The Devil You Know by LIZ CARLYLE

Author:LIZ CARLYLE
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pocket Star Books
Published: 2003-11-25T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

In which Our Hero is caught Playing parlor games.

At Chalcote, the next fortnight passed in something of a haze for Frederica. May came to the Cotswolds in an explosion of greenery and birdsong. Bentley’s family continued to be kind and to ask few questions. At church, she met their cousin Joan, who was married to the rector, Mr. Rhoades. Afterward, as the congregation flooded from the church, Frederica remarked upon the crowd. Helene just laughed and said the village had turned out to glimpse the woman who’d brought Bentley to heel. But Frederica was not at all sure she’d done any such thing. He was little changed on the surface, behaving as cheerfully and carefree as ever.

To Frederica’s relief, there was no recurrence of the strange incident in the empty bedchamber. And yet something between them did not feel precisely as it ought. Despite their moments of intimacy, it was as if a level of closeness which she had expected in marriage simply did not exist in theirs. Perhaps she was expecting too much of a union made under such hasty and unfortunate circumstances.

But Bentley was quite obviously attracted to her, and in that regard, Frederica suffered no disappointment at all. Not a night went by without their making love at least once. Moreover, he was not above catching her alone in the middle of the day. Then, he would simply lock the bedroom door, throw up her skirts, and pleasure her fast and furiously. It was desperate, passionate, and wonderful. And yet, when it was over, Bentley would sometimes apologize, as if he feared he’d taken liberties he ought not enjoy. That made no sense at all, when she herself had so obviously enjoyed it.

There were other things, too, which reinforced her notion that Bentley was keeping something from her. Most nights, after making love, Bentley would simply leave the bed as soon as he thought her asleep. Sometimes, she would wake to find him standing at the windows in his dressing gown, a snifter of brandy in one hand, the other pressed to the panes of glass, as if he felt himself imprisoned. Once, she went in search of him, only to find him alone in the yellow parlor, with the marquetry game table laid open. Backgammon pieces lay strewn across the baize surface, and at least three long-dead cheroots had been stubbed out in an empty glass. Bentley sat with his boots propped high on the table edge, but he had nodded off.

Some nights, he simply vanished. The next day, he might mention having gone to the Rose and Crown for a pint, but for the most part, he said nothing. Of course, he always returned to their bed in the wee hours of morning. They would make love again, then drowse in one another’s arms. But eventually, Frederica would be forced to get up and dart into the bathing closet to wrestle with her morning sickness. Bentley was always greatly alarmed. She was, he still insisted, far too thin and eating far too little.

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