The Wagered Wife by Wilma Counts Page A

herself to crush him by openly laughing at him. “Please, Bertie. This is neither the time nor the place.” Again she loosened herself from his grip. She could see that they were attracting attention. She pasted a carefree smile on her face and nodded to an acquaintance in a passing carriage.
    She was relieved when Bertie seemed to do the same, but he continued in a low tone, “I have waited for you, wanted you all these years—”
    â€œPlease. You must stop this line of discussion immediately. It is most improper.”
    â€œMy feelings are far too strong to regard empty rules of propriety,” he said in the same melodramatic tone. Caitlyn wondered if part of him sat aside applauding his performance.
    â€œBertie!” Her tone was stern now. “I have, in the last few weeks, enjoyed a renewal of your friendship. But never—not once—have I intended to give you reason to think I would welcome such a declaration as this.”
    â€œBut we loved each other—” he wailed.
    â€œWhatever we may have felt for each other was over long, long ago. Over. Do you understand?”
    â€œIt was never over for me.” He seemed to be pouting now.
    â€œWell,” she declared firmly, “I have a child whose welfare comes first for me.” In truth, she was finding him tiresome and wondered how she had ever fancied herself in love with such a shallow coxcomb.
    â€œWhich makes me admire you all the more for being willing to sacrifice your own happiness for hers.”
    â€œOh, good grief,” she muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, “This has gone quite far enough. I am no martyr. And I will thank you to take me home. Now.”
    Finally, her tone seemed to break through the scene he imagined himself playing. He gave her a reproachful look, but he signaled his tiger and they returned in relative silence.
    â€œI hope I may be allowed to call again?” he asked as he accompanied her to the door.
    â€œOf course.” Her tone was distantly polite. “You are welcome—as a friend.”
    He bowed and departed.
    Viscount Latham’s performance in the park served as a reminder to Caitlyn that her situation was delicate, to say the least. Five years since her marriage!—since her husband had deserted her—and her feelings were as ambivalent as ever.
    She had been angry when Trevor left. Furious, in fact. It was his action that had trapped her in this marriage. And then the blackguard had not even stood by her as his family and the ton gossips tore her to shreds. She was his wife. Husbands were supposed to protect their wives, were they not?
    He had left her to fend for herself. Honesty compelled her to remember that he had been responsible for his Aunt Gertrude’s coming to her. She knew it had been Lady Gertrude’s own idea to come, but Trevor had not wanted her to be entirely alone, had he? Also, Caitlyn remembered the warmth they had begun to feel for each other—at least, she had thought they both felt it.
    The man in the park and at the opera was not the callow youth who had left her. This man’s physical presence—even from a distance—was more solid. His shoulders were broader, and he carried himself with self-assurance, none of the swagger of the young. That first recognition as he stood at the side of the bridle path had been a shock to her. She had accepted, however reluctantly, the idea of making a life with that youth of yesterday. Could she do the same with this man?
    The idea of a divorce had been repugnant from the very beginning. To the daughter of a churchman, it was especially abhorrent. Then she had discovered herself with child. She remembered being sick at the very idea of bringing a babe into such a world. She hated the idea of bearing the child of a man who despised its mother. She even thought for a while she would never be able to love the child.
    How preposterous that idea seemed now! And she