Margaret. Lady Sandhurst. Christ, all this time he’d thoughtshe was a quiet, bookish bluestocking sitting at home building her library andsending him petulant letters, and instead she’d been about the business ofmaking him a cuckold. He took back his hands as if he were a street urchincaught stealing. What a cunning little wench she’d turned out to be. He neverwould have guessed.
He rolled away and rose from the bed, his ardor effectivelydampened by the revelation that he’d been about to make love to his wife.Again. Bloody hell, he’d never wanted to consummate their union. He’d beenforced to marry her as a matter of circumstance, but he’d vowed never to makeher his wife in truth. And now he unwittingly had done precisely that. He feltsick at the realization.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he searched for hisdiscarded clothes. “Bloody stupid prick.”
He had to leave before she woke and realized who he was.Good God, it would be better to allow her to think she’d tupped some stranger.He should have known it was her. How had he missed the signs? He bent andstuffed his legs into his trousers, frantic to leave. She was an American. Herhair was the same vibrant color, all rebellious curls. Of course there’d beenthe matter of her mask, and that he’d never once dreamt his mild-mannered wifewould deign to appear at a house party renowned for its sexual decadence andfreedom. He supposed it was down to the old case of believing what he saw.
He found his shirt and didn’t bother with the buttons. Noquestions would be asked if anyone passed him in the corridor, as they wouldmore than likely be equally guilty parties. More so, actually. He’d only beddedhis wife, after all.
Raking a hand through his hair, he tiptoed from the chamber.He closed the door at his back with a sigh of relief. There was no reason sheever need discover the truth. It was best for the both of them, really. Afterall, he had no intention of playing the part of husband. Ever. He had come tothe house party for distraction, a respite from the torment eating at him eversince Eleanor’s defection. He may have been forced to sell himself to anAmerican fortune, but he still possessed his pride, by God.
Feeling only slightly reassured, he stalked back to hischamber. It would be best, he decided, if he left Lady Needham’s before seeingher again. He didn’t think he could stomach it.
* * * * *
Maggie woke to the sound of a door being snapped tightlyclosed. It must be her maid, she thought in her sleep-clouded mind. She rolledover, suddenly aware of cool air over her naked breasts. And a distinct yet newsoreness between her thighs.
Good heavens.
She sat up in bed as if a gong had just been rung beside herear. Maggie looked around, relieved to find her chamber empty in theearly-morning light. She was alone. It wouldn’t do for her lady’s maid to findher in such a state of…she looked down at herself to find she was utterly nudeand promptly yanked the bedclothes all the way up to her neck.
Oh dear. Memories washed over her. She’d met a handsome manand had taken him to bed. He had pleasured her in ways she’d never imaginedpossible. And then, apparently, he had disappeared. She glanced about thechamber, searching for a sign of her impassioned lover and finding only arumpled scrap of fabric.
His necktie.
It hadn’t been just a dream after all. He had been real. Buthe had left her with nary a word. Why? Had she not pleased him? Was her untriedstate too much for him? Or was this simply standard practice for the wicked?Perhaps the fast set all shared life-changing evenings of desire and then neversaw one another again. She’d been correct after all, she thought glumly. Shewas not made of the stuff required to run in the Marlborough House set. Whilethe previous evening had been the best she’d experienced in quite some time,she hadn’t been prepared for the cold shock of a morning spent alone once more.She thought she’d been seeking a man in her bed, but it would seem she wantedmore…companionship, a man in her life. She was terribly tired of men whodisappeared.
Who was he?
Unable to sleep, she rose from the bed in search of hernightgown. She didn’t want her lady’s maid to find her in such a state. With asigh, she threw a linen shift over her head, straightening it before wrappingherself up in a dressing gown. Her bare feet crossed the carpet to the mirrorat the vanity on the far end of the chamber. Her hair was a wild tangle ofcurls about her head. She appeared pale. Different. She was a woman in truthnow, after all. If only her new state didn’t feel so dratted empty.
* * * * *
Maggie found herself seated beside Lady Needham atbreakfast. One of the lovely, albeit unusual, aspects of her party was that allguests were to remain incognito for the entire weekend. The sole exception wasthe hostess herself, who seemingly couldn’t be bothered to maintain herreputation anyway.
Lady Needham, as it turned out, was actually a lovely ladyand a more than gracious hostess. Her reputation preceded her as a woman with acomplete disregard for the strictures of polite society, a woman who soughtpleasures regardless of the cost and encouraged others to join her in heriniquities. But in truth, Lady Needham was a small woman with a smart sense ofdress and a habit of speaking more plainly than was fashionable.
Maggie thought her hostess to be rather American at heart,and she admired her bravado. She didn’t have much appetite this morning, butLady Needham was buoying her flagging spirits with her clever quips over theother guests’ fashion choices.
“Blessed angels. Would you have a gander at that atrociousnest of hair?” Lady Needham whispered to Maggie, inclining her head toward theunfortunate woman in question. “I daresay an entire flock of birds could getlost in that monstrosity.”
Maggie giggled into her napkin, keenly enjoying thedistraction her hostess’s unbridled tongue provided. Of course, she agreed withher. It was simply that Maggie would never venture such observations aloud.
“What do you think, my dear?” Lady Needham askedsottovoce, giving her a friendly nudge.
“Her dress is a ghastly shade of yellow,” Maggie offered.
“Ah, I love your accent, dear girl. Say ‘ghastly’ again,do.”
“Ghastly,” Maggie complied.
“A New York lady, obviously.” Lady Needham took a sip ofjuice and studied her with a lively blue gaze. “I’m so pleased you’ve decidedto come to my little country house weekend. Did you enjoy the ball last night?”
Maggie swallowed. “I did, yes, my lady.”
“You needn’t stand on ceremony here, dear.” Lady Needhamsmiled. “You’re not in New York, and you’re not in London. You’re free to dowhatever you want and to be whomever you want. My rules. And I daresay thoseare my only rules.”
“I like your rules,” Maggie admitted. They were freeing.She’d never felt as liberated in her life as she had the night before. But shesuspected she’d never again be fortunate enough to feel that way. After all,her lover had left her before dawn with no clue as to his identity and nopromise she’d ever see him again.
