But Judith had persevered in the marriage, and she had proven to be an excellent and faithful wife as the years passed. Finally, in the years after George’s birth, Edmund had grown to care for her deeply. They had gradually become suited partners in a quiet and decent marriage.
But Judith had longed for passion. For a man to desire her with a mindless longing. So as a widow she had sought it among the young blades of theton.To no avail. The passion of a puppy is sweet but often without control or direction. Judith had frequently needed to comfort her lovers when their performance in her bed peaked almost before getting started. She had to fight laughter at their overwhelming disappointment, consoling them with kisses and promises of a brighter future.
But it had all begun to tire her, even as she continued to desire the presence of a man in her bed.
I wish to own a part of you.
Judith’s chest tightened, the words of the actors below slipping over her unheard.Did he realize what he was saying?
Judith wiggled her toes inside her left slipper and bit her lower lip, her mind recalling the feel of his fingers on her thigh, his lips against hers. A smile slowly crossed her face as shesuspected he knew quite well what he had said. He wanted to claim her.
First choice.
Chapter Five
Monday, 18 July 1814
Bloomsbury, London
Half-past one in the morning
Mark stared atStella, barely curtailing the rage that threatened to swamp him like a rogue wave. “Are you mad? Have you completely lost all your senses? Shropshire? Why would you even consider him?”
“He’s a duke!”
“He has the pox!”
The red flush that had colored Stella’s face since he had barged into her bedchamber drained away like the first pint of a drunkard. Wide eyes and a gaping mouth stared back at him. “How was I to know?”
Mark jerked an arm toward the door. “You might have asked your maid, since everyone but you in this bloody town knows it! Or actually looked at the cock he fucked you with!” His fury made his arm shake and he dropped it to his side as he took two more steps toward her.
With a yelp, Stella backed away, stumbling over the stool at her dressing table and thudding to the floor, landing on her backside. “Don’t hit me!”
Mark smeared both hands over his face, then through his hair, trying desperately to tamp down the fury that had consumed him since he had seen Shropshire—a duke in titleonly since the man had lost all his worldly goods at the tables—saunter into Stella’s backstage dressing room and later out the front door of this house. His house. Mark steeled himself, forcing his voice calm. “I have never and would never hit you. But you... you have no idea what kind of damage you may have wreaked. Now get up off the floor and explain yourself. Start with how long you have been fucking the man.”
Stella scrambled to her feet, clutching her dressing gown around her body. She sidled toward the bed, bracing herself against one of the posts of the headboard. “Two”—she swallowed hard—“two weeks.” She blinked rapidly, then muttered, “Three. Maybe three.” She held up a hand in protest before he could reply. “But he went to Mrs. Phillips’s Warehouse. We used a sheath. French letters. Just like you and I do. I swear to you!” She curled her arm against her chest, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I swear!”
Mark squeezed his eyes shut. “You addle-pated ninny, those barely stop a baby, and sometimes, clearly, not always that.” He glared at her again. “Is he the only one?”
She chewed her lower lip.
So. No.
I have been an absolute fool.
He rolled his shoulders as he looked around the room. Mark had spent so many delightful hours here, reveling in Stella’s charms, basking in the idea that he had found a safe—“You had better pray you have not given me this. Better yet, you had better pray he did not give it to you. It is a truly awful way to die.”
“How do you know—”
“I have been at war, woman!” He stopped, pulling in deep breaths, trying to rein in sudden, unexpected memories that flooded his mind, streaming out of his fury. He clenched his fists at his side, his voice low. “I have seen horrors not evenpeople in the Rookeries have known. You cannot conceive of the destruction, the pain...”
He thought it impossible, but Stella paled even more. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.
He shook his head, still stunned by what had happened. “Well, I will not be in your bed ever again. And you should prepare to not be in this house any longer.”
She stiffened. “You are evicting me?”
“I have no choice. It is my house, and you have made it notorious. Your dallying with Shropshire is already on the books at White’s.”
