Page 39 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
“Ah,” said Rafe, and Chris had the sneaking suspicion that he had hid a smile behind his glass. “Sounds an awful lot like…oh, I don’t know. A perfectly ordinary child.”
“Of which there have been too damned many within my house of late,” Chris said, with a shudder. “There’s nary an ounce of peace to be found in any corner of it. And there is always someone or something demanding Phoebe’s attention—”
“Why should that matter? One would think you’d be glad of it.”
He would have been. Heshouldhave been. It was just that he’d grown…accustomed to her presence. Now it had been tugged away from him by the obligations of family, and he—
“I don’t like sharing,” he said. “She’s my damned wife.” They’d had her for nearly thirty years already. Had had a veritable monopoly upon her attention until now.
“It’s a marriage of convenience,” Rafe said amiably. “Isn’t it? I mean to say, you’ve both gotten what you wanted from it, have you not?”
“Not as such,” Chris said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Respectability is a high hill to climb.” And he’d likely done himself no favors with his behavior at the Clarkes’ dinner party. “Laurence wants me to apply for membership at his club. Can’t imagine they’d even let me in the door.”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” Rafe said. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be blackballed out of hand.”
Chris tossed back the last of his whisky. “A fine friend you are.”
“But you married into the Toogood family,” Rafe said. “It’s a large one, to be sure. It’s also an exceedingly well-connected one.”
“Hell,” Chris grunted. “I suppose you’re right. Three barons, one viscount, two earls, and a damned marquess.”
“That leaves out Laurence,” Rafe said. “His wife is the youngest daughter of a duke.” He collected the decanter of whisky, offering it to Chris, who poured himself a fresh glass. “It seems to me that Phoebe’s held up her end of your arrangement admirably thus far. What did you promise her?”
“That I would not require children of her,” Chris said sourly into his drink.
“That’s simple enough,” Rafe said. “You don’t even like children.”
No, but he rather enjoyed the act that begot them. “Phoebe was relieved to learn I’ve already got a mistress,” he said. “But—”
But his convenient marriage was becoming somewhat less convenient than he’d expected. He’d always had a healthy appreciation for women. Even if he had not particularlywanteda wife, he’d been pleased to find friendship in marriage. A woman whose company he enjoyed—when she hadn’t been commandeered by the rest of her family. When she was present. When she was smiling at him in approval across the expanse of the dinner table. When she visited the garden at midnight to feed Hieronymus fruit from her hand, in nothing but the thin silk of her dressing gown. When she stole trinkets and laughed in delight at the wreck he’d made of a social engagement.
He’d have liked to be more of a husband than he’d anticipated being. It was the damnedest thing.
“Have you ever bothered to court a woman?” Rafe asked.
Chris choked upon his whisky. “Hell no,” he said. “What the devil would I do that for?”
“Because some women cannot be bought?” Rafe suggested. “If you are dissatisfied with the state of your marriage—”
“I’m not dissatisfied,” Chris said. He was just…ah, hell, he was dissatisfied.
“—then you have got to change it,” Rafe concluded. “Be charming.”
Charming?Charming? “She doesn’t want that,” he said. “And I haven’t got a charming bone in my body, besides.”
“Acquire one,” Rafe suggested. “Minds change. Hearts change. Emma was happy to remain a widow, until she wasn’t. At worst, you’ll make yourself a more amiable companion. But there is no point in moping about upon my couch and drinking far too much whisky in the service of drowning your troubles when you might resolve them with far more efficacy if you could only work up the nerve to seduce your damned wife.”
Chris scrubbed at his jaw. “How the hell am I meant to do that?”
“Hell if I know. She’s your wife, man—what does she like?”
“Books,” Chris said. “Petty larceny.Cats.” Turtles, too, he supposed, but they’d got one of those already.
Rafe snorted. “Best to start with the books, then.”
“Can’t. She’s out at a bookshop now. Took the carriage. That’s why I walked here.” He heaved a sigh, slouching further. “Jewelry, then. Got to be.” Uninspired, perhaps, but his options were somewhat limited. “Can’t bring myself to bring home a cat.”
“If you’re not on your way soon, you’ll not be bringing home jewelry, either,” Rafe said. “Shops’ll be closing.”
