Page 56 of The Luckiest Lady in London

A marble-columned pavilion stands by this lake.

A quick sentence in a matter-of-fact guidebook, yet in those days when he had tormented her with the possibility of becoming his mistress, she had concocted an entire three-act play around that setting. Act I: The girl, staring longingly at the great manor from across the lake, is ravished in the shadows of the pavilion. Act II: The girl, staring longingly at her evilly perfect lover, is ravished all across the grounds of his extensive estate. Act III: The girl, back home after a fortnight of ravishment, stumbling about like an empty shell of her former self, hears the doorbell ring at a most unusual hour.

A two-and-a-half-act play, rather: The clear-eyed realist that she was had never been able to picture opening the door of her house to him. The real Lord Wrenworth would not call, write, or send presents. She would just have to wait months upon months before staring longingly at him again.

Then he’d proposed, and her world had turned upside down in the most pleasurable way. And she had forgotten that around him she always needed her shield and her sword. Had walked into the dragon’s lair naked and unarmed, with nothing but the foolish conviction that the dragon would never incinerate a girl he liked.

But looking back, ought she to have been surprised? He had deliberately made her simmer in a state of arousal at the dinner at Lady Tenwhestle’s house. He had clearly enjoyed informing her that her preferred suitors were both deeply flawed. Not to mention he had never experienced the slightest qualm about enticing a respectably raised virgin to sell her body.

Why shouldn’t such a man prove himself capricious and heartless?

The door of the library opened and closed again.

“There is no one here,” said a woman. “I came through just a minute ago.”

Lady Tremaine.

“And pray tell, why is the lack of a public so important?” That serene voice belonged to none other than Louisa’s husband.

“Privacy is always nice, don’t you agree?”

He chuckled but gave no reply.

They were coming closer. There was a rustling of fabric, the sound of a woman sitting down and adjusting her skirts. “Care for a seat, Felix?”

Lady Tremaine sounded as if she were speaking directly into Louisa’s ear.

“I will be able to better admire your toilette, Philippa, from my superior vantage point right here,” he answered.

There was a smile in his voice, a cool smile.

Lady Tremaine laughed, a sultry sound. “Look all you want, Felix.”

A long pause. Lurid images exploded in Louisa’s head. Then Lady Tremaine spoke again. She did not sound as if there were a man pressed against her. “Congratulations on your stellar results in the tennis tournament.”

“Thank you.”

“You were very, very vigorous.”

“I am a man of twenty-eight, rusticating in the country. If I didn’t abound with energy, I’d need to consult my physician.”

“You are also a man on your honeymoon. Shouldn’t you have conserved a bit of stamina for pleasuring your wife?”

“Your concern is very kind. But I am sure I will somehow gather the wherewithal to see my wife to her satisfaction.”

Liar.

“Maybe you can, but are you? For every day of my stay, I have seen you from my window at half past four in the morning, coming back into the house.”

It was hardly news to Louisa. But that Lady Tremaine should know about it…She flushed with hot shame.

Lord Wrenworth did not address Lady Tremaine’s point, but instead asked, “What were you doing up at half past four in the morning?”

“Having trouble sleeping, obviously.”

The sound of rustling silk again, and of someone standing up. Footsteps. Louisa imagined Lady Tremaine circling Lord Wrenworth like a she-wolf about to pounce.

“I have been observing your wife. I do not believe she loves you. I do not even believe she likes you.”