“So laughing is no longer acceptable?” He smiled and rested a hip against the desk. “I can see you’re angry. I’m sorry this note has upset you, Nellie, but you are making a fuss over nothing.”
“Nothing!” she said through her teeth. Now she’d begun, she couldn’t hold back. The blood began to pound in her temples. “What about your French mistress, Mademoiselle Girard? She approached me in Bond Street.”
“What!” He slipped off the desk. “She spoke to you?”
Nellie nodded. “She said I could not hold on to you. A small dark-haired boy was with her. He has blue eyes. Is he your son, Charles?”
He scowled. “No, he isn’t.”
“I thought that he might be after she threw a red rose at your feet at the cathedral right after our wedding. And then the bunches of red roses have arrived every morning.”
Charles muttered under his breath. He turned, and with a sweep of his arm, sent everything on his desk flying: inkwell, pens, ledgers, a stack of files. Ink spilled over the carpet, the pounce pot spilled its contents, and the quills rolled about on the floor.
Shocked, Nellie stood stock still. She trembled. The controlled, calm man she had married made no attempt to pick them up again. He leaned forward and placed his palms flat on his desktop, not looking at her. “He is not my son,” he said in a cold voice. “And my association with Mademoiselle Girard ended months before I married you.”
“I saw the article in the gossip column of a newspaper.”
Charles straightened and faced her. “What article? It mentioned my name?”
“Of course the journalist didn’t mention your name. But it could only have been you. He described how he witnessed you leaving a burning building with the Frenchwoman in your arms.”
“This is not something I wish to discuss with my wife.” He frowned. “I see I shall have to, however. I visited the lady to end our association long before we met. Mademoiselle threw a lantern at me. Started a fire.” He sighed. “The child isn’t mine, Nellie. I can’t give you proof. You’ll have to take me at my word.”
“Perhaps you ask too much.” Nellie swiveled and left the room.
She heard him call her name as she ran down the corridor to the staircase.The rake! Two women!Might there be a third? Too many for him to claim to be innocent. Take him at his word?Ha!Surely, he didn’t expect her to believe him? Relieved to find the hall empty, she sniffed and gripped the banister. Her heart beat unsteadily, tears spilling down her cheeks, and she stumbled upstairs with the hope no servant would make an appearance.
She didn’t want Charles to see how much he could affect her. But she needn’t have worried, for he made no attempt to come after her. She supposed he didn’t care enough. In her bedchamber, she took out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
Thank God Marian was in London. Nellie needed her calm, wise sister. Snatching up her reticule and bonnet, she flew down the stairs. Grove raised his eyebrows but said nothing when she called for her pelisse. He assisted her into it and opened the door for her to exit the house. She half ran to the corner in search of a hackney.
Farther down the square, she found a carriage had just deposited a neighbor onto the footpath. Nellie gave him Marian’s address and climbed inside. Her shoulders heaving, she dragged a handkerchief out of her reticule and dried her tears, then made a hasty effort to tidy herself.
“Nellie. What on earth has happened? Come upstairs.” Marian ordered a footman to bring wine and took Nellie to her sitting room, where she made her sit on the sofa.
“I’ve just come from Charles,” Nellie gasped, dabbing her eyes.
Nellie accepted a glass of Madeira, which was quickly brought. She drank down half a glass. The wine calmed her a little as she described Drusilla’s note.
“That conniving woman!” Marian exclaimed. “She wishes to cause trouble. Are you going to let her?”
“I can’t help it, Marian.” Nellie hiccoughed. She’d drunk the wine too fast. “Am I supposed to ignore it?”
“No, but Charles could be innocent. Powerful, attractive men like him are besieged by women.”
“I know that.” Nellie waved her hand as if to dismiss Charles’s obvious attractions and drank more of the Madeira. “I told him how his French mistress accosted me in Bond Street.” She finished the glass and coughed.
Marian removed the decanter and returned it to the tray on the bureau. She pulled the bell cord. “We need coffee.”
She came back to sit on the sofa beside Nellie and took her hand. “What had Charles to say in his defense?”
“He denies the child is his. He was furious, Marian. I’ve never expected him to be like that, although there was that article, you know, the one about him attacking the reporter. He has always been so composed. Except when…” Nellie blew out a breath. “Well, he is a very good lover. I suppose that’s why these women keep after him.” She rubbed her eyes. “I refuse to share him! I would rather not have him in my life.”
“Oh, dearest. How very upsetting.” Marian put her arm around her.
“You should have seen it! Charles swept everything off his desk. Papers and pens scattered over the floor, everywhere. Ink spilled on the carpet. And he made no attempt to clean it up!”
“Mm. Not like Charles, is it?”
