Barbara Metzger Read online

  What more could a gentleman ask than such a successful day with his new family? A successful night with his new bride, that was what.

  Unfortunately, Alissa was not at home when Rockford brought the tired, dirty children home. Fortunately, the nursemaid, the tutor, and Claymore knew how to get them bathed and ready for bed, for Rockford hadn’t the least idea. Nor did he have the least idea where his wife might be, not with his indefatigable aunt in town. Aunt Reggie was as likely to have the women at a balloon ascension as at an assembly hall, as long as there were men handy. Lud, he did not want Alissa meeting all the bucks and beaux in town, not without him at her side.

  He searched through his cards of invitation for the night, deciding to stop in at a few of the offered entertainments in hopes of finding his family, but he found only trouble. The Hafkesprinke heiress was furious. He was supposed to have driven her in the park that afternoon. To make up for his dereliction, Rockford had to escort her hefty highness to a number of parties, where he could not often leave her side, since she needed him to translate all the insincere compliments and overheard gossip. Since much of the talk concerned his wife and aunt and sister, who had been there earlier, he did not repeat it. That meant he had to make up stories about the other guests.

  Later, courtesy demanded he escort the plump princess back to her hotel. And up to her room. And pour her a last glass of spirits. And…and he did not feel like it. The gossip would not have stopped him from accepting the blatant invitation, nor would his marriage vows. Three-quarters of the husbands he knew, and half the wives, kept lovers on the side.

  No, it was Alissa’s image dancing in his mind that made him refuse Princess Helga. He did not want to hurt Alissa’s chances of being accepted, he told himself. He did not want to hurt her feelings, he added to his mental reasoning. Hell, he reluctantly admitted, he did not want to sleep with any other woman!

  Now there was a novel idea to end a day of new experiences: the Earl of Rockford was going to be a faithful husband. For a while, anyway. He was certain this peculiar attraction to his own, unremarkable wife would soon wear off. Alissa would return to the country and they would live independent lives, just as he had planned. The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach must be from the odd assortment of food he had eaten today. It could not be from the notion of Alissa taking a lover.

  She wouldn’t, his countess. If there was a woman on earth who was to be trusted, he would wager on Alissa. The problem was, no woman could be trusted. Well, she would not stray from her marriage bed, not while he was keeping her satisfied there. Rockford intended to keep her satisfied indeed, and to the devil with his former ideas about keeping this a passionless union. To the devil with that book, too. Had she even read it? Her blushes suggested not. Confound it, he knew enough ways to pleasure a woman without becoming a contortionist!

  So first he would tell her that he was finished with the princess. No, a gentleman did not discuss his affairs with a lady. He never apologized or explained his actions, either. He might try to become a good husband; he was not going to become a lapdog. Alissa was intelligent. She would figure it out when he spent the nights in her bed instead of out on the town.

  Then he would show her what a good lover he could be.

  No, first he would crawl through the keyhole of her door if he could not get Claymore to find him a key.

  Crawling was not necessary. The door was unlocked. His privates rejoiced by standing to attention and leading the march into her room. By the light of a lamp left burning, Rockford could see that Alissa was asleep, looking far younger than usual with her light brown hair in a long braid atop the blankets, like cream in coffee. Her soft cheek was flushed with sleep and her eyelids showed the faintest of blue lines. Had he thought she was unremarkable, merely passably pretty? She was beautiful, except he couldn’t see those glorious green eyes.

  He bent to kiss her awake, like a sleeping princess—no, not that princess, by Harry!—when he noticed another brown-haired head on the pillow.

  Damn. The littlest Henning was in his bed. Willy was in Alissa’s bed, actually, but the brat was in Rockford’s place, for certain. Not for long. The earl gathered up the sleeping child and headed out of the countess’s chamber.

  “Papa? Is that you?” Willy woke up and asked.

  Rockford kept going, up the stairs to the nursery. He was not sure if Willy meant him or Henning, so he said, “Yes, it is your new father, and you are much too old to be sleeping in your mother’s bed, young man.”

  “But I was afraid, Papa Rock.”

  “Silly gosling, there is nothing to be afraid of in Rothmore House. You must have had a bad dream.”

  “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep, to make sure?”

  So the earl sat in the rocking chair in the nursery, Willy in his arms wrapped in a blanket. He rocked and he rocked, waiting for the boy to fall asleep so he could put him in his bed, then go put himself in Alissa’s. Willy, wide-awake, told him all about the dead people, the one hanging by a rope, and the man with the dagger in his heart, and…

  Perhaps the wax museum was not the right place to take the children after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Almack’s. Every maiden’s dream. Every man’s nightmare.

  “I do not see why I have to go to that rubbishing place,” Rockford complained to his aunt.

  “Why, to lend your wife countenance, of course,” Lady Winchwood replied, adjusting the feathers that graced her turban, along with a strand of pearls and a large sapphire.

  It was a wonder the old girl could lift her head, Rockford thought as he made minor adjustments to his own apparel, the formal satin knee breeches demanded by the patronesses, the elegant dark coat and pristine white linens demanded by current fashion. “One dance, that is all.” He could manage one country dance with his wife. It would be the first chance he’d get close to her, his aunt had kept her so busy. Alissa got in so late at night, she fell instantly asleep, and he had not the heart to awaken her. He’d been a faithful husband for almost a week now, and he wondered if she even noticed. Another week would kill him. Or he’d kill his aunt.

  Aunt Reggie nodded, disordering his hair with an ostrich feather. “And one with Eleanor, of course, to show your faith and brotherly affection, lest anyone think you hold her to blame for your bailiff’s chicanery.”

  Well, he did. Eleanor should have kept a better eye on things, and a wiser head on her shoulders. Still, that was water under the bridge. He could dance with his sister if Aunt Reggie deemed it necessary.

  “And one with dear little Aminta, too. You would not wish any of the young bucks to think our darling Amy is unprotected, would you?”

  “I should think my presence there would discourage anyone from getting forward with her.”

  “No, it must be a dance. You know, like male wolves leaving scent to mark their territory.”

  What did Aunt Reggie know about wolves? In a moment, Rockford would—No, he was a gentleman. He gritted his teeth.

  “And I would not mind a turn about the floor with the handsomest gentleman in town,” his aunt said, batting her darkened eyelashes.

  “I doubt Prinny will attend.”

  She swatted his arm with her fan. “Four dances, then you can disappear into the card room until we are ready to leave. I know the stakes are not what you are used to, but the money goes to a worthy cause.”

  “I did not know the winnings went to charity.”

  “Charity? Who said anything about that? I meant establishing your wife in society, seeing your sister’s reputation restored.”

  Rockford reluctantly agreed to what promised to be the dullest night of his life. Staying home and playing skittles with the boys sounded more inviting. Hell, visiting the tooth drawer sounded more inviting.

  Then he saw his ladies. Amy looked like a fragile spun-glass ornament in her white lace and frills. She could have borrowed a bit of rouge from his aunt to give color to her cheeks, but she was a b
eauty, if one admired that delicate sweetness. Eleanor was more Amazon than angel, her formidable figure showing to advantage in gold satin, with pearls woven through her dark hair. She had a militant glitter in her eyes, daring anyone to cast aspersions on her or on her sister-in-law, giving her a regal look, an air of substance that far overshadowed mere prettiness.

  Alissa outshone them all. She’d outshine every woman at the deuced assembly, he thought, once he caught his breath.

  She was wearing his rubies, nestled between her breasts. Oh, and she had on a new gown, too, he eventually noticed. Ivory velvet, it was, with a lace over-skirt. A simple ribbon that matched the rubies held her hair back. Lud, he wanted to pull that ribbon away to see her hair flow down her back. He wanted—

  He’d better stay in the ballroom to keep an eye on the rakes and reprobates.

  *

  Alissa almost stumbled down the steps of Rothmore House when she saw her husband waiting at the bottom. He was magnificent, and he was watching her with the look of a hungry lion. She was glad she had not listened to Aunt Reggie’s opinion about her gown, not when he so obviously appreciated this one. Tonight, she vowed, tonight she would go to his room if he did not come to hers. She just had to get through this foolish ritual of Almack’s; then she could concentrate on being a wife and a mother again, not on being the proper countess.

  They were well received by the patronesses at the door, then took a row of seats along the edge of the dance floor. Soon Aunt Reggie was surrounded by her cronies, and a few very young gentlemen, pushed by their hopeful mothers, no doubt, came to stutter requests for a dance with Miss Aminta Bourke. No one else approached until Aunt Reggie hissed at Rockford to stop frowning. His dark scowl was frightening off any would-be partners for Eleanor or Alissa.

  The ridge between his eyes deepened further, but then it was time for the first dance and he forgot his animosity toward anyone who dared look at his wife. She was his. She would not look at any other man, not his countess, not this lady. She smiled when they came together in the steps of the dance, smiled just to be in his arms. He smiled too, thinking of later, when she would be in his embrace from her head to her toes. That kiss she had bestowed on his cheek when they left the carriage, thanking him for the flowers he—or Claymore—had sent to each of the ladies had been a promise. Later.

  Heads nodded knowingly to see the looks pass between the newlyweds.

  “You could heat your morning chocolate by that look in Rockford’s eyes,” one old lady whispered loudly enough to be heard across the room.

  Her companion merely fanned her suddenly hot cheeks.

  He danced with Eleanor, keeping his smile firmly in place while Alissa partnered one of the high-ranking Austrians who had attended their dinner party. Then he danced with Aminta, who was looking paler, if possible.

  “Smile, sweetings,” he told her. “You will have every beau in the room calling on me in the morning to ask permission to pay their addresses. I’ll refuse them all, until you tell me which one you prefer. All right?”

  Amy managed a tremulous smile and went off with her next dance partner a bit more readily.

  “Thank you,” Alissa murmured. “For being so good to her. She will gain her confidence, I am certain.”

  Rockford was not as positive, noting how Amy kept her eyes on her feet instead of young Althorpe, and spoke not a word. His aunt, on the other hand, stepped on his feet during their dance, and never stopped talking.

  “You see? I was right. The gels are a success, all of them. Now get off to the card room before you scare away any eligible gentlemen. I might join you in a bit, myself.”

  What, let his aunt fleece the dowagers at Almack’s? That would go a far way to seeing them barred from society altogether. “No, I would feel better if you stayed to make introductions and such. Miss Bourke is not comfortable with so many strangers about, you know.” In fact, she seemed near panic to him, but there was nothing more he could do to help.

  Aunt Reggie clucked her tongue. “They won’t be strangers long, I wager. Prettily behaved girl, and with your blunt behind her, we’ll fire her off in no time.”

  “Not too soon,” he warned. “I am in no hurry to see her go.”

  “You won’t have the choice, Rock. Look at the bantlings signing her dance card.”

  He looked at the older men ogling his wife, and decided he’d better take himself off to the card room while he still had a shred of his famous sangfroid left.

  After Rockford left the ballroom, the evening turned flat for Alissa. Few new people approached her, and no one asked her to dance. Eleanor sat beside her, also partnerless, looking mutinous, as if she too would rather play for pennies than sit on the sidelines. Alissa frowned Rockford’s sister into staying put. Then she noticed that the crowd of matrons around Aunt Reggie had thinned, and two of Amy’s partners excused themselves before their promised dances. One claimed his mother was ill; the other said he had mistakenly promised the quadrille twice. Amy’s next partner did not bother coming to offer an excuse. He simply did not come near them at all.

  “Something is wrong,” Lady Eleanor whispered to Alissa when the nearby wallflowers and their mothers got up and moved to other seats. “I’ll go find Rockford.”

  “What, and leave me here facing all the stares?” Something was definitely amiss, for Alissa could feel all the malevolent gazes focused on her party, like a family of rabbits surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. She shuddered. “Send a footman.”

  Aunt Reggie got there first. Two spots of rouge on her cheeks were all that remained of her color, and she looked far older than her years. Even her ostrich plumes were drooping forlornly as she sank into the now-vacant seat beside Alissa. “Someone is talking,” she reported. “Saying the most awful things about us.”

  Alissa patted her hand. “Like what, Aunt Reggie?”

  “They are saying that Eleanor is no better than she should be, that she ran off with a common thief.”

  “There was nothing common about Arkenstall,” Eleanor declared, snapping the spokes of her fan.

  “And…and that you, Alissa, dear, are less than a lady. That you trapped William Henning into marriage by getting with child, and then you did it again with Rockford, conveniently ‘losing’ the babe after he wed you. That’s why he left you in the country, they are saying.”

  Alissa gasped. “Nothing like that ever happened. How could anyone say so?”

  Aunt Reggie had to uncap her vinaigrette to go on. “There’s more. The rumors are that our sweet Amy is for sale to the highest bidder, with or without a wedding ring. That Rockford is giving such a handsome dowry because he cannot promise her maidenhood.”

  Already as white as her gown, Amy silently slumped back in her seat in a dead faint.

  Alissa pried the vinaigrette from Lady Winchwood’s trembling fingers. “How dare these awful people believe such vicious lies? And who could hate us so much that they would start them?”

  “I think I know.” Eleanor jumped to her feet, ready to do battle. She strode straight across the dance floor, not caring how many dance patterns she disrupted. She went right up to her quarry, where he was leaning against a pillar watching the activities, and poked him in the chest with the broken edges of her fan. “You maggot.”

  The Duke of Hysmith bowed. “Good evening to you, too, Lady Eleanor. I see you are your usual charming self.”

  Eleanor was so angry she could only hiss, “Bastard.”

  The duke polished his snuffbox against his sleeve. “I assure you my mother was a most circumspect lady, unlike others I could name.”

  She drew her arm back to slap him, but Hysmith caught her hand. “Remember where you are, my lady. You do not want to create a scene here, on top of all your other troubles.”

  “My troubles are thanks to you, Hysmith. No one else. But did you have to destroy Alissa and that sweet, innocent child, just to get back at Rockford and me?”

  “I? You think I started the vile slander? Your low
estimation of my character truly hurts more than any slap could.”

  “You did not start the rumors?”

  “No. Come. They are starting a waltz.”

  “What? You are asking me to dance? Now?”

  “No, I am telling you that you have to dance now, if you ever hope to lift your head in London again. Dancing with me might be a hardship, for which I apologize, but it is the only way you are going to scrape through this.”

  “You have a high opinion of your social credit, then.”

  “I have a higher title and deeper pockets than any man here. That is all that matters. Now smile, damn you, and act as if we are old friends.”

  Old friends? She’d threatened to emasculate him, and he’d left her standing at the altar. Just this week he had called her a strumpet, and she’d left a barely faded bruise on his chin. Cats and mice made better friends.

  Yet the duke had stood against the tide of opinion to waltz with her, and he was an excellent dancer besides, and just the right height for Eleanor. She actually felt feminine in his sturdy clasp, so dredging forth a smile was not as hard as she had imagined, especially when she glimpsed the open mouths of the tattlemongers along the edges of the room. There she was, the outcast spinster, in the arms of the most eligible, most respectable man in all of London, waltzing. She laughed outright, bringing an answering smile to Hysmith’s lips.

  He twirled her in a dizzying circle. “I suppose it is fairly amusing, the two of us dancing in the sea of scandal again after all those years.”

  “No, that’s not why I am laughing, although the astonished looks on the faces of the starched-up biddies who rule this place as if it were their own private island of morality are almost worth the cost. What’s so funny, your grace, is that those petty despots in diamonds and lace never granted me permission to waltz!”