Louise Allen - Regency Surrender - Passion And Rebellion

He rubbed his hand round the back of his neck, wondering just what had got into him lately. He’d never been one of those fellows who was led by the urgings of his cock. But ever since marrying Mary, he couldn’t stop wanting her. Couldn’t keep his hands off her.

True, she’d submitted to every demand he made on her and derived pleasure from every encounter, but didn’t he owe her more respect?

He’d been a thoroughly selfish sort of husband, so far. He’d promised her she would always have a room of her own, wherever they lived, that nobody else could enter except with her permission. It was pretty much all she’d asked of him. But had he ever honoured that promise? Had he ever knocked on her bedroom door and asked if he could join her? No.

Well, he could rectify that situation tonight. From now on, he’d be the model of decorum.

He still hadn’t provided her with the means to purchase her trousseau, either. Nor had she had the time, she’d been so busy putting Mayfield to rights.

Not that she’d complained. Not once. Not about anything. Most women would have nagged him half to death by now, but she just smiled sweetly and made the most of what little she did have.

‘You know, it’s past time you saw a dressmaker about getting some new clothes,’ he said, guilt making his voice a little gruff. ‘I know you’ve been busy, getting the place ready for Julia’s arrival, but surely now you can spare the time to spruce yourself up?’

* * *

Spruce herself up? Spruce herself up! Mary took a deep breath and bit back the indignant response she would have given had Julia not been there.

But then that was just it, wasn’t it? This was the second time he’d humiliated her by rebuking her in front of someone else. If he had complaints, couldn’t he at least show her the courtesy of waiting to make them until they were alone?

It was bad enough feeling that she half deserved it. She’d known from the look on Lady Peverell’s face that the way she dressed was letting him down. But did he really have to chide her like this, as though she was a...a...well, someone who wasn’t his equal? When she hadn’t complained about any of the things he’d done wrong. Not once.

To add insult to injury, neither he, nor his sister, noticed that she was sitting there, quietly simmering with resentment. They were chattering away happily about people she didn’t know and places she’d never been.

* * *

After what felt like an hour of being comprehensively ignored, Mary’d had enough.

‘I am going to bed,’ she said, getting to her feet. And then, because she didn’t want to be rude, added, ‘Goodnight, Julia,’ with a forced smile.

‘I’m not tired,’ Julia declared with a toss of her head.

‘It has been a long day,’ said Lord Havelock, getting to his feet, as well. ‘We’ll all go up.’

The three of them mounted the stairs in various states of dudgeon. Julia was pouting at being sent to bed before she was ready to go. Mary was still smarting from her husband’s cavalier attitude towards her tonight and tallying up all the other things he’d done to annoy her.

And Lord Havelock looked distinctly uncomfortable at being flanked by two women who were in the sulks.

‘What do you think of the room Mary chose for you?’ he asked with determined cheerfulness as they mounted the stairs.

Julia shrugged.

‘You can always move to another if it’s not to your liking. What about this one?’ He flung open the door to a room they’d slept in only once. Mary hadn’t liked it much. The wall hangings were of a cold greyish-blue, liberally spattered with muddy-hued hunting prints.

‘I’m in here, for the moment,’ said Lord Havelock, to Mary’s surprise, ‘but I can soon shift if you prefer it.’

Julia peeped inside, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. ‘I like the red room better,’ she said.

Heavens, Mary reflected sourly. She’d actually got something right today.

‘Good. Mary is in here,’ he said, striding to the door of the bedroom she had assumed they would be sharing.

‘It’s rather poky,’ said Julia, taking a quick glance round the room that Mary found so cosy that it had become her favourite. It was easy to keep warm, the chimney didn’t smoke and the walls were decorated in a very restful shade of green, with sunny little details in gold here and there.

And then, as one, the siblings bid her goodnight and turned away, arm in arm.

She stared at the door they’d shut behind them on their way out.

What was going on?

And then various snippets of conversations she’d had began to trickle into her mind. The one she’d had with Mrs Brownlow, only the day before, about how lords and ladies always had their own bedrooms, dressing rooms and sitting rooms. About how her husband would have the ones that had been his father’s, while she would have the other, prettier set. How she’d sadly accepted that one day, when the rooms were ready, he would move into his and she into hers.

She’d assumed, until that day, things would carry on as they were. But no. He’d stated, quite firmly, that he would be sleeping in that horrid blue room, while she was to sleep alone in here.

The worst of it was she’d look a complete idiot if she voiced a protest. Because she’d said, before they got married, that she wanted her own room. That she valued her privacy.

But privacy, she now realised, was the last thing she wanted. She’d got used to sharing her room with her husband. To sharing her life with him.

No—it was more than that.

Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?

She uttered a strained little laugh. Over the years, watching her father’s brutality towards her mother, she’d feared the power a husband had over his wife. She’d feared the deliberate oppression of a man bent on ruling his household with a rod of iron. And when she’d discovered her own husband wasn’t the kind of man to treat anyone with cruelty, she’d let down her guard completely.

And fallen headlong in love with him.

Which meant he now had the power to hurt her without even noticing. The way he’d done today. Showering his sister with all the affection and attention he would never, ever, give her.

‘Stupid, stupid,’ she muttered to herself as tears welled and seeped down her cheeks.

Why hadn’t she guarded herself against falling in love?

Because she hadn’t expected to do anything so stupid, that’s why. She didn’t even like men, as a rule. But Lord Havelock had entered her life like a whirlwind, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. Totally overwhelming her with his generous, open nature. His spontaneity. His beautiful face and muscular body. His incredible lovemaking.

But now, like the whirlwind of a man he was, he was sweeping right on past her. His focus was all on his sister now. And she was left standing here alone, pining for a man who’d been completely honest about what he wanted from her from the start. And that didn’t include affection, let alone love.

She’d excused him for not chasing her all over the house now that it was teeming with servants. Had told herself she was imagining he was being a bit more restrained when he came to bed.

But he wasn’t the type of man to exercise restraint. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

He was bored with her, that’s what it was. Why else would he have moved into a room of his own?

Unless it was because, from his point of view, the honeymoon was over.

Hadn’t he warned her that his ardour wouldn’t last very long? Oh, he’d couched it in terms of them going off each other, but that was what it boiled down to.

She was, after all, only a mouse.

She sucked in a great, shuddering sigh, swiping angrily at the tears she’d been weak enough to shed.