Rogues Gallery (23 page)

She opened the book to a random passage and did her best to simulate interest in material that was now a great deal less scintillating.

Apparently Edmund heard her, for he ambled toward the chair. Marisa managed a credible surprise at seeing him. The real shock was realizing she no longer had to wed this man.

The joyous notion made her smile a brighter one than Edmund had ever seen from her.

"Marisa," Edmund said, his voice filled with obvious pleasure. "What a treat this is." He gestured to the adjoining chair. "May I join you?"

"Of course, my lord."

He gave the tails of his bottle green morning coat an expert toss before sitting down, crossing his Hessian boots at the ankle.

Marisa examined his appearance, searching for some clue that this man shared the same bloodlines as her new husband. Yet where Edmund had short brown curls, Gabriel's blond locks flowed to his shoulders. They were of a similar height, but Gabriel's demeanor was dashing, while Edmund's could be categorized as conservative.

The only visible resemblance would be their eye color, yet Gabriel's eyes sparkled with merriment and mischief, while Edmund's glittered with something that often made her shiver with fear. She could see a slight similarity in the shape of their lips, though she still desired Gabriel's mouth on hers, not Edmund's.

Her face flushed at the memories of Gabriel's kisses. Edmund gave her a knowing wink, enjoying what he believed to be her maidenly perusal of his fine qualities.

Marisa ducked her head, permitting him to enjoy his misapprehension.

Edmund nodded toward the book in her lap. "Rather weighty material you have chosen. Are you certain this is what most interests you?"

"Oh, I find it quite fascinating," she said, though her interest lay in quite a different portion than was open at that moment.

"It is such a lovely day," he said. "I suggest we go for a drive instead."

Marisa much preferred to race to her chamber with the invaluable discovery in her hands. There was so much she needed to know, and the waiting to discover it made her impatient.

She opened her mouth to decline his invitation.

Edmund reached for the book, but she quick-wittedly closed it and clasped it to her breast. Too late Marisa realized how her protective gesture brought his avaricious gaze to that precise spot. Fortunately there was nothing visible for him to peruse. Still, she lowered the tome onto the arm of the chair, her hand resting atop it.

"Perhaps it is not warm enough for a drive."

"The fresh air shall do you good, for you have been a bit frail of late."

Edmund leaned forward and stroked a tendril away from her temple.

Marisa suppressed a shiver at his solicitous gesture. It reminded her of Gabriel's touch, the last one she had experienced, the night they were wed. She brushed that painful memory aside.

"A drive will be delightful," she answered, in need of a distraction from wayward thoughts of her husband. And who better to satisfy her curiosity about the DeVault family than one of its members?

She stood, the book clutched in her hand. "I shall just fetch my pelisse and bonnet."

"That is not necessary, my dear. I will send one of the footmen."

He tugged at the book, and Marisa let loose of it, knowing better than to try to struggle with him. She had won before in similar battles. It would be wise to permit him this small victory for now.

Edmund beamed at her, setting the precious storehouse of information upon a nearby rosewood writing table. "We will have no need of this during our drive, will we?"

"Of course not, my lord."

"Please." He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, leading her out of the library. "I believe it is past time for you to address me as Edmund. Now that we are officially betrothed."

Marisa's propensity for wickedness had soared to new heights. She had not only a husband, but a fiancé.

"I am honored by your request. Edmund."

His expression bordered on beatific.

"Edmund, I wonder if you might tell me more of your family."

He halted so abruptly that Marisa bumped against him. His lips tightened, and she could have sworn his breathing stopped as well. His arm contracted, squeezing her fingers.

"Edmund." She winced, easing away from him.

His eyelids fluttered a few times before a stiff smile appeared. "I apologize. Your question surprised me."

Marisa held her breath, waiting to see what he might say or do next. He merely walked forward, his eyes straight ahead as they headed for the long gallery. They passed a series of portraits in massive gilt frames, hanging above rows of white and gold settees. Edmund beckoned a footman, who appeared to be waiting for just such a summons, and instructed him to retrieve the necessary accoutrements for their upcoming drive.

While Marisa waited for Edmund, she perused the nearest painting. It was a full-length portrait of a bewigged man from the previous century, surrounded by books, his hand resting atop a celestial globe.

"Edmund. Is this a previous Earl?"

He glanced up at the painting. "Unfortunately it is not. Legend has it, however, it was won in a wager by a previous Lord Westbrook."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. She glanced at a small Gainsborough portrait, seeking any clue that might decode the mystery of Gabriel.

"It appears there is a slash," Marisa said, pointing to the corner near the frame.

Edmund's face lit up. "It got in the way of some archery practice—"

All of a sudden, his expression clouded over, and he blinked as if trying to regain focus. Marisa's pulse raced, unsure what he might do. In the next instant, he tucked her hand inside his arm, and they recommenced their stroll as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Marisa's heart returned to its normal rhythm, but Edmund's reactions puzzled her, almost as much as Gabriel's refusal to answer her questions. Despite her nervousness about Edmund, her curiosity could not be contained, particularly when it involved her faithless husband.

"Edmund, your family," she prompted, eager to continue their conversation. "Could you tell me more about them?"

"Surely there are more interesting topics for a beautiful young lady," he said. "Tell me your opinion of the latest fashion magazines I brought you from London."

She had tossed them beneath her bed without a second look, but she refrained from telling him so.

"My lord," she pretended to pout, having seen it performed with great success by the fashionable debutantes of her acquaintance. "I cannot believe you consider me such an empty-headed dolt, only thinking of fashions. Why, I am contemplating my wedding, and my new responsibilities as a married woman."

Edmund was susceptible to her wiles as she had hoped, especially since he believed her concerns were about being Lady Westbrook. He patted her hand as they made their way across the black-and-white tiled entry.

"My dear, sometimes I forget what it is to be embarking on marriage for the first time. It must be a huge adjustment for you."

"It is," Marisa said, keeping the irony from her voice. "Which is why I would like to know more about you, and your family."

"There shall be plenty of time for that later," he said as they reached the front door.

A footman stepped forward, her pelisse and bonnet in his gloved hands.

"Allow me," Edmund said. He took the deep lilac garment made of sarsenet and held it open. Marisa placed her arms inside and began to fasten the buttons. Instead of stepping back, Edmund rested his hands on her shoulders, his face close to hers. She could feel her cheeks burning, but it did not appear to dissuade him.

She moved toward the mirror, placing the white chip straw bonnet on her head. Edmund stayed behind her, smiling while she tied the ribbons with trembling fingers. Every moment in his company reminded her of the need to flee, yet she was even more trapped than before her secretive wedding.

Her stomach fluttered, so she forced the worries aside. Instead, she tugged on her kid gloves, and pasted a determined smile on her face. Edmund led her to the shiny black high-perch phaeton waiting in the drive. She grasped the side and climbed aboard with sure steps, accustomed to riding in the fast vehicles in London with her brothers. Edmund's eyes widened, but he vaulted into the seat next to her, taking the reins from the waiting groom.

Edmund slapped the reins against the horses, and the phaeton rolled down the pea-gravel driveway, the wheels crunching as they increased speed. Marisa clutched at her bonnet, certain the wind meant to purloin the delicate article.

Once they were well away from the house, Marisa would not be put off any longer. "My lord," she began.

His eyes remained straight ahead, but even in profile his frown was forbidding.

Marisa lowered her voice to a more intimate tone. "Edmund."

His eyes darted her direction. Marisa shivered at the hungry way he examined her, but she pressed on.

"Edmund, I have asked little of you until now. Please, grant me this one request."

It appeared he would have granted her any boon in that moment. He also would have requested a monumental one in return if he could. Marisa thrust that unpleasant thought aside. She was wed to Gabriel now, and somehow it made her feel impervious to Edmund's desires.

To her infinite joy, Edmund began to speak. "I have no family," he said in a dispassionate voice.

Marisa nearly slumped on the bench seat of the carriage. "None at all?"

"My wife passed away some time ago." His gloved hands clenched the reins tighter. "In a riding accident."

"I am truly sorry." Marisa felt a moment's genuine sympathy for him, but this was information she already possessed. After all, she would not be at Westbrook Hall if his previous wife were still alive.

He bestowed a magnificent smile on her. "But I am to wed you, so there is no reason to grieve for my loss."

How could she possibly tell him he had lost another wife, this one before he had had the chance to wed her?

"Still, it must have been very distressing," she said.

"Yes," Edmund agreed. "Perhaps she should have accepted her limitations as to her abilities. With horses, I mean."

Daphne had said the late Lady Westbrook had been an excellent horsewoman. Had the maid been mistaken? Yet another puzzle to add to the ones she was already trying to sort out.

"Now you can understand my concerns for you," Edmund added.

"Of course."

They rode in silence for a short distance before Marisa prompted, "Your family must have provided you solace during your loss."

Edmund's lips clamped shut. Marisa had no doubts her persistent questioning could be viewed as unseemly interest, if this were merely a pleasant afternoon drive. Still, she had no intentions of abandoning the chase so soon. At the moment Edmund was the only repository of the information she desperately needed.

"I know my siblings have been a great comfort during difficult times," Marisa continued, as if unaware of his emotional turmoil, and as if the statement were even remotely true.

"Unfortunately, I had no siblings at the time," he said. "My only brother, Charles, and his wife, died in a carriage accident fifteen years ago. So I was quite alone during my mourning."

"What tragedies you have had to endure," Marisa said. "And your brother had no children?"

"None that survived childhood."

"And you have no other relations?"

"None," he answered.

"Truly? There is not another branch of the family?"

His face hardened as he turned to her. Marisa's pelisse could hardly hope to counteract the chill in his eyes.

Despite his fearsome expression, Lord Westbrook's voice was light as he answered. "The family line is in danger of dying out, Miss Dunsmore. You have been entrusted with a most important responsibility."

"Indeed," she replied, her voice shaky.

Lord Westbrook slapped the reins against the horses, and they continued their drive. Marisa uttered a prayer that she would decipher her husband's secrets before Lord Westbrook ever learned of hers.

Several frustrating hours later, Marisa walked toward her bedchamber. She had accomplished little in her quest to solve the riddle of her husband's name, despite her determined efforts.

Upon their return from their drive, Edmund informed the footman he would be in the library for the remainder of the evening. Rather than spending any additional moments in his company, she had left her curiosity unsatisfied for the moment.

If only she did not have to leave other interests unsated.

She was wed now, but she was unable to consummate her marriage. During the whole of the drive with Edmund, she had contemplated how the marriage should have been the culmination of her dreams, the fulfillment of her belief that she was loved at long last.

Yet Gabriel had made it plain that wedding her was not a sign he loved her. How could she hope to be more than his wife in name only while he persisted in playing her false?

Just the thought of him set her to throbbing anew in her nether regions. She grasped the door handle of her bedchamber, certain she would collapse otherwise. How did Gabriel manage to arouse such intense sensations without even being near? It seemed all she could think about was the lessons in passion he had promised she would enjoy.

Now there was no opportunity to experience them, since her husband had wed her for some reason he refused to divulge. She had no idea what he would do next. Neither did she know what she would do. Escaping marriage to Edmund had not provided the freedom she had anticipated. In truth, her situation was even more knotted than before, with as little hope of disentangling herself, or her beloved aunt.

Marisa opened the door, exhausted by the mental to and fro-ing, and more than ready for a soothing bath. To her surprise, Daphne stood in the middle of the room, the bunch of snowdrops clutched in her hand. Despite Marisa's ire with her new husband, she had been unable to toss the delicate white flowers aside, and instead, had placed them in a small glass of water.