Ambersley (Lords of London) (44 page)

He frowned, for her actions before they wed belied these protestations. “I fear I don’t deserve you.” Lying back, he folded his arms beneath his head. “Get some sleep, Johanna.”

She lay on her side and watched him surreptitiously. She longed to reach out and touch his face, but the moonlight silhouetted the harsh relief of his features. He’d withdrawn into troubled silence, and she feared by broaching it, she would lose what small ground she’d gained. She doubted he understood his own capacity to love, and she’d never be able to convince him—not until she’d won his trust.

Long after his wife slipped into slumber, Derek lay awake and contemplated her words. She’d kindled a hope within him that perhaps, were he worthy enough, he might one day win her undivided love. To make her happy, he’d face down his family and keep Ambersley forever. He’d made her a duchess and he would give her free rein with her fortune. Yet he couldn’t help but fear how she’d react when she learned the truth behind his birth. For the first time, he became conscious that he guarded a secret identity that made Johanna’s charade as the gardener’s son pale in comparison. The irony weighed heavily upon him.

~

Johanna awoke late the next morning, still distracted by her thoughts, which turned more turbulent when she learned Derek had gone out. He’d been so silent and preoccupied the previous night. Had she pushed him away by talking of love? Had he gone to his mistress?

Uneasy, she set out with Nancy for the Coatsworths, hoping Harry might be able to alleviate her doubts.

The house in Portman Square was in disarray, but Aunt Bess smiled upon seeing her. “Johanna, have you come to say farewell?”

“
Are you leaving?” she asked.

“
Yes, for the Season has worn me to the bone. Harry returns with me to Bath, though I’ve told him to stay. It’s high time he started shopping for a bride of his own.”

“
No bride for me,” Harry said as he entered the drawing room. “I’ve got quite enough trouble looking after you, Mother.”

“
And here I thought I looked after you, dear,” she said sweetly.

“
Not that I’ll admit to it in public.” He bussed his mother’s cheek. “Taft has questions about covering the furniture and whether you want the chandelier stored for the winter.”

“
Heavens, is he that far along with packing? Excuse me, Johanna.” Aunt Bess retreated, a tiny general in a mobcap.

Harry seated them both on the divan and took Johanna’s hand. “Is something amiss?”

“
Not exactly.” She squeezed his fingers and released her hand to smooth her skirt while she summoned her courage. “May I speak with you on a private matter?”

He studied her. “Something you cannot broach with your husband?”

“
No, I—oh, Harry, does he still keep a mistress in Town?” she blurted out.

“
Johanna! How do you know about—?” Harry muttered an oath. “Derek should never have spoken to Johnny of such things. Put it from your mind.”

“
It’s rather a difficult topic to forget now that I’m his wife,” Johanna said.

“
Do your best.”

“
Just tell me yea or nay, that’s all I ask.”

Harry hopped up and stepped away as if distance from her were vital. “I don’t know. Derek doesn’t discuss his amours with me.” He turned horrified eyes on her. “And don’t you dare ask him, nor hint that you asked me. He’d be livid to learn you gave any thought to it.”

Johanna sank back into the cushions with a huff. Harry was right, but her mind was even less easy than it had been. Indecision gnawed at her, for if he couldn’t help her, she would need to seek further advice. And awkward as it may be, there was but one other source she could trust.

~

The rest of the week sped by in a blur. During the days, Derek would leave the house for places Johanna sensed she was safer not contemplating. In the evenings, they dressed and made their committed appearances where Derek would often adjourn to the card room and leave Johanna to her own devices. At an impasse with her husband, Johanna centered her attention on Olivia and Mr. Barlow.

Johanna delivered the lovers’ missives and tokens surreptitiously. She often accepted notes from Mr. Barlow at the parties and delivered them safely to Olivia while they strolled along New Bond Street together. She even agreed to a carriage ride with him one afternoon, which raised Paget’s brows. Once in the carriage, Johanna regretted her impetuosity. Mr. Barlow had brought along sheaves of parchment on which he’d scratched his poetry, and he urged her to follow along while he recited his finest pieces praising Olivia’s beauty. After an hour, Johanna wondered what she’d ever done to deserve such punishment.

Derek seemed to take no notice of the time she spent with Mr. Barlow, and Johanna found it a depressing sign that she couldn’t inspire jealousy in her own husband. She might have thought he didn’t care for her at all, except that each night in the privacy of his bedroom, he lavished her with the most intimate of attentions. When she whispered words of love to him, she swore a yearning ignited in his eyes, but he said naught in return. Humbly, she accepted his silence and awaited the day he would willingly share his secret with her.

~

July gave way to August on the night of the Worthing Ball, and fanning herself amongst the crush of guests, Rosalie Vaughan was forced to admit that the Season, overall, had been dismal. Olivia had failed to snare the attention of a duke, a marquess, even an earl. Curtis still didn’t have the dukedom he deserved. Derek and his bride continued to thwart her at every turn—she’d cornered them into a forced marriage, and they still managed to appear content. Happiness would be on the horizon next.

Unless she prevented it.

From her vantage point near the punch bowl, Rosalie scanned the ballroom. Her eyes narrowed as she caught Lord Worthing ushering Johanna onto the terrace. The night was warm, and torches would be lit along the paths in his gardens, Rosalie knew. The perfect spot to share a secluded
tête-à-tête
. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity.

Gathering her skirts, Rosalie pushed through the crowd until she found Derek near a potted fern opposite the orchestra. If her luck held, he hadn’t witnessed his wife’s escape with another man. She hurried to Derek’s side and laid hold of his arm. “My dear, I swear you’ve been avoiding me.”

Her accusation hit its mark, but Derek dredged up a polite reply. “Have you need of me, Mother?”

Aware she might have but this one chance, she launched her attack. “You married your heiress. I want to know when you plan to relinquish Ambersley to Curtis.”

He stiffened. “Curtis must show some maturing before—”

“
Nonsense,” she hissed. “You’ve delayed this for years. You now have the money you promised to set aside for your brother and sister, Curtis has reached his majority, and Ambersley is in good repair. You can have no further arguments to prevent you from fulfilling your promise to me—and Reginald’s son.”

Derek watched the crowded floor, but could find no hint of Johanna in her rose-colored gown. “Have I not been clear? I’ll not dance to your tune. Until Curtis is ready for such responsibility, I’ll not hand him—or you—Ambersley.”

She straightened with a huff. “After all I’ve done for you, you continue to cross me.”

Derek snorted. “You’ve done nothing but drain my pockets. And that will stop, too.”

“
After I made sure you got your heiress? Let’s be honest, Derek, she wouldn’t have married you without the threat of scandal.” Rosalie leaned back to watch her adversary while a smile hovered on her lips.
Oh yes, that very word ’scandal’ put him on the defensive.
“You should thank me.”

“
Go to hell.”

Venom rose to her tongue. “How
dare
you? I’ve waited ten years to see
my
son get his rightful inheritance while you strutted about and put him off with your tales of duty. You took his father’s love, his title, his bride—you even supplanted him with that stable boy.”

Derek didn’t flinch at her litany of injustices. She pursed her lips and patted her turban. In a calmer tone, she said, “Cross me in this, and I swear you’ll regret it.”

This time, he laughed outright. “You cannot touch me with your threats.”

“
No, but I can tell some very damning stories about your stable boy wife that will destroy her reputation. Be warned.” A smile lit her face as she backed away from him to toss her final verbal dagger. “Oh but then, she’s well on her way to destroying her reputation already.”

A tic in Derek’s cheek was the only sign of movement in his rock-hard face. His eyes glittered with tightly leashed anger. “You speak of her attentions toward young Barlow. He’s a pup—

“
Barlow?” Rosalie allowed herself a throaty laugh, enjoying the delicacy of this moment. Finally, she would have her revenge on that interfering little chit. “My dear, Johanna’s moved far beyond impotent dandies. She’s out in the garden with our host as we speak.”

Fury flashed across his features before he masked it. Without a word, he strode toward the open doorway leading to the terrace.

Derek’s little wife was in for it now. Rosalie almost felt sorry for the girl.

Almost.

~

Grateful for Worthing’s silence as he escorted her outside, Johanna drank in the clear night air, hoping it would refresh her spirits. Without hesitation, she descended the steps from the terrace into the small formal garden. The hedges formed a maze of sorts, where many a reputation had been trapped, but even in the dark she felt no fear.

Worthing pulled her to a stop. “Is this wise, Johanna?” he asked with unflappable calm. “You said you wished to ask me a question, but I should think the terrace would be sufficient for that.”

“
Please, my lord. My need is of a most delicate nature.” She looked up to find torchlight cast an amber glow that reflected the haughty aristocratic line of his nose and jaw. He looked cold and implacable, but she knew better. “If I may still claim you as a friend?”

His jaw softened with a reluctant smile. “You shall ruin my reputation.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued down the steps with her. “But I think it’s high time you called me St. John. It seems hardly fair to stand on ceremony when you continue to entrust me with delicate secrets.”

“
Thank you, St. John.” Johanna squeezed his arm. Releasing a heavy sigh she gazed at the heavens. “I’d rather no one overhear us.”

He drew her to a bench and waited as she smoothed her skirts and sat. “You have my undivided attention, my dear. How may I be of service?”

Nervously, Johanna tried to find words to broach the painful topic.

“
Come. Out with it. Have I not proven trustworthy?”

“
Most trustworthy, which is why I must impose upon you, that is—oh…” She paused once more before blurting out her troubles. “Do you keep a mistress, my lord?”

To his bark of laughter—quickly muffled—she added, “I do not mean to pry, but I’m curious to know why a wedded man still has need of a mistress, and I thought you might provide…some insight.”

She feared the question might offend him, but only concern painted his features as he seated himself and drew her hands into his. Just this tiny consolation made her sigh with all the pent up misery of the past two weeks.

“
What’s this?” he asked. “You’re unhappy. Has Derek misused you? He’s not hurt you, has he?”

“
No, not hurt me, except—he cannot love me.” She bent her head with the shame of it.

“
He cannot…has he not bedded you?”

Johanna’s face warmed, and she looked away. “Oh, yes, we’ve…”

“
Then, is it that you find no pleasure in his touch?”

She swallowed. She’d known this conversation would be awkward, so she could only be grateful that he treated the topic as commonplace. Bravely, she met his worried gaze. “He gives me much pleasure, more I suspect than many wives receive from their husbands.”

Worthing leaned back to study her. “Then forgive me for not understanding—”

“
He speaks no words of love, and I cannot help but worry that he reserves them for another.”