Free Lady Anne's Deception (The Changing Fortunes Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Page A

country place to look over things for the last month at least.”
    “You’ve been… and you never thought to write or… But you
couldn’t
have been there. Marigold sent me a French newspaper cutting with a photograph of you and a Miss S.”
    “She’s late with the news, isn’t she?” said the marquess amiably. “That photograph was taken at least a month ago—in fact, it must have been six or seven weeks ago.”
    Annie put down her coffee cup and placed her hands on the table. “And
who
is Miss S.?” she demanded in a harsh voice.
    “Friend of mine,” remarked her husband. “And, talking about friends, I hear you’ve been moving in political circles. Or rather Mr. Shaw-Bufford’s circles. Where on earth did you meet him? I can’t see my parents giving him house room.”
    “I met him at Britlingsea.”
    “Britlingsea! Good Heavens! What were you doing in a dead-alive dump like that?”
    “Perkins recommended it.” Perkins was the butler.
    “Oh,
that
explains it. You shouldn’t listen to Perkins. He’s a terrible snob. You must have been bored to death. Anyway, did a confirmed bachelor like Shaw-Bufford simply walk up to you and introduce himself?”
    “No, I went to his house.”
    “Curiouser and curiouser. Who introduced you?”
    “A Miss Mary Hammond.”
    “Never heard of her,” pursued the marquess, his irritating good humor unimpaired. “What does she do?”
    Anyone the marquess had not heard of must “do” something since anyone he had not heard of could not possibly just “be” someone.
    Annie flushed, remembering her man-hating madness.
    “She’s got something or other to do with Votes for Women,” she said awkwardly.
    “Indeed? Well, be very careful. I don’t want to have to bail you out if you’re going to take up smashing shop windows and sniping at trains.”
    “I should have known you would sneer,” said Annie hotly.
    “I’m not sneering, my love. I am simply disapproving of some of the militant methods that have been used. For my part, I think women should get the vote. But to return to the question of Mr. Shaw-Bufford, what does he want from you?”
    “My company,” said Annie coldly.
    “He is a most ambitious man and I would have said he did not like women at all, particularly young and pretty ones. Has he asked you for any money?”
    “No. How dare you… how could…?”
    “He will,” said the marquess equably, picking up his newspaper.
    Now Annie had meant to ask her husband why he had married her in a reasonable, grown-up, woman-of-the-world manner. But his careless good nature, his lack of contrition for having abandoned her for so long, made her control snap completely and she fairly screamed at him, “Why did you marry me? Why? Was it solely to humiliate me?
Or was it for my money?
”
    He lowered his paper again. For one split second, his eyes looked as cold as ice, but in the next he was his old amiable self again.
    “I thought I knew,” he said. “But I have not such clear-cut motives as you yourself.”
    “I? I have not said anything on the subject.”
    “If my memory serves me right, you told me that you married me simply to get revenge on your sister.”
    He studied her thoughtfully as her eyelashes fell to veil her expressive eyes.
    “I must have been drunk,” she whispered.
    “Oh, you were,” he said sweetly. “You were, indeed. But your voice had the ring of truth. So I decided that, having given you what you wanted, I would make myself scarce.”
    Annie writhed in misery. Then her anger came back. “You should have
told
me,” she snapped. “You should have
said
something. Not simply gone away.”
    “Did you miss me?” he asked curiously.
    Annie lowered her eyes again. “I was too furious to know what I felt.”
    He gave a cavernous yawn and then picked up the paper. “I do love these marital discussions,” he murmured. “They do clear the air. Are we going to the ballet tonight? I seem to recollect that I have tickets