Taking the letter, he noticed that there was no return address, but flipping it over, he stalled at seeing his name written in his brother’s messy scrawl.
Instantly, the strains of happiness he had just felt vanished like smoke in the breeze. Lips pressed tight, he grabbed a pen knife and swiftly slashed it open. The card was short and the words swift to the point.
Did you truly marry that platter-faced chit, or are the papers lying? Good god, Cedric. I thought you had more sense than to dig your own grave. Alas, I am free to live how I please, without a care in the world, leg-shackled to an ugly wife.
He could feel Leander laughing at him, mocking him, calling him a fool for doing something, for marrying someone Leander deemed inferior.
“Find out who delivered this,” he instructed Hunt. “I do not care if you have to trace the origins to the ninth circle of hell, do it.”
“It will be done,” Hunt nodded, and by the gleam in his eye, Cedric knew his faithful friend took this not only as a challenge but as his own mission.
He looked down at the mocking note and crushed it with a brutal fist. “I will see you soon, brother.”
Chapter Eighteen
Once again, Cedric was gone from the house by dawn, and Mrs. Tulley informed her that her monogrammed stationery, cards, papers, and her seal had been delivered to his study.
Taking the box back to her drawing room, she eyed the stack of letters on her desk before setting the delivery down. She began to flick through them and found a letter at the near bottom, the flowy, feminine handwriting catching her eye.
After a moment, she set down the book and picked up the note. The paper was premium stock, cream colored and thick; a cold chill ran up the back of her neck just as her nose wrinkled at the scent of cloying perfume the note was doused in.
She did not know all the tricks of the trade mistresses used, but she knew this was one of them.
The letter was simply addressed to Cedric with no return address.
Turning it over, she found a plain red wax seal, and the chill on her neck spread down to her insides, her fingers curling around the sealed note.
It was a private note, one that she had no right to open—but this felt like a slap in the face. She broke the seal and, unfolding the paper, she read the short lines;
My dearest Cerdric,
It has been weeks since you came by. Know that I’ve been thinking of you and mourning your loss. And I hope that I shall see you on our usual Friday evening. I have the champagne you like, and I have the gift you sent me. The silks are exquisite.
Yours fondly,
M.
It felt like something split her chest open and compressed her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. She stared at the note in disbelief, wondering if she was asleep and this was a horrible nightmare.
Was this proof of her husband’s infidelity? Was it an innocent note that she was taking out of context?
Swiftly, she pulled a drawer open and dropped the note inside, closing it tightly before she managed to suck a breath over her burning lungs.
It could be entirely innocent— but who doused a harmless, friendly note with gauche perfume?
She could not focus for the rest of the morning, and for the first time, felt relieved that Cedric had scheduled rest time for her, so she went to bed.
Her head hurt, and uncertainty twisted through her heart as thickly as the blood that ran through her veins. She sank to the pillow with a sudden wave of exhaustion.
It was dusk when Cedric stepped through the door; a needling feel of guilt was tight in his stomach. He had missed the breakfast he and Ariadne had agreed to share for fourteen days straight, and he wanted to make it up to her.
“Have a bath sent up, and dinner sent up in half an hour.” He told Mrs. Tully as he headed to his room, craving the hot comfort of a bath. His body felt stiff after hours of long travel and the frustrations of debating stubborn old codgers at Westminster.
His eyes flickered to the door that separated his and Ariadne’s room, and striding to the door, pulled it in a few fractions. The angle of the door cut off the rest of her body on the bed, butwatching her sleep now, her lashes dark fans against her cheeks; Cedric felt an unwelcome stirring of possessiveness.
She looked so damned feminine and small curled up in a corner, her braided head resting against the pale sheets. Physically, she was without comparison to any other lady and so, so delicate.
I told her so, and I wonder if she believes me?
