Chapter Twelve #2
The footmen and butler cleared the first course and brought neck of lamb in a braised cucumber sauce and ripoles of pullets, none of which Verity had any appetite for.
Once they’d been served, Jonathan returned to his assault.
For that was what it was, she saw clearly.
A part of his seduction of her that he thought would end in the bedroom.
A man who knew women found him irresistible exercising all his efforts to add her to their number.
Or was this just the way he wanted women to see him? The upkeeping of a hard-won reputation.
“You must tell me about your adventures on the Continent,” he said, his food untouched on his plate.
“Your father gave me very little information other than a list of cities you’d visited with him.
I had wanted to make a Grand Tour myself after I left school, but circumstances at the time were not favorable.
” A little frown settled on his forehead.
“My father died while I was still at school, and I was the only heir, you understand. Both my mother and grandmother insisted that I not leave the country. Not with war in Europe going on.”
That this had vexed him was apparent. “My father and I were able to pass ourselves off as French,” she said, before she had time to think. In truth, the less she confided in him about her past, the better, but it was too late now.
“An admirable skill and one that I respect.”
“My mother was French. Papa and she always spoke it together as she had no English she was prepared to admit to. I learned it myself with alacrity when all I could hear spoken around me was French. And a little Breton.”
“My mother is also French.” Bitterness edged his voice. For a moment the veil she’d already suspected he’d constructed to hide himself from others dropped, and she saw the real Jonnie before her. A Jonnie she liked a lot better than the rakish one.
“Then you also speak French?”
He frowned. “I prefer English.”
“Mais, tu es bilangue, comme moi?”
The frown deepened. “I would not claim so and have not spoken the language since I was a child. Since before my father died.” His tone indicated his desire to halt this line of conversation and a silence fell between them.
Not for long. He pushed his food around his plate as though it held no interest for him.
“Tell me, Verity, what was the most interesting country you visited? I am quite envious of your travels, you must know. I had hoped to see Rome, at least, and Vienna. Perhaps Athens, also, with its classical ruins.”
This was easy for her to talk about. Glad to be able to fill the air between them, Verity, whilst omitting all things personal, recounted descriptions of all the cities and countries she’d visited, which were many.
She told him about the natives, about the buildings and countryside she’d seen, and never once did she let slip anything of what she and Papa had thought or felt or done in those places.
He must never know what they’d been up to.
She could create as good a veil to hide behind as he could.
He seemed content to listen to her and interject a few apt questions now and then, so, in the end, their dinner that had begun in so constrained a fashion ended on a note of conviviality.
He’d recounted a few funny incidents himself, laughed at some of the things she’d said, his whole demeanor one of a man hanging on the words of the woman he loved.
Only she knew it was all a sham, and love had nothing to do with it.
However, his open interest in what she told him had her almost liking the man.
Until dinner was over, that was, and they were alone again.
His smile, which had been up until now one of amusement and interest, suddenly changed. “And now,” he said, his voice a purr once more, “to bed, I think.”
Perhaps he assumed he’d charmed her enough to make this easy for him. And her. There must be many women for whom this would have been true.
A cold feeling, like a wet shawl, settled on Verity, as she suddenly became aware that she’d been allowing her wall of dislike to slip in a disastrous fashion.
Had all of this smiling and laughing and listening to her talk been just a ruse to put her at her ease?
Of course it had. The man was subtle. The man was accustomed to wooing women who might have been as unwilling as she was. And he thought he had her.
Well, no he didn’t have her. But she had to deliberately rekindle her distaste for what he’d said to her or she might slip and succumb.
And that would never do. Although, after time spent with him and the discovery that he could be a pleasant dinner companion, so interested in what she had to say, she began to hope that being taught a lesson might be beneficial to their relationship.
That she might in some way retrain him, like a recalcitrant puppy or a wild colt.
She rose to her feet and bestowed a smile on him. “I will retire to my room now, I think, if you would like to take some port.” Papa was very fond of a glass of port before bed, and Uncle Adolphus and Cousin Walter had indulged after dinner every night when the ladies had withdrawn.
He had stood as well and now he took her hand, and, bowing over it, pressed his lips to her skin. “I shall not be long.”
An unexpected wash of heat rose through Verity’s body at his touch, but she managed not to snatch her hand back a second time.
Let him think she would be waiting for him, ready to welcome him to her bed.
That would teach him. Although a tiny, and slowly growing, part of her couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to allow him entry.
She pushed that rebellious part of herself away with firm determination. This would only work if she was adamant and remained so. If she gave in now, she would always be what she feared—yet another notch on his bedpost and the provider of his heirs. And he would move on to other women’s beds.
On legs that were a little weak at the knees, Verity hastened from the room and hurried up the stairs, power, along with determination, returning to her as she went.
A tug on the bell pull in her room brought Bessie, the new maid supplied by her husband, hurrying, all girlish smiles, to help her prepare for bed.
Once she was in her nightgown, which was new, and her hair brushed and braided, she sent Bessie away, always the nagging fear that he, Jonathan, might arrive before she had time for what she planned.
The room possessed two doors, neither of which boasted a lock.
Furniture would have to do. She’d already assessed how to put her plan into action while Bessie was busy doing her hair, and now, starting with the door to what must be his bedroom, which fortunately opened inwards, she pushed the heavy chest of drawers along the wall until it was up against it.
Then, heart pitter-pattering with anxiety as she feared her time might run out, she pushed a large chest against the door into the corridor.
Only then could she sit down on the edge of her bed and take a breath.
She didn’t have long to wait.
The opening of the door into his bedroom on the other side of the chest of drawers blocked door alerted her to his presence. Was he undressing? Putting on his nightshirt? Or would he just come barging in, or rather, trying to barge in, fully dressed, or worse, naked?
She clasped her hands in her lap and waited.
He tried the door. The trusty chest of drawers, which had taken an inordinate amount of strength to position, didn’t shift. The latch rattled again. “Verity? I can’t open the door.”
On legs that had become wobbly again, she approached the door.
“Is something blocking it?” He sounded puzzled.
“Yes, something is blocking it,” she managed, struggling to keep her voice steady and determined.
“For I am quite certain you will not want to come into the room of a woman you consider to be little better than a common street walker. I myself have barred the door. And it is no use trying the one from the corridor as I have barred that one as well.” She took a deep breath.
“We are married, but I have no intention that we should consummate this union, as you so clearly have indicated your scorn for me. Dinner, I know, was just a ruse to lull me into a false sense of security and a somewhat feeble attempt to persuade me to like you. It didn’t work.
This will be a marriage in name only and I trust you as a gentleman to abide by my conditions. ”
Silence.
She found she was holding her breath.
The latch rattled again. “I have apologized for the way I spoke to you, Verity. Was that not enough?” He sounded calm. Perhaps he still thought he could persuade her.
She bit her lip. “An apology holds no weight when it is not sincere.”
He sighed. “I am your husband. It is your duty to let me in.” Where pleading hadn’t worked, he clearly thought being firm with her would.
“And you have a duty as a gentleman not to force me. Or am I wrong in thinking you a gentleman?” Not quite true.
“I ask you to respect my wishes and not force yourself upon me. Unless, that is, you are no gentleman and the forcing of a woman is something you consider acceptable. If you try that, you will find me unresponsive.”
Silence again.
A long silence. He must be thinking.
“Very well.” His voice had lost the purr and instead was tight and curt. “If that is how you feel, then I see little future for us in being together. I will send you down to Luxborough in the morning, for there is no reason for you to stay on in Town if you are not to be my wife in more than name.”
Luxborough. His country estate. Yes, she could do that. Although at some point he would be bound to turn up there. And then…?
Sensing victory, however ephemeral it might be, she stood up straighter.
“Thank you, my lord. I shall sleep peacefully knowing you do not intend any violence towards me.” And she turned away from the door to head for her bed, not without a perplexing sadness in her heart that she couldn’t quite understand.