Unforgivable(60)

Even on their wedding day all those years ago, he hadn’t been quite so morose as he was now. He’d been remote and cold then, but this atmospheric sullenness was worse, a state of being he’d perfected over the last few weeks.

At first she’d felt chastened by his obvious displeasure—she had brought this situation about, after all, with her stupid lie—but as the days went by, she found herself growing weary of his relentlessly unforgiving mien. Since they’d arrived in London, she’d tried to do everything he wanted of her, and nothing seemed to please him. And when they were alone, like this, he just lapsed into a tense silence that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

She wished they hadn’t had that lovely dance now. It was cruel to let her think things were getting better, only to have to go back to this. Like pushing a boulder up a hill and watching it roll back down again.

She rested her head against the carriage window. To err is human, to forgive divine. She should tell Gil that. Give him something to chew on. Was that Shakespeare? Or Bacon? Or Pope? The trouble with detesting poetry was that one could never ascribe quotations properly. And in any event, she didn’t think Gil would be impressed by the sentiment. So she left the words unsaid and instead watched a raindrop meander down the carriage window, tracking its halting descent with bored fascination, ignoring the black, velvety night beyond the glass.

It was annoying, she reflected, how even when she was staring at her raindrop with rapt attention, she was still fully aware of the shape and presence of Gil occupying the opposite seat of the carriage; still aware of every tiny movement of his big body. She watched her small, innocent raindrop and wondered whether he intended to come to her bedchamber tonight. Part of her wanted him to. At night, it was almost possible to pretend everything was all right. Almost. But tonight, the other part of her resented the thought of him following her to her room; resented that he would sit here now, practically vibrating with tension, then calmly appear in her bedchamber later to take his pleasure of her body. She swallowed hard.

She was beginning to realise she couldn’t just live for the nights, as good as they were. She’d planned to stay quiet and patient for as long as it took for him to get over her betrayal—forever if necessary, she’d naïvely thought. Now she realised it wasn’t in her to do it. Here she was after just three weeks, and already she felt rebellious and angry with him. Already it was an effort to bite back the sarcastic comments her tongue longed to utter.

“Are you aware of Grayson’s reputation?”

She was so deeply sunk in her own thoughts that she jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand going to her throat. She turned to face him and made herself smile politely, refusing to acknowledge his belligerent tone.

“I believe he’s accounted something of a rogue,” she replied lightly.

“You underestimate him,” Gil said flatly. “He is a scoundrel. I don’t want you associating with him.”

She stared at him for a moment before she spoke. “Sir Neville is a friend of my family. I’ve known him since I was a child. Good Lord, I only stopped calling him Uncle Nev a few years ago! I am not going to refuse to see him!”

“He’s been embroiled in numerous scandals. Duels, even. It is rumored that he killed a man in France.”

Rose shrugged. “And that is all it is. Rumour. He is accepted by polite society.”

“He’s a roué. A despoiler of women and a—a libertine.”

She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so angry. Coming from Gil, this was rich!

“Well,” she said tightly, “it takes one to know one.”

Gil glared at her. “I am not like him, Rose.”

She stared at him in sheer disbelief. She couldn’t believe his gall. How many women had he had?

He looked annoyed as he waited for her response. Annoyed and puzzled. As though she were speaking nonsense.

“You,” she said, very precisely, “are a philandering, faithless, despicable Lothario.” All of a sudden, she was full of trembling rage. “Since I arrived in London a fortnight ago, I’ve met no less than three of your former paramours. One of them even had the gall to come calling on me! The streets are littered with your cast-offs!”

Even in the dimness of the carriage, she saw his eyes glitter. “Do not be ridiculous,” he bit out. “That’s all in the past now.”

Ironically, she hadn’t even considered he might betray her again with another woman until she heard this abrupt denial. Now uncertainty bloomed in her gut. Impatiently, she shook her head as though to dislodge this new, unwelcome thought. “And so what if it is in the past? That doesn’t change how people look at me. The day Lady Cairn called, I had at least half a dozen other callers, and they were all watching like hawks to see how I reacted to her. They were delighted to witness my humiliation.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Not that you care. You disappear after breakfast. This is the first evening I’ve seen you in a week!” She wished immediately she could unsay those last few words, cringing at the whine in her voice. Lord, it wasn’t as if she even wanted to see him.