Twelve
Turning back from the window, where a blackbird perched to enjoy the afternoon sunlight, Claire studied the chessboard laid upon the mattress. For a moment she puzzled over the various pieces before slowly lifting her gaze with a sense of amused exasperation.
“You cheated,” she accused Simon, regarding the darkly handsome countenance with pretended outrage.
The magnificent emerald eyes widened with mock innocence. “What?”
“You told me to look at the blackbird in the window and then you moved my rook.”
“Ridiculous.“ Grasping the chessboard, Simon moved it onto a side table. Then he settled himself more comfortably in the chair pulled next to the bed. “Gentlemen do not cheat. Especially not to best a mere maiden.“
Claire ignored the deliberately provocative words. In the past day and a half she and Simon had developed a remarkably peaceful companionship. Beginning with dinner the evening before, he had set a mood of easy informality. And, of course, his favor had risen immeasurably when he had produced the tiny black kitten that had merely yawned at Claire’s shriek of delight.
That morning he had arrived with a tray of breakfast and Aunt Jane, who had promptly disappeared into a far corner with her needlework. They enjoyed a surprisingly spirited discussion on the turmoil in Europe and sweeping troubles of the Corn Laws. He had then set about teaching her to play cards, only to be thoroughly trounced, followed by twenty questions, then chess. He had clearly been unaware that her father had taught her such parlor games since she was old enough to talk. Now she regarded him with a decidedly smug expression.
“You knew that I was about to checkmate you, and so you cheated.”
“Infamous.” His gaze swept over her raven hair that was loosely braided and the white lawn dressing gown that modestly covered her thin frame. There was a darkening to the emerald eyes that she could not know was in aJr preciation to her Madonna-like beauty as she leaned back into the great pile of pillows. “I will not stand aside while my honor is besmirched.”
“Ha. What honor?” she demanded.
“Ah.” His hands dramatically lifted to press to his wide chest. “A direct hit.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his absurd antics. Really, it was little wonder the gentleman was branded a rake. He possessed far more charm than any gentleman had a right to.
“You, sir, are a cad of the highest order.”
“No, merely a badly humiliated gentleman who has been thoroughly beaten at every match I have attempted against you,” he corrected her. “A wiser soul would no doubt retreat from the field in shame, but I, mademoiselle, am made of sterner stuff. I shall eventually discover your weakness.”
“And what if I have no weakness?” she demanded. He slowly leaned forward and firmly grasped her slender fingers.
“Then I shall simply enjoy the search.”
That pleasurable warmth fluttered in the center of her stomach.
“Ridiculous.”
“So what is it to be?” he demanded in low tones. “Fencing, boxing, a race about the—”
His teasing words came to an abrupt halt as a shadow fell across the open doorway. With an unconscious frown at the interruption Claire turned in time to watch the intruder sweep into the bedchamber. The odd feeling of contentment was swiftly destroyed as she recognized the curvaceous form of Lizzy Hayden.
As always, the widow was richly attired in a bishop’s-blue satin gown that was daringly cut. Her hair, far too pale for nature, was arranged in stiff curls to frame her rouged countenance.
Entering the chamber, she made a swift inspection of the elegant furnishings, lingering on the cast-silver pier table and mirror and French bronze mantel clock. Her calculating gaze made an equally assessing survey of Lord Challmond, obviously appreciating the broad shoulders beneath the molded coat and aquiline features. For no reason whatsoever Claire found her dislike -of the woman suddenly sharpened.
Unaware that her fingers were tightly gripping Simon’s, she smoothed her countenance to a cool mask of composure as Lizzy at last turned to offer her a patently false smile of pity.
“My poor, poor Claire.”
“Lizzy.”
“I was simply aghast when I learned what had occurred. Simply aghast,” she proclaimed in melodramatic tones. “So of course I rushed over to dearest Henry’s to see how you go along.”
Of course, Claire acknowledged with cynical humor. The woman would use any excuse, no matter how obvious, to rush to dearest Henry.
“How kind.”
“He assured me that you were recovering, but I insisted that I see for myself.”
“There was no need.”
“There was every need,” Lizzy insisted in a cloying tone. “We are, after all, like family.”
Claire recoiled as if she had been slapped. Egad, what a horrid notion!
“Hardly family,” she protested in cold tones.
Undaunted, Lizzy gave a toss of her head. “Oh, la, Claire, of course we are. Indeed, I have promised Henry that I shall do whatever necessary to ease your discomfort.”
Claire clutched at Simon’s fingers in dismay. The only means this woman could have of easing her discomfort was to leave and never return.
“Thank you, Lizzy, but Lord Challmond has adequately eased any discomfort I might possess.”
“Oh?” A coy expression settled on the narrow countenance as Lizzy deliberately regarded their clasped hands. “How very kind of you, my lord.”
Simon gave a vague shrug, his gaze narrowed in a speculative manner.
“Not kind at all. It has been my pleasure.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” Lizzy gave an arch laugh that set Claire’s teeth on edge. “What gentleman would not wish to have such a lovely maiden beneath his roof?”
Simon slowly turned to regard Claire’s growingly heated features with an arched bow.
“What gentleman indeed?”
“And one that is so talented,” Lizzy continued.
The brow arched higher. “Oh?”
“Yes, she has managed her father’s household for years.”
Simon’s gaze never wavered from Claire’s embarrassed features.
“Remarkable.”
“And such a deft hand with the servants. They simply adore her.”
Simon’s lips twitched. “Who would not?”
“And, of course, you are quite aware of her wonderful deeds with the needy.”
“Of course.”
Claire could endure no more. For goodness’ sake, she felt like a horse on market day.
“Thank you, Lizzy, but you failed to mention my needlework is ghastly, that I detest playing the pianoforte, and see little use in dabbing paint on a canvas. I also have no patience with the usual society entertainments.”
Lizzy’s shrill giggle echoed through the room, competing with the soft snores of Aunt Jane in the corner.
“Really, Claire, what will Lord Challmond think?”
“That I am quite lacking in female graces,” she muttered, wishing she could crawl beneath the bedcovers and disappear. “It is hardly a secret throughout the neighborhood.”
A hint of chagrin rippled over Lizzy’s countenance before she was forcing a stiff smile.
“You must not mind her peculiar sense of humor, my lord.”
“I do not mind at all,” Simon drawled, his thumb running a soft path over Claire’s knuckles. “Indeed, I find it as enchanting as all her other qualities.”
“There, you see, Claire,” Lizzy cried in delight..
Claire could see all too clearly. Lizzy was so desperate to rid herself of an unwelcome stepdaughter that she could not realize just how absurd it was to imagine a gentleman of Simon’s standing would consider Claire as a potential bride.
Claire, however, was under no such illusion. Simon was clearly a gentleman who instinctively flirted with every maiden that crossed his path. The fact she had claimed indifference to his charms would only pique his interest.
And, of course, that was precisely what she preferred, she told herself sternly.
The past hours in Simon’s company had been undeniably pleasurable, but she had no place in her ordered life for charming rogues.
“When you become better acquainted with Lord Challmond, Lizzy, you will discover his own sense of humor is quite peculiar,” she retorted in dry tones.
There was another grating giggle. “Silly, silly Claire. Well, I must hurry along. I have one of Cook’s delicious sponge cakes for Henry.” A smug smile curled the thin lips. “Someone must care for the darling gentleman while you are gone, Claire.”
A strangled noise was caught in Claire’s throat as Lizzy offered Lord Challmond a small dip before sweeping from the room. Someone care for her father, she seethed. He was a grown man with a house full of servants, not a helpless child.
And since when did her father even like sponge cake?
“Sponge cake for dear Henry?” Simon murmured. “Almost like family?”
With an effort Claire thrust aside her dark thought and turned toward her companion.
“Pardon me?”
The emerald eyes twinkled with wicked humor. “Do I detect a lady on the hunt to become the next Mrs. Blakewell?”
Claire shuddered even knowing that he was merely attempting to tease her.
“Do not say such a ghastly thing,” she pleaded.
The dark head tilted to one side. “You do not wish for your father to wed again?”
“Certainly not to Lizzy Hayden.”
“I agree she is a trifle . . .” He struggled to conjure a delicate term for the harridan. “Forward.”
“Forward?” Claire gave a loud snort. “She is a managing, conniving jade who has no interest in my father beyond his position in society and his fortune.”
“Hardly an unusual reason for a sensible female to choose her husband.”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. She would like to see how calm he would be if Lizzy were angling to become a part of his family.
“She has also all but threatened to have me banished to Bath if she lures my father to the altar.”
Simon gave a startled shout of laughter. “Good God. I give her full marks for courage. Not many would dare to cross the dauntless Miss Blakewell.”
She regarded him narrowly. “This is not amusing.”
With an effort he struggled to suppress the laughter still smoldering in his eyes.
“So what of your father?” he at last demanded. “Has his head been turned by the charms of Mrs. Mayer?”
“Of course not,” she denied, giving little thought to her impetuous words, or where they were leading. “Not even Father is that much of a fool. All he desires is . . .”
“What?” he prompted as her words trailed to a halt.
“Nothing.”
“You cannot halt now, Claire,” he commanded in stern tones. “What does your father desire?”
Cursing her own stupidity, she met his gaze squarely. “An heir.”
He blinked as if caught off guard by her blunt retort.
“You mean he wishes for a male issue?”
“No. Any heir besides the one he already possesses.”
He gave a shake of his head. “But why?”
“Because.” She struggled to dampen the revealing blush. It was simply so embarrassing to discuss such an intimate subject with this gentleman. “Because he realizes that I have no interest in providing him with grandchildren.”
“Ah.” A slow realization dawned as he gave a soft chuckle. “Poor Claire. You are clearly caught between Mrs. Mayer as a stepmother and lowering your noble fate to produce a Blakewell heir. How distressing for you.”
She didn’t know what the devil he found so amusing. “I have no intention of either having Lizzy in my home or producing heirs.”
“No?”
“No,” she said in firm tones.
He regarded her for an unnerving moment. “I sense ‘something rotten,’ as Shakespeare would say,” he murmured. “What are you plotting, my dear?”
Claire suddenly realized that she was in danger of revealing more than her father’s absurd decision.
“Nothing.”
The emerald gaze narrowed as Simon studied her guarded expression. He was obviously pondering her unwitting revelations. Then his hand tightened on her fingers.
“Why, you devious vixen.”
With an effort Claire attempted to keep her countenance unreadable.
“What?”
“That is why you forced yourself to endure my company and accepted my invitations,” he accused her.
She gave a small shrug. “I do not know what you mean.”
“You were using me to try to persuade your father that he had no need to wed Mrs. Mayer.”
“You, sir, possess a most vivid imagination.”
He gave a slow shake of his head, a hint of something that might have been annoyance glinting in his eyes.
“Not vivid enough, or I would have suspected the truth from the beginning.” His full lips twisted with a decidedly sardonic smile. “And you label Mrs. Mayer as a managing, conniving female.”
Claire’s mock innocence crumbled beneath his unjust accusation. How dare he cast her in the same ilk as Lizzy Hayden? She did not intend to lure him into marriage for mere money. Or pretend to care for those closest to him with every intention of having them exiled to Bath.
“I did not connive,” she denied with a tilt of her chin. “You were the one to thrust your attentions upon me. I merely . . . used them to my advantage.”
Simon was glaringly unimpressed with her defense. An odd tension hardened the handsome features.
“Very convenient.”
Claire felt a swift and surprising stab of guilt. She had in some regard behaved in a less than truthful manner. And she had manipulated his presence to deceive her father. Perhaps she had connived a bit.
Absurd, she firmly chided the renegade thoughts. He was the one to seek out her company. If he had not persistently pestered her with his attentions, she would never have come up with the far-fetched notion in the first place.
“As a matter of fact, it was not convenient at all,” she retorted in haughty tones.
“No?”
“No.”
He regarded her defensive expression for a moment, then slowly his annoyance faded. His hand loosened its grip on her fingers to stroke softly up her arm. A dangerous smile curved his lips at her instinctive shudder.
“So, my little cat, what punishment do you deserve for toying with my affections in such an infamous manner?”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Claire denied, briefly wondering if every woman reacted with such exquisite delight to his merest touch. Was this what made a rake so irresistible? This magic to set a lady’s blood aflame? All she knew for certain was that his soft caresses were making it decidedly difficult to concentrate on the matters at hand. “Indeed, I went to painful lengths to assure you that I possessed no interest in your supposed affections.”
With a smooth motion he shifted from the chair to the side of the bed, his hip intimately pressed to her own.
“A ploy that only deepened my regard,” he murmured in a husky tone. “What gentleman could resist the desire to capture such an elusive heart?”
Placing his hands on the pillows, Simon slowly leaned forward. Claire sank backward, her heart slamming to a halt before jolting back to life.
“Simon.”
“How I have ached to taste your lips, my little cat,” he murmured. “You make my blood burn.”
Angling his dark head, he captured her mouth in a possessive kiss. She shivered, longing to open her lips and deepen the caress. How would it feel to be ravished by this man? To forget what was right or wrong and just allow the surging emotions to wash over her. He moaned deep in his throat, and with a sharp stab of panic at the knowledge of how easy it would be to succumb to his advances, Claire forced her hands to press against his wide chest in protest.
“Simon . . .”
Moving back a fraction, Simon allowed his gaze to linger on the lips still warm from his touch.
“Yes, Claire?”
“You must halt,” she breathed.
He slowly smiled. “Must I?”
“Yes.”
“But I quite enjoy kissing you.”
And despite all sense, she thoroughly enjoyed being kissed, Claire acknowledged with a flare of unease.
“All the more reason you should not do it.”
His chuckle sent a tingle down her spine.
“What absurd logic, my dear.”
The dark head began to lower, and Claire felt her resolve melting. “Simon ...” Lost in each other, Simon and Claire never
noted the elderly woman sliding sideways in the large chair. It was not until a loud snore ripped through the silence that they abruptly recalled they were not alone.
Waking herself up, Aunt Jane bolted upright. “What? Who the blazes is making that infernal noise?”