Della could smell the brandy on his breath—well before midday—and the scent unnerved her.
“Mr. Chastain, good morning.” She turned a page of her book, even knowing such a blatant hint would do nothing to deter him.
He took the chair next to hers, spreading his legs and lounging back in his seat. “Lord Tavistock is doing a bunk. He’s spun a tarradiddle about an old tutor falling ill, but he’s simply dodging out on me. Can’t take a few losing hands. Typical of the Quality.”
That was petty sniping, suggesting worse was on the way. “Lord Tavistock received a letter by special courier this morning. Everybody taking breakfast at the time saw the letter put into his hands. His old tutor has fallen gravely ill.”
“Anybody can arrange for a handy epistle to show up in the right location. I can send letters to the London papers, for example, and on occasion, I have. Might have to warn the general public that his lordship is a molly boy in marquess’s clothing, for example.”
A shiver of dread passed down Della’s arms and settled in her middle. “Lord Tavistock is no such thing, and you know it. How is Mrs. Chastain?”
“A bit too haughty for her own good, but I’ll bring her around once we’re done with this fool’s errand. Tavistock’s departure leaves me in want of a tournament partner, Lady Della. I thought you might like to take his lordship’s place.”
Della said the first thing that came to mind. “My husband would not allow me to partner you.”
Chastain smiled, and the unease in Della’s belly became outright nausea.
“The professional gambler forbids his wife to participate in a few friendly hands, and like the biddable little twit that you are, you humbly obey him. Where is he, by the way? A proper gentleman escorts his lady to services and joins her at meals.”
Della closed her book while she still had control over her extremities. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return this volume to the library.”
Chastain clamped a hand around her wrist, and Della’s vision dimmed. She shrank back into her chair and tried to focus on simply breathing. Dread rose up inside her like an incoming tide, though she knew that reaction was out of all proportion to the situation.
She was in public, and Chastain could not carry her off before an entire house party. Then too, Ash might be watching from his aerie, and Chastain would not risk Ash Dorning’s ire.
“You must not abandon me, my lady,” Chastain said, his grip becoming painful. “I am a reasonable man and newly wed myself. If you don’t want to partner me at cards, then partner me in the gazebo. The cushions are wonderfully soft, and I love going about my pleasure while other guests stroll mere yards away. The risk that my lover might cry out in pleasure adds to the fun, don’t you think?”
“Let go of me.”
“What’s it to be?” Chastain asked, rubbing his thumb over Della’s wrist. “A few days of letting me bankrupt the new Mrs. Ash Dorning, or a few turns on the pillows in the gazebo? Perhaps you’d like to oblige me with both? I’m quite skilled between the sheets, my lady, though I can get a bit enthusiastic. Dresses get torn, coiffures are disarranged. That sort of thing.”
“Unhand me.”
He tugged on her wrist so she had no choice but to lean closer to him.
“I can offer you a third choice,” Chastain went on, his tone thoughtful. “The best option, in my opinion. Leave Ash Dorning. He only married you to stop the gossip, and he’s not much of a bargain, if the talk is to be believed. He’s mentally unstable, and the last thing you want, my lady, is to risk visiting upon a child the weaknesses in both the sire and dam lines. The poor thing would likely be born an idiot. Just pack your things and leave. Dorning will figure out the rest and probably thank you for it.”
For an instant, Della was tempted to consent to that plan. The difference between separate bedrooms and separate lives was one of degree.
But that was not a decision for William Chastain to make on her behalf, and that Chastain would vilify Ash so casually added a current of ire to Della’s panic.
She opened her mouth to berate Chastain, but all that came out was a harsh little wheeze. The sound of her constricted breathing added to her anger and her determination. Chastain had come upon her once before