The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances by Cerise DeLand Page B

about the bush for an answer to this mystery. “Why not just tell me?”
    “I saw no way out. I saw Howell milking me forever!”
    “Could he do that?”
    “Why not? He could say I was willing participant. That I was the gambler, not Wallace. He even threatened to say Wallace had a child by a prostitute in the Seven Dials. That I was with child, and that’s why you married me so quickly. There was no end to what he would print in that rag of his!” She retreated backward to the fire. Shaking with fury and sorrow, she gave in to the tears that racked her. “I wanted to show you that your curse was a myth, a fable, and all I did was show you how real it is!”
    She whirled toward her dressing room.
    He caught her before she made it to the door. “Don’t cry.”
    She turned up a face so ravaged by sorrow that his heart fell to his toes.
    He cupped her cheek and brushed a stream of tears away with his thumb.
    “Adam, I have ruined you. I want to go.”
    “Fee,” he declared, “come sit with me and talk.”
    “No! I can hardly bear to—”
    “Look at me! I did not resign!”
    Her lashes fluttered. She shook her head. “What? Why not?”
    “Ulmsly retracted the request. Most unnecessary, he called it, in light of developments.”
    “I am confused. What developments?”
    “Come sit with me and I will tell you.” He took her hand and led her back to the chair he had left. Though she was reluctant to sit on his lap, he tugged her down. “There. Now. I went to see a few people today.”
    Her brow wrinkled. “I want to hear about Ulmsly.”
    “So you shall.” He pushed a wisp of her hair from her eyes. “Have I told you lately how I adore your eyes? They are brilliant as pure gold, you know.”
    “Adam,” she beseeched him as her lips quivered. “Do not praise me, please.”
    “But you are my wife,” he affirmed.
    “Not for long. You cannot want me now, not after today and this .” She put a hand to the TellTale , while the other swiped at a stream of tears on her cheek.
    “And if I do?” he ran his hand up her throat to cup her nape.
    “I’ll say you’re mad.”
    He put his mouth to the hollow behind her ear and whispered, “Such madness is proof of a man who adores his wife.”
    “You mustn’t,” she rasped, her eyes closing as he wrapped her closer and kissed her cheek and her luscious, trembling lips.
    “But I do love you, Fee.” He blessed her mouth with fierce possession. “I think I have loved you for years, darling, and only just have come to my senses.”
    She struggled up from his grasp. “You cannot! The curse!” She waved her arms about. “Dear god, the damn thing has worked its will, and I have been its instrument!”
    He sprang to his feet. She retreated, and he stalked her. “I would rather love you than not. Live with you than without you. To hell with the curse!”
    “How can you say that?”
    “Because I forgive you.”
    She dashed tears away. “Oh, you are mad.”
    “For you, yes. Don’t you see,” he said as he proceeded to follow her as she backed into her dressing room, “none of this was really your fault?”
    She blinked. “I take responsibility.”
    “And for that, my darling, I am proud of you. But you must not take more than your due.”
    She stood now within the voluminous froth of her many gowns. Enfolded as she was in the colors of the rainbow, he had to grin at her.
    “You are a rare jewel, Felice Stanhope. Stunning and inventive, wise and dear. I am a very fortunate man to be your husband.”
    “I think you are foxed. Or someone has hit you on the head.”
    “You do not know what is in that issue of the TellTale , do you?”
    She gritted her teeth. “I do. I certainly do. I saw Howell order his man to set the type.”
    “All of it?”
    She rolled a shoulder. “What does it matter? All, some, none?”
    “No matter. I know the answer to that question.”
    “You do?”
    He took her hand. “Come with me, and I will show you.”
    “How do you