She cast Archie the briefest of glances, and what she saw must have indicated he wasn’t likely to leap across the desk and call her a harlot, so she sat gingerly, crossing one ankle over the other and folding her hands over her reticule.
Those hands scratched your chest while you fucked her with your fingers—
The next thought was far more sobering.She cheated on her husband with you.
His stomach threatened to expel itself from his body as he dug his fingertips into the arms of his chair.Adulterer.No, he wasn’t at fault.Shewas. Although, he’d never asked, never inquired about any specifics of her life beyond the party.
In his defense, a woman sayingdon’t stopis generally a sign they are available for a dalliance, without a husband and children—
Oh hell.Children.
“Lady Marigold Torcross, Marchioness of Croydon,” she was saying as Jasper took notes. “Thirty years old.”
Marigold, not Mary.Mari.
“And your husband?” Jasper prompted.
“Lord Roger William Reginald T-t-torcross, Marquess of Croydon. Fifty-four years old.” He heard the tension in her words, as though she would evoke his presence simply by uttering his name.
The rest of Jasper’s inquiry revealed the basics of her situation: married at seventeen to a man a quarter century her senior, with two children, the eldest the heir to the marquessate.
“He’s d-d-different,” she said, her cheeks coloring as she leaned forward in her seat, showing more animation than she had since the moment she’d seen him. “Reggie, he isn’t like other boys. He won’t p-play outside, or sp-speak if he has nothing to say. He needs calm and routine.” She paused. Her voice had grown loud, passionate, and despite the anger roiling in his gut, Archie felt a bolt of pride in her fierce defense of her children.
“That’s why I need this d-d-divorce,” she continued. “I cannot allow the marquess to make d-decisions about their futures.”
“What does your husband think about this?” Archie’s words fell like a lead weight in the room.
Lady Croydon shifted in her seat. “He d-does not b-believe I’m serious. He’s in London now, b-b-but I’ve moved out of the country house into a t-townhouse on St. Helen’s Square.”
Christ, he’d been searching all of northern England and the woman lived a stone’s throw away. “The divorce will be contested, then. Where are your children now?”
“In Boston with my mother,” she said, returning to her succinct answers from before. Where was the woman who recited three hundred species of bees and stole a tray of caramels?
That’s right. That woman was a liar, had seduced him and disappeared when her needs were satisfied.
His Mary did not exist. And he was a fool for believing what they shared was real. She’d known her circumstances all along and never told him the truth. Any moment spent with the Marchioness of Croydon would only hurt him more, remind him of the shameful thing he’d done. The time had come to sever her from his life for good.
“A court must have cause to dissolve a marriage if it is contested,” he said, summoning the lowest and most commanding voice he possessed.
She bristled in her seat, and while normally he would stop to assess his client’s mood, he barreled on.
“There are three grounds for a contested divorce. As the wife, you will have to prove two in court. Abandonment is not applicable, as you’ve spoken toyour husband—” he didn’t miss her wince, “—in the past two years. Has he abused you or your children?”
A breathless moment passed in which Archie realized he was clutching the arms of his chair, awaiting her answer. If that bastard had put his hands on her or their children, Archie would be on his way to London to ensure it never happened again.
“He’s never st-struck us, no,” she said. “B-but he’s threatened to, however—”
“Words are meaningless,” Archie interrupted, and Jasper flinched. Archie was too far gone to care. “And finally we come to adultery.”
The color drained from her cheeks as he stood, leaned forward and pressed his hands to the surface of his desk, only skidding for a moment on the loose papers before he held his ground.
“Are you aware of your husband having an affair during your marriage?”
“Yes.”
He glimpsed triumph in her expression, and he briefly regretting having to snuff it out. “Is he currently being unfaithful?”
“I b-b-believe so, yes,” she stammered. “He d-d-d-denied it, though.”
