She realized that this evening had not been an easy time for him. Charles had done a mad thing to keep secret his betrothal and then to bring his fiancée to England to spring quite unexpectedly on his family. Juana's arrival at Brampton Court would have been a trying ordeal at any time, but under the circumstances, it had been a very exhausting evening. The dowager had, predictably, swooned quite away when first presented with her future daughter-in-law. It had taken the combined efforts of Margaret, Charlotte, Betty, and Juana's duenna to restore her to her senses.
After that the evening had proceeded as well as could be expected. In fact, the dowager showed every sign of taking a liking to the very handsome Spanish girl. She even remarked that Juana was just the sort of girl Charles needed, someone to keep him on his toes, so to speak. The young lovers had had yet another quarrel during the evening when Charles-with very obvious intentions-wanted to show her the family picture gallery, and she preferred to stay and talk to his mother, with him as translator.
Richard had been very busy trying to cope with the situation. He had conversed with the second cousin and with Juana herself in the Spanish he had acquired during an assignment with the Foreign Office. Margaret realized that he had not had the leisure to make things right with her, even if he had wanted to.
She consoled herself with that thought. Perhaps he would come to her tonight and they would talk. He would say he was sorry for the harsh words he had spoken; she would tell him about the baby. Then he would come to her bed for a precious few minutes before retiring to his own room.
The connecting door to the dressing room opened after the briefest of taps and Richard stood there, still dressed in shirt and breeches. He had removed his coat and neckcloth. Margaret's eyes met his in the mirror. He had never come this soon after her retiring. He had never come to her before she was in bed. She felt a little shiver of fright. His eyes were as cold a blue as they had been that afternoon.
"You may leave, Kitty," he said, holding out his hand for the brush she was using. "I shall finish that."
Kitty looked inquiringly at her mistress.
"Yes, it is all right, Kitty," she said with practiced calm. "Good night."
"Good night, my lady," Kitty said, "my lord." She handed over the brush and bobbed a curtsy.
Brampton drew the brush through the full length of his wife's hair. Margaret sat very stiff and still, unable to understand her husband's mood.
"I always wondered what color it was," he murmured, half to himself, it seemed.
Margaret looked puzzled. "You mean, how long it was, Richard?"
He looked briefly but deeply into her eyes in the mirror.
"No, I knew that it waved to your waist," he said deliberately.
Margaret lowered her eyes. He was talking in riddles. He continued to brush her hair, gently at first, but with firmer strokes as the silence stretched. Finally she winced away from him.
"Richard, you are hurting me," she said.
"Am I?" He tossed the brush with a loud clatter onto the dressing table and pulled her to her feet with one hand on her upper arm. "Let us try this instead."
He jerked her around to face him and crushed her body hard against his with one ungentle arm while the other hand held the back of her head. His mouth came down to cover hers, open and demanding. Margaret surged against him, her arms encircling his neck. She responded eagerly until it became very clear that the embrace was meant to be punishing, insulting. His tongue played with hers until he had lured it inside his lips; then he sucked it into his mouth and bit down on it, until Margaret was pushing wildly against his chest, in a panic of pain and bewilderment.
She was sobbing in fright when he raised his head and looked down at her, a bitter smile raising one corner of his mouth. "Richard, what have I done?" she wailed. "Was it so wrong of me to go with Mr. Northcott this afternoon?"
He laughed. "You travel about London alone; why not about the countryside, angel?"
Her eyes widened in horror as she stood, still imprisoned by his hands. "Oh," she whispered, "you know!"
He laughed again into her face before flinging her from him so that she staggered against the stool. "Yes, I know," he said. "You should have burned the evidence, my dear, if the game was over. But perhaps the game was over only for me? Have you found someone else for whom to masquerade?"
"Richard, please!"
"I must admit, ma'am, it was a beautiful scheme. You could have devised a better plan for showing me how much you hate and despise me. What a fool you made of me!"
Margaret moved toward him, one trembling hand stretched out to touch his arm. He flinched away. "Richard, it was not like that," she said. "Please let me explain."
"Your behavior needs no explanation, ma'am," he said. "It is all too painfully obvious. I might as well wear a motley suit and bells! I certainly made a ludicrous picture, did I not, creeping out of the house in disguise to meet my own wife, bedding her in a friend's house, parting before dawn? You should be an actress, my dear. That final parting scene was most affecting. You made me cry, did you know that? And did you cry with laughter on the way home?"
Margaret had her face hidden behind her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. "Let me explain," she sobbed.
"I loved you, Meg," he said harshly. "I thought you were perfection. I thought myself unworthy of you."
She looked up at him with huge, tear-filled eyes.
"And all the time you were a scheming little slut," he sneered. "Was it not exciting enough to ask your husband to give you pleasure in your marriage bed? Did you have to get your thrills by pretending to have a grand and passionate affair?" His eyes narrowed. "Would you be excited if I took you now, angel, when you know that I hate and despise you as much as you did me?"
Margaret backed away from him until her back was against a wall. She had one hand pressed to her mouth to try to muffle her convulsive sobs.
He stopped a short distance away from her, the sneer still on his face. "Relax, angel," he said soothingly. "I did not come here to bed you. I came to beat you."
Margaret shook her head.
"I will not tolerate a wife whom I cannot trust," he said, his eyes narrowed again, the sneer gone.
They stood and stared at each other for timeless moments.
Margaret took her hand away from her mouth. Her face had hardened, Brampton noticed.
"If you are going to beat me, Richard," she said, her eyes on his chin, "you had better make sure that you hurt only me and not our child."
He looked searchingly at her. "You cannot bluff your way out of this, my dear."
She looked directly into his eyes, her own suddenly blazing. "You are going to beat me," she said with scorn. "What a wronged and righteous husband you are, my lord." She pushed herself away from the wall and brushed past him. In his surprise, he let her go.
"You are so indignant because I kept up a deception and met you in the way I did?" she said, turning and glaring at him. "I am a slut, my lord? Then what does that make you? At least I knew it was my own husband I was creeping away to meet. I have never been unfaithful to you, even for one moment, even in my thoughts. But you! You lied to me and stole away to meet a women you thought to be a stranger and made love to her. You were unfaithful to me, Richard. But that does not matter, does it? Men are permitted such lapses. You are a hypocrite, my lord. You live by a double standard."
"Meg," Brampton said, trying to stop this angry tirade, which he could not quite believe was coming from his wife.