Once and Always (40 page)

“And that didn’t sound a damned bit odd to you?” Jason bit out. “A new bride leaves the house and says to tell her husband good-bye!”

Northrup flushed to the roots of his white hair. “Considering other things, my lord, it did not seem ‘odd.’ ”

Jason stopped pacing and stared at him in blank fury. “Considering what ‘other things’?” he demanded.

“Considering what you said to me when you left the house an hour before her ladyship did, I naturally assumed the two of you were not in accord, and that her ladyship was distressed about it.”

“Considering what
I
said when I left?” Jason demanded murderously. “What the hell did
I
say?”

Northrup’s thin lips quivered with resentment. “When you left the house this morning, I bade you have a good day.”

“And?” Jason gritted.

“And you told me you had already made
other plans.
I naturally assumed that meant you did not intend to have a good day and so, when her ladyship came down, I assumed you were not in accord.”

“It’s too damn bad you didn’t ‘assume’ she was leaving me and try to stop her.”

Victoria’s heart ached with remorse. Jason thought she had left him, and for a man as proud as he to admit such a thing to his servants, he must be beside himself. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would jump to that conclusion, but now that she knew what Melissa had done, she could understand why he had. Determined to save his pride, she summoned up a bright, conciliatory smile and crossed the thick Aubusson carpet to his side. “Northrup would never be so silly as to think I would leave you, my lord,” she said brightly, tucking her hand in Jason’s arm.

Jason whirled around so violently that he nearly pulled her off her feet. Victoria recovered her balance and said softly, “I may be ‘overemotional,’ but I hope I’m not a complete fool.”

Jason’s eyes blazed with relief—a relief that was instantly replaced by fury. “Where in hell have you been?” he hissed.

Victoria took pity on the mortified servants and said contritely, “You’ve every right to scold me, and I can tell you intend to, but I hope you won’t do it in front of the servants.”

Jason clamped his jaws together so tightly that a nerve pulsed in his cheek as he bit back his wrath and nodded his head in the general direction of the servants, curtly dismissing them. In the charged silence that followed, the servants rushed out of the room, the last one closing the door behind him. The instant the door closed, Jason’s wrath erupted. “You idiot!” he bit out between clenched teeth. “I’ve turned the countryside upside down looking for you.”

Victoria looked at his handsome, ruggedly hewn face with its stern, sensual mouth and hard jaw, but what she saw was a helpless, dirty little boy with dark curly hair being whipped because he was “evil.” A lump of poignant tenderness swelled in her throat and she unthinkingly laid her hand against his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered achingly.

Jason jerked away from her touch, his brows snapping together over biting green eyes. “You’re sorry?” he mocked scathingly. “Sorry for what? Sorry for the men who are still out there, searching for a trace of you?” He turned away as if he couldn’t bear her closeness and walked over to the windows. “Sorry for the horse I rode into the ground?”

“I’m sorry you thought I was leaving you,” Victoria interrupted shakily. “I would never do that.”

He turned back to her, regarding her ironically. “Considering that yesterday you tried to leave me at the altar, and this morning you demanded a divorce, I find your last announcement somewhat astonishing. To what shall I attribute your freakish streak of fidelity this evening?”

Despite his outward attitude of sarcastic indifference, Victoria heard the clipped terseness in his voice when he referred to her leaving him at the altar, and her heart sank. Evidently that had bothered him very much.

“My lord—” she began softly.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” he snapped. “Stop calling me your lord and don’t grovel. I despise groveling.”

“I was not groveling!” Victoria said, and in her mind saw him kneeling beneath a black, uncoiling whip. She had to clear the tears from her throat before she could go on. “What I started to say was that I only tried to take the extra food to the orphanage today. I’m sorry I worried you, and I won’t do it again.”

He stared at her, the anger draining out of him. “You’re free to do whatever you want to do, Victoria,” he said wearily. “This marriage was the greatest mistake of my life.”

Victoria hesitated, knowing nothing she could say would change his mind when he was in this mood, and finally excused herself to change her gown. He did not have supper with her, and she went to bed that night thinking he would surely join her there—if for no other reason than to hold her to her bargain to give him a son.

Jason did not join her that night, nor for the next three. In fact, he went out of his way to completely avoid her. He worked in his study all day, dictating letters to his secretary, Mr. Benjamin, and meeting with men who came from London to talk to him about investments and shipping and all sorts of unfathomable business transactions. If he encountered Victoria at meals or passed her in the halls, he greeted her politely but without familiarity, as if she were a stranger to him.

When he was finished working, he went upstairs, changed his clothes, and drove off to London.

Since Caroline had gone to the south of England to visit one of her brothers whose wife was soon to give birth, Victoria spent most of her time at the orphanage, organizing games for the children, and paying calls upon the villagers so that they would continue to feel easy in her company. But no matter how busy she kept, she still missed Jason very much. In London, he had spent a good deal of time with her. He had escorted her nearly everywhere she went, to balls and parties and plays, and although he didn’t remain by her side, she had known he was there—watchful, protective. She missed his teasing remarks, she even missed his scowl. In the weeks since Andrew’s mother’s letter had come, Jason had become her friend, and a very special one.

Now he was a civil stranger who might need her, but who was purposely and effectively keeping her at arm’s length. She knew he was no longer angry with her; he had simply locked her out of his heart and mind as if she didn’t exist.

On the fourth night, Jason went to London again and Victoria lay awake, staring at the rose silk canopy above her bed, stupidly longing to dance with him again as she had done so many times before. Jason was wonderful to dance with; he moved with such natural grace. . ..

She wondered what he did during these long nights in London before he came home. She decided he probably spent his time gambling in the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs to which he belonged.

On the fifth night, Jason didn’t bother coming home at all. The next morning at breakfast Victoria glanced at the gossipy section of the
Gazette
that reported on the doings of the
haute ton,
and she discovered what Jason had been doing while in London. He had not been gambling or meeting with more businessmen. He had been at Lord Muirfield’s ball— dancing with the elderly lord’s exquisite, voluptuous wife. It also mentioned that on the prior evening, Lord Fielding had attended the theater and been seen in the company of an unnamed brunette opera dancer. Victoria knew three things about Jason’s mistress—her name was Sybil, she was an opera dancer, and she was a brunette.

Jealousy bloomed in Victoria—full-bodied, frustrated, sick jealousy. It caught her completely off guard, for she had never experienced the bitter agony of it before.

Jason chose that untimely moment to stroll into the dining room wearing the same clothes he had left for London in the night before. Except that now his beautifully tailored black evening jacket was carelessly slung over his left shoulder, his neckcloth was untied and hanging loose, and his white lawn shirt was open at the throat. Obviously, he had not spent the night at his own house in London, where he kept a full wardrobe.

He nodded distantly to her as he went over to the sideboard and helped himself to a cup of steaming black coffee.

Victoria slowly arose from her chair, trembling with hurt fury. “Jason,” she said, her voice cool and stiff.

He glanced inquiringly over his shoulder at her, then saw her stony features and turned fully around. “Yes?” he said, lifting the cup to his lips and watching her over its rim.

“Do you remember how you felt when your first wife was in London, engaging in all sorts of salacious affairs?”

The coffee cup lowered an inch, but his features remained impassive. “Perfectly,” he said.

Amazed and a little impressed with her own bravery, Victoria glanced meaningfully at the paper, then lifted her chin. “Then I hope you won’t make me feel that way again.”

His gaze flicked to the open paper, then back to her. “As I recall, I didn’t particularly care what she did.”

“Well, I do care!” Victoria burst out because she couldn’t stop herself. “I understand perfectly that considerate husbands have—have paramours, but you are supposed to be discreet. You English have rules for everything and discretion is one of them. When you flaunt your—your lady friends, it’s humiliating and it hurts.” She strode out of the room, feeling like an undesirable, cast-off shoe.

She looked like a beautiful young queen, with her long hair swaying in molten waves and thick curls at her back, her body moving with unconscious grace. Jason watched her in silence, the coffee cup forgotten in his hand. He felt the familiar, hot need for her rising in his loins, the longing he’d felt for months to gather her into his arms and lose himself in her. But he didn’t move toward her. Whatever she felt for him, it was not love or even desire. She thought it was “considerate” of him to keep a mistress discreetly tucked away so he could satisfy his disgusting lust with her, Jason realized bitterly. But Victoria’s pride was piqued at the idea of his being seen in public with that same woman.

Her pride was suffering, nothing more. But when he remembered the terrible beating her pride had already received from her beloved Andrew, he discovered he didn’t have the heart to hurt her more. He understood about pride; he remembered how shattered and enraged he had felt when he first discovered Melissa’s perfidy.

He stopped in his study to retrieve some documents and then walked up the staircase, reading the documents and carrying his jacket.

“Good morning, my lord,” his valet said, casting a look of reproof at the abused jacket hooked over his master’s thumb.

“Good morning, Franklin,” Jason said, handing over the jacket without taking his eyes from the newly arrived documents.

Franklin laid out Jason’s shaving mug, razor, and strop, then whisked the jacket to the wardrobe, where he began brushing it. “Is your attire for this evening to be formal or informal, my lord?” he inquired politely.

Jason turned to the second page of the document. “Informal,” he said absently. “Lady Fielding thinks I’ve been spending too much time away from home at night.”

He strolled toward the marble bath adjoining his bedchamber, unaware of the expression of pleasure dawning across his valet’s face. Franklin watched until Jason had disappeared into the bath, then laid the jacket aside and hastened down the stairs to share the happy news with Northrup.

Until Lady Victoria had burst into the house months ago and disrupted the orderly, disciplined tedium of everyone’s lives, Mr. Franklin and Mr. Northrup had jealously guarded their individual positions of trust. In fact, they had scrupulously avoided one another for four long years. Now, however, these two former adversaries were allied in their mutual concern for, and interest in, the well-being of the lord and lady of the house.

Mr. Northrup was in the front hall near the salon, polishing a table. Glancing about to ensure that there were no lesser menials around to overhear, Mr. Franklin hurried forward, eager to impart his news about this latest development in his lordship’s tumultuous romance—or more accurately, his
lack
of romance—and to hear in return any news that Mr. Northrup might wish to confide in him. He leaned near his confidant, blissfully unaware of O’Malley, who was in the salon pressing his ear to the wall in order to hear their conversation. “His lordship intends to dine at home this evening, Mr. Northrup,” the valet advised in a conspiratorial stage whisper. “I believe that is a good sign. A very good sign indeed.”

Northrup straightened, his expression unimpressed. “It is an unusual event, considering his lordship’s absences these five nights past, but I do not find it particularly encouraging.”

“You don’t understand—his lordship specifically said he was staying at home because her ladyship wished for him to do so!”

“Now, that
is
encouraging, Mr. Franklin!” Northrup leaned back, casting a cautious glance around to make certain no one was near enough to overhear, then said, “I believe the reason for her ladyship’s request may lie in a particular article in the
Gazette
that she saw this morning, which led her to believe that his lordship was possibly entertaining a certain lady of a certain class—an opera dancer, I believe.”

O’Malley pulled his ear from the wall, rushed to the side door of the salon, and sprinted down the back hall that was used by the servants to carry refreshments to the salon from the kitchen. “She’s done it!” he crowed triumphantly to the kitchen servants as he burst into the room.

Mrs. Craddock straightened from her task of rolling out pastry dough, so eager to hear what he had to say that she ignored the fact that he snatched an apple from her work-table. “What has she done?”

O’Malley leaned against the wall and helped himself to a large bite of the juicy apple, waving the uneaten portion in the air for emphasis as he spoke. “She gave his lordship what-for, that’s what! I heard it all from Franklin and Northrup. Her ladyship read in the paper that his lordship was with Miss Sybil, and her ladyship told Lord Fielding to stay home where he belongs. He’s goin‘ t’do it, too. I told the lot of you the lass could handle the master. Knew it as soon as she told me she was Irish! But she’s a true lady, too,” he added loyally. “All gentle-like and smiling.”