Fi’s heart pounded. Her emotions were as jumbled as her knitting bag. Anger, humiliation, jealousy…she couldn’t untangle the skeins of what she was feeling.
What gives Lady Ayles the right to be so malicious? How could Hawk have been involved with that wretched woman?Does he treat me the same way he treated her?
Fi was forced to confront the fact that Hawk left her bed in the same perfunctory manner that he’d apparently left his mistress’s. She hated how the knowledge cheapened what transpired in her marriage. Was their lovemaking nothing special to Hawk? Wasshenothing special?
Nasal Lady tittered. “Are you saying that Hawksmoor married her out of, ahem, necessity?”
“She’s a brazen tart masquerading as a lady,” Melinda said flatly. “I would be surprised if he was the only one who’d had her before the marriage.”
How dare she impugn my honor. I cannot allow her to slander me.
Trembling with indignation, Fiona reached for the door handle of the closet.
“But Hawksmoor is a gentleman,” the third lady said. “Surely his honor would not allow him to dally with a virgin…”
“He may be a gentleman, but he likes bed sport. In fact, he was such a glutton for it that I had to end the affair. A true lady has limits.”
Melinda’s words slammed like a stake through Fiona’s heart, making her jerk her hand back.
“But some females will doanythingfor a title.”
Fi tried to stanch her pain and humiliation.Don’t listen. Ignore them…
“You have the mostdeliciousgossip, Melinda,” Nasal Lady said excitedly.
“Everyoneis talking about it, my dear. In fact, there are wagers going on about when the babe will be born. I have twenty pounds that says seven months hence…”
Laughing, the women left.
Alone, Fiona tried to stop shaking.
Twenty
Something is wrong with Fiona.Hawk felt it in his bones.
When she’d wanted to leave the Strathavens’ ball early, he’d sensed something was amiss. She had claimed to have a megrim and looked a trifle pale. With gnawing worry, he’d made their excuses and summoned the carriage. His concern had grown when he’d put an arm around her shoulders, intending to comfort her during the ride home. He’d expected her to lay her head on his shoulder; instead, she’d held him off.
Then she’d moved to the opposite bench.
“If you don’t mind, I would like space,”she’d said.“For my head.”
He had minded because her behavior was unusual. Usually, she welcomed his affectionate gestures. Then he remembered Caroline’s megrims, and a chill entered his blood. His first wife’s moods had begun with a headache too. From there, they’d spread into fatigue and weeping and despair. Excuses, empty seats, and closed doors.
Closed doors…like the one currently between him and Fiona. The one he was staring at as if he could decipher the secrets of the universe in the grain of the wood.
What the hell am I doing?he thought starkly.I have no talent for this. I could not help Caroline then, and I cannot help Fiona now. Besides, Fiona and I agreed that there would be no emotional complications. I am under no obligation to find out what is bothering her. She expressly told me that she can take care of herself.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, he retreated from the door and downed a whisky. When that didn’t help, he had another.
Even twenty-year-old Scotch couldn’t thaw the block of ice in his gut. He was surprised to realize that he could name what he was feeling: fear. Since marrying Fiona, his numbness receded. Her presence—in his bed, at his table, just bloody hovering in his mind—had reawakened him to feeling. To desire and happiness and hope.
Hope…the most dangerous feeling of all.
Yet he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Fiona as she’d danced with him at the ball. As usual, she’d been a magnet for male attention, but she’d had eyes for only him. Feeling the envious stares of other men, he’d known that he was the luckiest bastard alive…especially with that handkerchief tucked in his pocket. The reminder of just how thoroughly his wife belonged to him.
By Jove, she’d let him take her against the wall in one of the hottest experiences of his life. What could have changed between then and now? Bewildered frustration filled him, outweighing the fear. There had to be areason, something that had transpired…maybe something he had or had not done? This was Fiona, he reminded himself. While vivacious, she was also forthright and even-keeled, not prone to fluctuating moods.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he ought to try to ask her again what was wrong. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him. Maybe history was repeating itself, and there was no rhyme or reason to his wife’s change of disposition. Maybe he was like Sisyphus, destined to push the same bloody boulder uphill again and again, only to get flattened each time.
