Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'BrienЧитать онлайн книгу.
who must be told, if she has not heard it already.’
‘Sarah, of course.’ Thea’s mind ran along the same lines. Her lips curled in grim humour. ‘Better that she hear it from us that her husband is a murderer than from deliberate malice on the grapevine.’
So Thea and Judith immediately took themselves in the barouche to Hanover Square, where Sarah welcomed them with delight, no notion of their intent. Until she saw their concerned eyes, their obvious discomfort. And listened aghast to the lurid picture laid out before her. They spared her no details. She must know what was being said.
Murder!
Sarah would have denied that such damning and unjustifiable gossip was being spread through the fashionable haunts of London. But once knowing, she quickly became aware of the widespread comment. The hushed voices as she came into the room when paying an afternoon visit. The covert glances. Everyone seemed to be discussing Lord Joshua Faringdon’s implication in a deed as foul as any she could envisage. And as completely unbelievable. Of course she did not believe it. Dismissed the whole thing as nothing but malicious mischief-making. But why? And who had seen fit to plant the seeds?
And then, as is the nature of such things, it brushed her consciousness again that she was without doubt being followed. Joshua might have denied it unequivocally, but she knew in her heart that it was true. Were the two events connected? Her mind immediately began to consider and weave the possibilities.
Joshua might deny the existence of the shadow, but she was certain that it existed. The worries stayed with her and gnawed at her peace of mind. Who could possibly be expected to enjoy peace of mind and the unexpected delights of a new marriage when secretive eyes followed her, when her husband was accused of dispatching his first wife and hiding her body?
Well, there was only one solution to this. She would ask Joshua to tell her the truth.
She accosted him on his return from Brooks’s.
‘Sarah… ‘ He took her hand, would have saluted her cheek, but was brought to a halt by something in her demeanour. If he was surprised by the reserve in her response to him, he did not show it.
‘I need to speak with you.’ He saw her lips set in a firm line, little lines of strain—signs of concern that had now been absent for some little time—between her brows.
‘Of course.’ He led her into the library. Closed the door. Turned to face her.
‘What is it that disturbs you? Do you still see phantom followers?’ He tried for a light response to the tension that swirled around her.
‘Yes. And so does Beth.’ His brows rose, but before he could find suitable words, she continued. ‘But that is not it… ‘ She might as well ask outright. ‘Joshua—have you heard the rumours?’
‘Rumours?’ The epitome of innocence. She could not deny his lack of comprehension. Or could she? She suspected that Lord Faringdon’s ability to dissemble was supreme.
‘Obviously not. Perhaps the gentlemen at Brooks’s are less inclined to gossip than their wives. Or more discreet when their members are present. Thea and Judith warned me—and then I saw it, felt it, heard it for myself. The hush from those present when I walked into the withdrawing room, when I took tea with Lady Stoke. The conversation came to a remarkably abrupt end.’
A cold fear inched its way down his spine. So she had heard. Well, of course she had. Had he expected her to live in blissful ignorance when the whole town was talking? Yet he kept his composure. ‘What conversation?’
‘About you. And your first wife. About Marianne.’
He preserved all outward calm, his face bland, his gaze level. ‘And so, according to Thea and Judith, what are the gossip-mongers saying?’ He knew exactly what they were saying, in every salacious detail. But he must do all in his power to reassure.
Sarah kept her voice calm, as if discussing a matter of no moment that could easily be remedied. As if her heart were not thudding against her ribs. ‘They…they are saying that Marianne did not die a natural death. That you were responsible.’ Her fingers gripped the edge of a gilded bergère chair at her side. ‘That you murdered her, from jealousy over her taking a lover.’
‘And do you believe it?’ A hint of frost over the calm now.
‘No. Of course not. It is beyond belief.’ She lifted her hand, almost in a plea. ‘But I find it very uncomfortable to have the ton discussing my husband’s so-called crimes.’
‘Sarah—’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she repeated in a firm voice. And indeed she did not. But she would continue. ‘I should tell you that, whatever your denials, I am being followed.’
‘I see.’ He strode to the window, then whirled round to face her, fighting to keep a firm hand on the reins of temper as all his control came close to obliteration by a wave of sheer anger. At himself. At fate. At the perpetrator of the vicious scandal. He coated the fire in ice. ‘And you think that I am having you followed, to discover if you too have a lover, with the intent of murdering you also.’
‘I think no such thing!’ Never had she seen his self-control so compromised, but she stood her ground. And, no, I do not have a lover as you must know, so there would be little point to it. I would merely wish to know who would start so cruel a story if there is no truth in it. Do you know?’
Oh, yes. I know very well who will have created this particular pattern of pain and disgrace, to hurt both of us, to carve a rift between us that can never be mended. And I am so tightly woven into a web of deceit that I cannot tell you of it. Or extricate myself without untold repercussions. Oh, yes. I know without doubt who is responsible, driven by revenge and bitter hatred.
He walked toward her. Slowly and with deliberation. Until he stood close, his eyes searching her face. Whatever he saw there, he lifted his hand to touch her cheek with light fingers, the tender gesture at odds with the passion in his eyes. A passion that would burn and destroy if he allowed it.
‘I will never cause you harm, Sarah. I will never willingly hurt you. Do you believe that? I find that it is important to me that you do.’
‘Yes.’ Caught up in the moment, she closed her hand around his wrist. ‘I do.’ His blood throbbed beneath her hand, echoing the beat of her own pulse.
‘The rumours. I cannot say—simply ask that you trust me, even when it seems too hard to do so.’ He bent his head to touch her mouth with his, a mere brush of lips over lips, then suddenly fierce and demanding. He could not tell her the truth, but neither would he deliberately lie. He framed her face with his hands. ‘As for the shadows that follow you, they must not be allowed to disturb you. Neither can I tell you of them, but I will take steps to stop them.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘I think it is possible.’
‘Will you not tell me who?’
‘No.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her soft bottom lip. ‘It is best that you do not know. I know that is no answer—but I can give no other.’
‘Tell me the truth, Joshua.’ She held his gaze, more demand than plea.
But he shook his head. ‘It is not in my power to do so at this time.’
And with that she had to be content. But never content! Secrets, secrets! Sarah could do nothing but accept her lord’s word when all her instincts shrieked within her head to demand that he tell her the truth. Could do nothing but accept his kiss when once again he claimed her mouth, now with a deliberate tenderness. But her thoughts remained in turmoil. She had lived her life with lies and deceits. Now even her marriage was prey to them.
For Joshua, the only certainty was that he must not speak, no matter how forcefully his heart urged him to do so. Because to speak of the past and his relationship with Marianne would reveal a whole host of lies and untruths, enough to swamp their