There was a flaw in this perfect plan, however. The idea of spending another night away from her bed was making him irritable and even more bad-tempered than usual. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, imagining his wife’s warm, soft body curled in that large bed all alone. He consoled himself with the idea that she was likely longing for him to come to her, too. Somehow, it didn’t help. Yet when he considered the idea of going to her, of losing himself all over again in that lush embrace, a kind of terror swept over him. It would be only too easy to take that kind of pleasure for granted, to allow her to insinuate herself into his life, into his heart, and what then?
His mind couldn’t move past the why of it, only that it was too terrifying to contemplate. He wouldn’t allow anyone that kind of intimacy. If everyone was held at a distance, he felt he could control, to some extent, the overwhelming surges of emotion that would sweep over him and knock him from his feet. If he didn’t keep that control, those emotions would overpower him, to the extent that he’d need to run and hide in a muddy hole in the ground, shaking and crying like a child.
Somehow, he had managed a way to cope with this strange and clumsy version of himself, and he wouldn’t let anyone, least of all his wife, take that control away from him. He would not be reduced to a gibbering heap, like some of the poor devils he’d seen shivering in the wreckage of Waterloo, with their vacant eyes and their minds all to pieces. No. He’d lost enough, sunk down deep enough in the mud and the dark, as it was. No further.
So, he had congratulated himself on having found a way forward. Belle would have control of the house and garden, more money than she could possibly spend in a lifetime, and just enough attention from her husband that she would not feel the need to take a lover. He admitted to a slight tremor of anxiety over that last point. His wife had exhibited herself to be a woman of strong and passionate desires, so that was an issue he may have to revisit if he didn’t want to find himself a cuckold.
The idea made him surprisingly angry.
But nonetheless, she would be growing aware by now that he was not to be at her beck and call, and that was all to the good. But his skin still felt like it was crawling off his back with the desire to take her to bed. Well, they were newlyweds, after all. It was only to be expected that he should want her so badly in these early weeks. That would dissipate, though, and as long as he didn’t give in too often, his plan was sound.
Tonight ... tonight, however, he’d make an exception.
So, it was with a remarkably placid and tolerant frame of mind that Edward went to bestow his generous presence on his wife. He had dressed accordingly this evening, with a silk banyan thrown over his shirt and his boots already removed, and was quite nonplussed when he entered his wife’s room to find it dark and cold, and very empty.
For just a moment he felt a chill of foreboding.
Had she left him already?
“Charlie!”
Edward slammed the door shut and stalked back to his room
“Charlie!”
Throwing open his own bedroom door, he stormed into the room in a towering rage to find Charlie placidly straightening the items on his dressing table.
“Yes, my lord?” he asked, with an enquiring lift on one eyebrow.
“Where is she?”
Charlie affected a puzzled expression that was so obviously fake that Edward had to struggle not to throttle him. “Where is who, my lord?”
“My wife, dammit!” he raged, wondering how the man could be so damned good at cards when his acting skills were appalling. He was quite obviously well aware of his wife’s location. “You knew!” he flung at the man, who paled a little and took a hasty step backwards. “You knew this whole time she wasn’t there, and you didn’t say a damned word!”
“With respect, my lord,” Charlie said, retreating behind the formality of his position, as if Edward was less likely to thump his valet than his bat man. “The last time I mentioned ye wife’s whereabouts, ye tol’ me to shut me bleedin’ mouth, as you weren’t the slightest bit interested in the information.” His voice had risen a little by the end of this sentence, as Edward was stalking the man across his bedroom with fury in his eyes.
Edward had to admit that was a fair point, but Charlie had been quite obvious in his attempt to throw Edward into Belle’s company, and Edward wasn’t taking his none-too-subtle hints.
He took a breath, his fists clenched as he reined in the desire to break the man’s nose if he didn’t answer him immediately. Most pressing was the need to know that she hadn’t actually left him. Had she?
“Where. Is. My. Wife?” The words were menacing enough that Charlie swallowed and capitulated.
“She’s gone to Bath,” he said, putting up his chin and trying hard to look dignified, which was hard, as the fellow was sweating through his shirt. “And if you actually spared the time to look around you for a moment, you might have noticed that Miss Lucretia, your sister, her husband, Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair all went with her two days ago!”
Edward blinked as this information sank in. He’d been skulking around the place trying to avoid everyone, and the whole time, he’d been alone anyway.
He glared at Charlie and walked away to sit on his bed, unsure of how he felt.
“When did she leave?”
“First thing in the morning after you ...” Charlie ground to a halt and ... was the man actually blushing? Good God.
Edward processed that information. The morning after he’d made love to her, she’d gone off to Bath, taking Violette and everyone with her. He wondered if she would confide in his sister about what a wretched brute he’d been, and squirmed inwardly. She’d surely not talk to Lucretia, unmarried as she was, but Violette was married and they were of an age. It would surely lead to confidences being exchanged.
He felt hot and sick and wrong footed and ... dammit! Why had she gone?
“When will she be back?” he demanded, scowling at Charlie, daring him to tell him anything but the truth.
“I don’t know. Honest!” Charlie said, his tone a little more sympathetic now, which was even more infuriating. The last thing Edward wanted was pity. “I was given to understand from ‘er abigail, Mary, that it was ‘er intention to replenish hers and Miss Lucretia’s wardrobes. I also ‘eard that Violette wanted to take ‘em to the assembly rooms and the theatre and such like.”
Edward’s scowl deepened. There was something about the idea of his wife gallivanting around Bath without him that disturbed him. Though God knew he had no desire to be there himself. Yet he had liked the idea of knowing she was just down the hall, or even that their paths might cross during the day, and all this time, she’d not been there at all. He felt foolish and rather angry and ... disappointed.
***
Four days in Bath was certainly enough. Belle leaned her head back against the squabs with a sigh. She was looking forward to going home, she realised.
Home.
How strange to think Longwold was home. It was such a long time since she had known what it was to feel at home.