His befuddled yet displeased expression made Fortuity wish she had handled things in a timelier fashion. She had never intended to show him the horrid sheet of gossip. But it appeared there was no helping it now. “Gracie and I visited Mrs. Mortimore’s bookshop today, and she showed me this.” She handed him the tightly folded wad of paper.
He frowned down at it as he gingerly unfolded the thing, as if it held a poisonous viper. “And this is?”
“On Dit—What a Treat,” she said. “One of the more popular gossip rags in London.”
With a shake of his head, he heaved a great sigh. “I suppose there is something in here about us?”
“About you, mainly. I am only implied.”
“Where?” His voice had gone to that dull, dreaded tone he recently took on whenever their conversations shifted to her insecurities about their marriage and feelings for one another.
She echoed his heavy sigh but stood her ground with her hands folded in front of her. “Midway down the first page. The paragraph discussing the Duchess of Esterton’s hopes.”
His eyes narrowed, and the muscles in his jaw rippled as he read the offensive piece. Then, ever so slowly, he crumpled it into a ball and hurled it at the hearth. He stared at it as the flames took hold and ate into the paper, then he turned back to her, his eyes filled with pain. “You were questioning the staff to see if there was a betrayer among them?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you discover?”
“I do not believe any of them handed over the information about the duchess’s letters. They all were as incensed as I about the gossip sheet and what it held. Gracie watched their reactions and came to the same conclusion. Our staff can be trusted.”
“Why would the duchess do such a thing?” He raked his hand through his hair. “Does she not realize how foolish, how terribly pathetic, this paints her?”
“That is why I questioned our staff. I could not imagine why anyone would purposely portray themselves in such a poor light. Has your Olandra suffered from low self-worth in the past?”
His glare hardened on her as he ever so slightly bared his teeth. “She is notmyOlandra, dear wife. You are the only woman I considermine.Why do you find that so impossible to accept?”
“Did you not once tell me you did not feel for me what you had felt for her?” Fortuity refused to cry in front of him. No matter how badly her eyes burned to release the unshed tearsthat made her pounding head hurt even worse. “Do you recall that conversation?”
“As I recall, I said it was not the same. That does not mean that I do not love and cherish you.” Once again, he combed his fingers through his dark hair, making the thick, rich locks stand on end. “You are my world, Fortuity. My entire world. I beg you to know the depth of my love for you and find comfort and peace in it.”
She turned away and held her head, closing her eyes as she dug her thumbs into her temples and tried to rub the pain away. She hated all this turmoil, absolutely hated it. “What I know for certain is that I weary of the humiliation heaped upon me everywhere we go because of Eleanor and Olandra’s evil machinations and manipulation of Polite Society’s opinions.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. Once she would’ve luxuriated in his embrace, but now all she had the strength to deal with was this bloody throbbing in her head. She had reached her limits for the day, for the foreseeable future, really. She had reached her limits about everything.
“You are not well,” he said as he gently turned her to face him. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms and cradled her like a babe.
“What are you doing?” A groan escaped her as she buried her face into the perfect folds of his cravat.
“I am taking you to bed, to rest and be pampered. I am certain our Mrs. Greer will have a tonic to help you feel better and return the color to your lovely cheeks.”
She swallowed hard, suddenly finding herself dangerously nauseated. “Do not sway me, Matthew. Everything inside me is threatening to come back out.” She squinted her eyes tightly shut and focused on taking slow, deep, relaxing breaths.
“Mrs. Greer! Anne!”
“Matthew! I beg you, do not shout, or I shall spew all over you.”
“We are nearly there, my love. Hold fast.” He kicked open the door to their private suite, crossed the sitting room, then kicked open the bedchamber door. “Where the devil are those women? Do they not realize they are needed?”
“Just get me to the bed. All I need is a bit of a lie-down to be rid of this silliness.”
He lowered her into the pillows, not even bothering to turn back the counterpane. After ripping off his jacket and spreading it across her, he gently brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. “I shall return with those blasted women, so you might know some relief.”
She curled into a tighter ball beneath his coat and breathed in his familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to its fibers. It steadied her. It was almost as if she was still in his arms.
“Do not bellow at them,” she said as loudly as she dared as he went to leave the room.
“I will not bellow at them.”
