Verity hung on to her composure until the door shut behind him. Until she heard the front door slam and knew that he had gone. Then she wept. She wept until there were no more tears and even if there had been, she no longer had the strength to weep them.

The words on the page danced in a mockery of joy…The chiefest sign of conception is, when there is at first a loathing of meat…or preternatural appetite and vomiting…desire strange and absurd things…

In the three days since Max had told her about her grandmother’s will and agreed to separate she had scarcely left the house, denying herself to all visitors. Max had retreated to his club, coming home in the early hours of the morning. When they met, he treated her with a gentleness that left her numb with pain, especially as an appalling knowledge crept upon her. There had been ample time for her to realise the truth—that her constant tiredness and nausea meant something.

Focusing with difficulty, she read on…Signs of conception—Tops of the nipples look redder than normally…The breasts begin to swell and wax hard, not without pain and soreness. The veins of the breasts are more clearly seen than they were wont to be…

Added to all this, she hadn’t had her monthly courses since well before she left the Faringdons. Certainty shuddered through her. How could she have been so stupid as not to realise sooner? With shaking fingers she closed the copy of Culpeper’s
Directory for Midwives
that she’d found in Max’s library. She did not attempt to delude herself with the hope that she might be wrong.

She touched a careful hand to her tender breasts. No wonder she felt as though her chemise was too tight these days. And no wonder her courses were so late. Not that she had ever been regular, but this time apparently they weren’t late. They weren’t going to come at all.

The book was old, but she could remember her mother vomiting constantly in the early stages of her pregnancy. She could no longer ignore what her body was telling her.

Clipstone’s voice recalled her to her senses. ‘Lady Arnsworth, my lady.’

Horrified, Verity opened her mouth to deny herself—then
Lady Arnsworth swept in. She was only surprised that her ladyship had given poor Clipstone enough time to announce her.

‘Good afternoon, ma’am,’ she said politely, stuffing the book under a cushion.

Lady Arnsworth’s gimlet eyes bored in. ‘I’m sure it is no concern of mine if you choose to further pollute your mind with rubbishy novels. It is for Max to control you. I called merely to ask after your health.’

Verity gritted her teeth against the urge to tell her ladyship to go to the devil. ‘Thank you.’ She left it at that. Lady Arnsworth would know the truth soon enough.

‘Are you breeding? Is that the reason for your indisposition?’

The unexpected question flooded Verity’s cheeks with embarrassment. ‘I…I…’
Dammit!
‘I fail to see how that may concern you, ma’am!’ she snapped.

Lady Arnsworth seemed to swell. ‘Not concern me? You presumptuous upstart! When I recall the agony my sister suffered after her eldest son died! Knowing that the earldom would pass to Max, that she had failed in her duty!’

‘Pardon?’ Verity stared at the mottled face.

‘Max! He had never the least sense of responsibility!’ said Lady Arnsworth bitterly. ‘Thoughtless! Richard would never have ridden that horse had not Max dared him! And then it fell on him. My sister was devastated.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ None of this made sense. Max was the most responsible man she had ever met. He would not walk away from his duty. Not even an unwanted wife.

Lady Arnsworth’s next words clarified everything. ‘But Max
had
learnt his lesson, or so it appeared. He agreed to remain single, that Richard should inherit. No doubt he enjoyed the freedom to mount mistress after mistress. Until he married
you
!’