Page 125 of A Foolish Flirtation

Your ever-loving wife,

Emmeline

Folding Humphrey’s letter inside her covering note, she stuffed both inside an envelope and addressed it simply “Jeremy.” Then she stood for a moment, unsure where best to put it so that it would catch his attention. After all, he might not venture as far as his desk.

Wandering back through to his bedroom, she debated setting it on his pillow. Then again, when he returned for lunch, he never took a nap. His purpose, after all, was to change out of his riding clothes. Inspiration struck, and she tried a door which led to his dressing room and propped the envelope on his dresser.

Then she escaped back into her own room to track down Lottie and explain their errand.

29

Jeremy spent a discontented morning at the racing stables. He felt irritated with himself, let alone Masterman, who kept trying to discuss their prospects for an upcoming race. For some reason, Jeremy just could not focus this morning. He turned away from Atalanta’s trainer with a curt nod. “Carry on,” he said briskly, then turned to his stable manager. “I’ll watch the rest from the office.”

Masterman looked taken aback by this unusual decision, but before he could voice his surprise, Jeremy made his escape and headed for the office they shared, which overlooked the exercise yard. Once inside, he turned the key in the lock. He wasn’t fit for company presently.

Throwing himself into the captain’s style seat, he swiveled around to face the window, but though his eyes followed Amyas being put through his paces, his thoughts were a million miles away. He should have spent the night in Emmeline’s arms, not pacing his own room like a caged tiger.

The trouble was, he had not felt in a worshipful mood, and he knew by now that he could not trust himself to keep things respectful or to keep a guard on what might come tumbling out of his unprincipled mouth. Not when he was feeling the way he did.

He had been a good deal too…rough with her the previous morning. One did not fuck one’s viscountess over a table, even if it was in their private dining quarters. He groaned, dropping his head and massaging his temples as he tried not to remember how she had felt beneath him, how she had responded, how hard he had come. My God.

It was no use. He would never forget it. He never wanted to, even though he should. Even though he must. Emmeline deserved to feel cherished and adored, nothing less. Not after the appalling way he had treated her in the past. Anything less might make her doubt the sincerity of his feelings. And sadly, the events of the past couple of months had shown she did harbor doubts when it came to him.

And who could blame her? Certainly not him. Their history had shown only too well how little he was to be depended on. He would never, ever forget the way she had broken down that night. Clenching his fist, he vowed he must never allow himself free rein to upset her like that again. That meant leaving her presence whenever he felt dangerous words hovering on his tongue. It meant walking away when he wanted to give vent to the fiery jealousy that burned in his chest.

And yet, Ballentine looked so magnificent when her eyes were bright and flashing and her cheeks flushed pink with indignation. He loved it when she went toe-to-toe and pushed back at him. It had been so hard to walk away last night when she had accused him of being “out of temper” and had snapped back at him. His lips curved upward involuntarily when he remembered her cross delivery of her “very gladly!”

He wanted so badly to have a blazing row with her. An honest-to-God confrontation where the bitterness burned clean away. Then he could fall on her and slake his lust on her, and tell her, just tell once and for all how much he had always loved her. Deep down, he had this strange conviction that if he could only confess how things had always been with him, then all would be well.

Except, he knew full well that was not the case. He couldn’t really understand why he had this lurking feeling that it would. Every flare-up with Emmeline had revealed how deeply the hurt he had caused her ran. He dared not jeopardize this second chance he’d secured with her by the skin of his teeth. He could not lose her again.

His instincts when it came to the love of his life were frankly undependable and all over the place. He supposed some men must just have better natures than the one he was blessed with. Perhaps their words, instead of turning cutting and sharp, were always mild and measured when they spoke to the ones they loved. They probably never longed to slam doors or shout or stoke fires when they should appease, conciliate, and apologize.

Presumably he inherited such impulses from his late father. The old man had been a bad-tempered bastard with an ungovernable temper. He supposed it was not surprising that beneath his mother’s looks, the contentious Vance blood surged through his veins.

Really, he should embrace this new lifestyle of mannerly and good behavior, he thought bleakly. His rows with Amanda had been ugly and acrimonious. They had never brought about anything remotely resembling harmony. Neither had they inspired him with anything more than disgust for the both of them.

The only thing he had required of his first wife was she gave him a son before she saw fit to take the first of many lovers. At the time, Amanda had been furious; she had been insulted, beyond repair by his “vile insinuations” about her character. She had even moved out of his London townhouse to stay with her married sister in Kent for a couple of weeks in high dudgeon, sending him many hysterical letters on the subject.

When he had not responded, her mother, Lady Tipton, had sent Amanda’s brother, the honorable Hugo, to pay Jeremy a visit. Jeremy had been frank with his brother-in-law, explaining how he had found her dishabille in a clinch with his friend George Lister. Her brother had been embarrassed; her mother furious.

Amanda had cried and blamed Lister, had blamed too much champagne, had blamed Jeremy’s callous neglect. Jeremy had agreed, the champagne had been flowing freely, Lister was a personable chap, and it was true that he was more than just a little bored of his wife’s company. By this point, they had been married two whole months.

In the end, he had spoken plainly, explained that he would voice no objection to Amanda’s having affairs, provided she give him first his heir and a spare. He believed he was being entirely reasonable in the matter. Her brother, Hugo, had been forced to agree. A week later, Amanda had rejoined him back in London. The subject was glossed over and when it was later confirmed that she had fallen pregnant, they had both been pleased and relieved by the outcome.

Once the pregnancy was underway, it had not taken long for relations between himself and Amanda to devolve entirely. Lister had fled London, mortified, despite Jeremy’s assurances on the matter. Despite Lister’s defection, Amanda had found no shortness in admirers. Jeremy accepted it was unlikely he would receive a legitimate spare to accompany his heir, and had instead followed his own inclinations, which had included an opera singer or two. They had lived largely separate lives whilst residing under the same London roof.

They had carried on this way until six months later when, shortly after Teddy’s birth, his father’s unexpected death meant Jeremy had succeeded to the title. He had then made it plain that he would not tolerate her bringing “London ways” to Cornwall. At Vance Park, he expected them both to present a respectable front.

Amanda had laughed at his hypocrisy. Why should they care what his Cornish neighbors and tenants thought of how they lived their lives? She would not lower herself by making such a pretense for the benefit of a bunch of yokels.

Jeremy had then assured her that in that case she was welcome to stay in London. She had been furious at the implication that she, his viscountess, was not welcome at his family seat. Things had become poisonous for a while until her desire to play mistress of Vance had finally won out and she had agreed that any house parties would not include any of her cicisbeo.

Those had been the lines upon which his first marriage had operated. Was it surprising that he had a somewhat warped view of how these things worked? He supposed, thinking back, that he and Amanda had at least been mostly honest with one another, if nothing else.

It was odd how much he yearned to bare his black soul to Ballentine. He longed to discuss their misguided past. He wanted so badly to explain why that stupid, lonely, spoiled, and neglected twenty-one-year-old had wrought such wanton havoc on her life. Then, maybe against all the odds, she could understand him, even forgive him and eventually come to like him again.

For she had liked him, once upon a time. It had not just been his money or connections or social standing. Emmeline had lit up for him when he entered a room. She had glowed when he approached her. She had eyes for no one but him when he was in her orbit, and he had bloody loved it.