Page 67 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

Trust George to have an easy excuse.

‘Ugh,’ Lady Swann said, shaking her head at them. ‘You and your dreadful sports. Not in my drawing room, if you please.’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady,’ Graydon said. ‘It shall not happen again, will it, George?’

‘Never,’ George vowed with a cheerful smile and a hard look at Graydon.

He really did seem to hold Graydon responsible for extricating Eloise from her predicament. He glanced over at his wife and caught her with an expression of concern. The moment she realised he had caught her watching him, her glance shot to Eloise.

For God’s sake, she could not have put two and two together, and if she had she’d likely made it add up to five. The sooner he sorted out Eloise, the sooner he could put paid to the gossip. He had more important things on his mind. Such as dinner with a man almost as powerful as the prime minister.

Damn his man of business going out of town just when he needed to access a vast amount of money. Perhaps he should find out where he had gone and pay him a visit.

Florence sat opposite her husband in the carriage. He’d been gone all day and had barely returned in time to dress and climb up beside her before the carriage left for the Duke of Hart’s ball.

She stared at him, so calm, his manly jaw caught in high relief in the street lamps, longing to ask him what had kept him. She dreaded it. She didn’t dare.

What if he told her that he had been with Lady Standish?

What if he lied, made up some tale about his whereabouts? Which would be worse?

She turned her head to look out of the window and maintained a chilly silence.

‘Your carriage arrived today,’ he said.

She jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice emerging from the dark ‘Oh. Did it?’

‘I thought we might take it for a drive together, if the weather is fine. Try out the horses, see how you like it.’

Likely he was forcing himself to spend time in her company for the sake of appearances, when he would much rather be with Lady Standish. She’d seen the way Lady Standish had looked at him when they’d been at Lady Swann’s house. It had been a look of possession. ‘I suppose we could.’

There was a pause, a hesitation. ‘I have to leave Town tomorrow. We will go as soon as I get back.’

An arrow piecing her heart could not have been more painful than those words. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands gripping her reticule so hard, her nails dug into her palms.

He was going to meet his love.

She took a deep breath around the lump in her throat. ‘Oh. Where are you going?’

A wife shouldn’t question her husband if she did not want to hear his lies—had that not been Mrs Pole’s advice? How could she have let her fear get the better of her? She straightened her spine, awaiting the worst.

‘I need to visit my man of business on an urgent matter. The man has left Town on business of his own, apparently.’

Her chest ached. So it was to be the polite lie, then, not the truth. She forced herself to answer politely. ‘Is it so urgent that it cannot wait for his return?’

‘It is, rather.’

His tone was harsh. Perhaps he did not like being questioned.

She longed to pursue the matter, to get to the truth, even if it hurt, but she did not have the strength of will. So she would stand back and let the beautiful Lady Standish keep possession of her husband’s heart and mind. And would she make do with whatever crumbs were left?

Perhaps she should take her own lover.

The thought did not sit well in her stomach.

Anger swelled hot and hard in her chest at her cowardice. She had never been a coward. She had stood up to Albert Campbell and fought for her sisters. How was it that she could not stand up to Lady Standish? Not fight for her husband and herself? Her weapons were barely adequate when compared to the beauty of Lady Standish, but she had one big advantage: she was Graydon’s wife. And, before the law, possession was a winning card, if one could somehow work out a way to make the most of it.

She untied the neck of her cloak and pushed it back, as if she was too warm.