His heart, foolish thing that it was, leapt.
At the sight of him sitting there waiting for her, she halted partway into the room. Her mouth fell open, and her chest rose and fell with several unsteady breaths.
“Percy,” she said, and appeared to gather herself. She cocked a brow. “Home already? I hadn’t expected that of you.”
“Evidently not.”
“I assumed you would be spending the night elsewhere.”
He folded the book carefully, careful to preserve the pages without a crease. Originally, he had intended to allow this deception to continue, but now he knew he could not. Both for his sake and hers; he was not built for lying.
“Caroline is not my mistress,” he said, enunciating the words so there could be no confusion. “We are friends.”
“And you expect me to believe that? You left together.”
That had been because Caroline had wanted to conduct an assignation of her own, and he could not bear the idea of sitting alone in his box, watching his wife flirt with another.
“We went our separate ways.” He gestured at himself. “As you can see.”
“All I see is a husband who humiliated me tonight.” She tossed her head. “I have a headache and I have no wish to continue this conversation. Goodbye, Percy.” She turned on her heel and stalked towards her bedchamber.
“Busy, were you?” The words broke free before he intended them to.
Her back stiffened, and she turned with menacing grace. She had always been beautiful, with her auburn curls and flashing peridot eyes, but she could also be terrifying. “Well,” she said with cold intent. “Perhaps I was. Does that offend your sensibilities?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.”
“Why? Are you allowed to stray while I remain at home, warming the marital bed?” Her mouth thinned, and he thought of how much he wanted to kiss it. The likelihood of her allowing him to was low indeed.
“As I said, Caroline and I are merely friends.”
Her eyes glittered. “Is that so? I have yet to see mere friends as close as the two of you appeared tonight.”
Well, that had been the purpose of the display: to incite jealousy.
Success had never tasted so bitter.
“It seems you know a lot about the subject,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Tell me more about your companion. Lord Featherstone, was it? The boy’s barely out of Oxford.”
“I prefer associating withcontemporaries.” She layered the word with such meaning that he practically flinched. Yes, he knew he’d taken a risk in marrying a spirited lady so much his junior, and she never let him forget it.
“Are you fond of him?” he asked.
“Does it matter to you? Are youfondof Caroline Spenser?”
“As a friend, yes.”
“Oh, certainly. One of theton’smost notorious mistresses, a close friend. How likely. Do you think me a fool?”
When he’d dreamt up his ridiculous plan, he’d had vague intentions of using her anger to bring them closer together. Somehow, he had envisioned that it would inspire intimacy. Now, with his wife fiercely beautiful, and unmistakeably furious, he didn’t know what he had been thinking. Desperation had made him delusional.
“I think,” he said, giving way to honesty, “you are selfish.”
“Excuse me?”
“And, my darling, a trifle hypocritical. Either you were entertaining your escort intending to make him your lover—in which case, you can hardly object to me doing the same—or you meant nothing by it, in which case, why not think me capable of the same?”
Her eyes darkened and her nostrils flared, and he wished he did not think her quite so frighteningly lovely when she was on the verge of losing her temper entirely.
