“What about me, Rohan? I just got a letter from Mr. Byam yesterday. He says I need to resume my instruction as well if I’m to go to Eton soon.”
“I believe the decision is made. We will leave on Friday.”
The future champion of racing-cat history meowed loudly and dug his claws into Rohan’s britched leg.
The baron had finally left without his wife. Pulver was relieved that things were returning to normal, yet at the same time, he was disappointed. Very disappointed.
The baron was a married man. He had a child. He had a brother-in-law who was a brilliant little chap. The baron shouldn’t be visiting one of his many women. But he was gone, just after dining with the baroness and his brother-in-law, playing for half an hour with his daughter.
Pulver went to the baron’s study and pulled out some accounts, but his study of the figures was cursory. He was distracted. He wondered what the poor baroness was doing, what she was thinking. Finally, he couldn’t bear it.
He walked out of the estate room, bound for the drawing room to console the poor wife, when he heard a sweet laugh. He turned to see the baroness skipping down the stairs, wearing a cloak, obviously preparing to leave herself.
Had his lordship indeed married himself to a lady like his own dear mother? Could she be leaving to meet a lover? He felt himself swell with pride. No, not yet. She had not yet borne The Heir. Surely she knew that.
“Ah, Pulver. Marianne is sound asleep. Toby is reading. I am going out, as you can see. But I will return, as I’m sure the baron will as well.”
With those few words, she was gone.
The coachman pulled up in front of the charming Georgian house on Grace Street, not more than four streets from Cavendish Square. Susannah’s eyes glittered. She looked down at the slip of foolscap in her hand. The coachman obviously knew this house.
She had no idea what she would find. Her husband had left the note for her on her dressing table, telling her to come to this address. Surely he wouldn’t have a mistress here, would he? Yet it was a charming house—a second house—and what man needed another house unless it was to keep a mistress in? Still, she was smiling when she lightly tapped on the brass knocker on the front door.
He himself opened the door. “Good evening, my dear. I’m delighted you found my note and hied yourself here.”
“Hello, my lord. Is there a naked woman in the bedchamber? Or is she in the drawing room, posed seductively on a settee? Or perhaps in the kitchen sprawled out on a table?”
He struck a pose, looking very disappointed. “There wasn’t even a single woman anywhere the last time I looked.” He kissed her lightly, then removed her cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair in the small entrance hall.
“Come, Susannah.”
He held her hand, drawing her into the cozy drawing room that was lit by myriad branches of candles. The room was dominated by a large desk that was piled with papers. There were also papers on the floor all around the desk.
There was no naked mistress displayed on the settee.
There wasn’t even a portrait of a naked woman over the Italian marble fireplace. The wallpaper was a pale blue, not a vulgar scarlet.
“I decided to show you rather than tell you.”
“Show me what? Tell me what?”
Rohan looked strangely embarrassed. “Actually,” he said slowly, “it’s time I told you the truth. Phillip was berating me, told me it was time, but I wanted to wait until the moment was right.”
What was going on here with her utterly perfect husband? “Well, you know, I have found that the truth is usually exactly the right thing, at least most of the time.”
He drew a deep breath. He was having difficulty continuing.
She said nothing, merely smiled up at him, waiting. Finally, she said, “Do you know that you are more handsome right this moment than you were just two hours ago at dinner?”
“You won’t make this easy, will you, Susannah?”
“Certainly. I wouldn’t want you to think me a difficult, uncooperative wife. Now, husband, why the devil do you have this charming little house? You have no need of a second house only four blocks from your town house. Why do you have that big desk in the drawing room? What are all those papers?”
He drew that deep breath again. “I hope you will not be disappointed, Susannah, but the truth of it is that I’m not a womanizer. I’m not a philanderer. I haven’t a single rake’s bone in my body. I haven’t bedded every lady in London. My wild oats could fit into my coffee cup.”
Now this was a kicker. She just stared up at him. “But a man of your reputation—”
“Exactly,” Rohan said. “It’s my reputation, not me.”