Nine
Despite the early hour, Claredon swallowed a large gulp of brandy. He had handled Victoria badly.
A wry smile touched his grim countenance. Bloody hell, he always handled Victoria badly. For a man reputed to be a master with the fairer sex, he was remarkably incompetent when it came to his own wife. But this morning he had been particularly clumsy.
The moment he had learned of Mr. Stice’s arrival, he had lost all sense. A fury had whipped through him as incomprehensible as it was unstoppable.
How dare the cowardly fool show his face at Longmeade?
It was bad enough that Stice maintained a place in his wife’s heart. To actually dare to thrust his way back into her life went beyond the pale. He wanted to rush to the front parlor and physically toss the man from his home. Or, better yet, run him off with a horsewhip for even daring to trespass upon his land.
Only the knowledge that Victoria would never forgive him for treating her precious Thomas in such a fashion kept him pacing the library rather than relieving the tension knotted in the pit of his stomach.
Damn it all.
Why could she not see that the gentleman was utterly unworthy of her loyalty? He had done nothing to save her when she had been embroiled in scandal. He had not once offered his assistance or even his regret that their marriage was not to be. Instead he had fled like a frightened milksop with no thought for his trapped fiancée. Emotions perilously close to jealousy battered his mind as he paced through the library, until a new, startling thought abruptly swept aside his unwelcome broodings.
Coming to a halt, he allowed himself to ponder the sudden suspicion that bloomed to life, not even noticing that the door to the library had been softly opened and that a short, rotund gentleman was silently regarding him with a shrewd gaze.
“Good morning, my lord.” Mr. Humbly interrupted his musings.
Abruptly turning about, Claredon regarded the vicar with an impatient gaze. “Humbly.”
“I trust you are feeling better?”
Claredon grimaced, realizing he could hardly disguise his black mood. “I was.”
As always, the vicar maintained his air of placid goodwill. Claredon wondered if anything beyond a thief slipping into the window could manage to rattle the older man. “Has something occurred?”
“Mr. Stice has come for a visit.”
“Mr. Stice?” Humbly furrowed his brow. “Why is that name familiar?”
“He is the gentleman with whom Victoria attempted to elope.”
Comprehension dawned as Humbly gave a slow nod of his head. “Ah.”
“She, of course, insisted upon seeing him.”
Humbly tilted his head to one side and regarded him in a curious fashion. “You did not wish her to?”
That dark, unpleasant sensation twisted his gut once again. “No.”
“Why?”
Claredon’s features hardened at the vicar’s probing. Really, the man could not be that unworldly, he seethed. “I think it would be obvious,” he said in tight tones. “Victoria believes herself to be in love with the man.”
Humbly frowned with obvious disapproval at his words. “Victoria will not forget that she is now wed to you,” he said in chastising tones.
Claredon polished off the last of the brandy before setting his glass on the nearby desk with restrained violence. “I do not fear her being unfaithful,” he retorted.
Humbly slowly moved forward, his gaze watchful. “Then what do you fear?”
“That she will recall why she desired to wed him rather than me.” There was a stark silence as he grudgingly revealed the betraying emotions that twisted his gut. It was not easy to speak the words out loud. He did, after all, have his pride, and it was not pleasant to accept that his own wife obviously preferred another man. Or that the knowledge gnawed at him in a manner he was not utterly comfortable in examining.
Thankfully Humbly did not smirk at how low he had fallen, nor attempt to pass off his worries with a flippant response. Instead he seemed to consider his response for a long moment.
“I certainly am not an expert when it comes to women,” he admitted with a kindly smile. “But I think it is far more likely that Victoria will begin to realize that marriage with Mr. Stice would have been a grave mistake.”
Claredon frowned at the tempting words. “But she believes she is in love with him.”
“Oh, she certainly convinced herself that she loved him,” Humbly readily agreed. “But during our discussions, I have noted that she spoke far more of her effort to save him from his overbearing mother than of her emotional attachment to him. Victoria has always been a woman who rushed to the rescue of others.”
Although the vicar’s words closely reflected his own belief in Victoria’s affection for the hapless Mr. Stice, it offered little comfort at the moment. “I agree that marriage would have been a disaster between Victoria and the bumbling nitwit, but it is impossible to convince my wife of the truth. Believe me, I have tried.”
“Then perhaps it is best to allow her to discover the truth for herself,” Humbly offered in pointed tones.
It took a moment for Claredon to follow his subtle hint. When he did, his features twisted with distaste.
Of course it would be better if Victoria accepted for herself that her feelings for Stice were no more than those of caring woman for a weak man. But to actually encourage her to spend time with Stice made his teeth clench in fury. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, exasperated beyond all endurance.
Humbly raised his brows. “Pardon me?”
“You are no doubt right, but I would far prefer the satisfaction of blackening the man’s eye.”
Humbly regarded him with a steady gaze. “Believe in your wife, my lord. You will not be disappointed.”
He wished he could believe the kindly vicar. But until Victoria accepted him as her husband, his faith was in short supply. How could he trust her when she had no reason to feel the need to remain loyal to him? Oh, not in the physical sense, he acknowledged. He did not believe for a moment that her own honor would allow her to give her body to another man. But as he had said to the vicar, he could not dismiss the fear that she would allow the arrival of Mr. Stice to drive an even greater barrier between them.
“I hope you are right, Humbly,” he said in low tones.
The vicar opened his mouth, no doubt to insist that Claredon agree that Victoria was above suspicion, but before he could speak, the door to the library was once again pushed open, this time to reveal the hesitant form of Claredon’s wife.
Claredon ridiculously found himself closely inspecting her slender form, as if attempting to discover some sign of distress at having come face to face with the man she professed to love. He could discover nothing, however, beyond a certain pallor to her countenance and an uncertainty in her manner.
“Come in, my dear,” he said in what he hoped were reassuring tones.
She stepped forward and glanced toward the silent vicar. “Good morning, Mr. Humbly.”
“Good morning, Victoria. I was just on my way to breakfast. Shall I see you later?”
“Oh yes, of course,” she readily agreed.
“Good.” With a meaningful glance at Claredon the older gentleman politely slipped from the room, leaving him alone with his wife.
Claredon forced himself to take a deep breath before speaking. “Has Mr. Stice taken his leave so soon?”
Her hands clenched together as she determinedly lifted her gaze to meet his own. “No, he is still in the parlor.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Actually . . .” Her words trailed away, and she visibly gathered her courage. “He has asked to remain for a few days.”
Sharp disbelief raced through Claredon. “Here?”
“Yes.”
Unable to accept that even Stice could possess the audacity to request to remain beneath the roof of his former fiancée and her new husband, Claredon abruptly turned to pace toward the window that overlooked the tidy gardens. “I see.”
“I realize that you do not particularly care for Thomas,” she said in carefully controlled tones, “but he truly does not have anywhere to go.”
Claredon had several suggestions as to where the annoying twit could go, but the memory of the vicar’s stern warnings held his tongue. “And you believe that I should allow the gentleman you claim to love remain beneath my roof?” he said in chilled tones.
There was a discomforting silence before Victoria cleared her throat. “I am well aware that Thomas can never be more than a friend.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Feelings are not so easily controlled as that.”
She gave an impatient click of her tongue at his mocking tone. “You are determined to make this difficult, are you not?”
He was making this difficult? He turned to face her with an expression of annoyance. Damn and blast. How the devil would she feel if he requested that a former mistress become a houseguest?
Perhaps the vicar was right in that she should learn the truth of her emotions toward Stice on her own, but he was not above pointing out a few pertinent details she had seemed to overlook. He planted his hands upon his hips and stabbed her with a steely gaze. “Tell me, Victoria, has it occurred to you that it is rather odd that Mr. Stice has decided to make an unexpected appearance at this precise moment?”
She gave a bewildered shake of her head. “What do you mean?”
His lips twisted at her innocence. “First a scoundrel attempts to slip into our home. Then he threatens you and takes a shot at me. When it is obvious he has not been able to frighten us into giving him these mysterious jewels, Mr. Stice arrives upon our doorstep requesting to stay for a few days.”
Not surprisingly, she stiffened at his blatant accusation of her beloved Thomas. “Are you implying that Thomas is involved with Mr. Smith?”
“Perhaps he is Mr. Smith,” he retorted in silky tones. “The sketch you drew bears a resemblance to him.”
Expecting anger, he was rather surprised when she instead appeared almost wary. “Absurd.”
He stepped closer, resenting her ready defense of Stice more than he cared to acknowledge. “It makes perfect sense. He could not discover these jewels by force, so he has decided to slip in under the disguise of friendship.”
“No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The man who accosted me in the carriage was not Thomas.”
“How can you be so certain?” he persisted with a relentless expression. “You said yourself he was hidden by a scarf and cape.”
Stubborn as ever, she refused to admit that Stice could be capable of such a nefarious plot. “I would have recognized him had it been Thomas.”
Realizing he would be wasting his breath to insist that she had been too startled and frightened at the time to recognize her own mother, he gave a vague shrug. “Then perhaps he is using an accomplice.”
“You are being ridiculous.” Twisting her fingers together until he feared they might become irretrievably tangled, Victoria abruptly turned to pace away from his piercing gaze. “In the first place, there are no jewels to be found here, and in the second, Thomas would never be involved in anything remotely criminal.”
Battling the urge to damn Thomas Stice to the netherworld, Claredon watched his wife with a growing suspicion. Her defense of Stice was almost too fierce. “Are you quite certain that he never gave you any jewels as an engagement gift?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“He never gave you any gifts?” he persisted.
She gave an impatient lift of one shoulder. “Only a trifling figurine.”
Claredon frowned, refusing to accept that he was completely off the mark. Perhaps he did wish to think the worst of the annoying gentleman, but there was still the fact that he had arrived at the same moment that the trouble at Longmeade had begun. That could not be simply dismissed.
Or at least he did not desire to dismiss it.
“There must be something,” he muttered. “This cannot be a mere coincidence.”
“It cannot be Thomas. It cannot be. I will not believe it.”
Suddenly certain that Victoria was hiding something from him, Claredon moved to lay his hands upon her shoulders and firmly turned her about. “Victoria, look at me,” he commanded softly.
There was a moment’s pause, as if she were debating ignoring his words. Then, with obvious reluctance, her long lashes fluttered upward to reveal troubled emerald eyes. “What?”
“There is something you are not telling me.”
She wet her lips in a manner he was swiftly learning indicated she was nervous. “It is nothing.”
“Victoria,” he said in warning tones.
Her eyes darkened at his refusal to be dismissed. “It is only that Thomas mentioned something of his mother’s jewels missing.”
“Good God,” he breathed in surprise.
Clearly anxious to ensure that he did not overreact to her confession, she reached up to grasp his hands with her own. Despite his smoldering anger, Claredon felt a rush of pleasure at the feel of her silky skin against his own.
“Claredon, it simply is not possible. Thomas is a weak man in many ways, but I have never known him to be dishonest. Indeed, he cannot tell the smallest lie without stammering and blushing a bright red.”
“Perhaps you do not know him as well as you think you do,” he retorted in harsh tones.
A wounded expression darkened her eyes, and Claredon swiftly regretted his urge to lash out at her perverse determination to protect her former fiance. Dash it all! He had never concerned himself with whether a woman was singularly devoted to him before. In truth, the occasional mistress who had attempted to make him jealous had merely discovered herself dismissed in disgust at such a childish ploy. He had always presumed that he was above such a tedious emotion. After all, there were plenty of women awaiting his discovery.
Now he reluctantly realized that he could be just as susceptible as the next man, a knowledge that did nothing to improve his temper.
Pulling away from him, Victoria wrapped her arms about her waist. “I think it more likely you are attempting to believe the worst because you do not like Thomas,” she accused.
He heaved a weary sigh. “No, I do not like him. If you want the truth, I am jealous as hell of him.”
She gave a choked sound at his blunt honesty, her expression bewildered. “Jealous?”
A rueful grimace twisted his lips. She seemed to find his confession as difficult to believe as he did.
“He managed to win your wary affection with inept ease, while I have struggled for months in vain.” His hand rose of its own violation to allow his fingers to gently touch the soft temptation of her full lips. “He appears to know the way to your heart.”
He felt her tremble beneath his gentle caress, but she did not pull away.
“You certainly have not attempted to win my affection,” she denied in uneven tones. “You are forever provoking me.”
“Would you have been swayed by soft words?” he challenged with a lift of his brows. “You have been determined to hate me since we were wed.”
Astonishingly, her eyes widened as if she were shocked by his accusation. Or perhaps she simply had not allowed herself to put words to her determined dislike. “That is not true,” she breathed softly. “I do not hate you.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
Claredon experienced a ridiculous warmth flare through his heart at her adamant denial. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. “Then what do you feel, Victoria?” he asked softly.
“I . . .” She swallowed heavily, her gaze abruptly dropping as if seeking to hide her inner confusion. “This is hardly the time for such a discussion.”
He smiled wryly at her ready retreat. Gads, she was as elusive as the fog, near enough to see and feel, but never able to be grasped. Unable to help himself, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms about her waist, jerking her satisfyingly close to the aching hardness of his body. “And when will be the proper time for such a discussion?” he rasped.
Her head jerked upward as her hands raised to press against the coiled muscles of his chest. “Claredon.”
“You have not answered my question.”
A bewitching bewilderment fluttered over her countenance, making Claredon’s arms tighten. She felt so very right pressed against him, soft and so enchantingly vulnerable. He would not lose her to the lure of a gentleman who could never be more than a selfish burden, he swore to himself silently. She deserved better than that.
Besides, a possessive voice whispered in the back of his mind, she belonged to him, and he intended to do whatever necessary to keep her.
“We were discussing Thomas,” she breathed in uneven tones.
“I prefer to discuss us,” he said with a soft persistence, his fingers lightly tracing the delicious curve of her spine. “Last night I had begun to hope that you were beginning to care for me. You appeared so upset that I had been injured.”
She arched beneath the soft caress of his hand, pressing her body even more firmly against his own. Claredon swallowed an instinctive growl of pleasure.
“Of course I was upset,” she forced herself to say as she battled the shimmering heat that flared between them.
“Because you care?” he demanded, all too conscious of the sofa only a few feet away. With one movement he could have her swept off her feet and lying back on the soft cushions. It was small, but he was growing desperate enough to overcome any obstacle. Of course, there was much to be said for the nearby desk, he fuzzily acknowledged. He could place her upon the edge and ...
“Because you’re my husband.” She broke into his lurid thoughts.
He gave a slow shake of his head, refusing to believe her desperate anger of the night before was mere duty. “And you care,” he insisted in velvet rough tones.
Her eyes briefly fluttered closed as his seeking hands cupped her hips and cradled her firmly to his lower body. “I suppose.”
He felt a stab of frustration at her grudging tone. She proclaimed her love for Stice with glorious ease. Why could she not admit even the smallest hint of affection for him without behaving as if she was having a tooth drawn? “Is that so terribly difficult to say, Victoria?” he demanded in sharp tones. “Am I such a horrid person that it grieves you to feel a glimmer of kindness for me?”
She abruptly lifted her gaze to reveal haunted eyes. “I did not wish to feel anything for you.”
He flinched as if she had slapped him. Although he had always known she was determined to keep barriers between them, he had not actually heard the words fall from her lips.
Now he wanted to howl out in frustration.
They had both been forced to give up their hopes and plans for their future. He had lost as much as she. Surely she could see that it was only sensible that they discover new plans that included one another. They could do better than this constant fighting and bickering.
His thoughts strayed back to the nearby desk. Much, much better than this.
“Victoria . . .” The unwelcome voice abruptly shattered the silence of the library, causing Victoria to leap out of Claredon’s arms at the same moment Mr. Stice enter the room. Claredon bristled with instant antagonism, not bothering to hide his displeasure as the intruder stumbled to a halt at the sight of his grim countenance. “Oh ... my lord.”
Claredon flexed his fingers, wanting nothing so much as to wrap them about the man’s scrawny neck. “Stice,” he muttered between clenched teeth.
At least the dimwit had the intelligence to shift uneasily beneath his feral stare. “I merely wished to thank Victoria again for allowing me to remain at Longmeade,” he stammered.
Claredon opened his mouth to inform the fool that not only was he not welcome at Longmeade, but that he would be well served to flee before he found himself drowned in the nearby cove. But the sudden sensation of Victoria’s pleading gaze locked onto him halted the impetuous warning.
Bloody hell.
If he tossed Stice from the estate, he would no doubt be branded an unfeeling monster, even if he were the one in the right. Not only would Victoria accuse him of not trusting her, but she would stubbornly use her grievance as yet another reason to keep them apart. He was well and truly damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, he angrily acknowledged. “I trust that you have been made comfortable?” he managed to choke out with a semblance of manners.
The younger man bobbed his head up and down. “Oh yes, quite comfortable.”
“Good.”
Stice coughed, wisely backing toward the still open door. “Ah ... well . . . I must change before luncheon. If you will excuse me?”
Not bothering to wait for a response, the coward turned to bolt back through the door. Claredon could not deny a faint flare of satisfaction at his swift flight. Perhaps the idiot did possess a bit of sense.
“You will allow him to remain?” Victoria demanded in obvious surprise.
Turning to regard his baffled wife, Claredon smoothed his features into an unreadable expression. He was not about to admit to Victoria that he feared her reaction if he did not give in to her demands. Such power was far too dangerous to hand over easily. “Oh yes, he will remain,” he said in smooth tones. “I intend to keep a very close guard on Mr. Stice.”
Her nose flared with irritation at his explanation. “Really, Claredon, you are impossible.”
“No, I am determined.” He reached out to grasp her chin in a firm grip. “I never play to lose, my dear. You might want to remember that.”