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An unexpected thrill surged through Prue. Her husband had looked possessively at her tonight. She waited breathlessly for him to say something, but he made no reply.
Trent made a sound low in his throat. “Come now, man. It’s clear you need to tup a woman. If your pretty wife does not oblige, why don’t you take that lovely opera singer? Clarice has had her eyes on you for months, more’s the pity.”
Dear God. Prue tightened the grip on her mouth lest her outrage and pain slip out. How casually it was for men to suggest taking other lovers when they made vows before God and to their wives. Where was their honor?
A heavy sigh sounded. “I am not interested in Clarice.”
“You have shown no interest in any woman, and that is your problem. Take a bloody mistress.”
“No.”
Her husband sounded frustrated, but his tone made her wonder if maybe she had been wrong. If he hadn’t taken this opera singer to bed, if he hadn’t taken a mistress at all, that meant…he, like she, had been celibate. Prue clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.Good heavens. Had she really misjudged his character and honor? A fierce ache bloomed in her heart. She hated that they hardly knew each other. It was entirely preposterous.
“It is expected. None would judge you for it man.”
“I wonder at your need to convince me to take a lover when I am not interested.”
Trent made a reply she could not discern.Thank you, she said silently to her husband. But for how long would he remain without a lover, with his friends prodding him toward taking a mistress? Prue clutched her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard to keep from moving.
Trent laughed again and said, “Clarice has been looking your way now for months and will take no other protector. A tiger she may be, but trust me, a warm and willing tiger in your bed is far better than doing battle with a prickly wife.”
Prue balled her fists. She was not prickly! She was nothing but cordial to her husband. Openly friendly, in fact. It was he who kept himself at a distance, not her.
His voice every bit as much a growl as his friend had accused, Oscar said, “I’ll thank you not to think about my wife in or out of bed, Trent. I will not hesitate to knock your teeth loose!”
Her heart leaped at the protective way her husband sounded.
“Oh, give off, man. I’m only trying to help. The more you stomp around, the more enemies you’re going to make and the harder it will be for you to push through your bleeding-heart bills. Take a breath. Have a cheroot. Let’s get back before your wife realizes you’ve absconded with me.”
Prue heard a rustle of clothing, the creak of hinges. A moment later, the bitter smell of cheroot smoke curled into the air.
“Better?” Trent asked. He sounded amused.
Her husband grunted. “You’re right. We ought to get back before the supper waltz is called.”
Prue waited for the footsteps to recede before she stepped out of the alcove. She took several breaths to steady herself, to push down the swirl of emotions still trying to dig their claws into her. Among them, outrage, shock—and hope.
Since her husband hadn’t come to her bed in all these years, she had expected him to have taken a lover, perhaps a woman who meant more to him than she did. In truth, she had even started to believe he must have had great affections for someone else, and his honor had forced him to marry her. Nothing she had heard made her suppositions likely to be the case.
At least not yet.
Perhaps she still had a chance to set her marriage to rights, and without fighting for his love and affection with another woman. That had been her dreaded fear. That Oscar would have no room for her in his heart because all that space was already occupied by another woman, even if he was not in love with that phantom lady.
How silly I’ve been.
Prue smiled, tightly wrapping her arms around herself. Whatever her plan, she couldn’t enact it tonight. She had to be above reproach, and to that end, she fiddled with the low neckline of her gown. Once she felt composed, she returned to her job as hostess. Prue stepped into the ballroom the moment the supper waltz was announced.
Her stomach lurched. She should have hidden away in the garden a moment or two longer. As the guests dispersed like ants in search of their partners for the dance, Prue held herself still. She would be mortified beyond reproach if her husband did not dance with her for this waltz as everyone expected. It would lend negative speculation to the state of her marriage. The dratted man was nowhere to be seen. A wall of emotions rose around her. She felt as if she stood in the eye of the storm.
And then he stepped out of the crowd. Oscar, her husband. The man never quite far from her thoughts even when she chided herself for being so naïve and foolish. She may not have a chance of claiming a marriage as loving as that of her parents, but she could still salvage something between them yet.
Especially when she found that he was not angling himself to walk past her but was approaching her. She couldn’t remove her gaze from him. He still kept his hair a bit untidy at the front, falling into his eyes as if he tried to shield himself behind it. But now she knew the shape and color of those eyes. Now she felt the touch of them even when they stood a ballroom apart.
He stopped an arm’s length away and offered his hand. “I trust you saved this dance for me?”
His voice was rough, but not quite the growl she had heard in the garden. She licked her lips, triumph flushing through her as she found his gaze dropping to her mouth. Prue slid her hand into his, both gloved and yet the touch so hot she could feel it through the silk. She wanted to say something sophisticated, something seductive and alluring.
Instead, all that came out was, “You know I’m yours.”Oh, no, I should have said something else!
