Ten
The week had been intolerable.
Victoria heaved a sigh as she absently crumbled a slice of toast onto her plate. She had not expected Claredon to be pleased by her insistence that Thomas be allowed to remain. In fact, she had been quite conscious that he would be angry at the thought of her former fiance staying beneath his roof. But she had not expected the icily aloof manner that seemed to fill the household with an uncomfortable chill.
He was no longer the teasing flirt that he had been after Humbly’s arrival, nor even the provoking adversary she had come to expect. Instead, he was remote and utterly unreachable.
Much to her dismay, Victoria discovered herself ruing the loss of his determined pursuit. Ridiculous, considering she had been terrified by the thought of succumbing to his practiced seduction. She should be celebrating his cold distance. But in truth, she felt a heavy sense of loss in her heart when he passed her in the hall with no more than a mere nod or sat at the dining table without ever seeming to note her presence.
Even worse, Thomas had proven to be a most demanding guest. It seemed she could not take a step without him at her side. From the moment she wakened until she at last retired to her chambers, he was incessantly seeking her company, filling the air with his meaningless chatter, and constantly fretting over his ill treatment at the hands of his mother.
More than once, Victoria had been forced to bite her tongue when his self-pity rasped against her nerves. How had she never noted how utterly self-consumed this man was, she silently wondered. Or how demanding he could be?
The truth of the matter was that Claredon had been right. She had not known Thomas as well as she should have, certainly not well enough to elope with him. And she was reluctantly beginning to acknowledge that it had been more pity than love that had urged her to reach out to the hapless gentleman.
Feeling utterly miserable, she reluctantly glanced across the table to where Thomas was busily consuming a large plate of food. Both Claredon and Mr. Humbly had wisely learned to avoid the breakfast room whenever Thomas entered. Treacherously, she realized that she wished she were in the position to do the same.
“I must tell you, Victoria, that I was quite insistent that I did not care for the buttons upon this waistcoat,” he was saying with blithe indifference to her lack of attention. “But the tailor simply would not hear of changing them no matter how I pleaded.”
Knowing she was wasting her breath, Victoria could not help but point out the obvious. “It is your waistcoat, Thomas. If you do not like the buttons, you should have them changed.”
He appeared predictably scandalized by her simple solution. “Oh no, the man claimed that it would ruin the entire effect. I would not wish to have an awkward waistcoat.”
Victoria heaved a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
Suddenly frowning, Thomas leaned forward. “What do you think?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Of the buttons,” he prompted. “Do you think I should have had them changed?”
“Oh.” She gave an indifferent glance over the garish buttons, wondering why the devil she had gotten herself into this bumblebroth. Her husband was furious with her, poor Mr. Humbly had all but disappeared, and this gentleman was swiftly driving her to Bedlam. “They are fine buttons.”
“They are not too large?”
“No, not at all.”
Thomas abruptly heaved a sigh, as if his buttons were of paramount importance. “You put my mind greatly at ease, Victoria. It is so worrisome to make such decisions on my own. I far preferred when you would come with me and deal with such tedious details.”
Victoria shivered, abruptly realizing how close she had come to being at this gentleman’s constant behest. Good heavens, she never would have had a moment’s peace nor a hope of pursuing her own interests. How could she, when she would have been forced to make every decision for Thomas? The unnerving realization twisted her stomach in knots.
Deciding that it was time she take matters in her own hands, Victoria determinedly squared her shoulders. Although she still did not believe that Thomas could possibly be involved with the dangerous Mr. Smith, she could not utterly deny that it was odd that his mother’s jewels had gone missing at the same moment this man had appeared in Kent. Perhaps there was some connection that they could not yet determine.
Besides, she was ready at this point to discuss anything but buttons. “Thomas.”
“Take these boots for example . . .” he continued without hearing her interruption. “I believe that I was quite shabbily taken by Hoby. If only you had been along, I am certain he . . .”
“Thomas,” she repeated, loud enough he could not fail to note her determination.
Giving a mild blink, he regarded her with a questioning gaze. “Yes, my dear?”
“You told me that you had argued with your mother concerning her missing jewels.”
A rather peevish expression settled on the youthful features at her sudden shift in conversation. “I would prefer not to recall that horrid argument.”
“Of course,” she forced herself to say in soothing tones. “But I have been thinking upon your troubles, and I wondered if it is possible that her jewels truly are missing?”
“It is all nonsense. Mother has merely misplaced them.”
Victoria briefly thought of the loud, overbearing woman who ruled everyone and everything about her with an iron fist. “Forgive me, Thomas, but your mother does not seem the type to mislay a fortune in jewels.”
He frowned. “She must have.”
“You are quite convinced they were not stolen?”
Without warning Thomas tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed his plate away with a sulky motion. “Good God, Victoria, surely you would not believe I would steal my own mother’s jewels.”
“No, of course not,” she assured him.
“I should hope not,” he offered her a chastising glance. “Really, I have endured quite enough from Mother. To think you would also accuse me of something so heinous is really more than I can bear.”
Victoria forced herself to count to ten. She had endured almost all she could bear, as well. “Have you considered the notion that someone else might have been responsible for the theft?”
Thomas settled back with a startled expression. “Who?”
“I do not know. When did your mother miss her jewels?”
He gave a restless shrug, as if disturbed by even discussing the unpleasant subject. “She claims that she noted their disappearance shortly after our . . . elopement. She presumed that I had taken them to pay for our journey to Scotland and she had hoped once I returned to London I would eventually return them.”
His overt lack of concern for his mother’s missing property stunned Victoria. “And you did not believe you should make an attempt to discover what happened to the jewels?”
A hint of embarrassment touched his face at her unconsciously chiding tone. “What could I do?”
“Well, at least you could have searched a few of the places she might have left them or questioned the servants.”
“For goodness sakes, I was too furious to concern myself with discovering the jewels,” he whined at her reasonable words. “Besides, I cannot be expected to be bothered with such things. My nerves are very delicate, you know, and easily overset.”
She slowly gave a shake of her head. “But surely . . .”
“What?” he prompted as her words broke off.
“Never mind,” she muttered, realizing that Thomas truly believed his nerves were too weak to allow him to do anything remotely unpleasant. A fine trick, if one could get by with it. “What shall we do today?”
Perfectly willing to set aside all discussion of the missing jewels, Thomas heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose I should write to Mother and tell her where I am.”
“Of course.”
“No matter how angry I might be, it would not do to worry her.”
“No.”
“Not that I have forgiven her, mind,” he hastily added, as if worried that Victoria might consider him too tightly tied to the apron strings. “I shall demand an apology.”
Victoria was past caring. “Of course.”
“And I shall insist that she halt having me followed about like a child,” he added as an afterthought.
“Most wise.”
“I will be treated as an adult.”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause before Thomas regarded her with a pleading gaze. “Will you help me write the letter, Victoria? I am no good as such things.”
“Oh, Thomas . . .” Her words broke off as a movement outside the window suddenly captured her attention. With a hasty motion she was on her feet and crossing to peer down at the gardens.
“What is it, Victoria?” Thomas demanded.
“My husband,” she muttered, readily thrusting aside her thoughts of her annoying guest as she watched Claredon determinedly moving toward the distant stables. How dare he, she seethed. He had distinctly promised her that he would not leave the property without someone at his side. Well, he would not escape so easily.
Without a second thought she whirled on her heel and headed toward the door.
She halted briefly as Thomas rose to his feet with a frown. “Victoria, are you leaving me?”
“I must speak with Claredon.”
“But what of my letter?” he complained in shrill tones.
The urge to tell him precisely what she thought of his absurd letter was hastily swallowed before she could tempt fate. Instead she forced a stiff smile to her lips. “I think it would be best if you wrote to your mother on your own.”
“Oh no, I could not possibly . . .”
Victoria’s patience could endure no more. She had truly attempted to be kind to Thomas, not only because of their past friendship, but, more importantly, to hide from Claredon the realization that he had been so horribly right.
She would have been miserable tied to the childish man. More than that, she would have been a virtual prisoner to his endless demands. Her pride, however, had demanded that she hide her disillusionment from the one gentleman who seemed to know her better than she knew herself.
Now she had more important thoughts upon her mind than pacifying Thomas or even hiding her changing feelings from Claredon.
Moving at a near run, she flew down the stairs and out the door the butler barely managed to pull open in time. From there she angled directly toward the stables to step into Claredon’s path as he left the gardens. “Claredon.”
He came to a startled halt at her sudden appearance, his expression swiftly smoothing to unreadable lines. “Good morning, Victoria.”
“Where are you going?” she demanded in sharp tones.
Not surprisingly, his lips twisted at her peremptory manner, a faintly mocking glint entering his eyes.
“Good morning, Claredon,” he said in sardonic tones. “How did you sleep? Well, I hope. How handsome you appear on this fine day.”
Only days ago his provoking words would have sent her into a fury. Today, however, she found a ridiculous glow of happiness enter her heart at his taunting. Anything, anything was preferable to that cold aloofness.
“Forgive me,” she said with a faint smile. “How did you sleep?”
His eyes swiftly darkened as he glanced down at her simple muslin gown, which was molded to her curves by the summer breeze. “Very poorly.”
She frowned in concern, unaware that the sunlight filtering through the thin fabric offered a tantalizing outline of her slender body. “Is your shoulder troubling you?”
He drew in a deep breath. “You know quite well what is troubling me, my love.”
Victoria could not halt the sudden rush of color that filled her cheeks, nor her instinctive desire to shift the conversation to less dangerous topics. “You have not told me where you are going.”
He smiled wryly at her swift retreat, but thankfully followed her lead. “Lord Vernon has a field that marches with our land that he is considering selling. I wished to familiarize myself with it before making an offer.”
She planted her hands on her hips and regarded him in a stern fashion.
“Alone?”
He shrugged. “It is not far.”
“You made me a promise,” she reminded him.
With deliberate movements, he crossed his arms over the width of his chest and regarded her with a brooding gaze. “I did, indeed, but I must admit that I did not presume you would thank me for dragging you away from your precious Mr. Stice.”
“He is not my precious Mr. Stice,” she informed him tartly. “He is simply a friend in need of my help.”
“What he is in need of is a backbone,” he muttered in disgust.
Not at all anxious to discuss Thomas or his disruptive presence in their household, Victoria tilted her chin to a determined angle. “If you will give me a few moments, I will change into my habit.”
His brows arched in disbelief. “You intend to join me?”
“I do not wish you to be on your own.”
“What of Mr. Stice?”
She heaved an impatient sigh. “Will you wait?”
His gaze openly roamed over her upturned countenance before a worrisome smile curved his lips. “Forever, if need be, Victoria.”
Her breath seemed to be sucked from her body at his low words. Just for a moment she wondered if she was being completely wise in deliberately seeking time alone with her husband. Did she not already know how vulnerable she was becoming to his persuasive seduction? Had she not already accepted that she cared far more than she had ever intended? Was she not increasingly aware that her supposed love for Thomas was no more than a fraud that could no longer protect her heart?
The thoughts swiftly passed through her mind, only to be easily dismissed.
Although they had seen nor heard anything of Mr. Smith in the past week, it did not mean the danger had disappeared. She would not allow Claredon to risk himself again. “I will be only a few moments.”
* * *
With a resigned shake of his head, Claredon continued his path to the stables to have their mounts saddled. Dash it all, he had been determined to remain stoically composed when in the presence of his wife. It was bad enough to have Stice connected to her side like a leech, without him storming about like a jealous fool.
She would never suspect that he had every servant in the household keeping a careful watch on their movements, he had told himself. Or that he spent his nights pacing the floor, consumed with the dark need to gather her from her room and place her in his bed, where she belonged.
He would simply pretend to above such childish emotions.
Eventually he would catch the gentleman in the act of something devious, or more likely the fool would simply crawl back to his mother. In either case, he would be gone from Longmeade and Victoria would have to accept that her life was here with him.
At least he could hope for such an outcome if he did not ruin it all by infuriating Victoria beyond forgiveness.
Shaking his head, Claredon led the horses to the courtyard. Perhaps it was beyond hope to remain aloof from his wife. The moment she was in his presence, he was assaulted by a myriad of emotions—impatience, lust, and the oddest sense of tenderness. He was torn between wanting to toss her upon the nearest bed and holding her in his arms to protect her from the world.
Such confusion was bound to make him crazed, he assured himself wryly. For the moment all he could do was hold onto the knowledge that she at least worried over him. It was a beginning.
He discovered Victoria awaiting him in the courtyard attired in a lovely cinnamon habit, and after helping her into her saddle, he mounted his own horse. “Are you ready?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Then let us be off.” Urging his horse down the path that would lead across the parkland, he covertly studied the woman who had haunted his thoughts for far too long. She rode well, moving with a lithe grace that was incredibly enticing. Too enticing, he acknowledged as he wrenched his gaze toward the distant tree line. “I trust Mr. Humbly will keep Mr. Stice suitably entertained?”
“Mr. Humbly is visiting our local rector, while Thomas is writing a letter to his mother.”
“Ah, the dutiful son,” he mocked before he could halt the words.
He was swiftly punished for his impulse as she sent him a flashing gaze. “Do you intend to be provoking for the entire morning?” she demanded in exasperation.
“Absolutely not.” He slowed his horse, gazing deep into her wary eyes. “It is far too rare for me to have you all to myself. I intend to be on my best behavior.”
Thankfully, her lips gave a reluctant twitch at his solemn promise. “Why do I find that difficult to believe?”
“I haven’t the least notion.”
She shook her head before attempting about distract his unwavering gaze. “Have you discovered any further information about Mr. Smith?”
His lips briefly tightened at the unwelcome reminder that he had not yet found a trace of the scoundrel. Even calling in the magistrate had not turned up any clues. “Nothing beyond the fact that he has not returned to the inn since the night he attempted to do away with me.”
“Perhaps he was frightened when he discovered he had wounded you. He might very well have fled Kent,” she suggested.
Claredon was not nearly so certain. It was just as likely the culprit had decided to send Stice to the house to search for the jewels while he laid low.
This time, however, he possessed the wisdom to hold his tongue. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “I still wish you to take care until we have gotten to the bottom of this trouble.”
“If you will recall, you were the one attempting to sneak away on your own,” she retorted in pointed tones.
“As I said, I did not believe you would desire to be interrupted.” Claredon paused, cautiously considering his words. He ached to know precisely what Victoria felt of Stice’s arrival at Longmeade at the same moment he feared her response. A fine dilemma for a gentleman who had always preferred casual, temporary affairs to the complications of relationships. “Have you enjoyed Mr. Stice’s visit?”
Her hands abruptly clenched upon her reins until her mount tossed his head in protest. With an obvious effort, she loosened her grip and even managed a thin smile. “It is always nice to see an old friend,” she said in determinedly bland tones.
Instantly intrigued, Claredon shifted closer, watching her features for any sign of her inner thoughts. “He was more than a mere friend.”
She deliberately studied the well-scythed parkland, almost as if determined to avoid his gaze. “I thought you promised not to try and provoke me,” she accused.
“I am not attempting to be provoking for once,” he assured her. “I do not believe that anything improper has occurred since his arrival. I am merely interested in how you are bearing to be with the man you once loved now that he is beyond your reach.”
There was a taut silence before she gave a restless shrug. “It has been . . . difficult.”
Claredon felt as if he had been punched in the gut. “Your feelings toward Stice have not altered?”
“I would really prefer not to discuss the subject, Claredon.”
His features tightened as that horrid wave of jealously rushed through him. Gads, he was surely being repaid for a lifetime of frivolous affairs. “I do not mean to distress you, Victoria, but I would think as your husband I have a right to know if you are still attached to one another.”
Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips before she at last responded to his low command. “I suppose my feelings have somewhat altered.”
“In what way?”
“I . . .” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I have begun to wonder if I had not been mistaken in Thomas.”
As swiftly as the jealousy had attacked, it was abruptly pierced by a shaft of hope. “Mistaken?”
She still refused to meet his searching gaze, but Claredon did not miss the tension etched upon her features. Clearly something was troubling her. “When we were together in London, it was for only very brief visits, and those were usually marred by his overbearing mother. She was so determined to see him wed to an heiress that she did everything possible to keep us apart.”
Claredon smiled wryly. “Thereby ensuring that your meetings were secretive and spiced with the pleasure of outwitting her?”
She sent him a startled glance. “Yes.”
He gave a shake of his head. “It never fails to amaze me that those determined to keep lovers apart persistently do the things that are bound to bring them together. Few of us can resist the forbidden. And, of course, by keeping a couple separated, it allows them to weave the most ridiculous fantasies, rather than seeing each other as they truly are.”
Victoria drew in a deep breath. “I had little opportunity to fully understand Thomas’s nature, or to question his reasons for wishing to be with me.”
“And now?” he prompted softly, unconsciously holding his breath as she reluctantly met his gaze.
“Now I realize that I never loved him.”