“Yes,” Jonathan muttered, but his eyes promised hellish retaliation for the humiliation Dylan was causing. “I understand.”
Dylan gave his nemesis one last threatening glare and reluctantly turned away. He’d have felt much better if he’d beaten the little prick to a bloody pulp.
Sometimes, it was hell being a gentleman.
* * *
“Oh, Clarice. It’s starting already.” Natalia reread Dylan’s brief note for the tenth time, then crumpled the fine parchment into a tiny ball and tossed it into the fireplace.
She felt only a tiny spark of satisfaction as she watched the paper burn to ashes.
The two women waited in Natalia’s bedchamber for the overworked seamstress to arrive. Madame Toussaint had promised to have Natalia’s wedding gown done on time; her people were working on it around the clock and charging the duke an exorbitant fee.
“What’s starting already?” Clarice didn’t seem the least bit upset by the fact that Dylan hadn’t shown up for dinner this evening.
“Dylan. We’re not even married yet, and he’s already finding excuses to avoid me.” Natalia flung herself into the nearest chair. At first, she’d been hurt, but she’d quickly moved beyond that paltry emotion. Fury consumed her now.
“Who’s avoiding whom?” Clarice shook her head. “When he’s here, you make every effort to ignore him. I know there are things he wants to say to you, but you’ve done your best to ensure the two of you are never alone.”
Natalia felt heat rise up in her cheeks. Clarice was right, but that didn’t excuse Dylan’s behavior tonight. “I’m not trying to avoid him; I just don’t know what to say when we’re together.”
“You could start by forgiving him. Perhaps he’d want to spend more time with you if you gave him the least little bit of encouragement.”
“I’m afraid to forgive him,” Natalia admitted. “Because once I do, once I let myself start caring for him again, he’s bound to break my heart. What he’s done tonight proves it.”
“What has he done, darling?” Clarice seemed honestly confused. “The fact that he didn’t come for dinner doesn’t prove anything, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Don’t be absurd. We both know he’s gone to visit one of his actresses.”There.She’d said it. Her worst fear.
Clarice gave her a sympathetic glance. “Perhaps he has. And even if he hasn’t, it’s likely someday he will. Most men of our class keep mistresses. I’m sure your father does. But you can’t think about that. Not if you want anything resembling a happy marriage.”
Natalia blinked away a film of threatening tears. “I can’t bear to think of him touching anyone but me. If I’m going to be his wife, I want to be his entire world.”
“That’s what every woman wants,” Clarice whispered. “But very few of us ever get it.”
They sat there, lost in their own miserable thoughts, for several endless minutes. Devastated by the picture Clarice painted of marriage, Natalia’s eyes welled with tears. Was there no hope then? Was she destined to spend the rest her life watching Dylan flit from woman to woman?
“Oh, Natalia. Don’t cry.” Clarice gave a shaky laugh. “Just because my marriage is unhappy doesn’t mean yours will be, too. I’m far too pessimistic about the whole matter. Besides, I’ve seen the way that man looks at you. If any woman on earth has a chance at keeping her husband at her side, it’s you.”
Clarice’s words rang with truth, and Natalia clung to the possibility like a lifeboat. “How do I do that? Tell me how to keep him from looking elsewhere.”
Clarice blushed bright red. “Well, I’m obviously not an expert on the matter. But I know a few things that might help.”
“What kind of things?” Natalia immediately conjured up an image of Dylan leaning over her, his face drawn with passion, his breath hot against her skin. There was so much she didn’t know, so much she wanted to learn.
Perhaps, if she could learn to please him, to do the things his mistresses did, he wouldn’t be so eager to look elsewhere for his pleasures.
“Maybe we should start at the beginning.” If possible, Clarice turned even redder. “Tell me, Natalia, what do you know about making love?”
Chapter Seventeen
The following afternoon, Natalia took her afternoon tea in the garden. She hadn’t left the house in nearly a week and felt horribly confined. She longed for the freedom of her weekly ride, but once the gossips caught sight of her, she’d regret the indulgence. Women she’d once thought of as her friends were bound to cut her dead.
Clarice offered to join her outside, but Natalia wanted to be alone for a while. After finishing the tea the servants had set on a small table near the conservatory doors, she wandered toward the rose arbor, unable to resist the lure of the place where her life had changed so dramatically.
In the light of day, the back corner of the garden didn’t seem a place of mystery and intrigue. In fact, the overgrown rose bushes needed a good pruning and the stone bench seemed forlorn and desolate.
With a deep sigh, she sank down on the bench where Dylan had kissed her. Wistfully, she placed her fingertips to her lips as though a trace of that magical moment lingered.
