Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Tamsin didn’t speak to her husband as they climbed into the coach outside Lady Radcliff’s town house.
A miserable September drizzle had begun to slick the cobbles of Mayfair, the gaslights casting long, distorted shadows through the rain-streaked windows.
Thank goodness the drive home would be short.
Tamsin sat as far from Rowan as the narrow bench allowed, her gaze locked on the blurred streets passing by.
Her hands were knotted so tightly in her lap that the seams of her silk gloves threatened to split.
Her thoughts were spinning out of control, and she feared that if she opened her mouth, she would scream things she couldn’t take back.
You humiliated me. You left me.
And worst of all…
You made me believe you actually cared about me.
Right after his mistress had marked her territory, Rowan had vanished.
And he had been gone for an eternity. Tamsin had been forced to sit on that velvet settee alone, feeling every pitying, mocking gaze in Lady Radcliff’s drawing room boring into her.
She had heard the whispers—the soft, venomous titters of the ladies behind their painted fans.
The poor girl. Left alone while the earl pursues his old habits.
Only a few weeks married and already abandoned.
To make matters worse, Elena had disappeared from the room shortly after Rowan left.
All the cautious optimism she’d been feeling over the past few days seemed so foolish now.
He’d taken the first opportunity to steal away with someone else.
Images of what she’d seen at Vauxhall Gardens had overwhelmed her.
How could she ever let him touch her again if he was doing that with Elena in some dark room while she sat in the drawing room alone?
She had known what he was. She had married the Rake of September under no illusions. Yet, in the quiet sanctuary of the library and in her bedroom before the fire, she had allowed herself to believe a beautiful lie. She had believed they were building something real.
“Tamsin.”
Rowan’s voice cut through the dark, soft and laced with a warmth that made her throat tighten with unshed tears. He shifted, leaning across the small space between them.
“Please, look at me,” he murmured, reaching out to hold her hand.
Tamsin pulled her hand back instantly, tucking it beneath her cashmere shawl. “I am quite tired, my lord.”
“Why are you so angry?” he asked, his voice tightening with a sudden, sharp frustration. “I am sorry about the things Elena said, but I have no control over her. I thought I made it very clear to her that I no longer wanted anything to do with her.”
Tamsin let out a small, breathless laugh that held no mirth.
It was a cold, brittle sound that she hadn’t known she was capable of making.
She finally turned her gaze to him. “You promised me that there would be no lies between us, Rowan. We made a bargain, and I understand my position. I only ask that in the future, you show me enough respect not to leave me at the mercy of the ton’s gossip while you… return to your old ways.”
She would not let him know how badly it hurt. How she had believed him when he said he’d try to be faithful to her.
“Is that what you think I was doing?” Rowan stared at her, his face pale in the dim light of the passing carriage lanterns.
The easy, aristocratic mask he wore so well was completely gone, replaced by a raw, stunned hurt.
“I was with Ashford—you saw him. He took me to the billiard room. We were talking. You think I went to her?”
“Of course. The billiard room. For nearly half an hour.” She shook her head.
“I think you are a rake.” Her voice was remarkably level, though it cost her every ounce of her remaining strength to keep it from breaking.
“And rakes do not change their nature because of a forced ceremony and a few vows spoken at St. George’s.
I was foolish to forget that, even for a moment. ”
“Tamsin, listen to me—”
“I have no wish to listen to you,” she interrupted, turning back to the window with absolute finality. “When we arrive home, I wish to go to my rooms, sleep, and pretend this wretched night never occurred.”
Rowan did not reply. He sank back into his corner of the carriage, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on her with a turbulent, aching intensity. She only glanced at him once, then set her jaw, wondering how on earth she was supposed to live in this sham of a marriage for the rest of her life.
The mahogany-paneled walls of White’s felt suffocatingly familiar, filled with masculine laughter and the heavy scent of expensive tobacco.
Rowan sank into a deep leather armchair in a corner shadowed by a marble bust of some long-dead statesman, his boots stretched out toward a hearth that failed to warm him.
Only an hour ago, he had walked away from Tamsin, knowing he’d hurt her and ruined things between them, determined to drown his sorrows, yet the scotch in his hand tasted like ash.
But she’d hurt him as well! He’d never lied to her. In fact, he’d done everything he could to be honest and open with her. He’d shown her more of his true self than he’d ever shown anyone, and it felt like a slap in the face that she’d been so willing to think the worst of him.
He’d promised he’d be faithful to her, and yet the first time they’d gone out in public together, she’d assumed he’d run off to tryst with another woman.
If she couldn’t trust him to go have a conversation with his oldest friend, then what was the point of even trying to make this marriage work?
He stared into the amber liquid, the ghosts of his own lineage looming in his mind. The fear of repeating the past was a cold knot in his gut, but how could he be a better man than those who had come before him if she wouldn’t even give him a chance to prove that he could be different?
Still, as much as he wanted to be angry with her, even now, he wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed with her.
Not to make love, but to simply hold her.
To his own irritation, he had truly enjoyed his time with her in a way that defied his cynical expectations.
She wasn’t just a duty; she was becoming a necessity.
The realization frightened him more than any debt or duel ever could.
He hadn’t planned on falling in love with her.
Bloody hell.
He hadn’t admitted it, not even to himself, until this very moment. But he knew it was true. He was in love with his wife, and now she wanted nothing to do with him. How had he let this happen? He should have guarded his heart and kept her at arm’s length.
Around him, the low murmur of men discussing Parliament and horses droned on.
A young lordling across the room caught Rowan’s eye and offered a knowing smirk, gesturing toward the upstairs where one might find a warm body for the night.
Just a few weeks ago, Rowan would have stood up, sought the distraction of a nameless beauty, and drowned his doubts in a night of debauchery.
But tonight, the thought of another woman made his skin crawl.
The very idea was abhorrent compared to the memory of Tamsin’s laugh and the soft scent of her skin.
He didn’t want the thrill of the chase because he was tired of the emptiness that came afterward.
He wanted the sense of belonging he’d only found in Tamsin’s arms.
He finished his second drink, the burn of the peat grounding him, and put out his cigar.
Standing abruptly, Rowan ignored the curious glances from his peers. He didn’t need their company, and he certainly didn’t need their vices. He didn’t belong here anymore. He just wanted to go home.
He wanted his wife. If she’d still have him. Somehow, he had to find a way to make things right with Tamsin. He couldn’t just let her anger and hurt fester.
He walked out into the cool night air, his pace quickening with every step toward home.