The Thief and the Rogue by Donnelly Rachel

Author:Donnelly, Rachel [Donnelly, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
Published: 2012-02-17T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

A gentle breeze stirred the curtains. The bedside clock ticked like a steady drip. Though her eyes remained closed, Kay could not sleep. One short week in London and she was bored stiff and restless for home.

It wasn’t so much her surroundings. The house in Berkley Square was lovely, the recent handy work of Mr. Nash, who’d certainly outdone himself. The entire house had been refurbished under his guidance. It wasn’t the house, but the lie inside the house that caused Kay torment.

The day after their arrival she’d been forced to relate a gushing, purely concocted tale to her Uncle Fergus concerning their hasty courtship. He was clearly pleased with the match and puffed with pride when she gave him a tour of the house.

In the drawing room, he ran his hands over the Chinese furnishings, staring in awe at the crimson silk drapes and sumptuous pale blue carpet. Upon viewing the dining room with its rosewood furniture and silver and blue accents, he declared it spectacular! When he learned Mr. Nash was to blame, he swore to engage his services immediately.

More painful still, the next day she was obliged to repeat the performance for Lady Carlisle, who’d called round to extend her best wishes. Kay had dreaded the awkward moment she must face her old friend. It seemed a terrible betrayal to marry the man Lady Carlisle had set her cap on, but she appeared unconcerned. She immediately insisted on throwing a ball to honor their nuptials and then hastened home to begin making plans. Her gracious acceptance of the situation and kind generosity only served to compound Kay’s guilt.

Or was it sadness?

She could not tell.

But by all accounts, her marriage was a sham.

When Hunter requested she accompany him to a dinner party tonight, she’d pled ill and closeted herself in her room. She was tired of pretending. She couldn’t face another barrage of congratulations, or more simmering looks from disappointed females like she’d suffered at the dressmakers that morning.

She felt ill every time she came down the stairs to see another pile of cards or another extravagant gift. The Duke was an important man. All of society wanted to extent their happy wishes. She just didn’t want to look at it. So, she bid Thornhill pile everything in the Duke’s study. She didn’t care if the servants found it curious that she’d opened none of the parcels.

In the country, she could escape to Butterfield Hall and pretend nothing had changed, but here, things were different. Society must be faced. It was as inevitable as the stench off the Thames on a blistering day. Fall was approaching, and with the opening of parliament the ton would be returning from their summer retreats to fill the assembly houses again. She could only pray their stay in London wouldn’t last that long.

The only blessing was her husband’s conspicuous absence. At night, she’d sometimes hear him coming in late. She’d lie in bed listening to the sounds coming from the adjoining room.

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