Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 65
Maybe, just maybe, she could teach him a lesson.
As he watched her, she also watched him, mirroring his look.
When he released the girl’s mouth and a wicked grin crossed his lips, so did a grin cross hers, as if to goad him on.
It didn’t take long for an alarmed expression to overtake him. He must have expected her to leave, to cower from the room in shame, but when she continued to stay, her gaze fixed on the scene before her, he fumbled…his confidence shaken. Possibly he found his game suddenly lacking in excitement.
Lorelei cocked an eyebrow and nodded. Hell would freeze over before she gave in to him and looked away. She’d learned to play these mind games at a young age, and was more adept at them than he could ever imagine. The days of her husband thinking she was a helpless, naïve girl were over.
Chastain trailed kisses down the girl’s neck and continued to her shoulder, all the while keeping Lorelei in his sights.
Truly, she shouldn’t be surprised at his outlandish behavior. They’d done their research on the current Lord Chastain before journeying to London. He was a confirmed rakehell who showed no signs of settling down, and no interest in repairing his damaged reputation. For all she knew, he didn’t see himself as anything but the lord he was—above all who criticized his actions. Yet, she wondered for what seemed the hundredth time, why her? Why had he needed to have her?
She cleared her throat.
Chastain’s eyes narrowed, and the girl whipped around at the sound, finally taking notice that they were not alone.
“I do hope you both are enjoying yourselves,” Lorelei said coldly.
“My lady—”
“Do not ‘my lady’ me,” she said. The girl shrank back in fear. “You will gather your belongings and leave this house. If I see you again, I will call the magistrate.”
“You do not command my home,” Chastain said.
“Ah, my beloved husband finally speaks.” She wanted to laugh at the girl’s terror, and Chastain’s baffled expression. He most certainly hadn’t realized his wife had a backbone. “This is my home, as well as yours, so please be a dear and put on your clothes. Upon completing that task, you will show your lady love out of this house.”
“I am truly sorry,” the girl mumbled as she scrambled to exit the bed. “I can’t be being dismissed, m’lady.”
“I have no doubt you are sorry I caught you in bed with my husband.” She turned back to Chastain, who still lay on the bed. “As for you, set your mistress up with her own flat, as any respectable man of the ton would do.”
Her confidence soared as the girl scrambled to collect her clothing and rushed from the room, leaving only her and Chastain. She plastered an innocent smile on her face, ready to do battle if it came to that.
When the door clicked closed behind the girl, her bravado dwindled as Chastain too climbed from the bed to stand before her, completely naked. His body still smelled of his exploits. His hands on his hips and his stance wide, Chastain was a daunting figure. Though he apparently hadn’t been to his fencing club this morning, his body was lean and toned from another type of exercise.
She had no doubt that had they met under different circumstances, she might have been attracted to him, his cocky, self-assured attitude notwithstanding. Currently, all she saw was a man with no qualms about taking advantage of a young woman, and then embarrassing her in her new home.
“Now that you have said your part…” His eyes traveling the length of her as if she were the one sans clothing, “We both understand what this is.”
For a fraction of a second, she feared he knew her purpose for marrying him. “Do we?”
“This”—he threw his arms wide—“is a marriage of convenience for me, and a gift for you and your family, seeing as how you are determined to make a place for yourself in society. A society, I might add, that does not take kindly to foreigners.”
“You think I wanted this?” Lorelei suppressed her anger. “You approached my father, asked for my hand in marriage…giving me no chance to voice my opinion.” She knew the argument was pointless, and didn’t understand why she cared.
“Who would not seek to marry a duke?”
Her muscles quivered in anger and her pulse raced. “I can name at least one person who’d rather eat dirt than marry a selfish, egotistical buffoon of a duke.”
Suddenly, Lorelei doubled over. Her stomach lurched more violently than ever before. Her knees buckled under her, and she pushed past Chastain to the bed.
“Are you all right?” Concern laced his voice and the fight left him. “Shall I send for the doctor?”
Lorelei concentrated on pulling air into her lungs and expelling it slowly to settle her stomach. Her head rested on the side of the bed where she knelt.
“I had heard word you were unwell lately. I will send for the doctor.”
“No,” she said through clenched teeth. “I will be fine, just send my maid to me and leave me be.”
“Of course.” He actually sounded contrite, though she knew better than to trust him.
“And Benji…”
His footfalls halted. “Yes?”
“Keep your dollymop from this house.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “This may be a marriage of convenience for you, but I will not stand by quietly if you insist on making me look the fool.”
Chastain continued out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Lorelei sat with her face against the cool bedcover, breathing in and out to calm herself.
It was then that the realization struck her, and she frantically counted backwards.
Seven weeks.
She’d been so focused on finding the plans and extricating herself from her sham of a marriage, that time had passed and she hadn’t noticed. Her older dresses had become snug, which suited her fine because as long as she was forced to be wed to Chastain, she would not quibble about spending his coin to outfit herself.
But she hadn’t dwelled on the reason behind her weight gain, overwhelming hunger, and extreme sickness.
Lord help her if it were true.
She carried Lord Chastain’s baby, most likely a product of their wedding night, for he’d scarcely touched her since.
Her world tilted, and Lorelei collapsed on the bed as the nausea became too much.
Chapter 14
Andrew had been forced from his own townhouse by Mrs. Bee and his valet. Logically, he’d sought refuge at White’s Gentlemen’s Club, where he paid handsomely for peace and quiet. One would think that having a title, funds, and your own home would entitle a man to a bit of harmony, but no. His servants were determined to drive him from the comforts of his own bedchambers.
White’s held all the luxuries of his own home: fine meals and spirits, warm atmosphere, comfortable seating… Beyond that, he could also enjoy card games and the company of like-minded men, something lacking at his estate. Initially upon arrival, he’d escaped to a lesser-used corner of the room, not far from the warm fire, and spread the Post across his lap for some light afternoon reading. You’d think he would have learned his lesson with respect to current affairs, but his thirst for a diversion won out over his need to avoid any new information about a certain couple.
He’d barely settled into the paper with drink in hand before a gentleman approached him. Andrew could not remember the man’s name, no less his title.
“Drake.” The man offered his tumbler in salute. “Happy to hear about Lord Chastain’s nuptials. Let him know I wish him good tidings.” Blood hummed through Andrew’s veins so loudly it nearly drowned out the man’s words.
He didn’t raise his own glass in salute to the new couple nor speak, preferring to stare quietly.
“I will leave you to your paper,” the man wisely said before turning tail and returning to his seat across the room.
“Idiot.” He returned to the paper, scanning the page for anything interesting to calm his nerves. To his vexation, not one headline caught his eye. It was all the same: levied taxes expected to rise, Bonaparte taking down Ottoman troops by the thousands, and the ongoing debate in the American colonies over slavery. None of these issues held his attention for long, though as a British lord, he knew he should be concerned about such goings-on.
Finally, he discarded the paper in favor of his drink.
He’d sobered since his confrontation with Mrs. Bee, and had actually turned away two lovely women sent by Madame Sasha to improve his spirits. His housekeeper was correct in assuming some time away from his townhouse would do him good, and further, would give his servants time to tidy the mess he’d made of the place. But he would not let her know that, so he had slipped from the house and hoped she didn’t notice his absence.
Focusing on the fire, Andrew contemplated what was next for him. Attending social functions hadn’t helped distract him. Unsavory women, while alluring, hadn’t held his attention. And now, it seemed his club was not the sanctuary it had once been. He would retire to his country estate if Mrs. Bee hadn’t impressed upon him how much he’d frightened the staff in residence, who still worked to repair the damage he’d done.
Maybe a trip abroad would soothe him, yet the thought only brought to mind images of dark-haired beauties with emerald eyes, their laughter floating across the room.
“Ah, there you are.”
Andrew looked up from the fire as Benji plopped into the chair across from him.
“Why so glum?” he asked.
Andrew wondered if he were serious. The nerve of his friend waltzing into White’s and daring to sit across from him as if the last two months hadn’t happened.
“Chastain.” He could only muster the one word.
“My good man.” Chastain whistled through his pinched lips. “It looks as if you haven’t had a proper shave in over a month. Has Samuels finally decided to seek employment from a man who more adequately appreciates his efforts?”
Andrew set his drink aside and faced his friend. “What do you want?” If Benji insisted on having this conversation here, in public, then Andrew would give him that. “Have you come to gloat?”
“Gloat about what?” Benji asked. “Hell, no. I have come to avoid my new wife. I find married life highly disagreeable.”
Startled by the turn of the conversation, he pondered what man in his right mind would find Lady Lorelei disagreeable. Chastain had won the ultimate prize and didn’t seem to realize it.
“The woman is incorrigible,” Chastain went on before signaling a passing servant for a drink. “Just today she turned up—out of thin air, I might add—in my bedchambers.”
Andrew wanted to chuckle. He dreamed night and day of just that occurrence. “Ah, yes, do expound on the horrors of marital life.”
“I knew you would understand, my friend. It appears you are the smarter of us.” Chastain sat back in his seat and stretched his legs toward the fire. “It has been most dreadful.”
“How so?”
“Well, I am so deep in despair I do not know where to begin—and I am certain she must feel the same.”
“How about starting with what currently has you so upset.” Andrew didn’t recognize the man before him, for Benji actually looked to be unhappy and incapable of fixing whatever ailed him. And the thought that Lorelei suffered as well was unacceptable. “You said you found her in your bedchambers.”
Benji kept his silence while a servant brought him his drink. After taking a small sip, he continued, “The whole mess was quite inappropriate. Sally and I had slipped into my chambers for a late-morning romp—”
“Just a moment, who is Sally?”
“Oh, she is of no concern. Only a comely maid I happened upon at my country estate while I was exiled after my wedding. Fine little filly, I might add. But that is not the important part,” Benji said, and waved his hand in dismissal. “We—Sally and I—had barely reached our end when I looked up, and you will never guess who stood there…just watching.”
Andrew could guess exactly who stood there—and what she must have been thinking.
Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Devastation.
He wanted to feel empathy for her. He searched deep for a feeling of sorrow on her behalf.
Yet, all he could muster was a smirk and the satisfaction that she’d reaped what she’d sown. The fact that his friend was suffering as well was another feather in his cap.
“That must have shocked you greatly,” Andrew said, realizing Benji waited for a response. “What did you do?”
“What did I do?” he said with a sigh. “She did not give me a second to do anything.”
Andrew visualized Lorelei, fuming with anger.
“She had the nerve to dismiss Sally.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, told the girl to gather her things and never return to my house.”
“The nerve…” Andrew was enjoying his day more and more as the moments passed. “And once you were alone?”
“She told me to set my mistress up in her own townhouse like every other respectable man of the ton does.”
“She did not!” Andrew worked hard to suppress his mirth.
“She most certainly did. The gall of the woman to infer I do not know how to properly outfit my mistresses.”
“I do hope you put her in her place.”
Benji remained silent.
Oh, Andrew knew well his lovely Lady Lorelei had a spark to her. He stilled at the thought. She wasn’t his, and never would be. No matter if either man liked it or not, she belonged to Chastain. Andrew’s claim on her was not real. Though she had deceived him, brushed off all he’d offered her for a future, he did not wish harm or unhappiness upon her.
“Well, what is your plan now for gaining back your dear wife’s favor?”
Benji only stared into the fire. “I have no plan for that. I will avoid her as much as possible, and hope she is agreeable to living in some semblance of a truce.”
“Until when?” he asked.
“Until we both perish, I suppose.”
“That sounds horrid.” Yet, sparked hope in Andrew.
“Horrid?” Benji asked. “Most of London lives thus, and it seems to work to their advantage.”
Andrew thought on the concept—one he expected to live himself one day. It was absurd to him now. A life filled with obligated lovemaking to produce an heir, and then years of living side by side without any affection. His own parents had flouted society’s conventions and married for love—he’d grown up knowing his parent’s misery when spending even one afternoon without each other. He’d seen the agony in his mother’s eyes when his father left for town and was unable to bring his family.
To each their own.
Andrew held his glass aloft. “I wish a happy future for the both of you.”
And he did, even if that future did not consist of the couple finding said happiness together, but in the arms of another.
“Thank you, my friend.”
“But it would likely be in your best interest to set your mistress up in her own home, as Lady Lore—Chastain suggested.”
She’d paced his chamber long after he’d left the room…naked.
Lorelei could not believe the nerve of the man.
No—she had known exactly what she’d agreed to when her father told her of his acceptance of Chastain’s marriage offer.
No screams of shock sounded from the hall, so his servants must be accustomed to their master walking about with nothing to conceal himself.
He’d barked at his butler to have his horse brought round immediately.
As her rage dissipated, so did the discomfort in her middle.
She had much to do and think about, without dwelling on her advancing condition and what that meant for her future—especially her intention of fleeing London after finding the plans.
While Chastain was not an attentive husband, that did not mean he would be a bad father. He was distant, but had never physically hurt her after that one night in the gardens. She would be smart to remember that her intentions with respect to their marriage were not more honorable than his. Lorelei had entered into holy matrimony with deceit in mind.
Plus, after she produced an heir, she would be free to spend her time doing whatever she pleased—and whomever she pleased. A life in London, away from the calculating De Pez and whomever he pledged his allegiance to, may well suit her.
The very thought of being free thrilled her, unrestricted and able to do what pleased her—and her child. A small cottage with a white fence, maybe a small garden where she could till the earth to feed them both.
Once Chastain found out she carried his heir, he would never let her go, and she feared she would never be able to abandon her own child, even if she knew he’d be well cared for and raised by one of the wealthiest men in all of England.
And if she stayed, her child would not be made to endure the life she had thus far. He would owe no allegiance to anyone, beyond himself and England. It was possible that fatherhood would change Chastain for the better, as well.
She wondered for only a brief second if she could forsake the comte and comtesse for another life—one that didn’t include espionage and the threat of death around every corner. But there was only one way that could ever come to be.
With her stomach settled and her husband away, she needed to find those plans, deliver them to De Pez, and hopefully be strong enough to stand her ground and forge her own way in the world.
Maybe, just maybe, if the baby were a boy, Chastain would be satisfied with his heir and Andrew could forgive her.
Lorelei had no clue where to continue her search. Chastain’s bedchamber had always been the least-likely place she suspected to find the plans, but she’d had the chance to look, and Lorelei hadn’t wanted to squander it. Nothing about Chastain and his movements led her to believe he knew what his family had been charged with or that he understood the gravity of the situation. He’d not made so much as a mention of his own French heritage. Was it possible he’d been too young to even remember a time he hadn’t lived in England?
When a person didn’t know the import of something, they usually did not hold it as closely as another might, one that understood the consequences of losing that item. Take her father, for example: Lorelei knew of at least four objects he kept on his person at all times. She did not know the significance of these items, but she knew they meant something to him, and that he feared losing them. Her father was an intelligent man, and, therefore, knew the least-likely way for them to be stolen was if they were with him at all times.
