Eight
The sketch was not going particularly well.
The arrangement of flowers that the gardener had gathered for her upon the wrought iron table in the conservatory was certainly lovely enough. Roses, daffodils, and rare Holland tulips offered a vivid splash of color in the slanting morning sunlight, but at last Victoria had to concede that her heart simply was not upon her drawing this fine morning.
As was becoming all too familiar, her thoughts seemed determined to dwell upon the gentleman who was responsible for yet another sleepless night.
She was still furious that he had dared to behave in such a reckless fashion. To even think of him charging through the dark in pursuit of an armed lunatic made her blood run cold. And the knowledge that he could so easily dismiss a bullet wound that might have been fatal—but for the grace of God—left a knot of unease in the pit of her stomach.
Last night she had been torn between the desire to shake some sense into his thick skull and to hold him and never let him go. She had wanted to punish him for daring to be such a fool and yet, deep within her, she had longed to reassure herself he was safe and well.
It was a frightening realization.
The very fact that she had reacted with such violent emotions to the horror he had been injured revealed that she was not nearly as indifferent to her husband as she had believed. And that brief, searing kiss had only confirmed her fears.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
For months she had done her best to avoid Claredon. By keeping a reasonable distance from him, she thought to keep herself protected from his potent charm. But now she could no longer deny that it did not matter if he were next to her or miles away. He invaded her thoughts with a persistence that was utterly unnerving.
“Good morning, my dear.” A softly masculine voice broke into her dark imaginings.
Wrenching her eyes open, Victoria turned her head to discover Claredon surveying her with a probing gaze.
Uneasily, she wondered how long he had been watching her, and, more importantly, just how much of her inner uncertainty had been revealed upon her face. It was unnerving to think he had sensed just how desperately vulnerable she was beneath her staunch air of invincibility. “Claredon, what are you doing out of bed?” she demanded in tones more sharp than she had intended.
His blue eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. Attired in a bottle green coat and silver waistcoat, he appeared undeservingly healthy and altogether too handsome for any maiden’s peace of mind.
“I am not an invalid, Victoria,” he retorted in a determinedly mild voice. “My shoulder is a bit stiff, nothing more.”
She drew in a deep breath to calm her edgy nerves. “You must still take care not to reopen the wound.”
“I wished to speak with you.”
“Then you should have sent a servant to find me,” she retorted, feeling far safer in the role of scolding wife than uncertain maiden. “I would have come to you.”
As if sensing her determined chastisement was hiding her vivid awareness of his masculine presence, his lips curved in a rather wicked smile. “The notion certainly entered my mind, but I thought it wiser to resist temptation.”
Her expression became wary. “I would not have minded.”
With slow, deliberate movements, he crossed the small distance until he was close enough to stroke a hand down her cheek. “I fear my ... restraint would have not withstood another visit to my bedchamber, Victoria,” he said in husky tones. “I want you very much, and having you seated next to me upon my bed gives rise to all sorts of wicked desires.”
She shivered as his simmering blue gaze stroked warmly over her upturned countenance.
“Oh,” she murmured, briefly lost in the sensuous pleasure of his fingers, which softly moved to trace the curve of her lips. She had dreamed of those fingers last night, the feel of them tracing patterns of delicious heat over her skin and stirring smoldering passions to life that she only dimly understood.
The realization that those passions were indeed being stirred, and not just in her dreams, brought Victoria to her feet with a jerky motion. Dear heavens, she would soon be swooning whenever he entered the room.
A most humiliating prospect.
On the point of fleeing, Victoria was halted as Claredon abruptly reached out to grasp her hand in a firm grip.
“Wait, my dear, there is no need to bolt,” he said with soft insistence. “I did not come here this morning to seduce you. I am determined to wait until you are prepared to come to me of your own will.”
She slowly turned to face him, unconsciously wetting her oddly dry lips. She did not particularly care for the thought he was merely biding his time until she caved in to temptation.
“And what if I never do?” she challenged.
He shrugged, supremely indifferent to the threat. “Then I have only myself to blame.”
Somehow his unwavering belief that his seduction of her was inevitable sent an arrow of fear straight to the center of her being. It should be ridiculous. Such confidence in his abilities only revealed his utter arrogance. But with her skin still tingling from his touch and her body weary from her restless night, she was not nearly as self-assured as she would like to be.
Determinedly, she pulled her arm free of his grasp and sought to pretend an indifference she was far from feeling. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”
His lips twisted, as if battling his instinctive urge to rattle her fragile composure, but thankfully he turned the conversation to his reason for seeking her out.
“I would like your promise that you will not leave Longmeade without me.”
She blinked in surprise. “What?”
“Just until this madman is captured,” he explained in firm tones.
“But surely I would be safe enough with a footman with me?”
His expression became somber as his eyes darkened with determination. “We cannot be certain how far this scoundrel is prepared to go, Victoria. You would not wish to put the lives of our servants in danger, would you?”
She knew without a doubt that he was only using her concern for the staff to force her to obey his command. The villain had shown no desire to put anyone but herself and Claredon at risk. But while she could be stubborn, perhaps at times even overly proud, she was at heart sensible. She had no desire to encounter the dangerous Mr. Smith, nor to lead any of her servants into his unpredictable path.
“No, of course not,” she agreed.
He grimaced at the edge in her voice. “It will be for only a few days. And you will have Mr. Humbly for company.”
She gave a restless shake of her head. “I do not like this.”
Claredon abruptly moved forward to cup her chin in gentle fingers. “I am not attempting to steal your independence from you,” he said gently, misunderstanding her sudden flare of annoyance. “I merely wish you to realize the danger.”
“It is not that,” she retorted with a frustrated sigh. “It is annoying this Mr. Smith is allowed to disrupt our lives in such a manner.”
Almost absently his fingers trailed up the line of her jaw. “Yes, he has a great deal to answer for. Do not doubt that I will see him punished.”
Sharp pleasure surged through her, but Victoria refused to be distracted. She was sensible enough to recognize the danger, but she was not nearly so certain Claredon could be convinced to behave in a reasonable manner.
“And what of you?” she demanded.
His gaze followed the path of his fingers as they lightly moved over her cheek. “What do you mean?”
“I wish your promise not to take any further risks.”
His lips curved as he captured a stray curl and wrapped it about his finger. “I assure you, I will be on guard at all times. I have no intention of allowing the villain another shot at me.”
Her brows drew together at his evasive answer. “You are not to be going out alone.”
His brows rose at the stern expression upon her countenance. “Is that a command?” he murmured softly.
“It is a request to use your common sense,” she countered in tones that warned him she would not be thwarted on this.
He regarded her for a long moment before a slow smile shimmered in his blue eyes. “I suppose it is only fair that I have the same stipulations upon my movements as you,” he softly conceded. “Shall we seal our promises with a kiss?”
Now that she had been assured he would not be out hunting the lunatic on his own, Victoria suddenly became aware of just how close Claredon had moved. Shimmering heat lay like a thick cloak about her, clouding her mind and urging her to lower the barriers between them. It did not help that those distracting fingers continued to stroke the soft skin of her temple or that his gaze had lowered to rest upon her lips. With unnerving ease, he had managed to stir those tempting sensations that she had battled to subdue throughout the long night.
“I do not think that will be necessary,” she said in an oddly thick voice.
He lowered his head to breathe in deeply of the scent of her freshly washed hair. “Perhaps not precisely necessary, but certainly enjoyable.”
“Claredon.”
His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her head until she was a mere breath from his lips. “Yes, my dear?”
“I thought . . . you said . . .”
“I said that I would wait to make you my wife until you are ready to come to me,” he murmured, lightly brushing his lips over her own. “That does not mean we cannot enjoy a harmless kiss.”
Slowly his lips teased over her mouth, featherlight and lingering only long enough to create an ache of need deep within her. She wanted to put her arms about his neck and force those lips to kiss her properly, to lean forward so that her body was arched against the warm power of his own. Her hands even fluttered to the solid strength of his wide chest before the door to the conservatory was suddenly pushed open and the fragile bewitchment was shattered.
Abruptly Victoria pulled away from her husband, fiercely telling herself that she was relieved by the timely interruption, even if her body did tremble in protest at the sudden end to the pleasurable caresses.
The clearly embarrassed footman cleared his throat as his face flushed with heat. “Pardon me, my lord.”
More annoyed than ashamed at having been discovered making love to his wife in the middle of the conservatory, Claredon placed his hands upon his hips and glared at the poor servant. “What is it?”
The footman shifted uneasily beneath the obvious irritation of his employer. “There is a gentleman here to see Lady Claredon,” he stammered.
“A gentleman?” Claredon demanded in surprise.
“Yes, sir. A Mr. Stice.”
Victoria took a startled step forward. “Thomas?”
A dangerous stillness settled about Claredon as he slowly turned to stab her with a glittering gaze. “What is he doing here?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” she retorted with genuine confusion.
She had not spoken with Thomas since the morning he had belatedly arrived at the posting inn to discover that she and Claredon had hastily announced they were engaged and soon to be wed. Not surprisingly, the poor man had been thoroughly baffled and more than a little hurt. He had barely listened to Victoria’s stammered confession of the horrid scene that she had endured the evening before, clearly wanting to be far away from the scandal swirling about her.
Staunchly, Victoria had told herself that it was only natural that Thomas would desire to avoid the ugly rumors. Such a sensitive young gentleman could not be expected to readily expose himself to that sort of embarrassment. And he had been thinking only of her when he kept silent about their botched elopement. After all, to admit the truth would only add fuel to the malicious gossip.
But, perhaps selfishly, she could not wholly deny a bit of disappointment that he had so easily walked away from her. Not once had he tried to contact her. And certainly he had made no effort to save her from Claredon by offering to wed her himself. When it came to the sticking point, it had been a scandalous rake who had saved her reputation rather than the gentleman who claimed to love her.
A scandalous rake who was currently regarding her with a dark frown. “Mr. Stice did not write to tell you he was coming?” he demanded.
Victoria gave a shake of her head. “No.”
Without allowing his narrowed gaze to stray from her pale face, Claredon waved a dismissive hand toward the waiting servant. In obvious relief, he readily slipped out of the conservatory and softly closed the door behind him.
Victoria discovered herself uneasily clasping her hands together. Her husband was no longer the teasing seducer of mere moments ago. Instead, there was a distinctly predatory cast to his features and a dangerous glitter in his eyes. “I do not want you seeing Mr. Stice,” he said in clipped tones.
The preemptory command instantly rasped against Victoria’s pride. She would not be intimidated nor bullied by any man, especially her husband. “Do not be absurd, Claredon,” she retorted with a lift of her chin. “I must discover why he is here. It might very well be important.”
“Then I will speak with him.”
“He came to see me.”
“Only because he is a fool. If he possessed the least amount of sense, he would have realized his danger.”
She frowned at his incomprehensible words, not at all liking his sudden attempt to intimidate her. “Are you forbidding me to see Thomas?” she demanded in a tight voice.
His features hardened as he realized her own growing irritation. No doubt he had expected her to simply concede to his unreasonable demands. “Why would you wish to see him?” he rasped. “I am your husband now, whether you like it or not.”
“Well I certainly do not like it at the moment,” she charged back, an annoyed flush darkening her cheeks. “You are treating me like a child.”
He moved until he was towering over her, refusing to back down from his stubborn stance. “No, I am treating you as my wife. I do not wish you to be with the gentleman you were once determined to wed. Surely that is reasonable?”
“It is ludicrous. What do you suppose could occur in our front parlor?”
A humorless smile curled his lips. “Shall I go into detail?”
Victoria’s blush abruptly deepened as she slowly comprehended his implication.
The rat.
She did not doubt that he was quite an expert at seducing married women in their own front parlor. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
“I suppose you would know,” she said in cold tones. “However, you need have no fear that I shall allow Thomas to ravish me beneath my husband’s roof. I do have my standards.”
He did not even possess the grace to flush at her sharp barb. Instead he stabbed her with a steely gaze. “And why should I trust you, Victoria?” he growled. “You possess no faith in me.”
She flinched at the direct accusation. She could hardly deny her lack of faith. It was the reason she consistently kept a wall of restraint between them and why she did not succumb to his practiced seduction.
Oddly, however, she found she did not particularly care to have her own honor questioned. She suddenly realized just how impossible it was to defend such an intangible quality.
“I will not be dictated to, Claredon,” she instead retorted, her expression set in stubborn lines. “You are my husband, not my master. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a guest awaiting me.”
“Victoria...”
She easily sidestepped the hand he reached out to capture her with and headed directly for the door. She was not about to be lectured to by Claredon, nor told what she could or could not do. Fate might have forced her into marriage with the man, but that did not mean she had to become one of those spineless wives who bowed to their husband’s every whim.
With her head held high, she swept from the conservatory and moved directly toward the front parlor. She almost half expected to hear Claredon charging behind her, but thankfully he appeared to have conceded defeat.
She unconsciously slowed her steps, feeling the most ridiculous pang of guilt. It was not that she regretted her determination to battle his arrogant commands. She possessed far too much pride to be browbeaten into submission. But a renegade part of her could not help but rue the knowledge that their temporary truce seemed to be at an end. Once again they were enemies, with nothing in common but their animosity.
It was a disheartening realization.
Attempting to push aside her unwelcome thoughts, Victoria entered the front parlor and forced a smile to her lips as the young, slender gentleman with pale brown hair hurriedly rose to his feet. “Thomas, what a surprise,” she murmured as she moved forward and allowed him to grasp her hands in a tight grip.
“Oh, Victoria, it is so good to see you,” he breathed, his youthful features set in lines of relief.
Expecting a sharp pang at being in the company of the gentleman she had once loved, Victoria was surprised to discover she felt no more than a vague fondness at the sight of his familiar countenance. “Will you have a seat?”
Waiting until she had settled upon the sofa, Thomas returned to his chair and regarded her with a rather wistful smile. “You look as beautiful as ever, Victoria.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you . . . happy?”
Victoria stiffened, not at all eager to discuss her marriage with this man. He had not seemed to care about her happiness when she had been caught in the scandal. It was rather late to consider her feelings at this date. “As happy as could be expected,” she hedged.
“That is good,” he said in vague tones, almost as if he had not even heard her words.
Realizing that Thomas clearly had not come to reassure himself that she was well taken care of by Claredon, she smiled wryly. It probably had not entered his thoughts to concern himself with her well being once she had been handed over to her husband. “And how are you?”
He heaved a tragic sigh. “Miserable.”
“Your mother?” she inquired, all too aware of Mrs. Stice’s habit of bullying her only son.
“Yes. She is demanding that I wed Miss Calloway.”
Victoria swallowed a resigned sigh. It had been his mother’s determination to wed him to a fortune that had led to their aborted elopement. At the time, she had been convinced that the only means of saving poor Thomas was to wed in secret. Now she felt more than a hint of impatience at the realization he was still at the mercy of Mrs. Stice’s overbearing habits. Had he learned nothing from his brief attempt at independence?
“She cannot force you to do anything against your will,” she said with a faint frown. “You are of an age to make your own decisions.”
A petulant expression marred his soft features. “You know how she can be. She has been making my life miserable since our attempted elopement. I cannot walk out the door without a servant telling her where I have gone and with whom I have spoken. She is determined to keep me from forming an attachment to another woman.”
“Have you considered setting up your own establishment?”
“It is what I would like above all things, but Mother would never allow me to leave her.”
Not quite certain what Thomas expected her to do about his mother’s interference, she gave a sigh. Surely he could not believe that he could still depend upon her to save him now that she was wed to Lord Claredon? It was one thing to expect her help when they were secretly engaged. It was quite another when her loyalty now lay with her husband.
Still, Thomas could be remarkably impervious to others when he chose. And it was quite possible that he had not even considered the notion it was highly improper to seek out the company of his former fiancee or to realize she might be offended by the knowledge he had sought her out only to request her help.
“What brings you to Longmeade?” she demanded in resigned tones.
He gave a discomforted cough. “Well . . . I fear that I had a rather heated squabble with Mother when she accused me of stealing her jewels.”
Victoria blinked in sudden surprise. Jewels? What an extraordinarily odd coincidence that his mother would be missing her jewels just when there was a crazed lunatic accusing her of possessing his jewels. “What?”
“It is all no more than a mare’s nest,” Thomas complained. “She no doubt left them in Derbyshire or had them sent out to be cleaned.”
“How very odd.”
“Not really. She will use any excuse to believe I am attempting to sneak away from her. As if I would pawn her jewels for my own pleasure.”
“Yes.”
At last sensing her distraction, Thomas leaned forward with a frown. “What is it, Victoria?”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. Mrs. Stice and her jewels had nothing to do with the mysterious Mr. Smith. “Nothing,” she retorted in firm tones. “You still have not told me what you are doing in Kent.”
A hint of color washed over the pale countenance. “I fear I became so angered by my mother’s accusations I simply stormed from the house and swore I would never return.”
Decidedly surprised by the younger man’s rare display of courage, Victoria regarded him in amazement. “Good heavens.”
He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Unfortunately, I had no notion of where to go. Then, I thought of you and . . . well, here I am.”
“I see,” she said slowly.
“Would it be a terrible imposition if I were to stay here a few days?” he pleaded, clearly not at all aware of the unseemliness of his request. Or the danger of facing Claredon. “Just until I have proven to Mother that she cannot speak to me in such a manner?”
Victoria shivered at the mere thought of her husband’s reaction to having Thomas as a houseguest. For goodness sakes, he had been thoroughly unreasonable at having her speak with her former fiance at all. He was bound to be furious at her request to allow Thomas to remain for an indefinite stay.
“Well . . .”
“I promise not to be any bother,” Thomas softly coaxed.
Victoria gnawed her bottom lip, torn between her reluctance to press Claredon into enduring the company of a gentleman he openly disliked, and poor Thomas’s pleading request.
It was at last her own inability to turn away a person in need that swayed her decision. Longmeade was as much her home as Claredon’s now, she staunchly told herself. And despite all that had occurred, Thomas was still her friend. It would be unconscionable to turn him away when he was so obviously distressed.
Still, she could not deny a distinct chill of unease as she gave a slow nod of her head. “Of course.”
Thomas clapped his hands together in relief. “I knew I could depend upon you, Victoria. You have always been my greatest friend.”
Wishing that he had chosen another friend to depend upon, Victoria rose to her feet. She would have to find Claredon and admit she had offered sanctuary to Thomas before he could learn the truth from the servants.
“I will have a room prepared for you,” she murmured.
Thomas rose to his feet. “And you will not allow Mother to know I am here?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his anxious tone. The gentleman could not help his weak nature, any more than she could help her habit of commanding others. “I have no intention of contacting your mother,” she assured him in dry tones.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Victoria gave a wry smile as she walked out of the door.
In the first weeks of her marriage, she had often thought of Thomas, foolishly hoping he would suddenly appear to whisk her away from the mess she had made of her life. Even with her disappointment in his lack of determination to make her his bride whatever the scandal, she had thought anything would be preferable to being tied to Claredon for all eternity.
It was rather ironic that now he had appeared, she realized that his presence would never have solved her troubles. Not only did he not possess the strength to fight for her, but he was far too enwrapped in his own needs to consider her own.
Utterly unlike Claredon, she grudgingly conceded.
Had the woman he had chosen to marry been forced to wed another, he never would have meekly stood aside. Instead he would have battled to the death to keep her at his side—a knowledge that made her heart twitch with a sudden ache of loss.
She had loyally attempted to maintain her shining image of her love for Thomas. She wanted to believe that it had been utterly pure and right. Having seen him today, she very much feared that glowing memory was in danger of being tarnished.
The notion made her heart decidedly uneasy. That lingering belief, that she still loved Thomas, had been a potent weapon in fighting off Claredon’s charm.
And she very much feared she needed all the weapons she could muster.