Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

In fact, the last time they had made love.

He ran his forefinger around his collar that suddenly seemed too tight and wished he was wearing last night’s fancy dress. Not only was a toga more comfortable to wear, it made it easier to pretend that everything was still perfect between himself and Cressida when, clearly, it was not.

Memory returned. Yes, the last time they’d made love was several months after Millie’s birth, and in fact, a few hours before Dr. Milner had examined Cressida and announced she was with child again. Their third. Naturally, Cressida had been over the moon, though Justin remembered his twinge of disappointment at the knowledge that he would have to resist his wife and keep his hands off her during her later months of breeding. For that was how it was, and not to be questioned.

With each successive child, the passion between them was diluted as Cressida focused more on the infants than on him, as he supposed was to be expected. Some men would have sought pleasure elsewhere, still loyal to their roles as husbands and fathers but comfortably justifying their need for sexual diversion.

Not Justin. He wanted no other woman, and besides, it would destroy Cressida if she ever learned of such a betrayal.

So when the young servant girl entered the room, simpering as she asked with clear innuendo if there was anything else he required for his comfort, Justin shook his head, conscious more than ever of the smell of cheap perfume that wafted through from the other rooms of the house while suffering more than a twinge of guilt at being here. Cressida’s sensibilities would be highly offended by even the existence of such an establishment. If she ever learned he’d stepped over the threshold she was quite likely to jump to the worst conclusion.

The young girl disappeared into the shadows after announcing Madame Zirelli and Justin removed his masquerade mask as the door opened.

He rose as she entered, noticing the heaviness of her movements when she’d once been all light and energy. It sharpened the edge of his guilt—both for the fact he wished he were not here, and for feeling that way .

“It was good of you to come again, Justin.” His old friend’s smile was tired, again with no trace of the radiance he remembered from days gone by. Even in the few weeks since he?

?d acceded to her extraordinary summons so many years after they’d last parted, she seemed to have faded.

“Mariah.” He clasped her hand in both of his, conscious as he’d never been before of the great weight of sadness she carried. And of what she’d once been to him. Mariah had altered greatly in the years since he’d first met her, but she was still a beauty. Now, though, she looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Mariah smiled wearily. “My boy got your message a short while ago. I appreciate you making the time to see me when I know how busy you must be. I was afraid that family considerations might prevent you from coming to see me.”

There was no trace of bitterness in her wry smile. In her maturer years, she was still striking for her regal grace transcended aging. Only a few strands of gray peppered her almost blue-black hair, and her body was as fine as he remembered it. But her heart had been broken, and the melancholy that had leeched her vibrancy tugged at his heartstrings. Mariah had been dealt a cruel hand.

“You know I could never refuse you, Mariah,” he said, accepting a glass of brandy from the young servant who discreetly left them alone after plumping a few cushions and tending to the small fire.

She gave a little laugh and reached over to pat his thigh. “I think you could,” she said, “if I were to overreach myself. Everyone tells me what a loyal and devoted husband and father you are these days.”

Impulsively, he reached over and took her hand, surprising himself. She gripped it, and for a moment, he was afraid she wasn’t about to let it go. But she was too shrewd not to understand the delicate boundaries of their altered relationship, and she gave it an almost maternal pat before releasing it.

“Devoted, my dear Mariah,” he corroborated in a murmur, his mind replaying the painful events of his parting the previous night with his beloved and increasingly distant wife.

Yet whatever happened, he’d always be devoted to Cressida. His visit here had been prompted as much by a need to unburden himself as to respond to Mariah’s summons but it suddenly seemed a betrayal of his intimacy with Cressida to hint at domestic discord.

Yet surely the advice of a sensible woman would not go astray? There were few of those in his life, he reflected, thinking of his mother, who now lived with them, and of Cressida’s frightful cousin, Catherine. Perhaps Mariah, as a kind woman with considerable experience of life, could offer some insight into the reasons for Cressida’s withdrawal the past ten months.

He drained his brandy and set down his glass. First, though, it was understandable that Mariah would be anxious to learn the progress he’d made concerning her unexpected request several weeks ago. A request he was possibly in a position to discharge though he feared the answers promised only heartache. There was much to admire in this woman who had suffered with such dignity and Justin had no wish to add to her pain.

Sensing his uncertainty, she became businesslike. “You have discovered something, Justin, and I have not the patience to wait for you to tell me in your own words and time. I am sure you wish to be on your way , too.”

Justin nodded. “You have waited a long time, Mariah. I understand that.” He weighed up the kindest way to couch his response when he had no news to gladden her heart. Directness was always the best way forward, he decided, before reflecting he and Cressida had been anything but direct with one another lately. “There are several possibilities, Mariah.”

“Several?” She took a breath, drawing herself up and fixing him with an incisive look.

One dainty, black slipper peeped from beneath the flounce of her once fashionable cerulean gown. Mariah had always dressed elegantly, but in the dim light, Justin could see the signs of wear, the discreet darning.

“Yet nothing conclusive?”

He shook his head. For a long time there was silence. “Mariah, if you need money—”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. “I sing for my supper every Wednesday, Justin. Mrs. Plumb has been a good friend.” She indicated the small drawing room in which they sat. “She gives me my privacy when I need it and ensures I do not lack entertainment.”

Justin gave a wry laugh and patted his masque beside him. “I wish it weren’t necessary to disguise myself, Mariah. I feel like a thief in the night and don’t know how I’d begin to explain these visits to my wife.”

“Your wife should value even more the prize jewel she married. You’ve not told her about what you’re doing, Justin? You promised me you would.”

His urge to confide in Mariah about his marital problems was checked by her mild criticism of Cressida, and he regretted unburdening himself when he’d hinted that his wife was no longer as eager for the joys of the marital bed as she once had been. But it had been so good to see Mariah again after so many years and natural to revive the friendship with its old familiarity .