Chapter 27

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

T he night was late. Beckett glanced at the clock on the study wall. Three in the morning. A chill descended in the air, and he rose from the settee to throw another log on the fire. He stood, staring at the flames, contemplating where the hell his wife was.

She had been prepared for bed when he'd left earlier tonight. The image of her nightdress was burned into his mind and had taunted him at Whites.

The clock struck the quarter hour. Surely she would not be much longer. Not that it was overly late for those enjoying the Season. Events often ran until dawn, but still, he'd thought she was home, asleep in her bed.

Safe.

When he'd checked in on her upon his arrival home, he'd been surprised to find her bed turned down by her maid, a candle alight on the mantel, but no Genevieve to speak of. He'd returned downstairs and ordered a light repast before settling in to see how long it would be before his wife returned.

Hours had passed since then, and along with it, his patience.

That she was out made no sense at all. They had agreed to attend the Sedgewick ball together. Their first as a married couple. Why had she decided to attend another on her own?

The sound of the front door closing snapped him out of his musings. The light, slippered footsteps had him striding toward the library door to catch Genevieve before she headed upstairs.

He stepped out into the foyer just as she caught her foot on the bottom stair, tripping forward and landing on her hands. A little drunken chuckle escaped her, and he frowned.

Was she foxed?

"What are you doing, Lady Tyndall?" He stepped out into the foyer and got a better look at her. Her wig was askew, her gown creased from a night of revelry, and her cheeks were rosy from fatigue.

What had she been up to?

He took a calming breath, unwilling to imagine possibilities that were untrue. That would only lead to anxiety and arguments, not to mention make him lose the little control he had left when it came to his wife.

"I was at the Bexley ball. Do not be so daft as to not know where I was, my lord."

"I thought we agreed not to attend any event until I was free to escort you as your husband."

"Well—" She stumbled off the staircase and landed against him. He helped her stand up straight, and she patted his chest condescendingly. He ground his teeth. She was foxed and utterly legless. He would be surprised if she could remember anything they discussed or what she got up to this evening.

Which seemed to be far more excitement than he had. The card game had been dull, and the women who had promenaded about them uninspiring, each looking to be a kept woman. He'd found he wasn't interested in their wiles, no matter how much they tried. A vexing change that he couldn't understand.

In the end, he'd come home early, only to find the house empty and his wife missing.

"You should have agreed to come with me instead of attending your precious card game." She laughed, pushed past him, and started for the library. He followed, finding her before the fire warming her hands. "It's not like I do not know what occurs at those card games. While I know we've not been married long, I had hoped you would not bring back the pox so soon into our marriage bed."

The pox?

He gaped and fumbled for the right words to respond. "Are you insinuating that I tumbled another woman into bed this evening?"

She shrugged, appearing not the least concerned that may be true. The idea was not to be borne, and Beckett wasn't entirely comfortable with how annoyed that made him feel.

He glowered. "Madam, I asked you a question."

"Oh dear, did you ask me a question? Well, I best answer before you're put out with me." She snorted and then fell into a giggle of laughs. "Is it not true? I do not know if you remember, my lord husband, but I have a brother. And I'm more than aware from his drunken self returning home from such events that you attended this evening and what occurs at them." She stared at him, appearing all of a sudden quite sober. "Can you deny it? Were there ladies present or not this evening? Did anyone sit on your lap, hoping for an enjoyable ride?"

Beckett cleared his throat, having never been asked such a question before. "Stop being a haranguing wife. It doesn't become you." He started for the door but could hear her following close on his boots.

She pulled at his arm, turning him about. "Were there women at your card game this evening? It's a simple enough question. Why will you not answer it?"

"Because it does not signify if they were there or not."

She crossed her arms, raising her already ample bosom higher against her bodice. He fought not to ogle. He truly did, but she was a beautiful woman.

His woman.

His wife.

He ground his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and wondered how he could escape and get out of this conversation before another word was spoken.

"Answer the question, and don't be such a coward, Tyndall."

Coward? He narrowed his eyes, closed the space between them, and towered over her. "Of course, there were women present. Beautiful women. Women that would get on their knees and pleasure me if I only asked."

A muscle worked in her jaw, and a pang of regret ran through him that he'd hit a nerve. She did not deserve to be treated thus, not by him or anyone else. Genevieve had done nothing wrong. Their marriage had been his choice, his decision.

"Well, where I went this evening, there were men. Many gentlemen eager to meet the newly married Lady Tyndall." She twirled before him, arms outstretched. "I danced all night and even received a request or two for a stroll in the gardens. I was very flattered."

"And did you agree to their request?" A knot of anger boiled up in his stomach. It was not an emotion he was used to feeling. Had gentlemen, some of them possibly his friends, asked her on a midnight stroll? Their interest was clear, and he knew what they'd been after. A stolen kiss, perhaps more if she allowed. She was married, after all. Fair game to those men who did not care who she was, so long as they did not have to marry her and she was safe to dally with.

He knew the men well.

He was one of them.

Well, had been one of them.

"Not yet, but the Season has not ended. There is still time." She pushed past him, and he clasped her arm, pulling her against him. She gasped, her breasts pressing against his chest, her face tilted up to look at him. He could so easily lean down and kiss her sweet mouth. Teach her how she could go on her knees and do what he craved. Teach her that if anyone was going to kiss her tonight, it would be him and only him.

"Do not make a fool of me, wife. I'll not take kindly to it."

"Oh, will you not? Well, nor should I if you rut about London without a care. If I should die because you could not keep your manhood out of another woman's body, I will cut it off before I'm laid to rest. Be assured of that, my lord."

"And if you cuckold me and carry another man's child, pretending for it to be mine, I shall… I shall…"

"What? There will be no proof of my infidelity. However, I'm certain we'll all know if you have the pox or some other infliction."

He stared at her, unsure how this conversation had degraded to the point that they were threatening each other. The idea of her, her body growing to accommodate a child that was not his, made him want to cast up his accounts.

"I shall send you to the country to live out your days there. Alone."

She laughed, turned on her heel, and started for the door. "Well, I'm certain there will be men somewhere out in the country to keep me company, especially if my husband will not."

He gaped, watched as she flounced out the door without a care. She would not dare do such a horrible thing to him. She was playing with him, nothing more.

Surely she was.

Wasn't she?