She lifted her chin. “He wants to marry me.”
He still wasn’t looking at her, but out of the corner of her eye she saw his jaw tighten. “You’re already married.”
A strange thrill shot through her. She was taunting him, for once. It wasn’t often that one had the upper hand with Mark Grimaldi. “A condition that can be rectified,” she breathed.
CHAPTER NINE
Mark watched Nicole saunter back into theduc’s ballroom, her hips undulating as she went. He was hard. Blast. When was the last time he’d even looked at a woman with lust? Over the years, he’d taken himself in hand of course, but that had been a physical act, like eating or sleeping. It had been necessary and he’d always had a vision of red hair and petal-pink lips and green eyes the color of sea foam while he’d done it.
He turned his back on the ballroom and stared, unseeing, at the darkened fields, his free hand knotted into a fist. Now he knew for certain. Damn it. Theduchessehad all but told him Nicole was in love with thecomte. She was planning to ask Mark for a divorce. That was her condition. Very well. If that was what she wanted, his only option would be to negotiate for time.
Would she agree to remain married for one year? Two? A year would be the minimum he could agree to.He needed time to establish himself in his new role. He needed time to work out the details of a divorce, politically. If he spoke to the right people, called upon the right friends, they might be able to accomplish it with little fanfare and hopefully minimal gossip. It would be extremely delicate, and one of them would have to plead to either impotence or insanity. Neither was palatable, but perhaps they could think of something to obtain a quiet divorce. His mind whirled with the possibilities.
Damn. He squeezed his eyes closed and let his head drop forward. How had he got into this situation? The irony was not lost on him. He had spent nearly two decades of his life in service to the Crown. The Crown had demanded everything from him, his loyalty, his time, his lifeblood. There had been no room for a relationship, much less a marriage. It had been nothing but fortuitous that he and Nicole had become estranged. Had they remained together, no doubt she would have left him for lack of attention.
And now, now that he’d sacrificed everything for his position, they wanted him to settle down and play the happily married man. It was ludicrous, but he’d known his day of reckoning with Nicole would someday come. He couldn’t escape it forever.
She had expected a missive informing her he’d been killed. She’d nearly received precisely that. Five years ago. He’d been in a French prison camp. They’d tortured him unmercifully. He’d been on the verge of death. His good friend and fellow spy Rafe Cavendish had saved him. Rafe and some of the other spies had snuck into the camp in the middle of the night, overpowered theguards, and sneaked him out. He’d spent months recovering, a dozen bones broken in addition to his nose.
He lifted his head again. A humorless smile curled his lips. Yes, he’d sacrificed everything for this work, including all relationships. He couldn’t even have friends. Not true ones. Rafe and his twin brother, Cade, were the closest he had to friends, but even they had to remain at arm’s length. He was their superior. They reported to him. He couldn’t risk getting too close. It was the price he paid for being in charge.
Nicole had no idea how right she’d nearly been. Every day in that bloody prison camp, he’d thought of the nights he’d spent with Nicole during their short-lived happiness. Those memories had got him through some of the darkest days of his life, but he’d return to the prison camp before he’d admit it to her. She would only throw it in his face.
He turned toward the ballroom. Leaving his snifter sitting atop the balustrade, he pulled a cheroot from his inside coat pocket and strolled to light it from one of the candles that rested on a nearby table. He sucked the sweet smoke into his lungs and blew it out in a perfectly formedO.
Nicole hadn’t been who he thought she was when they’d married. He’d quickly learned she was a scheming liar. But in those dark, hellish days in the camp, he’d pretended she was the fresh-faced, intriguing girl he’d fallen in love with, innocent and free. The kind of girl who would run down a thief in the mews and charmingly flirt with a virtual nobody in the army.
Mark groaned. He supposed it was inevitable, themending this way, her asking for a divorce to marry thecomte. Theduchessesaid she was lonely. Mark didn’t believe it. There were obviously plenty of men eager for her attention and charms. Perhaps by lonely, theduchessesimply meant Nicole wished she could be free to be with thecomte.
As much as he wanted to punch him, Mark couldn’t blame thecomte. Nicole was gorgeous, intelligent, and full of life. She would be a fine wife… to the right man.
Mark couldn’t blame Nicole either. She shouldn’t have to suffer through life alone for the sake of a marriage that never should have taken place.
He crossed back over to the balustrade and downed the rest of his brandy. Everything would be fine. He was confident they could come to some sort of an arrangement that would make them both happy on the morrow.
CHAPTER TEN
Nicole stared into her wardrobe, pressing her palm against her cheek. What did one wear to have what was certain to be an extremely uncomfortable discussion with one’s husband, whom one hadn’t seen in ten years? Not counting yesterday.
She finally settled on a simple pink morning gown with capped sleeves and lace along the bodice. It displayed her décolletage to prime advantage, which was what she liked best about it. Mark had glanced at her décolletage last night. It had been surreptitious, granted, but she’d noticed. And she’d been pleased by it. She wanted to have every advantage in this discussion and she was not above presenting a bit of cleavage to secure the upper hand.
Her maid helped her into the pink gown. Jacqueline arranged Nicole’s hair into a loose chignon, pulling out a few strands to frame her face, the way she liked it. Sheplaced her family’s set of pearls around her neck and dabbed lavender perfume behind both ears. When they were finished, Nicole stared at herself in the large, wooden-framed looking glass in her bedchamber. Did she look as different to Mark as he did to her? Still himself, but infinitely more appealing with new muscles and a thinner face and tiny lines next to his eyes that heightened the air of authority he’d always possessed. And that crook in his nose that somehow made her want to trace it with her fingertip. Or did she just look aged to him? A former beauty (or so she’d been called) rusticating so long the bloom had worn off.
A slight knock at the door startled her back into the moment.
“Monsieur le Généralis here,Madame,” one of the housemaids reported.
Nicole glanced at the clock on the wall. Mark was right on time. Wasn’t he always? His colleagues called him the stone man. Emotionless, calm, collected, always rigidly in charge. He had no friends. Friends could betray him. He had no family. At least none he would claim. Hewaslike stone. Like a statue, not a human being. He would never allow himself such a flaw as to be late to anything. Very well. He was here and she’d promised him her terms. She might as well get it over with. The worst he could say was no, and she’d prepared herself for that.
She took a deep breath, sucking in her belly and exhaling slowly. There was only one way to face this pivotal moment. With courage. If she didn’t ask for this now, she would never get it, as this was certain to be the only time her husband would appear on her doorstep, hat in hand, asking for a favor. She had to take advantage of the opportunity, but still, her nerves caused her legs to tremble as she slowly walked out of her bedchamber, down the corridor to the top of the staircase, and grasped the marble bannister.
She descended into the foyer, made her way to the front drawing room, and stood before the door, her heart beating like a hare’s foot in her chest. She swallowed hard and pushed open the door with a sweating hand.
Mark stood near the mantelpiece, his arm braced atop it, one hand arrested halfway through his dark hair. He wore dark gray breeches, a sapphire waistcoat, and a white shirtfront. His black boots were shined to perfection, as always.
The moment the door opened, he dropped his hand and turned to face her. Why did the man have to be so dastardly handsome? Aside from the new crook in his nose, his face looked as if it had been carved from stone. His hair was always perfect, even after he’d been rubbing his fingers through it. It sprang right back into place, the slight curl and the shine of the dark locks falling expertly into step as if they were his soldiers, too frightened of him to not do his bidding.
Nicole’s eyes met his and a spark of something that felt ever so much like lust shot through her core. Breathing heavily, she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. Lust? Lust would not be helpful in this discussion. She needed to keep her wits about her. She was about to negotiate with a master.
