She gnawed on her cheek, breathing deep so she didn’t slap him. “How about this? I’ll simply ask you a few questions. You can nod or shake your head. You won’t actually be speaking aloud, so you’re not really confessing anything.”
He pondered her suggestion, then shrugged. “I guess that would work.”
“Was the Captain there?”
A nod.
“Is he still there?”
A shake of the head.
“Was the sun up in the sky when he left?”
Another nod.
“Did you see Miss James?”
A shake of the head. “The cottage was dark. There wasn’t a candle or lamp burning.”
“As he mounted his horse, was he smiling?”
A vigorous nod.
Her blood boiled, and she grabbed his ear and twisted it until he winced in pain. “I won’t admit to anyone that we had this conversation, but you’d better not either. If I hear you’ve gossiped about it, I’ll have you whipped, then fired.”
“I won’t say a word. I swear.”
“Good. I believe we understand each other. You’re excused.”
He ran out as if she’d set him on fire. For several fraught minutes, she was frozen in place, then she went to the window and stared across the park to the woods, wishing she had magical eyes so she could peer all the way to Miss James’s hovel.
Roxanne was a sophisticated, worldly woman, and she wasn’t naïve. She knew men had affairs with pretty girls. She knew that they took vows to remain faithful, but they weren’t sincerely voiced. She fully expected Jacob to stray too, but . . .
She didn’t have to tolerate such a blatant flaunting of his misdeeds. She didn’t have to tolerate his sneaking out of the manor in the middle of the night. It was the very limit of what she could abide.
She wanted to put her foot down, but didn’t feel that she could. The engagement wasn’t official. What if she demanded he split with Miss James, and he split with Roxanne instead? What if he was that besotted? From how ridiculously he was acting, it was a definite concern.
He wouldn’t like Roxanne interfering in his amour. He wouldn’t think a dalliance was any of her business. But honestly!
Clearly, it was time for Miss James to vanish, and Roxanne had ordered Kit to deal with the problem. So far, Kit had ignored it, but they couldn’t continue to dither. Miss James had to go—and her niece had to depart with her.
And as to Jacob?
Roxanne had to devise the best method to rectify the situation. Why didn’t he recognize how he was embarrassing her? Then again, he was a Ralston male, and they were extremely obtuse. Perhaps he’d never been told there were rules about an illicit liaison, the most pertinent one being that you hid it from your wife.
How could she explain that fact to him without raising his ire? There had to be a means to accomplish it, and she’d deduce what it was. Yet she didn’t dare bump into him until she’d carefully rehearsed what she was determined to impart. In that sort of discussion, there couldn’t be any mistakes.
“Could I speak with you?”
As Roxanne waylaid Jacob in the hall, he could barely tamp down a wince.
He was back at the manor, bathed and dressed for the day, and bound for the dining room to enjoy a late breakfast.
Roxanne was standing in the doorway to her bedchamber, and she appeared to have been watching for him, which was aggravating. He reminded himself to remember her influential position in the household and to not be so judgmental about how she wielded her power.
He had let her assume control. He could have reined in her usurpation of authority, but he’d always been content to have others run the estate for him. He’d squandered the chance to complain.
He’d agreed to engage himself to her when he shouldn’t have, but if he cried off, he’d probably have to start supporting her financially. She’d traveled to England on the promise that she’d have security as his wife. If he withdrew that security, hadn’t he incurred a fiscal obligation?
Then again, she seemed to have plenty of money of her own. Might she have? It was the sort of tidbit his mother should have unraveled during the nuptial negotiations, but if Esther had dug into it, she’d never shared any of the information with him.
Roxanne dressed like a princess. Was that because she was flush with income from some unknown source? Or had she purchased a wardrobe on credit, with the expectation that he would pay her bills after she was his bride? If that was what had occurred, how would he handle the situation? Would their first quarrel be a fight over money and how she was frittering it away?
It was an issue a bachelor never considered, and the quagmire it presented was exhausting.
“I’m headed down to breakfast”—he forced a smile—“and I’m starving. We can chat, but I hope I can keep a civil tongue in my mouth. I’m cranky when I’m hungry.”
She waved him into her sitting room, and she gestured to a table by the window.
“I realize you haven’t eaten,” she said, “so I had a tray delivered. It should tide you over for a few minutes.”
He saw a pot of tea and a tray of muffins, and he swallowed down a sigh. Evidently, she intended a protracted conversation. Was he about to be scolded for an infraction? If so, it would be audacious conduct on her part, but he had no idea how to avoid the discussion. He went over and pulled out a chair.
She joined him, and she played hostess, pouring his tea and buttering a muffin. She shoved a plate at him, and he tried to begin, but the moment was incredibly awkward. She was studying his every move, and an oppressive silence festered. Eventually, it became too overwhelming.
He put down his knife and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She was a steely female, and she said, “I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so I’m just going to bluntly inquire about what it is
