That pressure in the air only grew, and the Lord Chancellor’s eyes kindled with anger of his own. Damn it, damn it…it’d been hilarious to contemplate while I dressed, and deeply satisfying to imagine as I’d fed my righteous fury in the carriage on my way to collect Lord Stefan, but I simply couldn’t play the whore. I didn’t have it in me, so to speak. I’d never convince anyone.
But the Lord Chancellor had seemed to think his son would be willing to be pleased by me and my comparative innocence. While that might be clearly and demonstrably untrue given his predilections for the least innocent company in the city, why shouldn’t I play into his delusions? A novelty, he’d called me. Well, this had to be a novel experience for all of us.
I took a step closer to Lord Stefan, not quite close enough to be pressed against his side but enough to feel the heat of him, and slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow. His arm went rigid enough to shatter under my touch.
“We’ve beenveryoccupied with one another, and Stefan likes me in this,” I said demurely, peeking up at my husband through my lashes. “I’ve been wearing nothing else for the entire period of our seclusion.”
Time seemed to stretch around us, the thick silence drawing out and out as if I’d used some sinister magic. Lord Stefan craned his head around to stare at me, his mouth falling open and an expression of dawning horror in his dark eyes.
“Oh,” Lady Estella gasped, sounding strangled. “Oh, gracious gods.”
“We should go in to dine,” the Lord Chancellor said abruptly. “Unfortunately, we have another engagement tonight. My court duties, you understand. We’ll need to depart after the meal. Immediately. You’ll need to depart as well, of course.”
Gods, what had I done? Of course I’d expected Lord Stefan to be embarrassed to have anyone believe he could findme desirable in something as ugly as this cassock, and for Lord Ettori and Lady Estella to be disappointed in him for his lack of sophistication, but…their faces. All three of their faces. No well-fucked whorish simpering could’ve achieved this effect. Could it? Even my father-in-law seemed stunned, as if none of his experience as a courtier, ducal councilor, or a man of the world had prepared him for this moment.
“Yes,” Lady Estella said, and clutched onto her husband’s arm as if she’d collapse without its support. “Yes, we’ll dine. And then—Stefan, tomorrow Remigius will receive my personal dresser and her assistants. You will see to it that your servants treat her with all possible attention. I will brook no denial in this! No matter what your, your preferences might be!”
“I look forward to meeting her and consulting her expertise,” I ventured. “Although I don’t know where I’ll go that will require her skills. I know no one in Nevaia or at court.”
“I’m certain that Stefan will wish to introduce you into society as soon as possible. A charming consort is an indispensable asset in advancing one’s political ambitions, as I know better than anyone.” The Lord Chancellor fixed his steely gaze on his son. “Won’t you, Stefan?”
Their eyes held, and for a wild, breathless moment I thought Lord Stefan might lunge at him, murder his own father right there in the ornate hallway of their family mansion.
And then the arm under my hand relaxed a tiny fraction. “Of course.” Lord Stefan’s arid calm could’ve frozen and dried a rushing river. “Perhaps he’ll start a fashion for red hair.”
“Ennolu works many miracles,” Lady Estella said, with devastatingly false brightness, “so we know nothing is beyond his powers. Dinner, if you please!” And she turned and set off across the hall, pulling the Lord Chancellor with her and leaving Lord Stefan and me to follow. Perhaps she hoped we wouldn’t.
“Allow me to escort you, Remigius,” Lord Stefan said at a normal volume, and then muttered, for my ears only, “Straight to hell, if I had my way.”
“Nothing could give me more pleasure,” I replied, with total sincerity. It’d have to be better than this.
Lord Stefan huffed something that could’ve been a reluctant laugh and turned me toward the dining room. I forced one foot in front of the other and held my hideously red head high as he led me away, wishing I could lean on the strength of his arm for comfort.
At least he’d be as miserable during dinner as I would. I didn’t need more comfort than that, damn it.
Chapter Seven
“Come with me,” Lord Stefan said, the first words that had left his mouth since we’d bid his parents a stiff farewell. It had been an extraordinarily silent carriage ride, and I’d assumed he’d ignore me when we returned home, too.
But no. He wasn’t done with me, Ennolu help me. My stomach lurched, and I swallowed hard and reluctantly trailed him up the first flight of stairs and through a door off the landing.
He’d taken the steps two at a time, not even troubling to look back to ensure my obedience, and by the time I entered the room I found him in the act of draining the last few drops from a glass of liquor, the decanter gripped by the neck in his other hand in preparation for pouring a second.
“Close the door behind you, and sit down. Do you want one? I think you’ve earned it.” Lord Stefan refilled his tumbler nearly to the top and waved the decanter at me. The gesture and his words might’ve been almost welcoming, but his tone indicated anything but.
Besides, the thought of brandy, or whatever other spirits he might be swilling, nearly pushed me from incipient nausea to adding a new and far more disgusting pattern to the intricate vines and flowers on the plush carpet.
“No,” I said, but I perched on one of the two armchairs set near the fireplace, too wrung out to stay standing.
The small room appeared to be Lord Stefan’s private study, and like most of what I’d seen in this household, it fit a far different picture of the man than what he seemed to want everyone to see. The arrangement of the chairs indicated a taste for cozy solitude, or the company of only one trusted friend; an embroidered screen covered the fireplace, as the weather had turned for summer, but it’d be warm and pleasant in winter. A bookcase held a selection of leather-bound volumes, all clearly read and enjoyed rather than simply displayed, and a whole shelf of ledgers. The desk showed every sign of being used often for business, with pigeon-holed documents and a stained blotter.
And any gentleman would’ve had a sideboard with brandy and port and wine in his study, although perhaps swallowing a second full tumbler in as many minutes might be frowned upon. Then again, he’d hardly touched the wine at dinner, perhaps keeping his wits about him while in his father’s threatening presence. The tension had been thick enough to scoop with a spoon, the atmosphere suffocating. However excessive I might think Lord Stefan’s usual vices, I could hardly blame him for drinking deeply now.
Lord Stefan poured a third glass and turned to me at last, propping his hip on the sideboard rather than taking a chair of his own, surveying me with a dangerous glint in his dark eyes.
“I underestimated you,” he said at last. “That was a masterstroke. I’ll never be able to look my mother in the eye again. And as for my dear father, well. He always did think I was a perverted fuck, so now I suppose he’ll feel vindicated in that opinion.”
I blinked at him in bewilderment, my own wits not about me at all. Perhaps I ought to have imitated my husband and hardly touched the wine. Instead, I’d hardly touched the food. Gods. That might account for my light head and wobbly knees.
