For her, the time to leave could not come soon enough.
When, at last, the evening was done and she was handed into her carriage by her husband, she merely smiled sleepily at him, then subsided into silence, grateful for the darkness that cloaked her tiredness from his perceptive gaze. It was comforting, the way he was always there to escort her home. At times like this, when her willpower had been sapped by the demands of the ball and her resistance was low, she found it impossible not to admit, to that inner self who knew all her secrets, that she could not imagine any other gentleman giving her the same sense of security, of being protected against all harm. The vibrant strength of him as he sat beside her, his thigh brushing her silken skirts, came clearly to her senses.
Abruptly, blinking back her tears of frustration, Lenore turned to stare out of the carriage window, into the gloom. She had had her taste of paradise; she should be content with her memories—they were more than many others had to warm them.
Beside her, Jason sat, chilled to the marrow, a man condemned. As the carriage ambled over the cobbles towards Eversleigh House, he watched the façades slip past, his hand fisted so tightly his knuckles ached. Long before it had been time to quit Lady Cheswell’s ballroom, he had exhausted all avenues of salvation. Lenore had not been at Lady Argyle’s; there had been no other entertainments held that afternoon at which a lady of her station would have appeared.
Which left one vital question unanswered, a suffocating cloud of uncertainty pressing down blackly upon him, making it difficult to breathe and even harder to think.
Where was Lenore spending her afternoons—and with whom?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IN THE DAYS that followed, Jason verified beyond all possible doubt that his wife was absenting herself from the ton’s afternoon entertainments. His mood vacillated between cold cynicism and the blackest despair. One minute he had convinced himself that he did not need to know who she was dallying with, the next he was overcome by a primitive urge to find the gentleman responsible and flay him to within an inch of his life. In his more rational moments he wondered how it had all come about, why he had been unwise enough to let such a black fate befall him.
It was Agatha who brought the matter to a head.
Pacing restlessly before the fire in his library, the October morning grey beyond the long windows, Jason read for the twelfth time his aunt’s missive. Quite why Agatha had nominated eleven o’clock for a meeting when she rarely rose before noon was a mystery. Likewise, he felt there was some significance in the fact that she had elected to call on him, rather than summoning him to attend her. Unfortunately he could not fathom what it was. Nevertheless, there could be no doubt that she was coming to tell him what he was not at all sure he wished to hear. Presumably Agatha had discovered what he had not—with whom Lenore was trysting.
The sound of the front doorbell halted him in his tracks. Lifting his head, he heard his aunt’s tones, unusually muted, in the hall. Squaring his shoulders, Jason braced himself to hear the unwelcome truth.
Smythe held the door open as Agatha swept in.
“Good morning, Aunt.” Smoothly, Jason went forward and gave her his arm to the chaise.
“Glad you found the time to see me, Eversleigh.” Agatha subsided on to the chaise, settling her heavy green carriage dress and placing her muff beside her. As the door clicked shut behind Smythe, she raised a worried face to Jason, standing by the fireplace, one arm braced against the mantelpiece. “It’s about Lenore. Don’t know what your plans are, but you should take her back to the Abbey immediately.”
Despite the fact that he had expected as much, hearing it said brought the misery that much nearer. His heart a solid lump of cold stone in his chest, Jason steeled himself to learn which sprig had stolen Lenore from him.
All Agatha saw was the hardening of the planes of his face. Already austere, his features took on an intimidating cast. Agatha allowed her own stubbornness to show, wagging a stern finger at him. “Oh, her little deception has been quite clever and entirely successful thus far, I’ll grant you, but she won’t get away with it forever.”
Jason could bear it no longer. “For God’s sake, Agatha, cut line. Who the devil is the bounder?” He ground the question out, then swung on his heel, restlessly pacing the hearth rug. “That’s all I want to know. I’ll call him out, of course.” The last was said with a certain measure of relief, even relish. At last he could do something, strike out at someone, to relieve his frustration and bitter disappointment.
Agatha stared at him as if he had run mad. “Have you lost your wits? If you’re to blame any man, it would have to be yourself. And how can you call yourself out, pray tell?”
Jason halted, total bewilderment replacing his look of predatory rage.
Agatha waved him to a chair. “For God’s sake, do sit down and stop towering over me. Remind me of your father when you behave like that.”
Too taken aback to protest, Jason did as he was bid.
“I’m merely here to bring to your notice the fact that Lenore is not well.” Agatha fixed her nephew with a penetrating stare. “If she’s breeding, she should be back at the Abbey. You know perfectly well she does not enjoy life here in town. It’s my belief the air’s not good for her, either. And the strain of supporting her new position, on top of all else, is proving too much.”
“Nonsense.” Jason had regained his composure. Obviously, his aunt was not as au fait with his wife’s doings as he had thought. “She’s enjoying herself hugely—throwing herself into the fray with the best of them.” His tone was dismissive, laced with contempt.
Agatha’s brows rose to astronomical heights. “Nonsense, is it? And just how much do you know of your wife’s life, sir? It might interest you to know that, when I did not see her at any of the afternoon engagements over the past week, I became suspicious. When she did not appear at Mrs. Athelbury’s tea, I stopped by here yesterday at four. And what did I find?”
Transfixed, Jason waited, every muscle tensed. Here? In his house?
Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “I’d wager my best bonnet she was laid down upon her bed, fast asleep. That’s why she looks so much better in the evening than she does at luncheon. Spends her afternoons recouping so no one will see how worn down she is. Doesn’t sound like enjoyment to me.”
Jason’s brain was reeling. “Did you see her?”
“Oh, yes.” Agatha sat back. “Those fools of yours woke her before I knew what they were about. Half green, she was—so you needn’t tell me I’m not right. She’s breeding, is she not?”
Absent-mindedly, Jason nodded. Lenore was not playing him false—had never done so—had never even thought of it.
When her nephew remained silent, absorbed with his thoughts, Agatha humphed. “What the devil is going on between you two? You’re head over ears in love with each other, which anyone with eyes in their heads can see, and you’re both playing fast and loose—for all the world as if you’re trying to convince yourselves, and the ton, that isn’t so.” Agatha paused to draw breath. Seeing the stunned expression on her nephew’s face, she rushed on, determined to have her say. “Well—it’s not working, so you might as well make the best of it and take off for the country!” She glared belligerently at Jason.