Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

She breathed in deeply, trying to get hold of herself.

“Did you have a fight with your husband? Is that why you ran away? Did he hurt you?”

How angry he sounded. “No,” she said. “There was no fight.” She felt the headache worsening. I’m still sick, she thought, but I can’t stay here.

“Then why?”

Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? She could just imagine herself telling him exactly what had happened. He wouldn’t believe her, of course. He’d never believed anything she’d said to him. But that wasn’t the point, not really. She couldn’t, wouldn’t say anything until she decided what she would do. It was her problem, hers alone, no one else’s.

“I have to leave now.”

“Like hell you will.”

“I must go home before I’m miss

ed.”

Brent, furious with himself and with her, jumped up from the bed. “Did your dear husband push you too far? Demand too much? Sully your little lady’s ears?”

His anger was, oddly enough, a relief. At least his anger was something she was used to, something she understood. She couldn’t handle his brief bout of gentleness.

“Yes,” she said coldly. “He wanted to take me on the dining-room table and I resisted.”

He turned away from her, and she watched, fascinated, as his hands fisted and unfisted at his sides. He was wearing a dressing gown. There was dark stubble on his jaws. He hadn’t shaved. It must still be early. Early enough. Her mind had already begun working through possible lies she could tell Ira.

She realized suddenly that all she was wearing was one of his dressing gowns. It was warm and so very soft. It carried his scent. Slowly she eased her legs over the side of the bed. She felt weak, but the dizziness was gone. Her throat hurt still, as did her head.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Ruined. Maggie will lend you something.”

“The duchess.”

“You insult her and I’ll thrash you silly.”

She gave him a tired smile. “Please, Brent, I must leave, very soon. Could you please ask her for something? I promise to return anything she gives me.”

She looked so bloody defeated and alone. He left the bedroom without another word. It was Maggie who brought her clothes a few moments later. She didn’t ask any questions.

“Thank you,” Byrony said. “I appreciate your kindness.”

The dove-gray wool gown was too short, but Byrony didn’t care. Brent came into the room just as she pulled a shawl over her shoulders.

“Nero will take you home,” he said. “The carriage is hired, so your husband won’t recognize it. I suppose you have several believable lies to tell him?”

“I hope so.”

“After this, do try to keep to your bargain. I don’t relish being dragged into your sordid little adventures.”

“No, it was unfair of me. I’m sorry.”

“Stop acting like a whipped dog.”

Byrony smiled for the first time. “Don’t you mean ‘bitch’?”

She turned to Maggie, whose eyes were narrowed on Brent’s face. “Thank you again.”

She wanted to laugh when, twenty minutes later, she crept silently into the house. No one was about. There was no one to see her. She went to her room, carefully removed Maggie’s clothes, and folded them away. She pulled a warm nightgown over her head and crawled into her bed.