Chapter Sixteen
It was only supposed to be once.
Just once. That was what Samuel had promised himself, the morning he had woken up after the evening of strip chess and general debauchery.
Just once. He knew now the taste of Rose Morgan—Rose Chase—the taste of her all over, and he had given her pleasure—five times. One night of amorous congress.
That would have to be enough.
It had not been enough. Samuel had crept into her bedchamber the following morning and woken her up with his fingers, bringing her unadulterated pleasure, and had been forced to stop her screams with a kiss.
That afternoon, she had surprised him by slipping into his study and clambering under his desk, unbuttoning his trousers and—
Well. Suffice to say, he still grew hard each time he thought about it.
The day after that, Samuel had marched into her bedchamber just before Rose had been about to extinguish her candle, and demanded that he ravish her. She had already been naked under the covers.
The day after that, they had enjoyed muffled intercourse after luncheon and dozed the afternoon away, exchanging kisses in their embrace.
The day after that, they had ordered breakfast in bed. It was cold by the time they’d gotten to it.
The day after that, Rose had kissed him warmly as she had entered the dining room for dinner, and the moment had been so natural and so…
so right that Samuel had been unable to think of anything except making her cry for mercy until he had done just that, footmen and butler scattering to the winds the moment he had grabbed hold of his wife.
So much for hoping to lie their way to an annulment, should anyone ask the servants.
And now it was today.
Samuel shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he read that day’s newspaper.
It was ridiculous. They had already enjoyed amorous congress twice before descending for breakfast, and he’d given her a quick fondling just before luncheon, which had made Rose moan in his ear and his fingers feel as though they were magic.
Surely, his loins could not still burn for her.
He glanced up. They still could.
Rose was seated opposite him, lounging in a chair with her legs over the arm. She was reading what appeared to be a very dry Roman play, nothing he had read. The fact that it had come from his own library had been a great surprise.
Her concentration was on the book, not himself, and yet Samuel could not help but feel…feel alive in her presence. There was something truly unique about Rose, something he could not understand and would never cease trying to.
That was… Until she walked out of his life forever.
Would she rather have a divorce, then, than stay with him? If she left England, maybe she wouldn’t care if they had to lie and claim her as an adulterer to secure Parliament’s approval for the dissolution of the match. She’d be rich. And free.
Samuel forced his eyes back on the newspaper. He would not, could not think of that time. Besides, had they not reached an unspoken yet understood new arrangement?
Why did Rose have to leave at all?
“Anything interesting in there?” Rose’s voice was vague, as though she were still concentrating on her play but was nonetheless curious about his own reading.
Samuel smiled. Her curiosity, that was another thing he loved about her. Not just in the bedchamber, though that was to be sure a great delight.
No, there was nothing Rose was not fascinated by. Perhaps it was her artistic nature. Perhaps it was her creative soul. But the woman was more than happy to discuss almost any topic.
Another most attractive feature.
Samuel rustled the paper as he turned a page. “Nothing much. The Quintrells are giving a ball and the Eatons are hosting a dinner on the same evening.”
Rose snorted. “And that’s news?”
“It’ll be news when Lady Romeril decides which she will attend,” he returned with a laugh, lowering his newspaper. “Honestly, sometimes I forget you did not grow up in the same world that I did.”
For some reason, there was a strange stiffness in her voice as she replied, “Oh?”
“Yes, these sorts of things can make or break one’s reputation. The very idea,” Samuel said, warming to his theme, “that one of the families will have to be slighted by Lady Romeril, which is a very disgraceful thing, indeed.”
“Yes, I rather gathered that.”
He ignored the chill in her voice. “But you don’t understand—this could make or break these families. Both of them have daughters, as far as I can recall, looking for husbands. To receive Lady Romeril’s disdain—”
“I said that I understood.”
Samuel lowered the newspaper. Now that was not a chill. That was ice. “Is something the matter?”
There was; he could see it without Rose answering. It was in the way her cheeks had flushed, the way she did not meet his gaze.
But more than that, it was in the way he knew her.
He knew Rose Chase, and she was not happy.
“It’s fine.” His wife dropped her eyes to her play. She was holding it the wrong way up.
Samuel made to set aside his newspaper but hesitated at the last moment.
Well, it was not as though… They had not actually talked about it. What they were to each other, now. After they had enjoyed each other’s bodies so thoroughly.
Still husband and wife, yes, technically. But were they more than that? More than a technicality?
Samuel certainly knew what he wanted, but for the life of him he struggled to read this actress, who knew how easily to twist and change her expression to mean a million and one different things.
Right now, she looked…irritated.
He decided to be direct. “Have I offended you?”
Rose looked up, and there was a wistful expression on her lips that suggested she was rather surprised by his question. “No.”
“Are you sure? For I would prefer to know and give you the apology you deserve—”
“Why would you assume an apology would be necessary?” She was laughing now, which was to be preferred, but there was still some distance in her eyes.
Samuel shrugged. “I cannot imagine a situation in which you would be at fault.”
Rose opened her mouth, hesitated, then said quietly, “You really mean that, don’t you?”
It was a shame she was not seated beside him on the sofa, for he wished he could bring his arm around her and scare away the specter of her father. That was who, Samuel guessed, had given Rose such a disbelief in herself.
“I always tell you the truth,” he said simply.
Her grin this time was sincerer. “Well, you have not offended me. Go back to your newspaper.”
Rose’s attention returned to her play. She blinked. Then she turned the book around so it was the right way up.
Stifling a smile and wondering how on earth he had managed to select this particular actress out of all the actresses who were presumably wandering the streets of Brighton, Samuel returned to his newspaper.
Announcement of an engagement between two people he had never heard of… News of a ship sinking somewhere in the Caribbean… A riot in a town he did not know…
Ah. The gossip pages.
It was not a regular habit of Samuel’s to read such a thing, but his father had sat him down most seriously when the title had officially been handed over and told him he would have to start doing just that.
“‘The gossip pages’?” Samuel had repeated, incredulously.
His father had sighed. “Believe it or not, my boy, who you are, what you do matters now. You are the Marquess of Aylesbury, God help us all—”
“Father!”
“—and that means you need to know whom to speak to and whom to avoid, if I may say so delicately, in public. The gossip pages are your source of information.” His father had looked stern. “Not always accurate, but trust me. There is usually no smoke without fire.”
Samuel had assiduously obeyed his father’s directive and found, much to his dismay, that he rather relished it.
He glanced down at today’s pages. A widow in trouble, well, no surprises there. He would just have to hope his cousin Zander hadn’t been involved. A brokerage deal gone wrong that would lead to a mill having to close up in Leeds, dear me. And a gossiping little paragraph about—
Samuel’s heart stopped.
It has come to our attention that a recently joined member of polite Society may not in fact be the lady she appears.
A Lady A, who shall remain nameless on our pages for the sake of delicacy, has never claimed noble blood but has not owned that she was an actress, a profession reeking with scandal.
Indeed, she may be a new bride, but she is not, however, an innocent one.
Lady A is in fact onto her second husband—at least.
His vision was blurry and his pulse had not yet returned to beating. His lungs were tight, aching with the breath he had not taken.
A Lady A, who shall remain nameless on our pages for the sake of delicacy, has never claimed noble blood but has not owned that she was an actress, a profession reeking with scandal.
Well, perhaps he should never have expected to keep that particular piece of information quiet forever. A year and a day had been too much to hope for, clearly.
But it was not that particular sentence that had rocked his sense of stability.
Indeed, she may be a new bride, but she is not, however, an innocent one. Lady A is in fact onto her second husband—at least.
Second husband. Second husband.
But—But Rose had never been married before. Had she?
She had never mentioned another husband. He had not asked. Why had he not asked? Should he have asked—did lords generally inquire as to number of previous husbands when propositioning that an actress be their wife for a year and a day?
Samuel forced himself to inhale as lights started popping in the corners of his eyes.
He couldn’t believe it. He just… He just couldn’t believe it.
It was worse than he could have ever imagined. Rose, married to another? Dear God, was she still married—had she made him a bigamist? Who was this man? Why had she married him? Where was he now?