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?
Relief 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 started to go to him. Justin was her world. She belonged with him.
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 with Justin.” 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 befo
re Cressida could reply. “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. Catherine’s capacity for interference suddenly frightened her. Justin would not, could not, deny the existence of Mariah Zirelli, but now was not the time for such a confession. Catherine would be like a dog with a bone. She would use Justin’s guilt for her own ends. His remorse, and the torture Catherine would put him through, would go some way toward alleviating the pain caused by Catherine’s own husband’s painful lack of any finer feelings, but it had the potential to destroy Justin in his own eyes.
“It’s all right, Catherine.” Cressida stood once more, no longer desperate to hear her husband beg her forgiveness. He could do that later, without Catherine to witness it.
She was prepared for silence, even for a mumbled, “We’ll talk about this later,” but Justin’s response struck a heavy blow to her new resolve when, in a tone almost of injury, he said, “I’m sorry to see you’ve been caused pain, Cressy, but you’ve misunderstood matters.” The flinty gaze that he’d leveled upon Catherine softened as he held out his hand to Cressida. “I’m so glad to see you, my darling. Everything will be all right when we are alone.”
Alone… Oh, how Cressida longed for it.
“So Cressida’s eyes deceived her.” Catherine’s voice was smug. She smiled at her cousin. “I’m sure you’re greatly relieved to hear that, my dear, but I think the fact you’ve woken me at such an ungodly hour deserves an explanation. What is the cause of your distress, which Justin is so anxious to make you believe was nothing?”
“It is nothing, but clearly Cressida thinks otherwise.” In clipped tones Justin added, “Leave it, Catherine, so I might explain everything in private.”
Torn, Cressida sank back into her seat, wavering, then ultimately rejecting the hand her husband extended toward her. Justin had quite clearly denied the truth of that which could not be denied. Did he think her such a gullible fool? Was she nothing more than a doormat who could be relied upon not to make a fuss and to turn a blind eye whenever he chose to stray?
Catherine was not to be denied her evening’s entertainment. Ignoring Justin, she ran her hand over Cressida’s black silk skirts. Her eyes glittered with curiosity. “Where have you come from tonight, Cressy? I can see it’s not masquerade, so surely it’s some wild disguise?”
“Nowhere you’d know,” Cressida mumbled while she still agonized over whether she’d stay or go with Justin.
“Nowhere I’d know.” Catherine repeated Cressida’s words slowly, clearly intrigued. “Why, Cressy, I didn’t think you had it in you. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? And if you weren’t at home or with me, why surely you’ve been at Mrs. Plumb’s? Look at you. I’ve never seen you look so dashing…” Her words trailed away. She tilted her head to look at Justin, and her mouth curved in a speculative smile. “But I fear something at Mrs. Plumb’s has upset you. Something involving your husband and,” she added, carefully, “perhaps another woman.”
Justin seized Cressida’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Cressida’s eyes deceived her. She is coming home with me.”
Cressida’s eyes deceived her? Indignation gained the upper hand and banished Cressida’s desire to meekly return home with him. She was prepared to accept a watered-down version of the truth, but unless she showed some backbone, as Catherine put it, she realized in this instant that this might well be only the start of even greater sorrow. She had to stand up for herself.
Snatching away her hand, she challenged him for the first time in their married life, her voice thick with emotion, her heart pounding so hard she could barely hear her own words. “I saw you with Madame Zirelli. Did my eyes deceive me as to the”—she choked down the painful swelling in her throat—“familiarity of her greeting?”
Justin dropped his hand. “Madame Zirelli is an old friend.” He spoke carefully. Was that because he was afraid of incriminating himself? “It could not have escaped your notice, Cressida, that she is also at least ten years older than you.”
So it had come to this? Oblivious of everything around her, Cressida stared at Justin for the first time as if he were not her husband. The eyes that generally regarded her with genial warmth were wary. Surely that must suggest—she nearly choked on her grief—guilt? The lean, handsome jaw was clenched as if he hung on her response, and his whole stance was as tense as if he were about to spring.
This was not the Justin she knew. She wanted her loving husband back. She wanted this whole nightmare to go away so she could wake up in Justin’s arms feeling warm and safe like she’d done almost every morning until…
She hung her head as she finished the thought. Until ten months ago when she’d withdrawn, physically, from him.“Do you deny she is your mistress?” she whispered, even though to hear him confirm it would be like a lance through her heart.