Her Scottish Groom (11 page)

“Milady, please calm yourself. This back-and-forth is making my head spin and you have ceased to make sense.” At the servant’s blunt words, she stopped.

Florette coughed slightly. “Men behave like that. And your husband is known for enjoying the company of women.”

“I’m a woman.” She looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Why can’t he enjoy my company?”

The Frenchwoman tutted. “You must make him enjoy your presence. Don’t make scenes over his
little indiscretions. Charm him, captivate him. Make him feel welcome. As a wife, that is your best hope.”

A bitter laugh escaped her at the maid’s earnest words. “Yes, I know. Hide my real feelings, tolerate his indiscretions. That is a wife’s path in life.”

“Oui
, milady.” The maid rolled up her sewing and prepared to leave. “I am sorry.”

“I want another path.” Diantha whispered the words, then stopped the other woman. “Florette, could you find something in my wardrobe in which I might look remotely attractive at dinner this evening?”

A slow smile broke across the Frenchwoman’s face. “I am sure I can, milady.”

True to her word, the maid found a few dresses which did not rob her skin of color and make her brown hair dull. “I think my mother expected me to wait until after the honeymoon to wear this.”

“Most of your wardrobe looks like it was chosen for someone else, milady.” Florette carefully coaxed a curl to lie over Diantha’s shoulder. “There isn’t a great deal to choose from.”

“My mother invariably selects colors that suit her.” Diantha turned her head slightly, admiring the effect of the rich brown curl against her fair skin. “That looks very well! Thank you.”

“I found a length of ribbon for a choker as well. If you will allow me.” The maid tied a length of black velvet around the younger woman’s neck.

Diantha stood up. “I just hope I can find the courage to leave our rooms in this gown.” The only ensemble suitable for dinner was an evening gown of aqua satin that exposed her shoulders and the
very tops of her breasts. Although acceptably low for a married woman of her station, she had never exposed so much skin before. Florette smiled and settled a silk shawl over her shoulders.

Kieran waited outside her door, impeccably dressed in a frock coat, embroidered vest, and dark ascot tie. A glint of admiration sparked in his eyes before he raised an eyebrow at her more formal dress. She stared back at him coldly before taking his proffered arm, and they walked to the saloon in silence.

She expected the other passengers to look askance at her as well, but several of the matrons present greeted her with obvious sympathy. Evidently gossip about her husband and Senhora Henriques had spread. Seething, she nevertheless put on a pleasant demeanor during the meal and exerted herself to converse amiably with the other diners, including her husband.

The
senhora
kept her distance until after the meal, when she approached them. “Lord Rossburn, how nice to see you again. And your very young wife.” She nodded to Diantha.

“What a lovely ensemble.” The older woman cocked her head to one side. “I quite understand why one would not wait for an appropriate occasion to wear it.” Turning to Kieran, she tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan. “I beg you not to scold her, my lord. I recall how confusing society was when I emerged from the schoolroom.”

Diantha’s temper kindled at the woman’s mocking smile. She placed a hand on Kieran’s arm. “You must have an excellent memory to recall events
that far back, madam. I can only hope mine works as well when I attain advanced years.”

A few smothered laughs could be heard throughout the room. Kieran’s eyes turned to aqua ice. “You must excuse us, Senhora. Lady Rossburn is feeling tired this evening, and I must escort her to her room.”

She resisted him when he started out the door. Another ripple of amusement spread through the room. At this, he simply put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and pulled her after him.

“You made a fool of yourself in there.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he towed her along the narrow passage.

“Why not? You had already done so with that horrid female.” She struggled to keep up with him, her tightly laced corset preventing her from catching her breath.

“And if you had just ignored her, it would have blown over easily enough.” He opened the door to her room and thrust her inside. “She’s the one who would have looked like a fool.”

Diantha refused to be treated like a naughty child. “And I suppose you would overlook a man who offered you an insult.”

“That is entirely different.” He twisted the door handle and escorted her inside. “Good evening, madam.” With a bow, he left again, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Florette silently helped her out of the satin gown and into her nightclothes. Diantha lay awake long after the maid had left the room. In the early hours of the morning, she heard Kieran return to his
room. Imagining him in the
senhora’s
arms, she pounded the pillow several times in frustration, then buried her face in it to stifle her weeping.

   Kieran’s feet thudded along the passageway as he paced back to the saloon. The wretched girl had attended a finishing school near Paris. Surely she had developed some grasp of basic social behavior among the worldly French.

A wife never publicly acknowledged her husband’s flirtations with another woman. It simply was not done. Besides, he only intended to amuse himself, not seduce. The
senhora
, while a delightful shipboard diversion, would play no part in his life after the voyage. Nor did he harbor any illusions that she regarded him as anything more than a pleasant episode.

Females had thrown themselves at him since his school days and he delighted in the physical pleasures so many of them offered. Nearly every married man he knew strayed eventually. Once he and Diantha lost interest in one another, he expected he would too.

Without an overcoat, the brisk night air penetrated his evening wear as soon as he stepped onto the promenade deck. Surely she knew that as his wife, her position in society was unassailable. She would have the protection of his name and title for the rest of her life. In return, he expected her to behave in a manner suitable to her position in society.

A memory nudged him, of a day several years after illness had twisted his mother’s joints into
painful lumps. He recollected no words, only images. His father excusing himself for a ride. The misery on her face as she watched her husband leave, and his own shock when he realized she knew who his father was visiting.

He slowed down, nodding at a couple as they strolled past. His father had exercised the utmost discretion about his affair. Certainly the previous Lord Rossburn had never thrown his inamorata into his wife’s face. That had appeared to provide little comfort to his mother, though.

What clawed at him wasn’t Diantha, but the marriage itself. He resented being confined to a relationship he had not sought. Perhaps he was like his father after all.

He rejected that notion. By all accounts, his parents had married for love. He and Diantha had not. With no emotional attachment on either side, was infidelity that much of a betrayal?

He grasped the handle of the saloon door and paused. What kind of man caused a woman to suffer for something that wasn’t her fault?

As he entered the room, Kieran noticed several glances in his direction. Most of the women and a few men regarded him with expressions of disapproval, while the
senhora’s
smug smile only irritated him further.

He ignored her blatant lure and joined a convivial group of men gathered at the opposite end of the room. When one of them suggested repairing to the card room, he accepted with a sense of relief.

* * *

The next morning, Florette took one look at Diantha’s swollen eyes and sent for a cold compress. She neither asked questions nor gave any indication that she had heard about last night’s confrontation, although Diantha was sure the entire ship must know about it.

However, as the maid brushed out her hair, she did remark that Lord Rossburn spent several hours playing cards in the first-class saloon the previous evening.

As she watched their reflections in the dressing room mirror, Diantha considered the woman’s words. “That sounds rather like spying on my husband.”

“I would not dream of doing anything so disrespectful, milady.” The servant sniffed as she wound her hair into a chignon and secured it. “I merely happened to overhear it in passing and thought you might be interested.”

Her reflected gaze caught the servant’s in the glass. “Indeed. In that case, it would not be in the least offensive to mention what you might overhear—in passing.”

Florette nodded. “I understand perfectly.” They exchanged mischievous smiles.

“Would milady care to take a stroll around the deck?” She shook out Diantha’s mantelet.

“Thank you. I think the fresh air would do me good.” Her presence outside her cabin would also stop any talk that she had gone into hiding after last night’s debacle. A thought struck her. “Odd.”

“I beg milady’s pardon?” Florette, buttoning her own mantle, raised an eyebrow in question.

“At least my husband doesn’t keep me under lock and key.”

Encountering Kieran during their stroll caused her some anxiety, but he greeted her courteously and even joined them. She expected he also wished to avoid gossip, but he proved pleasant enough company.

The rest of the day passed unexceptionally, and as the
senhora
pleaded a headache and excused herself from dinner, Diantha quite enjoyed the meal. In the Brazilian beauty’s absence, her husband exerted himself to amuse her, along with the rest of the company. She discovered he was a gifted storyteller as he described his childhood in the Highlands.

The reason for all this attention became clear after they had both retired. A soft tap on their connecting door heralded his entrance. Diantha sat up in her berth. “What are you doing here?”

She had blown out the hanging lamp and could not see his face in the dark, but his baritone caressed her. “I should think that would be obvious. I thought we could continue your introduction to sensual pleasures.”

Her heart leaped at the idea of repeating their activities of two nights ago. Until a shrewd voice in the back of her mind asked if he was trying to procure her complaisance with physical delights.

“Buying people off,” as her father called it, often did not involve the direct payment of money. He got what he wanted by providing much desired goods or services to the other parties. Certainly she
would not deny she wanted Kieran to make her fall to pieces again.

But she also recalled the contempt with which Papa regarded those who gave into him easily. Much as he hated being balked, he respected those who stood up to him far more than those who didn’t.

“I’m still feeling a little pain from before.” While technically she still felt slight tenderness, her excuse sounded flimsy even in her own ears. She bit her lip. If he insisted on exercising his rights as a husband, she could do nothing about it.

His sigh sounded loudly through the dark. “I understand your fears, but I assure you that the pain will be less than before.”

“You told me that I would not have to do anything in bed that made me uncomfortable, and I fear it would this evening.”

He growled in his throat. “Something I am beginning to regret. Diantha, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.”
In bed, anyway
. Just now she wanted to be left alone. “But I still wish to wait until I am more recovered.”

“Very well.” He bit the words out and closed her door a great deal more loudly than he had opened it.

The next day he spent a lot of time conversing with the
senhora
. When Diantha demanded an explanation, he retorted that he only inquired after her headache.

She decided her health should take a corresponding downturn. By the time they disembarked at Le Havre, she had barred him from her bed for the remainder of their voyage. The train ride to Paris, in a
private car arranged for by Quinn Shipping Line’s French office, took place in an atmosphere of frigid civility. Even the knowledge that the Henriques had remained on board to travel to Lisbon failed to cheer her up.

They stayed in a town house in a fashionable street of the eighth arrondisement. After the dark-panelled suite aboard the
Columbia
, Diantha settled into the airy rooms with pleasure.

Her elation crumbled when she discovered that Kieran had already gone out for the evening. Finding that she could not face the dining room alone, she ordered a tray in her boudoir.

She tried reading after she finished the solitary meal, but rejected the French fashion periodicals after discovering several articles about her own trousseau in them.

Even Monsieur Jules Verne’s latest work, found after she wandered down to the library, failed to keep her interest. After the first chapter, she glanced at the gilded Louis Quinze clock on the library’s immense marble mantelpiece. Not even midnight. She sighed, shelved the book, and returned to her room.

Florette appeared several moments after she rang for her, chattering happily about returning to her native land. Diantha let the words flow past her as she prepared for bed. Her mood sank further when the maid revealed that his lordship told his valet not to wait up for him. She also hinted that Diantha should consider admitting him to her bed. Diantha set her jaw and dismissed the older woman.

* * *

Hours later, Kieran cracked the door of her bedroom. He absently pulled off his gloves as he peered inside, aware of a pang of disappointment. Delightful as it had been to look in on his acquaintances at the Grand Café, he intended his absence to teach his wife a lesson. This jealous fit of hers had to end.

He had chosen not to pick a quarrel with her under the curious eyes of their fellow passengers during their voyage. In the privacy of a town house, however, he planned to put his foot down. Much as her response to his lovemaking fascinated him, a man did not allow his wife to dictate those he did or did not speak to.