The Offer (Baron 2)

“It’s true that he pays them, in some cases.” He started to say more but decided against it. Charles smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Yes, let things progress slowly. Just wait, Sabrina. You know that Phillip probably doesn’t know what to do any more than you do. Just give him time. He is quite new to marriage.”

“I know, and I suppose I’m an old hand at it. Goodness, Charlie, I’m only eighteen years old.”

“That’s true, but ladies seem to know things before gentlemen do, particularly things that involve feelings and such. Yes, Sabrina, keep that tongue of yours leashed. Give him a chance.”

“I’ll wager you’ve never heard Phillip unleash his tongue.”

“Well, I have, but that’s different. Men are supposed to yell and hit each other. Now, I’m leaving. You’ve worn me to a bone. I’m exhausted. I have the headache. I want to escape before Phillip comes back and demands to know what I said to you.”

33

For a moment Martine just stared at her lover. He was the last person she’d expected at her door. “Phillip, what the devil are you doing here? It’s early evening. It’s the second evening of your marriage. Surely this isn’t how things are done. You were here last night, after all. Don’t you like this wife of yours who, I understand, is quite young and lovely and rich as anything? What’s wrong?”

Martine always prided herself on acting the languid beauty. She was serene, she was smoothly flowing in her speech and in the way she made love. But now, she couldn’t help herself, she stared nearly openmouthed at him.

“Good evening, Martine,” Phillip said, tossing his greatcoat onto the back of a chair. “Yes, I’m here. Yes, it’s the second night of my marriage. So? Am I suddenly not welcome?” He strolled over to his staring mistress and kissed her.

“You are always welcome, you know that.” He straightened. She searched his face, drawn as she suspected most women were to his beautiful eyes and that passionate mouth of his.

“You are newly married.”

“I, more than you, know that. Why are you chiding me? Oh yes, I know that tone of voice. I just heard it this morning, along with anger and resentment and illogic. So, don’t you do it. Just leave me be and be yourself.”

“This girl you didn’t compromise, she’s angry with you? That doesn’t make much sense, Phillip. Surely she would be grateful to you, worship at your feet for the nobility of your character.”

He had the grace to wince. “Whatever else she may be, at least she’s now safe.”

Phillip turned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. Martine watched him silently as he quickly downed the port and filled his glass again.

“Did the carpenter come and fix the damned ceiling?”

“Yesterday. Didn’t you notice last night?”

He nodded. Yes, he remembered now.

“He was a saucy man, that one. He grinned at me and said that his lordship didn’t have to worry anymore about having his brains splattered on my pillows.”

“Now that’s an unappetizing vision.”

He set down his glass and gave her a bow, waving his hand toward the door. “Will you join me upstairs, Martine? My need for you is great.”

She didn’t think that was the case at all, but she gave him a sweet smile and her hand.

As she was removing her gown upstairs in her elegant, very feminine bedchamber, she turned to the viscount, who was standing next to the fireplace staring at nothing in particular. “Phillip.”

He grunted, not looking up from the flames.

“The little one, she is alone?”

Phillip’s head came up at those words. “Why the devil do you call her that?”

Martine drew off the straps of her chemise and allowed the soft material to float to her waist. Oddly, his eyes didn’t waver from her face. Now this was strange. “I called her that because I saw her.”

“Where would you see my wife?”

“In the park today. She was riding in Charles Askbridge’s phaeton.”

She saw his lovely eyes darken, a fascinating sight. She wasn’t at all fooled by his indifferent shrug. She wriggled lazily out of the rest of her clothes, stood naked before him for a moment, then walked slowly to the bed.