Invitation to Ruin (21 page)

He saw Richard was in residence. Anthony was still as mad as hell at what his brother had done. But he realized Richard had no understanding of his inner torments and thought he had been helping. Richard sat in the chair by the fire, staring into the flames, no doubt racked with guilt over his treachery. Good. It wouldn’t hurt for Richard to experience a little suffering for a change.

Cassandra was seated next to Christopher, a frown marring her beautiful face. Upon seeing him enter, her frown eased into an uncertain smile.

Dismissing her, he spied the powerful grande dame seated beside his mother and swore beneath his breath. His mother had called in reinforcements.

Lady Horsham wielded more power, political and social, than any other lady of the
ton
. Whatever she decreed, Society would support. Anthony respected her. His father had taught him the meek did not inherit the earth. Seeing Lady Horsham’s rise to power, he well believed it.

He walked to the chaise, inclined his head to Melissa, his mother, and Lady Elizabeth Horsham.

His mother’s intensely blue eyes—true indigo—fixed on his face. “I was just discussing with Lady Horsham the events you and Melissa should attend.”

He stiffened to stop his shoulders from flinching. Then bowing to his mother’s acquaintance, he took the bony-gloved hand the silver-haired woman offered, careful not to overdo the observance. She had never been fond of his father, nor of him. “Lady Horsham, a pleasure as always.”

“Congratulations on your nuptials.” Lady Horsham’s droopy brown eyes studied him for a moment. “About time you were married.”

He inclined his head and declined to rise to her lure.

She gave a cluck. “Whatever the circumstances, you have made yourself a fine match. Your bride has a good head on her shoulders. She complements you.”

Anthony arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that dark scowl. You’re all fiery temper. She’s calm, moderate, and thinks before she acts.” Lady Horsham turned her gaze on Melissa. “Fine children you’ll make together.”

Swallowing his horror at those words, he moved and took a chair across from Melissa, leaving his mother to pick up the conversation.

“Lady Horsham is fully supportive of your marriage. She has agreed to pacify the gossips.”

Richard coughed. Anthony silently agreed with his brother’s assessment; no one would believe any story Lady Horsham
told, but they would never dare to openly show their incredulity. Not when Lady Horsham was endorsing the version.

“Thank you, Lady Horsham. I personally don’t care what the
ton
thinks, but my wife isn’t keen to be the subject of gossip.”

“I told you she is too levelheaded by far to let a little scandal destroy her.” The Baroness sniffed. “By the time I’m finished with her, Melissa will be the ton’s latest darling.” She turned to Christopher. “If you’d spent less at the gaming table and more on ensuring your sister was appropriately attired, she would have been married long ago.”

Christopher’s face reddened.

Melissa quickly jumped in. “Lady Horsham, it would not have made any difference. I was waiting for the right man.”

Lady Horsham chuckled. “How the young think. Don’t be foolish, gal. There is no such thing as the right man—only a man who can be molded into the right man.” She flashed a grin at Anthony. “Lady Wickham, I do believe you have caught yourself one. Now it is up to you to ensure he becomes all that he can.”

Melissa’s face paled.

Lady Horsham reached over and patted the bride’s hand. “I have every faith in you.”

Melissa’s eyes locked with Anthony’s. He felt something stir deep inside him as her lips curved into a smile blatantly challenging. “You may be right, Lady Horsham. Perhaps I can make something of him.”

He couldn’t pull his gaze away. His senses, ensorcelled simply by her look, refused to ignore her. Noting the silence in the room and all the pairs of eyes on them, Anthony felt his throat constrict. The tension was thrumming through the room when Stevens announced a late luncheon was served.
Thank God
. Anthony leaped to his feet. However, he was not to be spared. His mother’s look clearly indicated he was expected to escort his wife.

Reluctantly he moved to his wife’s side. At the touch of her
hand on his arm, he reacted like a stallion sensing a mare in heat. He did not understand it. She wasn’t doing anything to attract his attention, and her dress was modest, with very little cleavage showing.

It was the smile. It was her knowing smile. A smile that said
“I have power over you. Should I choose to use it, you will be at my mercy.”
With an effort, he hauled his mind back from dwelling on the loveliness inside her demure gown, from the image of her curled naked against him, and surrendered to duty and strolled with her toward the dining room. The lingering elusive, wantonly feminine scent of her was making his task extremely difficult, and it was with thanks he took his seat at the head of the table to hide the growing evidence of the effect his wife had on a certain part of his anatomy.

The late luncheon proved to be a torturous affair. His groin ached, his head hurt from trying to ignore Melissa’s presence, and every pair of eyes around the table watched him with growing amusement.

His gaze tracked to Richard, seated at the other end of the table next to Melissa. Whatever he was saying to her, Richard was keeping her amused. She was relaxed, smiling up at her new brother-in-law. An emotion akin to envy snaked through him. Melissa had never gifted him that type of smile. This was an open, friendly, unguarded smile, and happiness illuminated her beautiful face.

He gripped the stem of his wineglass until he thought it might break. What was Richard playing at? Did he have designs on Melissa? He frowned. It was true, as brothers they’d often shared women, but surely Richard did not believe his generosity applied equally to his wife.

Why did he care? He never cared. One woman was much the same as another. An all-consuming possessiveness attacked his system without warning. Melissa was his wife. She was his.

Emotions swirled around him. When Melissa reached and put her hand on Richard’s arm, obviously trying to stop his
teasing, a fist clamped about Anthony’s heart. The effort not to react—not to snarl and show his teeth—stole his breath. His heart thundered in his chest.

As if his glare scorched Richard, his twin blinked at him. Then Richard smiled and shook his head as if to say,
“Don’t be stupid
. “ Their gazes locked and held an instant longer.

Anthony’s heart began to calm its frantic beating, clearly seeing the denial in his brother’s eyes. Even after what Richard did to him, Anthony instinctively knew his twin would never betray him when it came to Melissa.

He returned to his lobster curry and made conversation with his mother, who was seated to his right.

Finally, once they had eaten far too much, his mother led the ladies back to the drawing room, leaving the three men to enjoy a smoke.

With his wife not in the room, Anthony could relax. He walked to the sideboard, filled his glass with a shot of whiskey, and gulped it back. With a refill, he turned and flopped back in his seat. Christopher had taken his mother’s chair, and Richard took the seat on his left. Both men opted for whiskey, too. The three sat in silence, savoring the smoky liquor.

After a minute Richard’s brows rose. “Something bothering you, brother?”

“No.”

“I could have sworn earlier during the meal, you were about to leap from your chair and stab me with your knife.” He smiled knowingly. “I have never seen my brother jealous before.”

“It was not jealousy igniting my temper.”

“Was it not? Then pray tell, what has you so riled up?”

Anthony took a sip of his drink before answering, his voice all but a rough growl. “It’s simply that since my betrothal, I have not had enough physical exercise of a personal nature.”

“Sex? Abstinence, they say, is good for the soul.”

“As if you’d know.” Anthony scoffed at his brother. “Abstinence annoys the soul and is hell on the temper.”

“Ah, well—it will only be an hour more,” Richard added with a knowing smile.

Anthony gritted his teeth. That was what was worrying him. The sexual abrasion of her nearness was a constant reminder that being near her, without touching her, or wanting her, was like living in his own personal hell.

The silence lengthened.

“You do desire her?” Richard stammered. “I—I mean, she’s a beautiful woman. I’d hate to think I’d selected a woman who did not—let’s say—have you rising to the occasion.”

If only his brother knew. Richard had picked well—too well. “I don’t think you have any worries on that score.”

Richard sat back in his chair and sighed. “Thank goodness. So, it shouldn’t be long before the heir of the Wickham dynasty arrives.”

Anthony remained silent. What could he say to that?
I won’t be sleeping with my wife!
Richard would never understand. Besides, who he chose to sleep with—or in this case not sleep with—was no one’s business but his own.

Anthony remembered his childhood; the memories ate at him every day. For years he’d thought he was a wicked child, that that must be why his father didn’t love him, and why he was punished so severely for any minor misdemeanor.

Every time he tried to get close, his father pushed him away, or worse, physically beat him away. Soft and loving emotions were not to be tolerated.

Looking back, he cringed at the pathetic attempts he’d made to gain his father’s approval and love. He’d soon learned that his father didn’t have a heart.

On one particular occasion, at the age of eight, Anthony had been thrilled when his father had consented to allow him one of the orphaned pet lambs to keep as his own. He’d named the lamb Little John. He’d play for hours in the hay barn with Little John; his role was always Robin Hood. Together they’d fight the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham. In his mind’s eye, the sheriff had always resembled his father.

After one afternoon of thrashing the sheriff, Anthony was summoned before his father and told that tomorrow they would be slaughtering his lamb. The Earl’s hunting hounds needed food.

He begged and pleaded with his father not to take his friend. As his tears fell in streams down his face, Tony coldly told him to be a man. But sobbing Anthony begged for Little John’s life.

“All right,” his father said. “I won’t let Carter kill the lamb.”

Anthony’s heart burst with joy. At his happy face, his father sneered, “Carter won’t kill the lamb; you will.”

The next morning Anthony had been forced to slit Little John’s throat. If he didn’t do the deed, his father was going to whip Richard, in front of him, until Anthony gave in and did as he was told.

It wasn’t until Anthony was much older that he’d realized his father had given him the lamb with the intention of making him kill it. He let him befriend Little John, grow to love it, and then forced him to kill it, simply to teach him a lesson. Don’t let emotion enter your life. If you do, you’re at its mercy. He’d never given his heart to another living thing since that day.

Even now, he kept his heart all to himself. If he loved his brother once, he couldn’t remember the emotion. He … liked his brother, only because Richard was his exact opposite.

If he had a child, he would like it, too. But he knew how it felt to have a cold man for a father. He wouldn’t want that for his own child. He knew he was incapable of giving the child what it would need. He wouldn’t know how. And he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to feel any type of weak emotion.

If he felt, all those innocent lives he’d hurt would haunt him even more than they did already. Christ! He wouldn’t be able to survive the guilt and horror.

What’s more, he couldn’t live with the knowledge that his children would grow to despise him. He hated his father with
more passion than it took to love. Hate was an easy emotion. It took nothing from him. In fact, it simply gave him strength to endure, to survive, to win.

Love was castrating. It grabbed you by the balls and made you a prisoner. It made you petrified of loss. It made you weak and exposed your fears. Love destroyed; hate helped you to survive.

Christopher interrupted his morose memories. “Richard, I would be happy to escort you to Madame Sabine’s tonight. I hear she has some new talent in from Paris. Perhaps later, after Anthony has performed his husbandry duties, he’d like to join us.”

Anthony’s hand fisted on his thigh. He’d just married the man’s sister, and yet Christopher didn’t seem to care what became of Melissa. “Melissa may have different views on how I conduct myself within marriage.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a woman. She will expect you to keep a mistress. Cassandra has already informed Melissa she is willing to take on the role to save her indelicacies.”

“Did my dear bride agree?” Anthony’s temper hummed, vibrated in his chest. “What else do you think Cassandra will have taught her? How to cuckold a husband?”

“I’m sure Cassandra has explained to Melissa what is expected of her in the marriage bed,” Christopher babbled, not realizing the danger he was walking into. “Apparently she was unnerved by her—by your—that is the night you were caught in her bed. Cassandra promised me she’d soothe Melissa’s mind about … ah … er … your size.”

Richard jumped in with a short laugh. “Soothe her mind? What on earth are you talking about? The deed’s been done. Anthony has already taken her virginity. It should be plain sailing—”

“Enough! It’s my wife we are discussing.”

Christopher stumbled on. “I wouldn’t worry. You’ll only have to bed her until she’s with child. There will be plenty of women willing to warm your bed the rest of the time.”

Anthony’s temper hum headed toward a full symphony.

Muttering to himself he said, “And whose bed will Melissa be warming?”

“Pardon?” Christopher cocked his head. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Just ensure Cassandra doesn’t teach my bride any games played outside of the marriage bed.” At Christopher’s shocked expression, Anthony narrowed his lids and growled. “I wouldn’t want to hurt your sister, but I will if she cuckolds me …”