Cora (Virtue & Vice #4)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

CORA

C ora seethed as she plucked pins from her mane of thick hair. Dark strands uncoiled down her back, still carrying the imprints of the curls that had been imposed upon them. Miss Marnie assisted her with the buttons on her gown—not the extravagant wedding gown that now hung in a cloth bag inside her expansive wardrobe, but a rather dull one from her personal collection—and selected a silk nightdress that was decidedly not one she recognized.

The creamy fabric glided over her body like a second skin. It felt glorious.

Gideon had only mentioned that he was supplying her with new clothing more suitable to a prominent banker’s wife. But the underthings she found couldn’t be meant for anyone else. The sight made her blush clear to her toes.

He wanted her to play a shy and virginal wife. Hardly a surprise, after the way he had insisted upon the color of her gown.

She set down her brush with a thwack.

“He doesn’t know,” she told her reflection. “After tonight, it will be too late to request an annulment. You must tell him.”

She wasn’t ashamed of her actions. She wasn’t . But they were private. Her secret to keep.

Weren’t they?

Or did her husband have a right to know? Cora wasn’t sure. She wished she could talk it over with someone, but who?

Not Honey. She wouldn’t intend to do it, but she would eventually let the secret slip. She simply did not think before speaking.

If he ever found out what she’d done, her brother Lysander would track down both men she’d slept with and deprive them of their manhood. It was a lucky thing that Markham had gone to America. Still, there was no reason to risk the duke’s wrath, and Eryx had enough problems without learning that his younger sister wasn’t the sweet little virgin he’d believed.

Gideon wasn’t barging into her room to regale her with the details of his exploits, either. Yet not telling him felt wrong.

“I hate being untruthful. Even to him,” Cora told her. She also hated Gideon. Mostly. After the way she had reacted to his presence today, she wasn’t so sure.

Titi wiggled her behind and took a running jump to launch herself onto the bed.

“You understand, don’t you?” She flopped beside her pet and stared at the hanging overhead while she stroked Titi’s soft fur. He’d bought her a piano. He claimed it was an apology, but what if he’d meant it as a reminder of how badly he could treat her if he so chose?

Almost certainly the latter.

Butterflies erupted in her stomach when the door between their rooms cracked open and Gideon entered without warning. He wore a jacquard dressing gown with a dark burgundy and navy botanical print. The pattern, combined with black satin edging, emphasized his broad shoulders and trim waist, the crossed lapels leading the eye upward to his sharp jawline.

Cora sat halfway up, keenly aware of her nipples tenting the fabric of her nightdress. Of her shape, inelegantly splayed on the bed, wide hips and plump thighs revealed to him to deride, should he wish to do so.

Yet that was not what she read in his eyes.

They were as hard as agates, as usual, yet fire danced within those depths. What did it mean? Was he plotting her death, or?—

“I see you anticipated my arrival,” he said. Was that a note of amusement in his tone? No, that would require him to have a sense of humor.

Cora waved one hand down her body, feigning confidence. “Bought and paid for. Have at it.”

She lay back on the bed, doing her best imitation of a starfish.

“Get rid of the dog first.”

Cora rolled over and scooped up a resistant Titi, deposited her in the adjoining room with the desk and the piano, and closed the door quickly. Then she moved to resume her place on the bed.

Halfway there, Gideon caught her by the wrist.

This was the moment. She had to tell him. But the words stuck in her throat when he tugged her close. His nearness sent her pulse racing. He was so big that he made her feel delicate. The way he held her made her feel…treasured.

His mouth hovered at the edge of her ear. Close enough for his breath to skim across the shell. A needy throb between her legs responded. That fluttery sensation was back, only it was a hundred times more intense than she had ever felt it before.

If she told him the truth, he would humiliate her all over again.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” She did, for that aspect of the event had already been dispensed with. She would die to have him kiss her again, and she would rather die than admit it. If he touched half as well as he kissed, she could even see the merits of physical intimacy.

Her body longed for it. She was so lonely, and so tired of feeling that way.

Gideon angled himself between her thighs and threaded his fingers through her hair. The silence stretched, freighted with all the hurt and betrayal that had led to this moment.

His lips brushed hers. Cora’s parted with a gasp. Her hold tightened on his biceps. His arm slid around her waist, tugging her closer.

He waited.

She hesitated.

What did he want from her that he didn’t already have?

He owned her. Legally. Morally. Forever.

“Nor will I force you,” he said. “I will bed you when you come to me of your own volition. Not one second before.” He pulled away so quickly that Cora stumbled. Her core pulsed, aching with want.

For him. Her worst nightmare.

* * *

Two weeks later

“You look so…” Honey’s eyes searched Cora’s face. “Different.”

“I feel like a child playing dress-up.”

More to the point: she felt like an oversized doll who was being dressed up by a diabolical little girl obsessed with tea parties and frivolities. The new gowns had begun to arrive. Boxes of them in every shade of emerald, maroon, yellow, and duller shades like fawn, cut to accentuate her waist and requiring corsets so restrictive Cora could hardly breathe. Martha’s selections, mostly.

Honey ignored her complaint and seized the hem of her jacket. “The color is a daring choice. Ladies’ Monthly claims brunettes shouldn’t wear blue, but I think it’s quite becoming on you.”

Cora had limited patience for discussions of fashion, but as long as her friend wasn’t asking questions about her marriage, she was content to let Honey prattle on. This was a far better way to spend an afternoon than the way she had spent the first week of her supposed honeymoon: meeting with her new mother-in-law to sort through letters congratulating her husband upon their nuptials, and planning the upcoming Season’s social calendar.

Each meeting with Martha Wentworth had been liberally peppered with snide remarks about Cora’s parentage and height, neither of which she could change, as well as a sprinkling of intrusive comments about when she might give her eldest son an heir. Miraculously, Cora bit her tongue to refrain from answering that the endeavor required two participants, and thus far, one had proved to be less than enthusiastic.

She remained puzzled by his behavior.

A thrill ran through her at the memory of Gideon’s, I will bed you when you come to me of your own volition. Not one second before.

Cora had barely seen him since then. She heard him preparing to leave early in the morning, and he arrived home late. She took her evening meals alone, but Martha often made a point of coming for lunch.

The man must think he could make her beg for his touch. He probably could. She was loath to admit how good it had felt to have his hands and lips upon her body, even to herself. She would go to her grave untouched rather than confess such a thing.

He hadn’t forced her. He could have, but Cora knew deep down that she would have given herself willingly if he’d pressed.

What she desperately needed was someone she could speak freely with to untangle her mixed emotions, but Cora didn’t know where to find that. Annalise would listen without judgment, but Cora was reluctant to bother her sister-in-law with complaints. Nor did she wish to put Annalise in the position of having to keep secrets from Eryx.

At some point during her rumination, Honey had ceased her chatter and turned to peer at the street below through a pair of opera glasses.

“What are you doing?”

Honey didn’t lower them. “Watching Number 9.”

Cora blinked. She knew that address. “Countess Oreste’s home? Why?” Countess Oreste could be the ideal sounding board. She was kind-hearted and knowledgeable. She would have good advice, and she kept secrets well. Hope sprung like a seedling in her heart.

Honey lowered the glasses and gaped at Cora, wide-eyed. “You know how she claims to be reforming former whores?”

Her tone fell to a whisper on the last word.

“Yes. My brother made a loan to her House of Virtue when she was first setting it up.”

Although there was no one to overhear except Titi, who couldn’t understand a word, Honey continued in a hushed tone, “There are rumors it’s really a brothel.”

Feigning shock, Cora pressed one hand to her bosom. “No.”

She had heard the rumors, through Eryx. The ton was cruel to the countess because she’d been a courtesan before marrying into the aristocracy. An undeserved slight, in Cora’s view. Honey had never interacted with the woman, to Cora’s knowledge. She was only repeating what others said. Her parents would never tolerate such a scandalous association for their unmarried daughter.

“Why the sudden interest?” Cora asked.

“I had to find something to occupy my time now that you’ve gone and married, and left me to sit on the shelf alone,” she pouted. “Look!” Honey held out the opera glasses as if she hadn’t said anything tart. “That’s the fourth carriage in the past quarter-hour to arrive. Only men have gone in. It’s like this week after week.”

“Aren’t they making donations to support the ladies?”

“Support in what way?” Honey demanded indignantly. “On their backs?”

Cora laughed and swatted her friend’s arm. Curiosity got the better of her. She scanned down the row of elegant townhome facades to the one marked with a large 9.

Sure enough, a man in a greatcoat and hat came around the corner and used the front door. Shortly thereafter, another man exited. “He must have achieved his objective in record time. That man’s coach pulled up at the same time I arrived here.”

“I am telling you, it’s a brothel! In Mayfair!” Honey’s voice again dropped into a scandalized stage whisper that made Cora want to belly laugh for the first time since her wedding. “There’s a separate entrance in the rear. I found it the other day when I saw a man literally disappear!”

“Men can’t disappear, Honey.” Although her husband had done his best imitation of a ghost lately. Unease settled into the pit of Cora’s stomach. She was glad he was leaving her alone. Wasn’t she?

The fact that she wasn’t sure disturbed her.

Had he only married her to acquire the bank? It hadn’t felt like that was the reason when he touched her. He could have simply offered for it. Marrying her had been his stipulation, not Eryx’s. Her brother had been willing to sacrifice his life’s work, his pride and joy, rather than acquiesce.

“You’re being a terrible snoop,” Cora admonished mildly.

“I’ll show you,” Honey insisted. “Let’s take Titi for a walk.”

Cora could think of many reasons to remain ensconced here in Honey’s comfortable sitting room. It was warm, for one thing, unlike the brisk February breeze outside. The hem of her fashionable new gown was already damp, and although she did not have any particular opinion about whether the color suited her or not, she did not wish to soil it further. It was a shame to ruin nice things.

But then a coach she recognized came around the corner, and a figure exited.

Gideon. Her heart scrambled frantically.

“Pass me Titi’s lead, will you?” Cora said.