Free Lord Ruin by Carolyn Jewel Page A

back at the same time he wondered if he would survive it if he felt it again. When he could stand no more of the silence or his inability to gather logical thought, he gave his attention to his clothes.
    She tried to repair the damage to her hair, but he’d made a such mess of her braid she had to start over. With deft fingers she twined her hair into another braid. This was not at all what he had intended. She’d had little satisfaction from him. No release at all. At the very moment she ought to be wrapped around him in the aftermath of mutual enjoyment they were a thousand miles apart. Her face once again settled into mute amiability.
    Appalled by the magnitude of his failure with her— Did he not pride himself on finesse?—he said, “Forgive me. I am not usually a clumsy or selfish lover.” Lord almighty, he had taken her up against a wall like she was some practiced courtesan. “Next time, I assure you, I will see to your thorough satisfaction.” He walked to her, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, deciding that a change of subject might help relieve the tension. “I’ll place the notices when I arrive in town. Shall I send you copies?”
    “I should like that.”
    “Devon is right. It’s better that you stay at Satterfield. Let Mama and your family combat the gossips until I send for you.”
    “I don’t want to go to London.” She faced him, clutching the curtain in a fist. Pleading as much as he suspected she was capable of doing. It wasn’t much. “Can I not stay there?”
    “I’m not about to travel all the way to Satterfield whenever I want to make love to my wife.” Which he now began to think might be often. “Besides, when the time comes, my duchess will be expected to entertain, so you must.”
    “I don’t care for parties.”
    “There’s no help for that.”
    “Than I shall.” She shrugged. “I shall.”
    “I’m sorry,” he lied.
    “As am I.” He wondered if she knew they weren’t talking about the same thing at all.
    Affairs in London kept him frantically busy, so he didn’t get to Satterfield even once in the next three weeks. Even after settling matters with the Council and saving Buckley’s fat neck—the man had been in Germany during three of the assaults of which he’d been accused, and dead drunk at Boodles during another, and further, he had in his possession uncollected vouchers from half of London and so no motive for ransom—there arose crisis after crisis that demanded his attention.
    Urgent appeals required his presence at the Justice Courts, and since he was in town, he attended the sessions, which proved just as well because had he not, the pensions bill would surely have been killed. As it was he managed nothing better than to delay the vote.
    In deference to his marriage, he accepted no invitations, made no calls and was, in general, unavailable and not at home. His butler, Merchant, was under strict orders to leave the knocker off the front door to keep up the appearance that he was staying at Satterfield with his bride. At Whitehall, he kept Hickenson on guard at his office door. He stayed away from his clubs, except for Brooks, because most political compromise took place at Brooks. When he rode in Hyde Park, he did it at an ungodly hour of the morning. Several times he thought about calling on his mistress, Katie, but never did.
    Four weeks into life as a married man, Ruan decided it was time to call Anne to London. Having her in London seemed far more practical than enduring the bother of a journey to Satterfield. Besides, more than once he found himself thwarted by the distance when he discovered himself in a mood for her intimate company.
    This particular evening the parliamentary sessions had extended to nearly three in the morning but as soon as he came home, he told Merchant to have Anne brought to London tomorrow. Quite satisfied with his decision, he went to his room. Dobkin glided from his dressing room, a fresh jacket in