Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

With a brittle smile, she dropped her hand from the newel post and turned back to the front door, saying over her shoulder, “I beg your pardon, Catherine, and apologies for disturbing you. I’ve decided to return home after all.”

Gathering up her skirts, she prepared to make her exit, unable to shake the image of the woman she’d considered her friend, cozily making up to her husband at Mrs. Plumb’s.

She could forgive Justin. She must...

For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick and doubled over.

“Cressy, stop!” Catherine seemed only then to take in the extraordinarily daring cut of Cressida’s gown, for her eyes widened then gleamed as Cressida turned. Then gasped at the sound of a vehicle drawing up in apparent haste by the front door before heavy footsteps sounded.

“My, my, Cressy, love...marital dramas!” Her cousin hastened down the stairs and took her arm, leading her back from the door. “You’ve come to the right place. I apologize for my rude welcome, but I’m never at my best when my slumber is disturbed.”

“Then I shan’t continue to disturb you,” Cressida said, dignified while she prepared for Justin’s entrance. At least he’d valued her sufficiently to make coming after his wife his priority .

Even if Cressida’s recollections of the familiarity between her husband and Madame Zirelli—who had known each other intimately before Cressida had even met her husband—continued to make her feel ill.

She clenched her teeth. Not only had she been deceived, but she’d been made a laughing stock, and by a woman she’d trusted. It only proved how naïve and credulous she was.

When she opened her eyes again, Catherine was hustling her into the drawing room, leaving the butler to attend to the pounding on the door.

“I made a mistake. I must go to Justin.” Cressida tried to pull away, but her cousin held her firmly, pushing her down onto the Egyptian sofa and adopting an attitude of the greatest solidarity as she positioned herself close, her arm about Cressida’s shoulders.

“So I was right?” The edge of prurient interest was greater than the sympathy for which Catherine obviously strove as she pursed her mouth and patted Cressida’s knee, saying, “My poor love, I thought you were the lucky one, and that nothing could touch the magic that seemed all too apparent between you and Justin. Now you see he’s like all the rest, and you have to learn that sorrow is a woman’s lifelong companion.”

Her words were cut short by the drawing room door being thrown open over the whispered admonitions of Catherine’s butler that Justin wait to be announced.

“Evening, Catherine. I’d like to see my wife, alone.” His glance did not even encompass his wife’s cousin. The tightness around his mouth and the flare in his eye as he rested his gaze upon Cressida indicated the storm raging within. These were not signs with which Cressida was familiar. Her husband was the mildest of men in the most trying of circumstance

s. Never had Cressida seen Justin so discomposed.

Despite the raw hurt that scored deep into her heart, there was no denying Cressida’s pride at being allied to such a handsome man, or her admiration as she raked her gaze over his tall, determined form. Certainly these were cosmetic, but it had always given her a thrill to know that Catherine—and others like her—envied Cressida her husband for his outward charm, good looks and obvious intelligence, in addition to his pocketbook. Catherine must indeed be curious as to the extent of Justin’s manly attributes, which only Cressida—well, she’d thought this until only recently—was in a position to know .

As Cressida’s eyes met Justin’s, the intensity of his look sent her stomach lurching. In an agony of anticipation, she watched him rake back his hair and draw in a breath...to apologize? Beg her forgiveness?

Catherine’s grip on her arm dug in harder but Cressida ignored her cousin as she shifted away, staring at Justin as if seeing him for the first time. Relief had made her weak and she nearly succumbed to tears on the spot, despite the suspicion of his infidelity and the guilty knowledge of her own part in pushing him away.

But Justin wanted her. At least, he wanted her more than he wanted his old mistress, and if Cressida valued her happiness, she must show the good sense to sweep everything under the carpet and simply forgive and forget. They were bound to one another for life and, if he’d strayed, it was only because she’d denied him his marital rights for longer than any red-blooded male could reasonably be expected to survive.

She rose to go to him. Justin was her world. She belonged with him. The warmth of his gaze, his kindling look, made this clear.

As long as he didn’t cast her as the credulous fool in front of Catherine, the wife who could be relied upon to turn a blind eye to future peccadilloes, she could put all this behind her.

She patted her cousin’s hand, which had swooped up to stop her, whispering, “It’s all right, Catherine, I’m going home with Justin, now.” If there was more resignation than joy in her tone, she needed to convey her acceptance of the situation so she could simply depart. Justin’s confession could wait.

Catherine thought differently. “Let Justin say what he came to say, first,” she responded, gripping Cressida’s skirt and pulling her down, hissing in an undertone, “Be strong, Cressy. If you meekly accept everything he tells you, he won’t respect you.”

Justin glared. Damn, but how could Cressida resist a man who incorporated everything her heart desired—determination, charm, good looks, a desire to see to her happiness and that of their children? She sucked in a wavering breath. If he’d strayed, he regretted the pain it had caused her. She still came first in his world. She had to believe it, or her world was nothing but dust.

He spoke quickly, holding out his hand before Cressida could reply and in the dim light of the candle on the mantelpiece, and the dying embers in the great, he’d never looked more appealing. “Please, Cressy, I need to speak to you alone.”

Justin could always make him want her. Even now she felt her desperate need for him override every other painful emotion she’d endured during the past week. He could put her through nameless torments and she’d still want him.

The knowledge threaded its way uncomfortably through her veins.

Should she accept everything he said so meekly? Catherine was right. There came a time when, for her own survival, it was incumbent upon her to stand up for herself.

With another short, sharp tug, Catherine forced Cressida to resume her seat on the sofa beside her while she took the initiative, saying in her thin, superior voice, “Cressida came to me because she was deeply upset by recent events.”

Although Catherine had had no direct confirmation that Cressida had ventured into Mrs. Plumb’s sinful establishment, her words suggested a knowledge that went far deeper than any confidence with which Cressida had entrusted her.