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Merrick was in his room, sitting sideways on the window seat, one leg propped on it, his forearm resting across his raised knee. The air felt delightfully cool through the open window. He would have loved to change into his riding clothes again and take his horse out for a gallop. But he had to stay here and learn this damned part. He might have guessed that Grandmamma would come up with some such harebrained notion. No one in his right mind, of course, would accept the theory that the idea and the command had originated with Grandpapa. No one was fooled by that myth, but she seemed to delight in keeping it alive.
If only she had given him a different part, or given A
Merrick did not have to read the play that lay open before him to the first page. He had seen it performed several times. He had always enjoyed it and would normally have fallen in with the duchess's plans-if not with enthusiasm, at least with willingness. But he would have to flirt with A
If he leaned slightly forward toward the window, he could see A
What was the state of his marriage, anyway? He was still shaken by the change in her. He hated to admit it, but she was quite beautiful now. Had he recognized her immediately the afternoon before, perhaps he could have protected himself from that feeling of powerful attraction that had swept over him. But yet again she had unwittingly put him into the position of feeling very foolish. How could a man speak to his own wife for a whole minute or two without knowing her? His embarrassment had very quickly converted into anger. Perhaps he had been unfair, but she should have revealed herself sooner. Was he always to appear at a disadvantage before her?
Merrick put his head back against the wall behind him. Why had he gone to her last night? It was really a foolish thing to have done. He had resumed the marriage and perhaps given her the argument she needed to be taken back with him when he returned to London after the a
He could not understand his own feelings. He had almost always felt in command of himself where women were concerned. Even when he had been about to betroth himself to Lorraine, he had made a conscious decision, weighing all the advantages of such a match. He always chose his mistresses with care, considering their beauty, social position, tact, and intelligence. He had never allowed himself to be swayed by emotion alone. With A
Now his mind was totally confused. He had had no willpower the night before to stay away from her. He had hidden his own perplexity behind a mask of cold cynicism, but he had wanted her with an ache that was not to be denied. And as soon as he had touched her, he had been back in their wedding chamber, where he had surprised himself with the strength of his own desire for her. He had blocked that memory from his mind, as it was totally inconsistent with his general feeling of distaste for a bride whom he had seen as dull and almost ugly. But there had been no holding back the memory the night before. She had smelled of the same wholesome soap as she had before, and her body had responded with the same heat and eager surrender. She was undoubtedly, and surprisingly, a woman of great passion. He had completely lost control of his own reactions. He had not been able to make love to her as if he despised her, but had taken her as if she were his very life.
Would he go to her again tonight? And tomorrow night? If he wished to retain any control over his own life, he must stay away. He could not allow himself to be ruled by a little mouse of a woman who somehow always seemed able to make him look foolish.
Damn Grandmamma! Merrick picked up his copy of the play, slammed it closed, and hurled it onto a table that stood a short distance from the window. He felt better for a moment.
Chapter 8
Three days later tempers were becoming somewhat frayed. Prudence, forgetting her early excitement over being given a big part, grumbled to A
Jack was loud and indiscriminate in his complaints. Grandmamma had clearly forgotten what it was like to be below the age of forty. Did she really believe that one could derive entertainment from cavorting around a stage all day and all night, bullied and harangued by a dry middle-aged stick who would be satisfied with no less than perfection? It would not be as intolerable, perhaps, if one were not surrounded so exclusively by one's cousins. Hortense was pretty enough, and Prudence had a certain spirit that one might admire. Constance was too young to be noticed, though she promised well. But how could one get excited about females with whom one had romped as a child?
He did not add aloud to anyone that the only female who might have brightened his stay was proving quite elusive. She made life interesting, of course, but one never quite knew where one stood with old Alex. He had married the girl a few years before, Jack gathered, because he had felt he had compromised her in some way, and then he had left her and presumably forgotten her very existence. It was only fair that another fellow should be free to try his luck with her. But Alex had jumped to her defense that first afternoon, and he had a disconcerting habit of turning up at the wrong moment, just as if he were any ordinary jealous husband.