Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

The awful thing was she had only herself to blame for her current misery. Hugh had never tried to deceive her about their marriage.

“Yes, she’s pretty, and that’s a beautiful dress she’s wearing. Someone clever has been giving her advice about how to make her mark in society.” Pity infused Lady Frame’s voice. “But I feel sorry for her. I think a lot of people do. Everyone knows how mad he was for Morwenna, and I doubt he’s changed his affections. I saw his face the night Robert Nash came back. I’ve never seen a man so heartbroken.”

“What a sentimentalist you are, Delia. Men love the woman who shares their bed.”

“George, I despair of you, I really do,” she said. “After all our happy years together, that’s the best you can do?”

“I’m a simple creature, my dear. Most fellows are.” He paused, then went on in a low voice. “And you’ve always filled my bed to my complete satisfaction, so never doubt that I love you.”

“And I suppose I love you,” she said ruefully. “Not that you deserve it. Now pass me that cigar.”

Another silence fell. In an agony of awkwardness, Jane waited for the coup

le to go back inside. She was cold and wretched, and she wanted to get away from Hugh, before he guessed quite how rattled she was. Amidst the ballroom’s bustle, she might have a chance of hiding her unhappiness.

“Time to do the pretty, my love,” Lord Frame said. “May I have this dance?”

“What’s left of it.”

“I think they’ve gone,” Hugh whispered after a minute or so.

When he placed his hands on Jane’s waist, she struggled not to stiffen. She had no right to resent her husband’s love for another woman, especially when he’d given her so much over the last days. Sensual pleasure. Companionship. The beginnings of a contentment she’d never expected.

He’d given her too much. If he hadn’t encouraged such physical and emotional intimacy, she wouldn’t at this moment feel like drowning herself in one of the Oldhams’ fountains.

“Shall we take up where we left off?”

She gave him credit for sounding almost normal. But she couldn’t forget how he’d frozen in her arms at the mention of his beloved. What a woman Morwenna Nash must be, Jane thought with uncharacteristic spite. Clearly once she sank her claws into a man, he never broke free.

And she, too, had to try and sound as if nothing important had happened. As in any real sense, it hadn’t. The whole world, including Jane, knew her husband loved Morwenna. She might have briefly forgotten that salient fact, but she and Hugh were still bound together until death did them part.

“We’ve been outside long enough.” She struggled to smooth the edge off her tone. “This isn’t the weather for an al fresco tryst. Lovely as it was.” She just about choked on the last four words, although the sad truth was it had been lovely. Up to a point.

“I’m sorry, Jane. Of course I’ll take you inside. You’re so cold, you’re shaking.”

It wasn’t the chill air that made her shake, but she went along with the lie. “I’ll meet you back here in June.”

“That’s a deal.” He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss her.

Despite all her stern words to herself, she tensed. How could she bear to feel his lips on hers, when his heart remained chock full of another woman? She told herself she’d come to terms with this. She would.

But she needed a little time.

At the last minute, she turned her head so his kiss glanced across her cheek.

She hoped he wouldn’t notice, or if he did, he’d think the evasion was accidental. But she felt him go as still as stone, then slowly straighten.

“Let’s get you into the ballroom before you turn into an icicle.” He sounded like the polite man who had proposed to her, not like the passionate lover who shared her bed with such enthusiasm.

Jane told herself that was a good thing. She could maintain some emotional distance from the first man. It was so much more difficult to maintain any detachment from the second one. She’d just had a salutary reminder that if she didn’t keep a corner of her soul for herself, she headed for devastation.

“I’ll warm up, once I’m dancing again,” she said, her voice heavy with unshed tears. She shouldn’t resent Lady Frame’s pity, but she did, how she did. Especially when the woman had only spoken the unpalatable truth.

Hugh took her arm. “Don’t forget you promised me the next waltz.”

“I can hardly wait.” Although right now, pretending to the world—and Hugh—that she was in alt to be his partner seemed an impossible goal.

They crossed the terrace toward the ballroom. Supper must have started. She couldn’t hear any music, and the ballroom only contained a few people, compared to the vociferous multitudes of before.