Chapter Seventeen

" I didn't want to say anything more in front of Clarity," Purity confided as she and her mother rode home, "because she wants to believe everyone is good and can be as happy as she is. But my relationship with Foxford is not like yours and father's or hers with Hollidge."

"No one's is like anyone else's," her mother said. "But how do you mean?"

"I'm not certain about him," Purity confessed, her voice falling to a whisper.

Her mother sighed. "And yet you love him anyway."

"Love him?" Purity's heart started to race.

"Well, don't you? You often seem glad in his company. You looked especially so when dancing with him." Her mother tossed her head and considered. "Besides, I don't think you would let yourself be caught by a man you didn't love."

Her mother was a mystery sometimes. "How was I caught by him?"

Lady Diamond smiled. "All that poppycock about him needing lessons in etiquette."

"Mother! I promise you he did."

"He made you think he did. I've seen him behave perfectly well when you weren't around."

Purity considered that he might have bamboozled her from the start.

"Now why do you suppose he wanted you to spend time with him?" her mother asked. "I say it was to win you over. And I believe he succeeded."

"I suppose he did. I confess I enjoy his company more than any other man I've ever met."

"And?" Lady Diamond persisted.

"And what?"

"It should be more than that, my dear daughter. There should be sparks."

Purity felt her cheeks warm and pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks.

"Then there are sparks," her mother declared, sounding confident. "I would hate for you to miss out on them."

Having experienced the sizzle, Purity would hate to have missed out, too. But her heart was at stake.

"What if he doesn't feel an equal ardor?" Purity asked, wondering aloud. Wanting a respectable wife and falling in love were two separate issues.

"If he doesn't love you in return, then your heart is in grave danger," her mother said. "Thus, if you truly think him a scoundrel, then perhaps your father had best have another word with him beyond dowries and wedding contracts."

"To compare methods of compromising?" Purity snapped.

The notion of her father and Foxford discussing her future husband's fidelity was mortifying. It ought not to be necessary, not if she were engaged to the correct man.

"Perhaps Grandfather Diamond should be consulted, too!" she added, her tone waspish.

"Purity! You've never said anything so disrespectful in all your years, so I shall forgive you. You are in a state of mental anguish, and there is little we can do."

"Precisely. There is nothing we can do. I am at Foxford's mercy. And Father cannot mold the man's character, so having him speak to my fiancé is as useless as sweeping sand at the shore."

"Diamond and I have had a fine marriage," her mother said, sounding hurt. "As have your grandparents."

Purity threw her arms around her. "I apologize. Truly, I do. I will ask you or Father if I need help, but I would rather deal with Foxford on my own terms. I should start the marriage the way I intend to go on with it."

They stayed hugging a moment longer. Then her mother nodded.

"That's my girl. I raised you to be able to handle even the wiliest of foxes. Besides, if you love him, then I believe he must be a good man."

Purity cocked her head at her mother's assumption.

"Deep down," Lady Diamond added.

Purity raised her eyebrows.

"Very deep down," her mother persisted.

Purity sighed. "Please stop. Any deeper and it will be only his marrow that is good."

They both laughed.

"Now, Mother, tell me all about the ceremony at Gretna Green."

Finishing his correspondence , Matthew rose from his desk ready to go for a ride in the park, exercising both himself and his horse. Before he could stretch and grab his coat, his butler knocked and brought in an unexpected calling card.

Lady Varley's card was crisp with perfectly printed letters and drenched in patchouli leaf perfume. All at once, upon sniffing the scent, their entire brief, intense affair came to mind.

He'd met Emilia at a dinner party, thrown by Quinn's aunt, and noticed the lovely fair-haired female as soon as he'd entered because of the immodest cut of her gown. She was lively and pretty in a made-up, fashionable way, using the latest tools of artifice to great effect on her lips, cheeks, and eyes. Although the other bucks were circling her, it was Matthew who had the good fortune to be seated beside her at dinner.

As was his usual manner, he had set himself to charming her. In return, she was all over him before the pudding course, with her hand finding its way to his lap. About three years older than he, she clearly knew her way around the bedroom and was ready for a romp.

Emilia was his favorite kind of lover — he didn't have to pay her to pretend a great hour of passion, nor was she a simpering virgin who would cry the loss of her innocence when she understood he was not going to proffer his name in marriage after the deed was done.

When the dinner party ended and he strolled out into the night, Emilia's carriage awaited him a few houses farther along Cavendish Square with the shades down. Upon climbing in, they had a decision to make, his home or hers. Back at her townhouse, she practically raced him upstairs and declared she had no expectations beyond that night.

She had lied.

The earthy fragrance wafting from her calling card also brought her naked body to mind. After a fortnight of fornication, he had found out she wanted the respectability of marriage, a goal denied her previously due to some sad story he hadn't listened to. He should have been more attentive. Suddenly, she wanted him to fill another man's shoes in the church when all he'd wanted was to fill her with his stiff arousal before moving on.

Realizing what she was about, he'd told her they were finished. They were ill-suited because of her mean-spirited outlook and her often small-minded remarks — neither of which he mentioned. Instead, he reminded her he was going to France and might be away for years. Hadn't she remembered him telling her?

Her rage was neither glorious nor beautiful. It was ugly and unnerving. She accused him of tricking her and stealing her innocence, neither of which was true. Besides, he'd never told her how her perfume sometimes brought to mind overly ripe apples, the musty smell of a used wine cork, or even mildew.

And then, while he was on the Continent, she'd hooked Varley somehow. Thank God! No wonder the man had shouldered him aside at their club. He probably wished Matthew had married her, so he hadn't.

What did the chit want now?

There was only one way to find out, although he wondered at his own utter disinterest. Still, he owed it to her not to turn her away without hearing her out. After all, a gentleman ought to show some respect to a former lover.

Striding into his drawing room where his butler had allowed her to wait, Emilia's intentions were already clear. Without invitation, she had not only taken a seat but was reclining upon his sofa with her feet up at one end.

When he came to a halt in the middle of the room, she leaned back comfortably and unpinned her hat before tossing it to the floor.

And then, ever so slowly, eyeing him the entire time, Emilia peeled off her gloves.

He swallowed, staring silently at her bare hands.

Matthew waited for the usual arousal to send him winging to her side, yet it never came. Instead of an insatiable hunger and the flash-fire of desire, he felt only annoyance. She might as well have been a sack of potatoes lounging upon his divan.

Moreover, if he examined the moment carefully, he would concede it was Purity who had made the difference in him. Countless encounters with females like Emilia had not made a dent in his loneliness, nor filled up the empty space inside him for longer than it took to get dressed afterward.

With Purity, from a mere few kisses and furtive encounters that hadn't even entailed him removing his trousers, Matthew felt more satisfied than he had in years. Knowing she was his fiancée — his intended who would be beside him the rest of his days — having but to wait until his wedding night, the bubbling spring of constant yearning had been capped with contentment.

He was ready to wait for his kitten to curl upon his lap when she was ready. In truth, the anticipation was exhilarating.

Taking the chair opposite, he stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles. Despite the distance of a few feet, he could smell Emilia's cloying perfume.

"What do you want?" he asked, not caring how rude he sounded.

She was obviously up to no good. Besides being married, she knew he was engaged and yet hadn't brought a companion to keep things remotely respectable.

"Aren't you going to sit over here?" she asked.

"No."

She pouted her red-stained lips, which didn't do a damn thing to entice him. "Won't you offer me a glass of sherry or wine?"

"It's too early for either," he pointed out, "and I won't bother ringing for tea service since you'll be gone before the tea has time to steep. An uninvited visit should last no longer than ten minutes." Purity would be proud of him. Moreso since he'd shaved five minutes off the polite time.

Emilia's brown eyes widened. "You are not being nice to me, which is a mistake. Do you recall how passionate we were the first night we met? Wouldn't you like to experience that again?" She glanced toward the door.

"We could go upstairs right now," she proposed. "I remember the way. Just once, perhaps for old-time's sake."

"No," he said again. Whatever game she was playing was tedious. For one thing, they'd never swived at his home, so she most certainly didn't know the way. Secondly, she might be with child and wishing to blame him. Thirdly, she might be seeking revenge upon Varley. Or she might simply be bored. Regardless, he didn't care.

Wishing he hadn't sat down as that indicated he wished to chat and draw out the visit, he rose again to his feet.

"If you came only for refreshments, then I must ask you to leave. I have business to attend to directly."

She didn't sit up or even remove her feet from the end of the sofa.

"Foxy, Foxy, Foxy," she began.

He cringed.

"That sweet little Diamond is not what you need. She's barely a bland morsel, and you will devour her in a single bite. Then what? When you're still hungry, what will you do?"

"I won't discuss my fiancée with you."

"Do you expect me to believe that upstanding earl's daughter is really engaged to be your wife? Come now. We both know you played the chivalrous gentleman to protect her, but you are as ready to gallivant as any man I know."

"You don't know me," he said.

"I do. And you are just like me, too wild to be tamed. Let's take up where we left off."

"But you have already been tamed, Lady Varley ," he said, reminding her she was no longer Lady Tupmoure. "Or at least you made a vow. In other words, you are married, and I am not interested."

She was starting to believe him. He could see it in the set of her jaw and the way her eyes narrowed slightly. At last, she swung her feet to the floor. They both could see the dirty mark on the velvet from her boots.

"Oops," she said without contrition. "How careless of me. Leaving a trace of my being here. I hope it doesn't get you into trouble. But you're used to trouble, aren't you? I hope Lady Purity is, too. She'll need to be if she's going to hitch herself to your horse."

"I don't intend to get into any trouble, with you or anyone else." He still didn't want to talk about Purity with her. It felt disloyal. Besides, he would toss out the sofa and start his married life with a new one. Not just street filth, but the scent of her perfume was probably all over it.

"Tell me," Lady Varley demanded, "is your cruel disinterest because I up and married after you left? Is that why you are pretending not to fancy me anymore?"

She seemed to have forgotten he'd broken it off in a decisive manner before he departed for the Continent.

"Even if I had remained in England, we would not be together. Frankly, whether you are married or not means nothing to me." He didn't add "because you mean nothing to me," but he hoped she received the message.

Her nostrils flared. "I gave you a chance. Don't ever claim otherwise." With that, she rose to her feet, snatched up her hat, and swept from the room.

Now he remembered what had most annoyed him about her — the high drama. Every time they swived, she would demand he spend the night and sulk when he didn't. She would literally cling to his arm and try to lure him back to bed. The one time she succeeded, he'd arisen before dawn and still she had pouted, asking when she would see him again.

When he parted from her, he had thought he had been kind but firm, setting her free to find a permanent solution to her loneliness. And it seemed she had, with Varley.

Apparently, their marriage was a sham.