Chapter 108

"Babs? Bitch. I should have known one thing. Whatever these words begin, with a man like you was never going to stand by his word."
Forget chess. She should have played darts. That was a bull's eye, splitting him to his core. Worse, she was somehow so resident in places he couldn't even begin to inhabit. In terms of saving him, she was laying out rugs on floorboards that were bare, she was hammering up picture frames on walls that were blank, she was placing tables on spaces in his heart and sitting down to take tea. She was everywhere except in one place. That same heart.
"Oh, for God's sake, in some ways that's a blessing," he managed just to speak.
"To be shot of you, certainly."
"You're not the first to think that. In fact, welcome to the back of a great, long queue." He jerked his head back. "Now, can I have my coat back, please?"
"With pleasure."
A moment's fumble then it hit him across the back of his head and shoulders. His gaze skittered sideways. Her dress was lying in a heap on the straw, It meant she was standing there half naked. He swallowed.
Leaving her here like this would put him in the same category as that runt, Rodriguez. When what flared in his chest was alarming enough to set church bells ringing, too. Not for a wedding, no. Bells didn't always ring for that, mostly they rang for invasion. He wasn't invaded, although he was fighting not to turn round. He was just bloody furious.
For that matter maybe she was thinking of his reputation. How would this play with Babs, if she thought he wasn't just married, he'd reached the altar before her? This whole thing with Babs was a game. Wasn't it?
He didn't want Babs thinking he'd divorced his new wife as quickly as he'd married her, because of her. Or worse, it was a pitiful sham to make her jealous.
Perhaps, for that matter, that was what this woman had been about to say?
He tugged the coat free. "Actually who says you are shot of me?"
"Unless I'm going blind, I'm talking to your back."
"That's because you're not fully dressed, and I've no wish to take advantage of that fact."
If you mean no desire to look, why don't you just say so?"
"That's not"-she stomped past him and picked up the dress-"what I was going to say. In fact, I do desire to look. I desire very much."
"Well, don't."
"I won't." He quickly averted his gaze as she fumbled with the dress. "But this is a damnable mess. Whatever she says about secrecy, Lady Kertouche's middle name is a clarion call. If it's not already been broadcast from the corner of Oxford Street, it soon will be. By night time it will be in all the newspapers. As for Lady Langley-"
"Pray don't worry about it, Your Grace."
"I'm not. I don't pray as a rule. It's scarcely my fault you opened your big mouth.
To the biggest mouth in London, at that. Look ... "
"I said, don't look!"
"I wasn't! I didn't know you hadn't got the damn thing on yet. Look, not only is your assurance more than I can reasonably bear right now, if you can have nothing to say that will sensibly improve the situation, you should be quiet."
"Then I shall." She flicked her hair free, adjusted her cuffs.
"There is no need to take me at my word. The fact is I can think of a way out." He could, couldn't he? Even if it pained him to say it when he'd been had that way before? It was the most magnanimous thing he could do.
"Thank you, but your one thought about this is less than the several I have myself."
"You? More thoughts than me?"
"Yes. Me."
"I fail to see that you can have any thoughts with that cart in a ditch, not a penny to your name, that invalid you are lugging about with you, and the fact you are my wife about to be broadcast by the London Gazette. But do, please, enlighten me."
He knew by the way her eyes dulled to match the dun color of the straw and her mouth crumbled ever so slightly that she'd no thoughts at all. His move.
She shrugged. "A cart can be moved."
"Well, it won't be by me. I've dirtied my boots enough for one week. That is why I suggest you stop this tiresome behavior and come and stay at Catterton House."
"Catterton House? Why would I do that, Your Grace?"
"Three months, do you understand?"
"Not really. Three months for what?"
"To be my wife."
"But I'm not your wife. And I don't want to be your wife."
Jesus Christ on the stony road to Jerusalem with donkeys in his way. When he was being magnanimous and calm, must she drive him, not just to pacing the floor, but to tearing out his hair as well? "No. You're not my wife. And you never shall be." He thought it best to qualify that. So she need be under no illusions he was doing this because he'd wanted her last night and been stupid enough to have her too.
"Well, then. Why on earth would you want me to pretend to be? To make Babs Langley jealous?"
"I never said that. You are the one who blabbed to Lady Kertouche we had eloped. A fool should be capable of putting two and two together and making four here, as to why I want you to be."
"You mean, to save your reputation?"
"I mean, to save yours."
"But-"
She frowned, no doubt because she thought he had a soul after all. Her naivety was unbearable, perhaps because it reminded him of his own. He moved quickly to the next bit before she got any ideas.
"Believe me, mine will be enhanced in three months time."
"How's that?"
"Because then I will divorce you."