Faith’s euphoria buoyed her through the short hackney ride back home. She hadn’t felt so energised, challenged, and alive since the early days of her marriage—before she discovered what a tragic farce her dreams of being loved and cherished had become. To attend a society function and meet encouragement and appreciation, rather than smug or pitying glances, made it seem as if she’d suddenly emerged from the dark room of isolation and sadness in which she’d been trapped for so long into a glorious dawn of new possibilities.
And then there was that thrilling, titillating connection with Davie. How could so strong a bond re-establish itself so quickly with a man she’d seen only half a dozen times over the last ten years?
She couldn’t thank him enough for this evening, where he’d stood beside her, encouraging with a glance, assisting with a helpful comment, supporting her with his silent presence. And always, simmering underneath—until it had nearly erupted into action in Witlow’s front hall—was the powerful physical link that seemed to strengthen each time they were together.
How could she find words to thank him for the sense he gave her of being attractive, desirable, and wanted, nurturing her crushed and battered spirit to a renewed confidence? His obvious desire unleashed an unprecedented, heady sense of feminine power—and an urge to use that power to satisfy the increasing demands of desire.
Ah, yes, desire. Having endured so many years of unhappiness made her a little reckless. She’d never be permitted to marry a man like Davie—if marriage were in fact on his mind, which it probably wasn’t. Lust certainly was, as it was on hers.
Dare she yield to it? Would he let her?
She didn’t know. Continuing to associate with him would lead her into a maze full of risks and dangerous choices—but also to the possibility of fulfilment, even joy. She wasn’t prepared yet to decide whether to proceed down that path. For the present, she’d seize every opportunity to be with him, and just enjoy.
Make it soon.
She’d write a note to Sarah this very night, seeking a convenient time for a visit.
Still aglow with energy and optimism, she sprang down from the hackney and waltzed up the front steps. Not until the butler admitted her, informing her that the Dowager had returned from her entertainment and would enjoy a glass of wine with her in the Blue Salon, did her soaring spirits make an abrupt descent.
She was home again, and back to being the much-maligned Duchess.
But not any longer, she told herself. Not that she would be rude to her mother-in-law, but she did not intend to meekly endure her criticism. Though she wasn’t sure Lady Lyndlington’s ‘stare’ would work to silence so overbearing and self-important a woman, she would certainly excuse herself, if her husband’s mother decided that a ‘chat over wine’ meant a litany of reproof for her behaviour today.
Bracing herself, she entered the Blue Salon. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’ she asked, seating herself and accepting a glass from the footman the Dowager waved to serve her.
‘It was tolerable. Although it had to be more entertaining than a dull political evening at Lord Witlow’s. I can’t imagine why you accepted that invitation.’
‘I didn’t find it dull at all. Conversation about the new Reform Bill was fascinating, and Lady Lyndlington is a very gracious hostess.’
‘Lyndlington? Ah, yes—Witlow’s daughter, Lady Margaret, married that jumped-up by-blow of the Earl of Telbridge—who is to inherit, despite the fact that the earl divorced his harlot of a mother! Quite the scandal!’
Just like the Dowager, to have some bit of disparaging gossip to divulge about every person one could mention. Avoiding any response that would allow her to elaborate, Faith said instead, ‘My brother-in-law, Lord Englemere, was also present, and asked me to call; his youngest child has been ill. I shall send my sister a note directly to see when is convenient. You mustn’t be alarmed,’ she added quickly, when the Dowager held up a hand in protest. ‘I know what a dread you have of illness, so there is no need for you to accompany me.’
‘Very well, if you feel you must, although I think it is very inconsiderate of your relations to ask you to visit a sick house, especially as you are a mother with three children of your own to protect!’
‘I believe the child is recovering, and most of my visit will be spent with my sister.’
‘I still think it encroaching. But I didn’t ask you to stop by to discuss some dull political gathering—I have exciting news that will certainly raise your spirits! Which have, quite properly, been downcast since the demise of our dear Edward—’ The Dowager paused, her voice wobbling as she wiped her eyes with a bit of muslin. ‘Well, no longer must we suffer being a household of women. My dear Randall has consented to live here with us! Now we shall have a gentleman’s escort to any entertainments we find proper to attend!’
The memory of her brother-in-law’s leering face, drunken smile and hard, grasping hands swept over her, followed by a wave of revulsion. Faith set down a glass that suddenly wobbled in her hand.
‘How...useful,’ she said at last.
‘I would have expected you to exhibit a bit more enthusiasm,’ the Dowager said tartly.
‘I’m tired, and the news is...shocking.’
‘Shocking? What is so unusual about a son coming to care for his mother?’
Faith bit down hard on her lip to stifle the replies that immediately sprang to mind. That the arrangement was probably more about the estate taking care of Lord Randall’s needs, than him caring for his mother. That he was highly unlikely to escort them to a gathering unless he wished to attend, and since he preferred spending most of his evenings at gambling hells, bordellos, and other establishments of dubious repute, they would be as often without masculine escort as they were currently.
The appalling news settled in, setting other thoughts careening back and forth in her head like a shuttlecock in a lively game. She’d never be able to convince the Dowager that her younger son was an unreliable, dissolute wastrel—or that he’d made advances towards Faith. Was there any way to prevent Lord Randall from installing himself, a leech upon the estate? Did she have the power to eject him, or would, upon her appeal, the trustees do so?
Gulping down the last swallow of wine, she said, ‘I know you will be much comforted by his presence.’
‘But you’re not?’ the Dowager said with a frown. ‘Heavens, you’re always the most ungrateful child! All excited about running off to visit your sister’s sick brat, and no enthusiasm at all about having your dear departed husband’s precious brother coming to bear us up in our hour of grief!’
She would not stay here and be harangued. ‘Grief does exhaust me, and it’s late,’ she said sharply. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight.’ Nodding to the Dowager, she rose and paced out of the room, blocking out whatever response the Dowager might have made.
A sick hollow in the pit of her stomach, she took the stairs up to her chamber. Having to tolerate her mother-in-law was bad enough—but Lord Randall’s presence was much worse.
Had his amorous attentions been inspired by the drunken boredom of an idle evening—or would she now have to watch her back, every minute, in her own home?
A shiver went through her as she reached the dark hallway outside her chamber. Sighing, she stood surveying the stout oak door. Could she obtain a key to double-lock it? One that he could not duplicate?
She was about to unlatch the door when the all-too-familiar smell of strong spirits alerted her to his presence an instant before she recognised Lord Randall’s voice, approaching out of the dimness.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t my sweet little sister-in-law.’ Reaching her, he leaned a hand against the doorframe and peered down into her face. ‘Looking surprisingly energised after an evening of political discussion. Or is it some politician you’re lusting after, now that Edward isn’t here to keep your depths well plumbed?’
Outraged by his crudeness, she remained silent, staring at his hand on her doorframe. After a moment, he removed it.
‘What are you doing outside my room?’ she said at last.
‘Didn’t our esteemed mother tell you? I live here now. When I confessed my current...pecuniary difficulties, dear Mama insisted I should become your houseguest, for as long as needful.’ He laughed. ‘And with Mama footing the bills that should be a long time indeed.’
‘The estate footing the bills, you mean. Edward would never have permitted it!’
‘True, but he’s not here, is he? Might be a little dab of a thing, but you were never a hypocrite, so you’ll not convince me you’re sorry about that. Still, I shouldn’t object to our giving each other a little comfort in our bereavement.’
He leaned towards her, the liquor fumes threatening to make her gag. ‘Life with two widows should be far too dull for your taste,’ she said, stepping back. ‘Why not move in with one of your doxies?’
He rubbed thumb and fingers together. ‘Takes the ready to support those doxies, m’dear sis. Which I’m alarming short of at the moment.’
‘More gaming losses?’ she said derisively.
‘Lady Luck’s as unfriendly as you are at the moment. Maybe you should give me a kiss, to console me for my losses.’
‘Have you no sense of decency at all? Speaking like this to your own brother’s widow?’
He shrugged. ‘Never any love lost between us. Had the same inclinations, so why must he be the heir, and the one with the deep pockets to fund them? Besides, I know he wasn’t giving you as much of it as a lusty young woman needs. While I wait for something better to happen along, I’m happy to fill the empty well.’
‘You disgust me!’
He merely laughed. ‘Maybe. But I could also pleasure you. Suckle those sweet little breasts, taste that—’
Revolted, she slapped his face as hard as she could. ‘Get out of my sight!’
He stumbled from the force of the blow before righting himself, rubbing the cheek she’d struck. ‘My, what a little wildcat you are. Didn’t know you had it in you! But that will make taming you all the sweeter. Maybe not tonight. But soon. And afterwards, you might find yourself begging me for more.’
‘You might remember that I have a pistol, and know how to use it,’ she retorted. Pushing past him, she went into her room and closed the door. To her infinite relief, he did not try to follow her.
This time.
With trembling hands, she turned the latch. At the sound of the lock clicking into place, Lord Randall laughed. ‘Sleep well, sweet sister,’ he called through the thick wooden panel.
Faith leaned against it, her heart pounding, furious—but worried. Would he try something, or was he just playing with her, the tomcat toying with the defenceless mouse? What if he were able to get into her chamber in the middle of the night, while she was sleeping and unaware?
She would shoot him in a minute with no regrets. But if he chose to, could he force himself on her before she could defend herself?
Why this, just when life finally seemed to be offering her alluring new possibilities? Tears threatened, and angrily she brushed them away.
She’d have to think of something. She was done being the pawn of some idle aristocrat who thought his position entitled him to take whatever he wanted.
And she’d rather shoot herself than let that slimy ferret have his way with her.