Free Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway Page B

made her knees
weak. He wore unembellished black, and the austerity of his clothes emphasized
the brawny musculature beneath. Her breath quickened at the memory of that
hard, sinewy body moving against her own. His hooded eyes had flared with
passion as he pushed himself deep inside her. Trembling, she noticed that a
tuft of black hair stood out a little above his ear, the after-effects of
removing his hat no doubt. How she longed to smooth it straight, to ease the
crease between his brows with her fingers, to draw him closer ...
    Her
hands clenched against her skirts.
    Nicholas'
dark inscrutable eyes traveled slowly over her. There was no lover-like glow in
his gaze. His mouth formed a tight line. Flushing, Helena realized that she had
not yet changed her clothes since her outing with Marianne. Surely there were
dirt stains on her hem, and her hair ... her eyes widened. Good heavens, her
hair . She had not even glanced at her coiffure since removing her bonnet,
so enthralled had she been by her clever plan to seduce her husband. Now, she
could almost feel the wayward wisps frizzing about her face as Nicholas took
impassive stock of her—his frumpy wife, with the hair of a banshee.
    She retreated
a step as Nicholas descended the stairs. He stopped in front of her and bowed. Politely,
as if to a stranger. There was a stiff quality to his posture and his
expression, as if he was not pleased that she had detained him. Well, who would
want to be hindered by an unattractive shrew of a wife, Helena thought,
fighting back mortified tears. Here was her opportunity—and she was ruining
everything. Numbly, she led him into the drawing room.
    "Good
afternoon," Nicholas said. "I trust everything is well?"
    "Quite
well," Helena said.
    Except
that I feel like throwing myself down the nearest well .
    She
realized then that Nicholas was still standing because she had forgotten to sit
down. Hastily, she plopped down on the nearest chair. So much for a winsome
pose. The flush on her cheek began to burn. "H-how have you been? I have
not seen much of you these days past." The moment she said the words, she
wished she could retract them. 'Twas as if she'd lost control over her voice—she'd
not intended the words to sound accusatory.
    A
look of distaste crossed Nicholas' features as he folded his large frame into
an adjacent chair. "I have been occupied of late."
    "Of
course," she said quickly.
    If
there is not a well nearby, a ditch will do.
    "Is
there something I can assist you with?" Nicholas was studying the
fireplace, not quite meeting her eyes. Who could blame him? Her mind raced to
find an acceptable excuse for having solicited his attention.
    "Th-the
Dewitt musicale," she stammered. "It is on Saturday. I wanted to
remind you that we are promised to attend."
    Nicholas'
brows knit together. "I do not recall accepting the invitation."
    "Lady
Dewitt is my mother's cousin, if you'll recall."
    "Actually,
I do not recall," he said.
    There
was something about his tone that had her chin lifting. "She sat to the
right of my mother at our wedding breakfast. She invited us at that time to her
annual musicale, and I promised her we would both come."
    At the
time, it had seemed a trifling matter to do so. But, of course, that had been before their wedding night—and before the polite amicability that had settled over
them like a pall.
    "I
wish you had consulted me first," Nicholas said, frowning.
    Before
her lord had decided to avoid her bed and her company.
    "I
may have a prior commitment," he continued.
    Before
he had decided to bed a whore.
    A
wave of emotions crashed over Helena. Everything she had experienced in the
past two days swelled in her chest. She could hardly catch her breath, and her
limbs were shaking.
    With
... anger.
    "I
believe I reminded you of it last week," she said sharply. "Or at
least, I left a message with Crikstaff to do so since you have so often been
out."
    "You
have already remarked upon my absence." Nicholas' tone