Wide-eyed, Lord Granborough found himself alone at center stage. Louisa slipped from the assembly room, taking brattish glee in all the mischief she’d caused him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Giles hadn’t been ignoring Louisa, he’d been avoiding her. He had overindulged beyond his one customary drink, drowning his guilt for marrying her, and hating himself for bringing her into this farce. For daring to have feelings for her when he’d assured Lady Venia that this would be a marriage in name only.
He had only ever wanted the money.
Tonight’s sing-a-long reminded him of the first time he’d seen Louisa Thurston Reid at Cousin Caroline’s party. She had been the center of attention then, too. Bright, boisterous, and gay, she’d caught his eye and he’d not been able to look away since.
Giles was attracted to her and was beginning to fear that Louisa felt an attraction to him.
“You’ve broken my heart,”she’d said.
Louisa was hurt and jealous—and rightly so! She had lashed out at him in the way she knew would sting the most, for a gentleman loathed to be made a fool of.
The joke was on her. He’d been a fool for a long, long time.
He groped for the stateroom door, praying his wife had gone to bed without him. Inside, the cabin was shadowed and dark. Only the faintest stream of moonlight shone through the porthole windows.
Giles stripped free of his evening jacket and tossed it aside. He kicked off his patent leather shoes, heedless of any scuffs as he staggered through the sitting room toward the bedroom beyond.
Suddenly, the bedside lamp flicked on. With it came Louisa’s unhappy glare. “Ugh!” She sniffed. “You reek of alcohol.”
“I’ve been drowning my sorrows.”
She took one look at his rumpled appearance and leveled a terrible accusation, “You’ve been with that Frenchwoman.”
He’d never laid a hand on Madame de Roubernon. Lately, the very idea of infidelity was repugnant to him, and it was allherfault. Louisa had come into his life and flipped everything onto its head.
“So what if I have been?” he taunted. “You only married me for my title. You got what you wanted. You don’t get to be jealous, Venia!”
She balked. “That’s not my name!”
“Be quiet,”Giles hissed, drunkenly fumbling with his clothes, unable to believe the mistake he’d just made.
He’d been aching for her all evening, and Lady Venia Herbert hardly crossed his mind.
Louisa watched his fingers fight over the strained buttons of his trousers. She scrambled back against the pillows, as though she feared he might force himself on her. Did his lovely wife truly have such a low opinion of him?
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, clutching the counterpane. “Don’t you dare touch me! You haven’t earned the right—”
He stopped abruptly, letting the waistband of his trousers hang slack. “You wish to be rid of me, don’t you?”
Louisa should hate him. He was the worst sort of man, despoiling a vibrant young woman to suit his greed. He was a cad for wanting her in spite of it all.
Giles collapsed on the bed, face-first into the mattress. “It’s no use. I’m worthless. Worthless. Worthless…”
The room spun as the ship swayed. He felt close to weeping.
Truthfully, he couldn’t be certain hewasn’tweeping. Everything was too awful.
“I have no desire to force you, Louisa.” He wanted her willing and needed her to be as eager as she had been the previous two nights. “If you say I’ve no right to touch you, then I respect your wishes.”
Could she blame him for growing accustomed to meeting her warm body in their bed and taking the pleasure she offered? He found solace in her sweetness. Their shared moments of intimacy were precious to him, and—truthfully—uncharted waters for a man used to the cool aristocratic marriages of his peers.
After a moment, Giles felt the bed shift as Louisa relaxed. His wife edged toward him, for she couldn’t bear to see him suffer.
“Here, turn over. You’ll strangle yourself if you sleep like that.” She roughly rolled him onto his back.
