‘Bennett, I’m so sorry,’ Caroline murmured as he stalked towards them. ‘I can explain if you’ll only listen. Please don’t make it any worse.’
Her face had paled to a hue of alabaster purity—most ironic, that. Her pallor might have given his wife a deceptively innocent look, except that it made her lips appear even larger and redder than usual, swollen perhaps from the kisses of that despicable cad!
Bennett wished the sight would quench the last stubborn embers of desire he felt for her. Instead he was doubly betrayed by the traitorous stirring of lust in his loins. Part of him longed to seize his errant countess and sear away any memory of Astley’s kisses with the legitimate demands of his own lips.
He managed to resist the temptation.
‘Nothing I do,’ he growled, ‘could make this any worse.’
That was not quite true, but he had no intention of acting as if nothing had happened, simply to spare her the shame she had brought upon both of them.
Astley’s smirk curled into an outright sneer, making his too-handsome countenance as loathsome as Bennett had long regarded it. ‘I suppose you will want to call me out, then, Sterling? Where shall we duel, then? St. James’s Park? Hyde? I do think it rather unjust that I should be singled out when you have turned a complaisant eye upon all your lady’s previous amours.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Caroline cried. ‘I have never been unfaithful to my husband! I didn’t even mean to… You took me by surprise. I only wanted…’
Astley chuckled and wagged his finger at her. ‘I sympathise with your desire to salvage your reputation, Lady Sterling, but I fear our secret is out. I doubt anyone who saw us kissing just now would ever believe you were unwilling. Quite the contrary. Another minute and I vow you would have had the buttons of my breeches undone.’
‘Viper!’ A shriek of tormented rage burst from Caroline as she hurled herself at Astley.
Bennett would have loved to see her scratch the scoundrel’s eyes. But such a spectacle would besmirch his cause even worse than it had been already. Perhaps irreparably.
As Caroline sprang towards Astley, Bennett caught her by the wrist and pulled her back, flaying her with his blistering glare. ‘If you cannot exercise a little discretion, madam, at least do me the courtesy of holding your tongue!’
His words appeared to quench her defiant anger with a deluge of shame. Her body went limp and her free hand flew to her mouth as if to stifle a sob.
Unable to abide any further contact after what she’d done, Bennett let go of his wife’s arm with all the revulsion he might have dropped a wriggling rat. He turned his attention back to Astley, to address his enemy’s assumption that they would duel.
‘You expect me to risk my neck defending my wife’s honour?’ He infused his question with years of accumulated disdain for the pair of them. ‘I would sooner call you out for implying I am such a fool. Even for that, I prefer to strike where it will do you greater injury.’
Though Astley arched a contemptuous eyebrow, Bennett had the trifling satisfaction of glimpsing a quiver of alarm in his enemy’s pale-blue eyes. ‘Indeed? And where might that be?’
‘In your purse, of course.’ Bennett kept his voice low and menacing, but loud enough to carry to the roomful of breath-bated onlookers. ‘I hope this dalliance was worth the damages it will cost you.’
For a moment, the threat seemed to strike Astley dumb.
Instead it provoked a sound from Caroline. Her eyes widened in horror as if she had only now realised all she stood to lose. A whimper like a wounded animal’s broke through the hand she still clamped over her mouth. Fortunately, his earlier warning kept her from trying to speak.
Astley found his voice at last. ‘Sue me for crim. con.? You wouldn’t dare!’
Crim. con. meant a criminal conversation suit brought by a husband against his wife’s lover for monetary damages—a necessary step toward obtaining a divorce. Bennett despised the vulgar colloquial term, which trivialized such a devastating betrayal.
Now it was his turn to sneer. ‘Pray what is to stop me? Given what you just confessed in front of all these witnesses, I believe it would be an easy case to win.’
Leaving Astley to reflect on just how deep a hole he had dug for himself, Bennett turned and strode away through a crowd that parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses. He was not certain whether Caroline would follow or remain behind with her paramour. Indeed, he was not certain which he would prefer. But when he heard the faint rustle of silk and the soft patter of kid slippers behind him, the sounds stirred a flicker of satisfaction from deep within the bitter ashes of his humiliation.
Stalking down the grand staircase, he fixed his eyes straight ahead and set his mouth in a grim line to warn anyone he met against the folly of speaking to him. He was aware of heads turning as he passed, furtive whispers dogging his footsteps.
Gossip travelled fast. By breakfast the tattle would be all over London. By the end of the week the scandal sheets would be lampooning him; the print-sellers’ windows would be papered with vicious caricatures. Though he had striven to lead a blameless life of public service, he would now be pilloried alongside the likes of the Prince Regent and his disreputable brothers!
Was that what Caroline wanted?
Though Bennett could not deny their marriage was an egregious mismatch, they had been happy enough once. Gradually, however, their differences had multiplied and the gulf between them had widened. But when and why had his wife grown to hate him enough to do this? After all he had given her and how little he asked in return, did she not owe him a single scrap of gratitude or loyalty?
A raw April wind blew Bennett’s hair about as he emerged on to the street. Damn! He had left his hat behind.
Well, no matter. He might send a footman to fetch it tomorrow… or not. He had plenty of others, after all. And he’d be hanged if he would darken the door of Almack’s again!
Striving to ignore his wife’s presence, Bennett was relieved when his carriage appeared promptly, in spite of the early hour and their precipitous departure.
‘Back to Sterling House, my lord?’ the coachman called down from his perch.
Bennett gave a curt nod as the footman helped Caroline into the carriage box. ‘Stop by my club first, Samuel. I will provide you with further instructions there.’
Before the coachman could reply, Bennett climbed in after his wife.
The vehicle had scarcely begun to move when Caroline’s voice emerged from the shadow-wrapped depths of the seat opposite him. ‘Please, Bennett, I know you must be as angry and embarrassed as I am by that dreadful scene, but surely you know I never had any intention of kissing Mr Astley.’
Clearly the woman had no idea of his feelings in the matter or she could never make such a ludicrous claim. Bennett leaned back in the carriage seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Did she truly expect him to believe she hadn’t invited and enjoyed that kiss and how many others before it?
Bad enough she had made him a cuckold—he would not let her play him for a fool as well! ‘Are you saying you tumbled into Astley’s arms by accident?’
‘Of course not.’ The pretended remorse in her tone took on a hint of exasperation. ‘When I told him you’d ordered me not to have anything more to do with him, he suggested we slip into the alcove so you would not see us.’
They’d