Married to the Viscount (18 page)

As McFee took his things, Spencer asked, “Where’s my wife?”

“In her bedchamber, my lord. Mrs. Graham said she was retiring for the night.”

Bloody hell, she was really upset, wasn’t she? Well, he wasn’t about to put this off until tomorrow while she let her misery eat at her.

Swiftly mounting the two flights of stairs, he strode down the hall to her bedchamber. Then he stopped short. Mrs. Graham stood guard outside. She moved to block the door the moment she saw him.

This was becoming absurd—all these women trying to protect Abby from him. As if he would actually try to hurt her. “I need to speak to my wife,” he told the flame-haired Scotswoman.

“She don’t want to speak to you. I’m to tell you that she’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“This cannot wait until morning. Step aside.”

“No indeed. In any case, she’s already in her nightdress, so you can’t go in there. Wouldn’t be proper.”

He started to retort that he could see his wife in anything he pleased, then remembered that Abby’s termagant servant knew the truth about the situation. Devil take them all. “Fine. I’ll use the connecting door.” He turned toward his own bedchamber.

“It’s locked,” she called out. “Just like this door here.”

Now they were locking his own doors against him? Fury roiled up in him, swift and sure. “McFee!” he bellowed down the hall to the stairs. “Get up here now!”

His butler rarely ran anywhere, but the man had worked for Spencer long enough to know when his master had urgent need of him. McFee reached Spencer scant moments later, gasping for breath. “Yes, my lord?”

“The keys to my wife’s bedchamber, if you please,” he said, holding out his hand.

With a bob of his head, McFee fished out his key ring, then fumbled through it. Mrs. Graham looked on smugly as McFee went through all the keys once, then again.

At last the butler looked up with a barely contained look of alarm. “I…I…my lord…they seem to have…um…disappeared.”

“That’s what happens when you doze at your post, Mr. McFee,” Abby’s servant said with fiendish delight. “I wasn’t about to have my girl helpless in a room where his lordship could come and go as he pleased, so I took the liberty of relieving you of them keys yesterday morning.”

McFee’s face lost his usual reserve. “You harpy from hell,” he said with more venom than Spencer had ever heard him use. “How dare you presume to take
my
keys out of
my
coat and—”

“That’s enough, McFee,” Spencer broke in. This was getting them nowhere. He forced himself to address Mrs. Graham calmly. “I commend your concern for your mistress, madam, but in this case you’re going about protecting her all wrong.”

“Am I?” She stuck out her chubby chin. “That girl came in with eyes red as my hair. Seems to me any man who’d send his wife home all ravaged by tears don’t deserve nothing more than a curt word and a fare-thee-well. Which is what I’m giving you.”

“I didn’t send her home—she came home on her own, without giving me the chance to apologize. Do you really think your mistress is better off crying in her room than hearing an apology from the person who brought her to tears in the first place?”

Uncertainty filled the woman’s face. “An apology, is it?”

“Yes. I know I did wrong. I want to make amends.” His voice tightened in spite of his efforts to control his temper. “But I can hardly do that standing out in the hall, can I?”

“Listen to the man, lassie,” McFee said beside him. “He may be a Sassenach, but he’s an honorable one. He will treat your lady properly.”

Mrs. Graham looked from Spencer to McFee and back. Then she sighed and reached inside her apron pocket to draw out two keys. “All right then,” she said in a whisper. “Long as you tell her that you had to wrestle me down to get them.”

As Spencer took the keys, McFee muttered, “Now there’s a thought.”

He left McFee and Mrs. Graham squabbling in the hall. Entering his own room, he unlocked the connecting door into Abby’s bedchamber. When he walked in, she was sitting on the tester bed facing the fireplace, her back to both doors. She was brushing her hair in long, sensual strokes that sent the silky strands rippling over her shoulders. Her thinly clad shoulders.

Devil take it, he’d forgotten what Mrs. Graham had said she was wearing. That muslin nightdress might as well be glass for all it hid of Abby’s sweet charms. Especially when she shifted to put her profile to the fire. When the outline of
her breasts showed clearly through it, his pulse thundered in his ears. Bloody hell.

Tamping down on his inappropriate response, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Then he locked it to make sure her meddling servant didn’t come charging in to interrupt him in the midst of his apology.

“What did he say?” she asked, probably expecting Mrs. Graham.

“He said he was sorry,” Spencer told her hoarsely. “He said he hadn’t meant to ruin the ball for you. He said he wanted to make it up to you.”

Leaping from the bed, she whirled to face him. “You!” Horror filled her features as she clutched the neck of her nightdress in her fist. “How did you get in here?”

“It’s my house, remember?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Only too well. You never let me forget it.”

That’s when he noticed her reddened eyes and nose. Remorse flooded him. “Oh, God, Abby, I didn’t mean to make you miserable.”

“You didn’t.” Her mouth trembled as she drew into herself, wrapping one arm about her waist. “I did it to myself by letting you tell me what to do. Well, not anymore, do you hear?”

“No, not anymore.” He’d do anything to wipe that haunted look from her face. “We’ll call a halt to balls and other such events for a while. I’ll engage whomever you need—tutors, dance masters, governesses…whatever you want. As for the clothes, dress as you please.”

“Really? Even if I look like a
fille de joie
?” she said with fierce sarcasm. “Even if I don’t dress my hair remotely like the refined Evelina?”

“I was wrong about the hair and the clothes and the rest of it.” And if he had to take cold baths twice a day for the next
few weeks, he’d smile and endure her gowns no matter how provocative they were.

Though none of them could be worse than what she wore now. That nightdress might go up to her chin, but on its way it skimmed every curve with loving care. And with her hand around her waist pressing the fabric against the front of her, he could even see a shadow of the nest of curls between her thighs.

Breaking into a sweat, he jerked his gaze up to her face. “There’s nothing wrong with how you dress, Abby.”
At least not in public
, he added silently.

“But there’s a great deal wrong with how I act.”

“If there is, it’s only because I didn’t prepare you. I’m sorry I broke my promise not to subject you to any humiliation. I swear I didn’t realize that…I didn’t know…”

“That I had absolutely no knowledge of the rules for your society? I seem to recall telling you that.”

“And I didn’t listen. But I will from now on.”

She shook her head. “There will be no ‘from now on.’ I can’t do this anymore.”

Panic seized him. “Of course you can. All you need is a little polish and—”

“And what? Society will welcome your stupid American wife with open arms? No, I don’t need this.” She tipped up her chin, eyes glittering. “Tomorrow morning you will write me a draft for five hundred pounds. That’s only a tenth of what your brother took from me—that’s all I ask from you until you find him. It should be enough to pay my passage back to America and enable me to take lodgings somewhere while I look into continuing Papa’s business.”

Good God, she was serious. She really meant to leave. “Abby—”

“If you don’t give it to me,” she went on, “I’ll visit that Lady Brumley woman and tell her the whole story. I know she’ll believe me. And then you’ll have your scandal.”

He felt as if she’d walloped him in the chest. “You hate me that much?”

A stricken look crossed her face. “I don’t hate you.” Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “I just…need you to know that I mean what I say. I can’t continue this charade. I don’t belong here. I can’t help you.”

“Yes, you can. You’re the only one who can.” He came toward her in a daze of disbelief. He acted on instinct, having lost all his bearings. He only knew he had to keep her here in London. With him. “You mustn’t leave, not yet. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me, Spencer. For a while I let you convince me that I had no choice, but now I know better.”

Frantically he wracked his brain for some argument to persuade her why she must remain. “What about Evelina? You may not care about bringing scandal down on my family, but what about hers?”

She swallowed. “There won’t be any scandal if you just give me five hundred pounds and let me go.”

“You think not?” He laughed harshly. “You don’t think people will talk when my wife leaves me after living with me less than a week? How am I to explain it?”

“Tell them I discovered that we didn’t suit.” Her voice grew bitter. “After tonight’s fiasco, they’ll have no trouble believing that.”

Determined to call her bluff, he marched up to her, fists clenched at his sides. “I won’t do it. I won’t give you a penny. I won’t let you leave without seeing this through. Go tell that gossip-mongering witch whatever you wish. Anything she writes can’t be worse than what they’ll say about me if you leave.”

She glared up at him. “Fine. Don’t give me any money then. Clara said I could live with her until your brother returns. Once he does, I’ll file suit against him for my dowry and see how you like that.”

Bloody hell, now she had Lady Clara on her side. His anger faded into frustration. Everything he said merely strengthened her resentment against him.

“What do you want from me?” he bit out, an unfamiliar desperation seizing him at the thought of her leaving. “Do you want me to beg, is that it? Do you want to bring the ‘all-knowing Lord Ravenswood’ to his knees so you can pay him back for tonight’s humiliations? Because if so, you’re certainly succeeding.”

A perplexed frown furrowed her brow. “Am I?”

“You know very well that you are.”

“How does it feel, Spencer, to have your life clutched in somebody else’s hands? To know that they can ruin your future, and you can’t do a thing about it?”

Her allusion to her own situation reignited his temper. “The same way it felt the day you showed up on my doorstep. You’re not the only one my brother wronged, Abby. You’re not the only one having to adjust.”

“True. So why not let me put an end to both our miseries?” A thin smile touched her lips. “Come now, admit it—if you weren’t so worried about a scandal, you’d be delighted to see me go. One less nuisance to deal with, one less annoyance underfoot. With me gone, you can look for your brother at your leisure without the urgency of trying to regain my money. You won’t have to act like you’re married. You can return to your bachelor life. It will be nothing but a relief.”

“It will be nothing but a torment.” When surprise suffused her face, he glanced away, not wanting her to see how badly he needed her to stay. “If you leave, I’ll know it’s my fault you’re struggling in America all alone. The guilt of what my family has done to you will prey on me, and I’ll blame myself for driving you to flee.”

“But you mustn’t.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Nobody asked you to fix your brother’s mistakes—you took it
on yourself. You could have told me I was mad and thrown me out of the house or decried me to the authorities, but you didn’t. You’ve gone beyond any possible obligation, and I know that. I only wish I could have been more helpful by better playing the part you required.”

“There was nothing wrong with how you played your part,” he said, shifting his gaze back to her. “If I hadn’t meddled, tonight would have gone perfectly well.” He covered her hand with his. “And even tonight wasn’t all bad, was it? You got on well with my friends. You even seemed to enjoy the dancing for a while.”

“When I wasn’t bumbling my way through it.” Humiliation flared in her eyes. “The rest of the time I was miserable. And you were embarrassed. I’m sure you were.”

“To be with the most beautiful woman at the ball? I wasn’t the least embarrassed. Despite the few things that went wrong, I enjoyed being there with you. I wouldn’t have wanted to be there with anyone else.”

She tugged her hand free. “Not even Genevieve?”

Bloody hell, he’d forgotten about that. “Certainly not Genevieve. If I could tolerate her company for an entire evening, I wouldn’t have left her two years ago.”

“You didn’t have any trouble tolerating her company tonight.” She lowered her eyes, but not before he glimpsed the hurt in them.

“We merely talked for a few minutes. She asked why I’d decided to marry after all these years, and I gave her some answer. There was nothing more to it than that.”

“What did you tell her? That you’d grown bored with all your achievements and figured that civilizing a stupid American wife would provide you a new challenge?”

Cursing himself for what he’d unwittingly done to make her feel so wretched about herself, he reached out to tip up her chin with one finger. “I told her that my wife was the most enchanting woman I’d ever met.”

Her lower lip quivered as she stared at him. “You lied, in other words.”

He shook his head. “I never lie about essentials.”

“Really?” A welter of confused emotions passed over her face. “Then tell me this, Spencer. Do you have a mistress?”

“I told you, Genevieve and I—”

“Not her. A regular mistress. Some ladybird stashed away in a little house in a less savory part of town. Because from what I heard tonight, half the married men do and nearly all the unmarried men.”

“Good God, who did you hear all this from? I know Evelina and Lady Clara weren’t filling your head with such ideas.”

She arched one brow. “I spent a lot of time in the ladies’ retiring room repairing my fichu. One hears things in the retiring room.”

“If you heard anything about me, it was lies. I have no mistress.”

“No one said you did, but…I also heard you’re discreet.” She swallowed. “As long as you stay discreet, it’s all right. But it’s bad enough to have people talking behind my back about the vulgar American—I won’t have them talking about how you prefer your ladybird to your wife.”