Chapter 1 #2
At least until he required her. She would be of breeding age for some time yet. At present, he couldn’t bear to touch her, even if his suddenly randy-again prick had other ideas.
Everett finished and found himself reluctant to step out from behind the screen.
He’d been too irritated with her sudden appearance in his room and the water she’d poured over his head to pay attention to his nudity before.
But now, marching out with his cock in the wind felt somehow more vulnerable than he ever again intended to be with her.
He glanced about and discovered a dressing gown his valet had draped on a chair for him last night.
Thank Christ Turner was not just efficient, but armed with a propensity for knowing what Everett would need before he did himself.
He snatched it up and slipped into it, doing up a few buttons before stalking from behind the screen.
Sybil was still waiting for him, her chestnut hair captured in an intricate series of woven strands, a few glorious curls left to hang free down her back.
She was dressed in her favorite shade of blue, and he hated himself for remembering that pointless fact.
She had a plump pout, a stubborn chin, high cheekbones, and eyes that were more gray than blue beneath elegantly arched brows.
Sybil radiated elegance as she always had, not a bloody hair out of place.
She was fucking beautiful.
But as he’d learned long ago and not just at her hand, beauty was hardly synonymous with a kind heart and loyalty. The most cunning jade could hide behind a luscious pair of lips or a sparkling gaze. His wife was no exception to that particular, unfortunate rule.
“Say your piece and be done,” he told her coldly.
Chin high, she swept past him, moving toward the window and leaving a tempting trail of perfume in her wake. “I’ve already said the most salient part. I want a divorce.”
Everett turned to watch her graceful movements, the swish of her hems revealing heeled satin shoes covered in embroidery. “Ah, pity. You’ll not be getting one.”
Furious as he was with Sybil over her perfidy, he had no wish to begin the maddening process of finding a wife anew. Particularly not when there was no guarantee he wouldn’t simply find another woman who was every bit as duplicitous as she.
Sybil was yanking at the curtains, pulling them open to admit sunshine Everett didn’t want to see. It was too damned bright. He blinked against the harsh glare of it, his head still aching from the indulgences of the night before.
She stopped in her ministrations to toss him an irritated glance. “Why not? You’ve demonstrated, quite amply, that you don’t want to be married to me.”
He squinted at her, glaring. “What I want is immaterial, as is what you want. We’re inextricably bound.”
Sybil tugged at the curtains. “Nothing is inextricable.”
“Marriage is.”
She clamped her hands on her waist and glowered at him. “Not when divorce is a possibility.”
She was stubborn. He would give her that. Unfortunately for Sybil, it would get her nowhere.
“If you think I’m going to start anew and endure the horrors of matrimony a second time, you’re bloody mad, madam.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you, Riverdale,” she snapped, shoving more curtains out of the way. “I was thinking about me.”
“As you prefer to do.”
“As I have to do. Heaven knows you haven’t even the slightest bit of regard for my welfare or my future.”
“And why should I?” His lip curled.
She moved to the next window and began wrestling the curtains into submission. “Because I am your wife.”
“You are a means to an end, nothing more. I haven’t need for you at present, as I believe I have made more than abundantly clear.”
“Yes, of course you have.” She spun toward him, eyes flashing with gray fire. “Have you ever spared a thought about me, even once in these last three months?”
Everett would have laughed were he not so infuriated by her claims. “Good God, why would I want to linger upon something so unpleasant?”
“Then surely you must agree that divorce is the most sensible course for us both. You do not want to be married to me, and I most certainly do not wish to be bound to you. Our union was very clearly a dreadful mistake.”
“I’m not divorcing you. I need an heir, and I’ve grown weary of my mother berating me for ignoring my familial obligation.”
“You won’t have an heir, you frustrating man. Did you not hear a word I’ve said? I don’t want to be married to you.”
“Madam, you know the grounds for divorce.”
“Adultery and desertion.” Her chin went up.
“You haven’t proof of either,” he snapped.
And he knew it all too well, damn her. He hadn’t taken a lover since well before they had married. Moreover, he most certainly hadn’t deserted her. He had left her to her own devices in the country because he hadn’t been able to stomach looking at her after he’d realized what and who she was.
Everett had been betrayed before. He would never again put himself in such a wretched, vulnerable place.
Never.
“Indeed?” she asked crisply, resuming her task at the final window. “How interesting you think so when I’ve spent months being ignored and then arrived at this den of iniquity where you are indulging in all manner of vice. I am confident I can prove both.”
“And drag our good names through the mud in the process? What would your father say to that? I think not.”
The Marquess of Eastlake was a cold, parsimonious arsehole who disapproved of everyone. Everett doubted very much that Sybil’s father would welcome her back into the familial fold were she to cause such a scandal.
She threw open the last curtain. “I want a divorce, Riverdale.”
“And I want an heir. I’m afraid we’re at an impasse.”
“You can have your heir,” she snapped, whisking her voluminous skirts like they were a weapon she could use against him. “You may have all the children your heart desires. But it shan’t be with me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, madam.” He scowled at her as she moved toward him, bringing with her that damnable scent he couldn’t help but find so enchanting. “I am not enduring another sham courtship and wedding ceremony. Once was quite enough.”
As he finished his proclamation, something suddenly occurred to Everett.
Perhaps there was a way they could both have what they wanted.
The light infiltrating his room thanks to the curtains Sybil had thrown open in her ire made him see it all with perfect clarity.
“Why would you insist upon holding us both in a marriage neither of us wants?” she demanded, magnificent in her fury.
Always magnificent, if he were honest. She possessed a face that wasn’t just classically lovely, but interesting as well. Even if he hated knowing what she had done, he couldn’t deny she was astoundingly gorgeous.
“There may be a way for us both to have our way,” he said slowly, thoughtfully stroking his jaw and the stubble of whiskers his valet had yet to shave. “I’ll give you what you want. But in exchange, you must first grant me what I want.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what is that?”
“My heir.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No.”
“No?” He shrugged. “Then we’re both doomed to be disappointed, I’m afraid. Now, if you don’t mind, my valet should be appearing at any moment to shave and dress me for the day. Your discretion would be most appreciated.”
She hesitated, and he knew why. He could read her well enough, even if he hadn’t been able to read her about her involvement with another man. If he had but known she had a lover, he never would have asked her to marry him.
“Are you saying that if I give you an heir, you’ll grant me a divorce?” she asked.
“That’s precisely what I’m saying. I married you because I required a son to carry on the title.
If I have an heir, there’s no need to continue on with this sham of a marriage.
I’ll do whatever it takes for us to be granted a divorce or for us to proceed with separate lives, whichever situation we find preferable. ”
He would take a mistress. Desert Sybil. Do whatever he must. She could return to the arms of her lover. All would be well. They could remain husband and wife or divorce. He didn’t give a damn, and Maman couldn’t continue to berate him if he provided the world with a future Duke of Riverdale.
He couldn’t shake the bitterness that took up residence within him at the thought of his wife running off to her lover’s arms, however. He didn’t know why the notion should affect him so.
“What if I don’t bear a son?” she asked.
“Then we shall try again.”
“If I never bear a son?”
Everett hadn’t thought that far ahead.
He shrugged again. “We can conceive a mutually agreeable number of children, after which point, if no sons are issued from our union, we will go our separate ways.”
“The only person that particular bargain benefits is you, Riverdale.”
“Nonsense. You want a divorce, do you not?”
“Yes, of course, but I can have one without promising myself as your broodmare for an indeterminate span of years.”
He gave her another indolent shrug. “I’m not so certain of that, my dear.
We both know that it is far easier for a husband to obtain a divorce than for a wife.
You haven’t a case against me, and I have no desire to divorce you, so even if you were foolish enough to flaunt a lover to all the world, it wouldn’t matter. ”
Her nostrils flared as she took in what he had just told her, and he could see the reality of her circumstances dawning in her eyes. She had thought to storm in here and best him, but she had clearly underestimated her opponent.
“You, sir, have no heart left at all,” she accused coldly.
Everett smiled cruelly. “What gave you the wrongheaded notion I ever had one to begin with?”
With a swirl of vexed skirts, Sybil finally left his bedroom. He watched her go, bemused.
What the devil was he going to do now that his wife was in residence at Wingfield Hall?