The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (11 page)

It was bad enough that those others had included women. Being a war hero and a devastatingly virile man, Marcus had always attracted female attention. In the past, his behavior as an obviously devoted husband had discouraged interested ladies from trying to pursue an affair. Now, however, the high-kick harlots sensed blood in the water, and they’d wasted no time in circling him with hunger in their eyes.

The most persistent amongst them was the Countess of Ashley, the former Miss Cora Pilkington. The milk-fed trollop was more devious than the rest. Whilst Marcus was too upstanding a gentleman to flirt with other ladies even now—thank God—Lady Cora hid her salacious intentions behind a demure and winsome manner. Everyone knew her marriage to Ashley was an unhappy one, and she wasted no time in garnering Marcus’ sympathy. Her damsel-in-distress act set Penny’s teeth on edge.

On two recent occasions, Penny had seen the other clinging to Marcus’ every word, wearing a doleful, worshipping expression, and she’d wanted to scratch the bitch’s eyes out.

But that was neither here nor there.

“Things haven’t improved between Blackwood and me.” The admission made her voice rusty. “I don’t know that they ever will. I’ve been trying… but Blackwood hasn’t thawed. I don’t think he can ever forgive me.”

“You mustn’t give up hope.” Thea reached out and squeezed Penny’s hand. “Your husband loves you. I’m sure he just needs time to adjust.”

Leave it to Thea to think the best of every situation.

“Do you think it would help if Tremont spoke with your husband?” Thea went on. “Because he would be happy to—”

“It won’t help. Blackwood doesn’t want to hear about my past—least of all from my former colleague.” Penny forced a smile. “And while I sincerely doubt that Tremont would be
happy
to play any part in my imbroglio, I have no doubt that he would do so at your behest, my dear.”

Thea blushed. She said nothing, but then she didn’t have to. It was clear to all and sundry that Tremont adored his new bride, would take the stars down from the sky if she asked. Having been acquainted with the cold and ruthless spy that Tremont had once been, Penny thought the change in her old comrade nothing short of a miracle. Then again, a sweet and innocent lady like Thea deserved no less.

“So what is your plan?”

Penny looked to Marianne. “Plan?”

“For winning Blackwood back,” the blond beauty clarified.

“What I’ve been doing, I suppose.” She shrugged to hide her frustration. “Having his favorite foods prepared, making our home an oasis of domestic tranquility. Doing my part as the perfect marchioness, which includes planning the Winter Ball to end all Winter Balls.” She paused, adding wryly, “And then there’s the groveling.”

“Food is an excellent idea,” the duchess put in. “Whenever His Grace and I have a disagreement, I find Scotch pie an excellent way to make peace.”

“She makes Scotch pie at least once a week,” Thea said, her hazel eyes sparkling.

“Twice,” Emma said.

“Food and being the consummate hostess are all well and good,” Marianne said, “but in my opinion there ought to be a limit to the groveling.”

“Obviously I haven’t reached it yet.” Penny allowed herself a sigh. “Blackwood shows no signs of forgiving me.”

“Perhaps it isn’t his forgiveness you most need.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Marianne smoothed the skirts of her fawn silk carriage dress. Having learned to read others as a necessary part of survival, Penny interpreted the other’s gesture as preparation for saying something difficult. Marianne’s next words proved her intuition right.

“I’ve done things that I’ve regretted—that many consider beyond the pale,” the blonde said steadily. “One could say that, in some ways, I’ve been where you are now. Given the wrong that I’d done, I didn’t believe I could win over a man as good and honorable as my husband.”

She didn’t need to say more. It was a well-known fact amongst the
ton
that her daughter, Primrose, had been born out of wedlock, the product of a youthful indiscretion. When Ambrose Kent had wed Marianne, he’d also adopted Primrose, and the Kent family had taken the girl under their collective wing, making it clear that she was one of their own.

“How did you? Win him over, I mean?” Penny said.

“By forgiving myself. In truth, Ambrose helped me to realize that we all make mistakes, and, most importantly,”—Marianne’s eyes held hers—“true love forgives.”

The words struck tinder, a painful flare within Penny’s chest. It took her a moment to recognize what she was feeling. The emotion was so at odds with her guilt and remorse that she hadn’t paid it any mind. But the smoldering ember was there, had
been
there for days if she was honest, and it was one of… resentment.

True, she’d wronged Marcus and broken his trust. She deserved his anger… and yet didn’t she also deserve at least a
chance
to make amends? He’d vowed that they would never go to bed angry with one another, yet for six weeks now, she’d endured his wrath and, worse yet, sleepless nights in a cold and lonely bed. He wouldn’t listen to her, shut her out completely, and when she’d made that desperate attempt to connect with him, he’d dismissed her… like a whore.

Because that’s what you are. And he doesn’t even know the ugliest part of it. Imagine how he’d despise you if he knew the full truth…

Her hands balled in her lap, a vise of shame digging into her heart. She couldn't share these dark thoughts with friends—or with anyone, except for Flora. So, with skill borne out of practice, she pushed them into a mental box and locked them away until such time as she knew what to do with them. Which might prove to be never.

For the time being, she had to soldier on. Focus on her plan. Showing Marcus that she was truly contrite and that she could be a wife worthy of him were her only hopes of winning him back.

“I appreciate your concern.” Her gaze included all of her guests. “Truly, I am grateful for your visit, but I think it best to persevere with my plan. I’ll continue trying to please my husband, and that includes putting on the biggest crush the
ton
has ever seen.”

Steeling herself against astute glances, Penny held her smile in place.

After a moment, Marianne said quietly, “Then you must let us know how we may assist with the ball preparations.”

Relief trickled through her that her friends wouldn’t push her on the issue.

“I haven’t even made the guest list yet,” she admitted.

“If you have a pen and parchment handy, I could jot down a list,” Emma volunteered. “Between all of us, we ought to know who’s in Town.”

“We could make a list of anything else you need too,” Thea added.

Penny could think of a few things.

My husband’s forgiveness.

His love.

The marriage I once had.

“Thank you. That sounds lovely,” she said and smiled to hide her aching heart.

Chapter Twelve

As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of their townhouse, Marcus’ youngest son, indigo eyes wide and tone wheedling said, “Please Papa, can’t we go for a walk in the square before supper?”

“We’re already dressed for the snow, and it’s the warmest it has been all week.” His middle child took up the cause. “What would ten minutes hurt?”

Not to be bested, his eldest quoted, “
Walking is man’s best medicine.
”

When the rascals joined forces, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Stifling a smile, Marcus said, “Who am I to argue with Hippocrates? As long as your mama agrees.”

The last words emerged from him automatically, without conscious consideration. It was a habit borne from over a decade of parenting three high-spirited boys with his wife. As it was too late to take the words back, he raised a brow at her.

Sitting on the opposite bench with their youngest, Pandora stared at him, her sooty lashes fluttering. Uncertainty flitted through her eyes, making his gut twist… with shame.

Of late, he’d been a bastard to her, and he knew it. He just didn’t know how to stop. How to stem the jealous rage that roared over him at the thought of her betrayal… of her being with other men. Even now, his muscles bunched instinctively, and he had to barricade his fury.

She looked to their children, saying firmly, “No more than ten minutes.” She adjusted the collar of Owen’s coat and pulled his knitted cap down tightly over his dark curls. “Be sure to keep your scarves and gloves on and watch for the icy patches.”

“Yes, Mama,” the boys chorused.

The groom let down the steps, and the three scamps bounded out, heading for the square, their navy woolen coats and red scarves bright splashes against the snow-dusted terrain. Marcus alighted next and helped his wife down. Her boots touched lightly to the ground, her ermine-lined cloak of ruby velvet swirling gracefully around her. Wordlessly, he offered her his arm. Her eyes wide, her breath puffing in the chilled air, she took it, holding onto him tightly as they followed their children through the gates.

It was nearing dusk, and the park was empty. The setting sun cast glinting jewels over the snow-crusted ground and trees. Ice crunched beneath their feet as they trailed their sons, who were whooping and pelting each other with snowballs.

“They’re little savages,” Marcus remarked.

“They’ve just been cooped up as of late. What with the snow and the cold weather, they haven’t had a chance to expend their energy,” Penny said. “They’re just boys being boys.”

Which she would say even if the rascals committed bloody murder. Marcus felt his lips twitch. His wife always defended their offspring—even when they didn’t deserve it—a tendency that he found both exasperating and adorable. And, damn it, it was good to have a normal conversation with her again. To be walking arm and arm with her, talking about their children.

Not wanting to lose the feeling, he said, “Have you forgotten that we just took them to the spectacle at Astley’s? After an afternoon of watching Madame Monique le Magnifique balancing on a tightrope, I should think they’ve had their fair share of excitement for the day.”

“Well, watching someone on a tightrope isn’t the same as walking it yourself,” she replied softly.

The subtext didn’t escape him, and her uncharacteristic tentativeness again knotted his insides, made him want to apologize for acting like a damned cad these past two weeks. At the same time, his vulnerability when it came to his wife angered him. Having full knowledge of her deceptive nature, he would no longer countenance being played like a puppet, and yet he couldn’t free himself from her strings. As the episode in his bathing room had so clearly proved.

Desire and anger washed through him in a confounding wave. Christ, one look at her and he’d lost control, succumbing to urges he didn’t want to have—at least, not until his head was clear, and he could decide upon the future. Yet she’d snapped her fingers, and he’d gone running to her like a bloody trained hound.

He resented her power over him even as he hated the way he was treating her. It was a devilish conundrum, and one he didn’t yet know how to resolve. But he also didn’t want things to continue as they had been, tension hanging over them like a shroud.

More silence passed than he had intended, which he realized when Penny tugged her hand free as if she sensed the downward spiral of his mood. Her lashes lowered, she said, “I’ll just go check on the boys—”

“They’re fine.” He caught her hand, tucked it firmly back into the crook of his arm. “Stay and walk with me a moment.”

Doubt shadowed her gaze. “You want me to?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Hearing the curtness of his words, he strove for a calmer tone. “It’s been a while since we’ve spoken alone.”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to seeing as he’d been the one to erect the wall of silence between them. Her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth; he didn’t miss her cautious sidelong glance as they trudged on.

His mind latched onto a suitable topic. “How are the plans progressing for the Winter Ball?”

“Nicely.” Some of her hesitation faded. “It’s only been a week since I sent out invitations, and already I’ve received positive replies from nearly all. We’ll have a crush on our hands.”

This didn’t surprise Marcus. Over the years, it had been a source of pride for him to watch Penny flourish in her role as the Marchioness of Blackwood. She’d tackled the job the way she seemed to do everything in life: with passion and verve, a willful determination to succeed. Through hard work (that she somehow made look easy), she’d become one of the
ton
’s most influential and fashionable hostesses… not to mention a doting mama and a mistress adored by all her servants.

Yet despite all her success, the confidence she’d earned by right, she’d never lost her vulnerability with him. After every glittering ball she threw, she’d always ask him, a hint of anxiety in her eyes, “What did you think, Marcus? Did you enjoy it?”

The knot tightened in his chest. How could he reconcile the loving wife who’d dedicated herself to pleasing him with the devious ex-spy who’d been lying to him for the entirety of their marriage?

He… couldn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t possible.

Enjoy the bloody walk. Don’t think about it now.

Pushing aside his turmoil, he cleared his throat. “Who will we be expecting?” He asked not because he cared but because he wanted to prolong this domestic conversation. To linger for a little longer in this oasis of normality.

“The usual off-Season crowd: the Temples, Osterwicks, Knowles. Oh, the Hartefords will be there as well as Lady Helena is recuperating in Town.”

“Recuperating?”

“From childbirth.”

Marcus felt the resonance of sorrow and saw it in the trembling of his wife’s lips. Despite the three years that had passed since they’d laid their stillborn child into the ground, the memory of loss quivered between them. It was yet another reminder of the intricate connections that bound them, invisible threads spun by time and shared experience. It flitted through his head that grief as well as joy could cement the bricks of a marriage.

“From what I hear, Lady Helena is doing well,” Penny said quietly.