How was she to bear his renewed hostility, if it was true that he loved her? She could not! Anton!Anton!
She did not know whether she cried aloud as she tore open the door to run from the saloon, crossing the hall on winged feet. Driven by desperate need, some wild half-formed hope of detaining him, she flung wide the front door, and ran out on to the porch, gulping in the frosty chill of November.
Before her yawned the empty ash-strewn lawns. A sob escaped her, and she ran out on to the drive, forgetting the open front door, the only thought in her mind that she was too late. Raith was already gone.
The certainty of impending loss gripped her. What use to have confessed it all, when her enemy’s cunning could only play upon her spouse’s jealous heart? If she better understood his anguish, she was doomed to be the poorer for that knowledge.
Only half-aware of what she did, unheeding of the cold that penetrated through the thin muslin of her sprigged gown, Rosina took off along one side of the mansion. As she went, her mind roved without intent, images pricking at her. Visions of Anton’s features, the ugly scar slashing his cheek. Ugly? Yes, it was so, and yet she could only regard it with tenderness. Impossible there had ever been a time when she could see its savagery upon that beloved countenance without a swelling of affection.
Impossible she had fallen in love with him. Had Anton set out to woo her, he could not have done it with more success than he had achieved with his swift changes of mood. Why did she care so for him? He had done his best to make her hate him. Only it was the wounded soul within the tiger that had lured her heart. Dear heaven, how was she to bear his loss?
Her breath caught, and tears sprang to her eyes, half blinding her. She tried to halt them, but the overwrought bursting of her sorrow would not be contained. Choked sobs stifled her throat, and she stumbled on, pushing through stark wood branches that came in her way. She lost all sensation of direction, wandering into the woody retreat that abutted the grounds of Raith Manor.
All at once, a violent pain gripped at her womb. She gasped out, grabbing at the nearest tree for support. It came again, and the occasion of it burst into her mind. Oh, no. To be caught unawares with this? Not now. Not here. She must get back to the house.
But the pain intensified, and Rosina felt the first eruption of her flux. She looked wildly round, trying to gather her bearings. She was in the forest, but she could not be so far from the mansion. A sensation of cold came upon her, and she realised belatedly that she had come forth without so much as a shawl. Another violent wave of agony overcame her. Hanging on to the tree, she waited for it to pass.
Raith remained by the parlour door, willing himself to remember the rules of gentlemanly etiquette. He had not stayed to lay aside his hat and whip, and his right hand struck a rhythmic beat of the weapon against his boot. Much as he longed to do it, he could not march across the room and lift the villain from his seat with an iron grip about his throat. Nor smash his fist into that complacent countenance. By and by, he would have satisfaction and enjoy it. But not now.
“Well?”
Forteviot’s eyebrows lifted. “My dear Raith, I do not deny that there is some substance in the tale.”
“Substance! Do you dare to imply there is any vestige of a lie?”
“Nothing so blatant, my dear fellow,” tutted the other, crossing one leg over the other. He had found time to dress between Raith’s two visits, sporting a neat tie-wig atop a fashionable suit of green broadcloth over a flamboyant striped waistcoat. But he lounged still at his ease.
“Enlighten me.” Raith moved to throw down both hat and whip upon a chair. “What is amiss with my wife’s story?”
A knowing smile curved Forteviot’s thin lips. “Oh, she warned you, did she? I imagine she might well suppose my version of events did not quite mesh with her own.”
Raith’s ire rose the more as he stripped off his gloves. How poisonous a tongue had this scoundrel. For he could feel the insinuating pull of his own suspicion even from this slight turn. He flung down the gloves and his voice became snappish.
“Be specific, and do not attempt to suborn me with artifice.”
Forteviot spread his hands, his smile broadening. “I have no wish to do so, Anton.”
“I know what you wish, Forteviot. You think to extract money from me. You will find me an ill subject for extortion.”
The other looked pained. “So ugly a word, Anton. No, no. If I seek recompense, it is not to be wondered at. Twenty thousand is a goodly sum.”
“Which you won fairly at play. But not from Rosina.” To Raith’s surprise and distrust, Forteviot heaved a sigh tinged with melancholy.
“I thought to win her, you see. You have succeeded — inadvertently, I know — where I could not. I suppose I am too old for her.”
Disgust coursed through Raith. “Spare me your shams. You are not trying to make me believe it was marriage you intended? Do you take me for a fool? You sought to make a harlot of her.” He all but ground his teeth, and his long riding frock rippled with motion as he jerked across the room. “You would have taken her innocence, and dropped her without compunction when she no longer suited your purposes.”
Forteviot’s eyebrows rose again, and he laughed gently. “My dear Anton, nothing could have been further from my mind. Naturally I could not marry a girl who came with no dowry or connections. I have a position in society to keep up.”
“Which is as much as to say that I have not.”
“You entirely mistake me, Raith. But you misunderstand. When I say I failed to win her, I mean she did not favour me. That did not imply she was unwilling to take up the role I had outlined. Rosina had no objection to the bargain of itself. It was sealed with her agreement. Indeed, she was very frank with her requirements.”
“Take care! If you knew how my fingers itch to close about your throat—”
Forteviot threw up a hand. “Believe me, I appreciate your feelings. But you have come to me with accusations, my friend, and I have my reputation to consider.”
In one violent movement, Raith swung over to the table where the man sat, and slammed his hands down upon it. “Your reputation is not at stake here, sir. We are discussing the reputation of my wife. I say to you again, take care.”
