speaking, a woman’s pleasure is of little value. Occasionally a really good lover can make it last for his partner, but I gather either such men are very rare or, once discovered by wife or partner, they’re never given the chance to stray. So Lord Rohan estimates that his usual lovemaking takes an hour?”
“Including the removal of all clothing.”
A slow smile curved Emma’s gorgeous mouth. “No wonder the whores fought over him. If I’d known I would have investigated myself, just to see if it were true.”
Melisande frowned. “You didn’t, did you?”
“Sleep with Lord Rohan? No, I did not. Does it matter?”
“Why should it matter?” Melisande said, picking up her newspaper and then setting it down again, distracted. “Besides, I already knew that Violet and others had…er…serviced him on a number of occasions.”
Emma’s expression was far too calculating, if only in the nicest way. “If I were you I wouldn’t think about who had taken care of Viscount Rohan and concentrate more on the man himself.”
“Why?”
There was a small, secret smile around Emma’s mouth. “Why don’t we wait and see what happens?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. You know how fractious and unpleasant I can be if I don’t have enough sleep, and I barely managed an hour last night. After a few hours in my company he won’t want to be anywhere near me.”
Before Emma could reply young Betsey barreled into the room. “There’s a cove what’s outside, waiting for you. Sez to hurry up or he’ll leave without you. Right pretty, he is,” she added judiciously. “I’d hurry if I were you.”
It took all of Melisande’s strength of character not to jump to her feet. She rose slowly, glancing at Emma. “I’ll leave Betsey up to you,” she said. “Apparently my presence is demanded.”
She heard Emma’s words trail after her. “Give him hell, Melisande.” And Melisande grinned sourly.
She intended to do just that.
14
It was a ride of close to two hours from the Dovecote on King Street to the ruins of Kersley Hall in Kent, and it was a ride conducted in silence. He waited, just waited, for her to come up with something inflammatory to set his barely banked temper into a roaring blaze, but she barely said a word, damn her.
And he couldn’t summon the energy to engage her. After the first few minutes he settled back into an exhausted semistupor. He should have cried off, but one didn’t stand up a lady, even as big a hoyden as Charity Carstairs, and besides, he despised giving in to weakness. He should have been able to sleep, at least until Brandon had come home, and instead he’d lain awake reliving those disturbing moments in the Elsmeres’ closet.
He was still uncomfortable thinking about it, physically so, and he shifted in the saddle, glancing at his companion. Her eyes were shuttered, her face expressionless, so he let his gaze roam down the rest of her. The habit was deplorably out-of-date, but it fit her better than most of her clothes, with the exception of that wicked gown of hers last night, and the color made her skin luminous. She rode well, which surprised him, and her mare was a beautiful piece of horseflesh, well trained and responding to her slightest gesture.
“Where did you learn to ride?” he asked abruptly, making it sound more like a demand than polite conversation.
“Why? Do you think I lack skill?” she said in a voice bordering on annoyed.
That was what he was looking for, he thought. A fight, to keep him awake, and to remind him of how totally inappropriate she was on every level. “You’re adequate,” he drawled, giving her an insolent look. “I’m afraid I remember very little of your past, apart from your marriage to Sir Thomas Carstairs. You come from an old Lincolnshire family, do you not?”
“If you’re asking me if my parents were wealthy enough to provide a horse for their only child then the answer is no. My father was a baronet addicted to gaming, my mother was devoted to her ill health, and they had neither the inclination nor the money to spend on their ill-favored daughter. I didn’t learn to ride until after I was married.”
He didn’t respond to her “ill-favored” remark—it was simply fishing for compliments and he wasn’t about to react. “If they were so poor and uncaring how did they manage to provide you with a season in London? Or were they that desperate to get rid of you?”