A Rogue for Miss Prim (Friendship Series) Read online

  He was beyond masking the hurt when he demanded, “Why, Adele? Why hide and hoard money? Why don’t you trust me enough to ask me for help?”

  She lifted her gaze to reveal eyes filled with distress and helplessness. He pulled the arm across her chest down and hugged her close. “Don’t you know that I would do anything for you, Adele? How could you not know? I’ve promised it. We’ve made vows. They were made to be honored by both of us.”

  He released her from the desperate clutch when she leaned back to search his face. Again he suffered the sting of hurt from the trepidation in her expression. He wanted to cup the side of her head in his hand, but he still wore gloves soiled from riding.

  He tried smiling to set her at ease. “Mrs. Treadwell, you know by now that I would never bite you unless you wanted me to.”

  Her face crumbled. “Oh, Gordon.” She struggled for a moment, then swallowed. Lifting her chin, she looked him directly in the eyes. “I never understood it myself until now. You see, I’ve only known the strictures of my guardian. Cousin George refused to speak to me about money. He handed over my allowance promptly. I knew that Father had left me financially safe, but was not allowed to know more. The law says that whatever there is, you alone manage. I’ve known nothing else, Gordon.”

  Now he wanted to strangle George Abercrombie until he turned purple. “Adele, your father was a very careful man when it came to arranging for your comfort. I will gladly show you the ledgers and documents. You were left with over one hundred thousand in the funds. There is income from estates bought to assure your future, rents from buildings in the city and elsewhere. We could live comfortably, even excessively from the interest. If you want anything, anything, Adele, all you have to do is ask!”

  Understanding flared in her eyes. “Do you mean, all this time, ever since we married, I could have asked you, and you would give me whatever I need?”

  “Now I really want to spank your lovely bottom. I keep my promises, wife. Your happiness comes first, a vow I will not break. So, no more scribbling salacious novels when I’m not looking.”

  Her eyes widened. “You…know about that?”

  “Great gods above, woman, I know about the Kama Sutra, don’t I? The manuscript was underneath. Yes, I admit it. I searched and found it before we married. That stuff has to be printed in France and smuggled over here. Everybody and his brother reads the exploits of the Scarlet Lady in secret. Every brothel in London has copies for the faint of…heart.”

  Before he pressed her to find out why she needed so much money, a swishing noise interrupted his tirade. They both looked over their shoulders. My Precious stood on the fountain’s edge, tail twitching with its evil thoughts.

  Gordon muttered, “Where’s my demmed pistol when I need it?”

  Adele squinted at the cat. “It’s been here on and off for the last month. It came around last week. I had Josh catch it with a box and throw it back out on the street.”

  My Precious stared at Gordon. “How did it get in the house?”

  “It slips in through the servant door to leave deposits in unlikely places. It stops in the stable for mice and waits for an opportune moment to slip inside to hunt for you. I suspect it loves your scent.”

  He kept his attention on the hideous creature. “You know very well that I don’t use cologne.”

  When he felt her attention turn to him, he looked down and encountered a gaze slumberous and glazed with an intent that sent a shock of desire directly into his groin. “Yes. It should be bottled. I’d bathe in it.”

  She used the tip of the crop to swipe over the front of his breeches and smirked when he gasped. He darted a glance at the windows for watchers and reached for her hand. She was too quick and tucked the crop behind her back.

  “You little minx. Give me that!’

  She wagged her head from side to side. “You’ll use it on my defenseless sit-upon.” Her chortle, low and teasing, set every muscle and nerve on fire. He held himself in check when she stepped close enough to suggestively brush her chest against his. “Did you wonder if I think of you when I write? I do.”

  He wanted to tell her she needn’t write erotic exploits when her talent with a turn of phrase could create finer stuff, but his tongue was now glued to the top of his mouth. He shivered, recalling a particularly delicious passage as she wetted her lower lip, something she did before kneeling in front of him. She began to dip, whether to playfully curtsey or actually kneel, he’d never know. Horrified a servant might see, he grabbed her arm, and hoisted her up. The triumph in her quiet laugh sent him over the edge.

  “Give me that damn thing before I’m beyond stopping myself from using it on your rump.”

  With pretended innocence and sounding like a mewling kitten, she asked, “You won’t let me use it on you? Come on, Gordon. Say you will.”

  She laughed, stumbling in his wake, as he towed her toward the closest entrance. His reply came out more growl than a rational response. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  Chapter 19

  Another threatening note came, left at the Manse and redirected to her. She ripped it into pieces and flung it into the fireplace. Fires were lit on cool evenings, but she wouldn’t wait for that. She burned the pieces on the empty grate. Her life was too full, too alive with unexpected happiness to allow anything so vile to interfere.

  It had been two months since she’d endured the monthly cramping and messy bother. She was now sure. It didn’t seem possible that she wouldn’t be with child after the way they were constantly after each other, more so, now that she admitted why she needed money and had written the last installment of Scarlet Lady. When he asked again why she needed so much money, she replied with the truth, charity works. He’d smiled, gone to his room and came back with a handful of banknotes, saying that his mother had the same habit of demolishing her allowance with her charities, and blithely put an end to the subject.

  His indulgence and complete disinterest had her questioning why she’d been so secretive, which led to the understanding that part of it had to do with her lack of confidence. From all that she’d seen in the marriage mart, one woman was pretty much the same as the next to most unattached men, as long as she came with a fat dowry. Gordon had been forced into marrying her in the most humiliating manner. Her own spite over the betting incident had not allowed her to show him much in the way of kindness or understanding. Fiercely suppressed fear of rejection had her speaking and displaying unnecessary harshness when he’d come to propose and do his duty. He could have married any number of hopeful females far more attractive than the foolish Miss Prim, but she had done her part and carried his child. Their child.

  Her reflection in the mirror showed a glowing improvement to her complexion. Her breasts ached and hurt when suckled, not that she would stop the attention Gordon paid to them. Her responses were sharper but the emotional swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other was more difficult to manage. She’d overheard matrons speak of these symptoms and was neither confused nor afraid of what was to come. Good health was something she’d always known. A five-mile walk was as easy as a stroll down the street.

  It was time to tell Gordon. This thought was followed by the swamping sensation that came before weeping. She controlled it by imagining how pleased Sir Charles would be when he heard the awaited-for tidings. And there was satisfaction in knowing that she had fulfilled her duty. But she couldn’t suppress a smile from recollecting the enjoyment inherent in creating an heir.

  A glance at the clock told her that she was late going downstairs. It was the time of day for callers. She and Gordon had returned calls to every well-wisher. She was curious to see who might stop by, leave a card, or deliver an invitation. Society’s curious and discreet study of them as a married couple, fresh from scandal, had faded to acceptance.

  She encountered Showers as she descended the stairs. His reserved cheerfulness and yet somehow bland expression softened when he met her on the la
nding.

  “There are visitors, Mrs. Treadwell. They did not have cards, being particular friends of Mr. Treadwell.”

  “Ah. Mr. Arbothnot and Chadwick.”

  “Precisely, ma’am.” Something in his tone hinted at distaste. He defined himself when he added, “They have been liberally sampling the claret and port.”

  She pressed her lips together to hide a smile. “Perhaps you could bring a tray of coffee, Showers, and have the kitchen lay out a luncheon of cold meats and fruit.”

  “I was about to suggest the same. You will prefer tea, ma’am. Perhaps toast? You were not down for breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Showers. That would be lovely. And if Miss Percival should call, please show her up right away.”

  “Ah, yes,” Showers loftily intoned, “the supposed secret of Mr. Arbothnot’s affections.”

  This time she couldn’t hide a grin. “Just so.”

  She couldn’t mention her gratitude for Showers and his unspoken understanding of the queasiness that came in the early morning and departed a few hours after. The discomfort wasn’t as violent as some of the complaints she heard from other expectant mothers.

  Showers descended the back stairs to the kitchen, while she went down the landing toward the drawing-room, following the sounds of male laughter. Before entering, she paused to glance at her reflection in a large, gilt-framed mirror on the wall. She twitched a few curls into place, pleased with the contentment in her smile, as she listened to the lively conversation seeping through the crack of the partially opened door. Since the men had such distinctive voices, Gordon’s a low drawl, Tookie’s pleasing and always hesitant, and Cecil’s booming cheer, identifying the speaker was easy, almost thoughtless.

  Cecil’s inquiry froze her in place. “Damn, Gordie, but your wife looked nothing like her old self yesterday at Lady Sefton’s at-home. Not such a rum deal, you having to get leg-shackled”

  Gordon’s laugh curled her lips in an involuntary smile. “Had to get out of Father’s black book somehow.”

  Tookie timidly scolded, “Behave yourselves, gentlemen, and Cecil, we are speaking of a lady.”

  Cecil made a sputtering sound before he retorted, “Why should I not say what others are saying? And the man is twice fortunate. He’s wed an heiress and averted a lasting scandal. Lady Sefton was quite forthright when she said it was well done of Gordie to come up to scratch. She didn’t wish to think that you got a share of Byron’s bad blood.”

  Tookie said, “Don’t be an idiot, Cecil. He could never sink to Bryon’s depths. The man was a vile and frightful bounder.”

  Cecil shot back, “That’s putting it too mildly. The fellow had relations with his own sister. Gordon is man enough to shoulder his mistakes, even if he had to get leg-shackled to a Friday-face.”

  Gordon interrupted the squabble. “Please, both of you, it wasn’t that much of a torture to stick my head in the noose.”

  There was none of the gentle teasing he used with her. She’d heard that caustic tone before but never directed at her or about her. He had a knack for expressive suggestion, and whatever face he was presently making sent the men into whoops, calling him a sly dog and such, between bouts of laughter.

  Cecil said, choking between laughs, “At least you saved the poor thing from leading apes in hell.”

  Gordon shot back, “But she’ll make my life one until I get the heir Father wants.”

  The pain came at her so swiftly she could neither breathe nor move. His attraction and affection was all a sham—merely a game until he got her with child?

  It was one thing to be made the butt of a joke when she had set herself up as a severe and plain spinster. It was another experience altogether when she was the source of amused denigration. She waited for a moment, a precious, aching span of time, for Gordon to deny it, to rebuke them and himself for belittling her. But there was only laughter that escalated, telling her that some silent, charade was being enacted beyond the door. She imagined Gordon with his head cocked one side, choking in a make-believe noose. His defensive of her never came. Comprehension, then acceptance of how she’d allowed herself to believe, to become enamored with a man known for his appetite for numerous liaisons. Humiliation flooded through her chest, filling it with self-disgust.

  Her hand dropped to her side. Pain encompassed every inch of her body, blanking her mind of every thought. She went back to her room, each step in a bewildered state of betrayal. She didn’t know how long she sat on the edge of the bed where they had made glorious, laughing love. Memories made her stand and quickly step away from it. She didn’t answer the tap on the door. Said nothing when Enid came to her side.

  “Ma’am, they’re asking for you in the drawing-room.”

  Her voice sounded remarkably normal when she replied, “Tell them I am not feeling the thing. Extend my apologies and come back to me. Immediately.”

  She was still standing in the same spot when Enid returned. That fact stirred her to move. “Enid, empty the wardrobe in my dressing room. Take everything down to my old rooms. Make an appointment for a locksmith to change the locks on those doors. You may keep a key but no one else may have one. Do you understand?”

  “Certainly.”

  Adele ignored her maid’s concerned regard. “When I’m moved, will you mind cleaning the room, seeing to everything? I don’t want anyone but you in there.”

  “It will be exactly as you wish, ma’am.”

  She looked directly into Enid’s eyes and asked, “Can you withstand Mr. Treadwell’s displeasure?”

  The steel in Enid’s expression gave Adele hope that her maid would remain stalwart, not an easy endeavor with a man as persuasive as her husband.

  “Mrs. Treadwell, do I need to remind you that there is nothing that I would not do for you, especially now that you’ve had someone find and remove my mother from Bedlam? She won’t live much longer, but you have arranged for a dignified death in what comfort can be had.”

  Adele gripped Enid’s wrist and nodded. “Thank you for saying so. Kind words mean a great deal to me right now, and do not think anything or anyone will hinder our work for our climbing boys. I’ve found a benefactor and champion in Sir Harry.”

  Enid expelled a snort of disgust. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but the Quality think he’s nothing but a rattle. Those on my level know the truth. He’s a fine gentleman. Keeps it to himself, but there it is. I’ll be taking down your message to the visitors. Decide what you want moved. I’ll fetch a footman to carry it and send for that locksmith.”

  Numb and still wanting to not believe what she’d heard, the mockery, his failure to defend her, the evidence of his lack of esteem for her, she still hadn’t moved by the time Enid returned. As the clothes and bandboxes were carried away to her previous rooms, returning bits of resolve patched the broken cracks in her heart.

  She forced herself to remember that their original agreement hadn’t promised love and romance. It had been a contract forged with the needs of each in mind. She had erected that illusion. He had her wealth, she had her privacy. If he chose to renege, which she doubted he would, she would find ways to carry on. In time, she would find it in herself not to blame him for not being more than he was, but until then, she must protect her heart. There were other children relying on her.

  The move to her previous rooms was accomplished in a quarter hour. Enid passed along the message that Mr. Treadwell had gone off with his friends after hearing that she would not be joining them. The tea and toast Showers sent up sat cold and untouched. The thought of eating pushed gorge up her throat. She knew that had nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with her present misery and self-recrimination.

  How could she have believed him, thought herself enough for a sporting gentleman? She had not been reared to understand and fully accept the attitudes of the ton. Like any other fool blinded by love and a handsome face, she’d let herself believe a loving marriage was possible after a contracted marriage. Once again, she’
d been relegated to the level of a hanger-on in her own house. So be it. This was a game she’d played before, but from now on, she wouldn’t lower the wall around her heart.

  She roused when Enid handed her a note. “From Mrs. Jeffries. The lad said it’s urgent.”

  Chapter 20

  Gordon spied a strange man disappearing down the back stairs when he returned for dinner. A bit late from attending a sale at Tattersals with Tookie and Cecil, he hurried into his room, where Showers waited with a selection of clothes laid across the counterpane and waistcoats draped on chair backs.

  As he quickly washed and dressed, he noticed a vague difference in his longtime manservant. “Showers, are you well?”

  “Never better, sir.”

  A thoughtful scowl creased Gordon’s brow as he stood in front of the mirror and started a simple knot for his neckwear. It was better to be on time than waste it on clothes that would be removed as soon as dinner was done.

  He smiled at the glass, remembering how he and his friends had laughed when it was suggested that marrying his luscious Adele had been a trial of the worst sort. He’d waggled his eyebrows, clutched his chest and made a despairing, lovesick moue for his audience. Three bottles of wine they’d cracked helped to fuel the hilarity. It wasn’t until later, as he considered buying a flashy black-lacquered phaeton and flashier pair of white-socked bay hackneys for Adele that it registered. Enid had said that Adele was otherwise occupied and sending her regrets. Something sounded dodgy. He’d thought she was catching up on sleep when she hadn’t appeared at breakfast. She’d been touchy of late. Perhaps he was importuning her too often. He might need to back off for a few days, even though she showed herself as eager for him as he was for her. It was his place to show some control, even though it was the last thing he wanted.