It was saying a good deal that Leo was eager to visit White’s… with his deservedly livid brother-in-law for company.
The man was respectable, staid, and dull as shite, and yet, after yesterday afternoon’s carriage ride with Chloe, Leo preferred Waverly’s torturous company to his wife’s.
For a second time that week, Leo found himself entering through the distinguished doors of White’s. Removing his cloak, he did a sweep for the other man, determined to advance his efforts as respectable gent.
And then he found him.
Leo paused for the minutest stretch of time. Then all his senses went on the alert as he joined his brother-in-law… and the Earl of Waterson.
Waterson is here.
All earlier tedium vanished. He’d been handed a meeting with Waterson, with no maneuvering required on Leo’s part. He forced aside thoughts of his troubling fascination with his wife and the dangerous proclivity of sharing his past with her.
“Tennyson,” Waverly greeted as he and the earl shoved to their feet.
Respectable and honorable, even when hatred for him likely sang in their veins.
“Gentlemen,” he returned with an affable grin.
They settled around the table with an awkward pall descending.
Meticulous with his stratagem, Leo drummed his fingertips on the arms of his chair in a deliberately grating staccato. With a bored gaze, he glanced about the club. From the corner of his eye, he spied the look shared by Waverly and Waterson.
“At last,” Leo murmured as a servant appeared with a crystal snifter. Snatching the glass from the young man’s hands, Leo helped himself to the bottle and proceeded to pour a healthy amount of Waverly’s brandy.
Registering the silence, he glanced up. “Not a problem, I hope.”
“Not. A. Problem,” his brother-in-law gritted out.
Waterson buried a grin behind his hand. Interesting. Leo had taken the earl, given his voting record in Parliament, as one incapable of even the slightest humor. Leo kicked back on the legs of his chair and rested his glass upon his belly. “So, what is it respectable gents spend their time talking about? I trust it’s not delectable widows—” If looks could kill, Waverly would have smote Leo to ash as he spoke. “So mayhap wagers and cards?”
“They…” He’d have to be deaf as a post to fail to hear the slight but distinguishable emphasis on that word. “They speak on horseflesh and politics and one another’s families,” Waverly said pointedly.
“Haven’t got two coins of late to rub together for a quality thoroughbred,” Leo acknowledged. “I’ve seen your family just yesterday. Our family.” Red splotches suffused his brother-in-law’s cheek. “So, nothing to talk about there. Waterson, you’ve sisters on another London Season, do you not?”
“Let us not speak about my sisters,” Waterson clipped out.
Leo sighed. “Very well.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “Politics it is, then. God, how I do love when Parliament is in session.”
The earl flared his eyebrows. “Indeed? I never took you for the political sort.”
“The political sort?” Leo chuckled. “Egads, no. Parliament being in session is the reason for the London Season and thus the wicked engagements that keep a gent from going out of his goddamn mind with boredom.”
His brother-in-law growled. “Tennyson,” Waverly snapped.
“Oh… uh… yes.” Leo lowered his chair so that all four legs touched the floor. “My apologies. So… Waterson… bravo on your work with the Blasphemy and Seditious Meetings Act.”
“The Blasphemous and Seditious Libels Act,” the earl corrected, like one schooling a child. “Nor am I capable of claiming credit for that particular legislation. I was the push behind the…” Leo yawned and did another bored search of the club.
“Training Prevention Act,” Waterson finished impatiently.
“I was never a parliamentary man,” Leo said, taking a long swallow. “Never fancied myself in a powdered wig and black robes.”
Waterson’s lip curled derisively.
“Oh, it’s not just that,” Leo rushed to assure the other man. “It’s all the endless ramblings from stodgy gents—” He stopped and gave his companions a sheepish look. “Uh… no offense intended.”
His brother-in-law’s brows dipped. “Why would we be offended, Tennyson?”
“Yes, well… it is just…” He pointed a finger from one gent to the next. “You and… Waterson. Your reputations…” Two pairs of eyes bored into him. Leo coughed into his fist. “I digress. You were saying about your act?”
“It is not my act,” the earl said impatiently, setting his brandy down. “It is for the people. My portion was written with the purpose of ensuring the Crown maintains the safety and efficacy of military trainings.”
“What is in it for you?”
“What is what for me?” the earl echoed dumbly.
Leo might as well have asked Waterson to snuff out old George himself for all the horror there. “Well, every man, present company not excluded,” he waved at himself, “desires something. Land… money.” He paused as something stirred at the back of his mind. Words spoken by another. “It was business, and common citizens and do-gooders in Parliament need to stop interfering…” Forcing his attention back, he continued his questioning. “What do you care who has arms or when?”
Waterson sputtered. “How dare you? My work in Parliament is only to benefit the Crown.” The man’s indignation and outrage were no mere ruse.
Leo filed that important detail away. The question it begged, however, was how far would the other man go to maintain order… in the name of the Crown? He probed. “Well, there’s no surer way to preserve the Crown than to stifle the masses, eh?” He laughed, lifting his glass in toast.
Stony silence met his show of amusement. Forcing another sigh, Leo lowered his drink.
“I’m not looking to stifle the masses, but rather maintain prosperity and peace for all.”
“Very noble. Then you,” he saluted the earl, “are unlike most men who’d build their fortunes on the backs of…” He stumbled. “Others,” he forced himself, his mind swirling. “Some would argue the masses would prefer to say their piece and do as they would without interference from some bewigged gent in Parliament.”
“That’s why Waterson spoke out in opposition to the Seditious Meetings prevention and the Blasphemous and Seditious Libels,” Waverly defended his friend, “which is something you’d know if you’d bothered to visit the chambers and listen behind closed doors where legislation is worked out.” With that set-down, his brother-in-law neatly handed Leo the most helpful piece of information he’d gathered yet about his suspect.
It wasn’t Waterson. Leo didn’t require so much as another interview to confirm it. “My apologies,” Leo murmured, bowing his head. “I should not have taken you for a total prig.”
“Thank—” The earl blinked. Waterson stood. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your drinks. Waverly.”
“I trust Chloe and I will see you at our soiree?” Leo ventured when the earl turned to go.
Too polite to decline, even though loathing spilled from the earl’s eyes, he nodded. “Tennyson,” he said grudgingly, dropping a bow.
Without a backward glance, he left.
“I’d say that went well.” Leo quirked his lips in a grin. “My first venture into gentlemanly topics.”
His brother-in-law dusted a hand over his eyes. “I understand you are trying, for reasons that I don’t understand, to be respectable. I’m not sure why but trust it has something to do with a wager or funds?”
At that supposition, Leo schooled his features.
“But, by God, have a care to learn something before you open your mouth and insult a man. Waterson isn’t one of the damned pompous lords you’d lump him in with. He’s one who’s been loyal to me and kind to my wife despite the origins of her birth. When he says he wishes to make England safer and better, he speaks true.” The marquess lowered his voice. “One of Waterson’s sisters was traveling through Manchester at the time of the Peterloo Massacre.” Leo absorbed that revelation. “His interest in maintaining arms and peace stems from that.” The marquess climbed to his feet. “Next time, before you hurl out shameful charges about what drives a man, know something about it first.”
Waverly quit the table.
Following the other man’s retreat through the club, Leo leaned back in his chair. On the whole, the day had been a resounding success. He’d not only secured details about Waterson’s efforts behind closed doors in Parliament, but discovered the source of his political pursuits… and his character as a loyal friend saw him.
He’d secured everything else he needed this night. Leo fought the urge to also quit White’s. The desire to see his wife hit him like a physical hungering. Forcing himself to finish his drink as the world expected, Leo strode lazily through the club.
After an endless ride through the crowded streets of London, he found himself at home.
Home. How very peculiar that word was, foreign to his vernacular. It was a state he’d not even known as a child, and yet, somehow, with Chloe under the same roof… in his life, it was more a home than any place he’d been. Ever.
Whistling The Rakes of Mallow, Leo took the steps two at a time. His cloak whipped about his ankles.
“Tomlinson, my good man,” he called as the servant pulled the door open. “Where may I find my lovely lady wife?”
The other man avoided his gaze. “She is not here,” he demurred, scurrying off.
“Halt.” The servant came to a shuddery stop and reluctantly faced Leo. Warning bells went off, and Leo froze with his fingers at the clasp at his throat. “What is it?” he asked slowly. Unease stirred as the intuition that had yet to fail him reared its head.
“She isn’t here, my lord,” the butler squeaked.
“Yes, you’ve said as much,” he said with an admirable calm. “Where is she?”
Tomlinson gulped audibly and darted his bulging eyes around.
“Tomlinson?”
“She is gone for a… visit.”
“And that merits this nervousness?” Something did not add up. The warning bells became a clamoring symphony of chaos portending trouble. “Where did my wife go?” he demanded a third time, taking a step toward his tight-lipped butler.
The servant held his palms up. “The… Earl and Countess of Montfort’s, my lord.”
Leo went motionless, his mind moving infuriatingly slow. “She went to visit the Earl and Countess of Montfort?” he repeated dumbly. “Why in the blazes would she go…” His words trailed off. You were trying to protect her, and you hurt that lady as much as you hurt yourself. “Bloody hell!” And with a curse, he thundered for his horse. He found himself heading for the last place he had any right to be—the Winterbourne residence.
Chloe sat with a cup of tea balanced on her knee. Her fingers kept the cup steady.
Across from her, the young countess went through the motions of pouring herself some of the tepid brew. The cane used by the countess to help her walk, rested beside her, forgotten.
Chloe used the distraction to study the woman her husband had been in love with.
He had made love to her. Dreamed of a future with her. And broke his heart because of a need to protect her from his family. Despite his insistence to the contrary, did he love her still?
Chloe’s fingers shook. A lone drop of tea splashed over the rim and landed forlornly upon her white skirts.
How was it possible for a heart to break twice, in two different ways, at just one thought? She hurt for what Leo had cost himself in his youth… and she was ripped apart inside thinking of him with this woman, longing for her, wanting her.
Chloe hurriedly set down her cup.
Lady Daphne glanced up from her efforts.
“You must wonder why I’m here,” Chloe finally said. She’d never been one to dance around details. Directness served a person well.
The countess set aside the teapot. “I’m thinking perhaps your visit has something to do with Philippa and her school?” the other woman ventured. Picking up her cup, she raised it to her mouth.
“No, that is not why I’ve come.”
Several little creases puckered Lady Daphne’s brow. “It is not?” she ventured, slowly lowering the delicate, floral, porcelain piece between her fingers.
Chloe shook her head. She’d spent the whole of the morning plotting and planning what she would say. And yet, it was difficult to call forth the script in her mind. Just have out with it. “I understand there’s a history between you and my husband.”
All the color bled from the countess’ cheeks, leaving her freckles stark. She turned to stone before Chloe’s eyes.
“I… I don’t know the meaning of this visit,” the other woman finally said. “Or what he’s told you or—but perhaps it would be best if you left.” Setting aside her tea, she grabbed her cane.
“Wait!” Chloe held her palms up. “Please, I’d ask that you at least hear me out. I did not come to hurt you or force pain upon you… but to try and understand.”
“It’s not my place to help you understand anything about your husband,” the countess said coolly.
The other woman’s patience was wearing thin. Chloe had long ago become a master of knowing a person’s breaking point. The Countess of Montfort had nearly reached hers.
“My husband is not a bad man.” And he wasn’t. One who fenced with children and unquestioningly allowed his wife the right to her dowry, funds, and future was not one who was cruel. There was good in him. She knew it. And she’d not let him flagellate himself over mistakes made a lifetime ago. Leo needed to forgive himself. Perhaps then he might shed the role of rake and become the person he’d spoken of in distant terms.
The countess drew in a breath through her tight lips. “I hope for your sake that he is kind, at least for you. But the man you would enter my home and defend is not one worthy of the defense.”
I’ve never rutted with a cripple before…
Her heart buckled. How those words must have shattered this woman. Chloe tried to make her see. “He was a boy.”
“Age does not excuse cruelty.”
“No, but it does explain impulsivity and recklessness.” Chloe smoothed her palms over her skirts. Lady Daphne made another reach for her cane. “I don’t trust you could forgive him for what he did or said.” The countess widened her eyes. Did she marvel that Leo had told Chloe about that long-ago night? “And it is not my place to answer for him. But he had reasons for both, and though those reasons will not erase those cruelties, please know that it wasn’t all pretend.”
“My lady—”
“Chloe. You are a friend of my sister,” she reminded.
“Chloe,” Daphne said gently. “I wish I could provide you what it is you seek—forgiveness of your husband—but I cannot offer that.” The other woman glanced past Chloe to the clock atop the mantel. “If you’ll excuse me? I have an appointment I’ll be late for at the Ladies of Hope.”
“Of course. Of course,” Chloe said, hopping up.
Beside her, the countess struggled to a stand. Silently, they started from the room and made a slow walk through the halls to the foyer. Chloe adjusted her pace to meet the other woman’s uneven gait. Everything was unraveling. Lady Daphne had misunderstood her point in being here… in helping her and Leo find peace… and forgiveness. Chloe hadn’t come here for herself… but for Leo.
Frantic, she glanced about. Her gaze landed on a gilded frame. She stopped at the tableau of familial happiness etched upon the canvas.
“It is lovely,” she said softly.
Eyeing her warily, Lady Daphne limped over to where Chloe rooted herself. “Thank you.”
Chloe examined the trio in the portrait. The devoted husband had a hand lovingly upon the shoulder of the beaming young mother and countess, who cradled a babe in her arms. Each parent singularly focused on another. “So much love,” she whispered. A terrifying yearning stirred in her heart, a great cataclysmic shift from a place she’d always been. A place where, in her need to protect herself and others, babes were tiny creatures who would never belong to her. Now she saw in her mind’s eye a tiny boy with Leo’s tangle of golden curls and boyish grin. God help me. I want that.
Chloe hugged her arms about her middle, and panic built inside.
For she’d come to care for her husband… a man who had no use for her outside their arrangement and whose heart would forever belong to the woman at her side.
That staggering realization brought her back to her purpose in being here. “I’ve been told your husband was once a rake,” Chloe finally said, examining the portrait of the earl. “There have been shocking accounts of his… escapades.” She briefly shifted her attention to the motionless woman Chloe’s husband had fallen in love with all those years ago, and then back to the picture. “I’ve come to know Polite Society enough to find that there are, at best, gross exaggerations to most of what they say and, at worst, outright lies. But if there is even a scrap of truth to the things your husband did, and you’re able to love him as my sister says you do, then mayhap you might see there could be good in others… like my husband.”
“You care for him,” the countess murmured, as one who saw too much.
“Yes,” Chloe confessed. What good could come in denying that truth and suffering through it alone?
Lady Daphne sighed. “Caring for one against all logic and good judgment? That, I can understand.” She smiled her first real smile since Chloe had arrived. It was a rueful expression of commiseration. “When logic and everyone around you question the wisdom in giving your heart to a man who wants nothing less than the heart of a lady, one is helpless anyway.”
Giving her heart to… she couldn’t… she didn’t… love him. He’d become a friend. “You misunderstand,” she blurted. “Leo and I are…”
The countess stared patiently back.
Chloe went tight-lipped. After all, the role she was to play was that of captivated lady in love with her husband. “I care about my husband,” she said simply. “You are right on that score. It is why I needed to come and assure you that not everything that came to pass with you was a lie.” The countess drew back, but Chloe pressed ahead. “There was a time he very much cared for you, but sometimes, life’s circumstances make that which we truly desire an impossibility.”
Lady Daphne placed both palms upon the top of her cane and leaned her weight over it. “And sometimes, wounds are left that are so great that they can never be completely healed.”
Regret filled Chloe. “I understand that,” she said softly. She could not make the other woman see, could not provide Leo and Lady Daphne peace from their past. Her failure here left her restless. “I shall not take up any more of your time.”
Again, they fell into a side-by-side march.
“As friendship is an impossibility between you and Leo, it is, at the very least, a hope that the earl might refrain from beating my husband whenever their paths might cross,” Chloe ventured. It was the least of the offerings she’d hoped to secure this day.
Lady Daphne’s lips twitched. “I will speak to my husband. I can promise those exchanges are to stop.”
They reached the foyer, and the countess sent a footman off to fetch Chloe’s cloak. “I will say,” Chloe went on when the servant returned and helped her into the garment, “there was at least one benefit to…” She waited until the servant had gone. “What did happen in the past. Had Leo not severed your connection, then you would not even now be wedded to the earl.” And I would not be married to Leo. How odd that in just a matter of days in knowing him, the idea of that had her bereft.
“You’re determined to bring peace between my family and your husband,” the other woman marveled.
Chloe smiled. “I am.”
“I—”
A pounding at the front door broke across whatever the countess had been about to say. Both women looked to the oak panels.
“What in the blazes?” the Earl of Montfort muttered, striding forward.
Chloe started. The earl had been following them, then. How much had he heard?
“I have it, my lord.” The Winterbourne butler rushed past and drew the door wide.
Leo stumbled through the entranceway. His gaze collided not with the woman who’d snagged his heart all those years ago… but Chloe.
Her heart did a somersault. He…
The fury in his eyes scorched her. “Leo!” she greeted with false cheer and a jaunty wave.
“Tennyson,” the earl growled. “What in the blazes are you doing here?” That question was cast to both Leo and Chloe.
“Montfort,” Leo muttered. “Nothing,” he gritted out, taking Chloe by the hand. “We were leaving. Both of us.”
She dug in her heels. “But, Leo…”
“Not a word,” her husband said under his breath. “Not a single, bloody iota of an utterance.”
With a gape-mouthed earl stopped in his tracks and the countess watching on, Chloe hurried to keep up with her husband, lest she be dragged down. “Will you slow down?” she panted.
“No.”
“I’ve secured Lady Daphne’s promise that the earl will not plant you a facer anymore, so you needn’t worry—”
“I. Said. Not. Another. Word.” A primitive growl suited for a caveman rumbled from her husband’s chest. This time, Chloe opted for silence.
As they approached Leo’s carriage, the driver drew open the door.
Not breaking stride, Leo scooped Chloe about the waist and unceremoniously deposited her upon a bench.
She grunted, rubbing her posterior.
Leo turned back, and for a cowardly minute, she hoped he’d leave. After all, he had surely ridden here. Hope trickled in. Why, yes, it made more sense that he’d meet her at home. Which would, of course, only delay the inevitable. Nonetheless, she’d welcome even the brief interlude, so she might at least compose her thoughts.
After a handful of words exchanged with the driver, Leo joined her inside. The carriage grew suddenly small as Leo’s tall, muscular frame shrank the space.
Leo jerked the door closed behind him.
Chloe jumped. Everything in her said to bow her head and meekly accept his inevitable berating. It was an age-old instinct she’d employed as a girl. But after her father had kicked his vile toes up, she’d vowed never to be cowed before another. “You are angry,” she noted.
“Tell me, madam,” he gritted out. With precise movements, he tugged his gloves off one at a time, drawing them off by the fingertips. “Whyever would I be angry?”
She puzzled her brow. How peculiar. “Oh. You seem angry and—”
“I’m livid.”
“Then why would you ask—?”
“I was being sarcastic,” he said tersely.
“Hmph.” Chloe gave a flounce of her curls. “I hardly see why you’re upset. I merely sought to coordinate peace between you and—eek.”
Leo pulled her onto his lap. One of his large palms came up about her nape, and he touched his brow to hers. “You are the only woman in the whole of the kingdom who’d attempt to matchmake her husband with another woman.”
She frowned. “I wasn’t trying to matchmake you.” Not really. Because even while she wished for peace between Leo and his first love—his only love?—she wasn’t so magnanimous that she’d push him into the arms of Lady Daphne… or anyone. Chloe smoothed her hands along the wool fabric of his cloak. “She is not just ‘another woman,’ Leo,” she said pragmatically. “She was once a friend. Nay, by your admission, more than that. She is—”
Leo kissed away the remainder of those words.
Chloe stilled, and then the spark of desire exploded within her. Pressing herself to him, she returned his kiss. She opened her mouth, allowing him entry.
He swept his tongue inside, and they dueled, a rising heat spreading like a slow-moving conflagration.
“You are mad,” he rasped against her mouth. His right hand worked the bodice of her gown down, baring her to his eyes.
“Th-that is hardly a c-compliment to pay a lady when you are—ahhh,” she moaned. She arched her neck back as he palmed her breasts, filling his hands with the oversensitized flesh.
“What was that?” His hot breath fanned her skin.
Biting her lower lip, Chloe shook her head. What had she been about to say? Everything was all muddled. Then Leo closed his lips around a swollen tip. She cried out. Her fingers went reflexively to his head, and she curled her fingers in the luxuriant strands. He suckled and teased. With every pull and stroke of his tongue, the ache between her legs built and built until, of their own volition, her hips came off the bench. Arching up, she was desperate to feel his hand there.
And then it was.
“Leo,” she moaned against his temple as he found the thatch of curls shielding her femininity.
His only reply was to slide a finger inside her damp channel.
She keened wildly, lifting into his touch while the carriage rocked and swayed. The whole world was coming undone around her, and she was capable of nothing but—
Craaaack.
The carriage hurtled sideways, throwing Chloe hard against the wall. “Chloe!” Leo shouted. Her cheek slammed into the lead windowpane. Pain exploded throughout her face. The agony of it was distant to the frantic hammering of her heart.
She fought for purchase.
Leo dragged her into his arms. Hunching his body protectively about her, he kept her framed in the shield of his embrace while the conveyance hurtled along at dizzying speeds, swaying and shifting. A dreaded anticipation built to a noisy crescendo in her mind as she braced for the certainty of their crash.
A scream tore from her as the carriage flipped sideways.
Cupping his hands over her head, shielding her, Leo shifted her atop him just as the conveyance landed on its side, coming to a jarring and eerie stop.
Chloe lay there atop him, his arms wrapped about her, his heart beating hard and fast against her ear. She clung to him, holding tightly.
The world righted itself.
Leo struggled into a sitting position and brought her onto his lap. “My God,” he whispered, frantically running his hands over her.
“I’m f-fine, Leo,” she assured him.
“My God,” he repeated hoarsely, again and again, searching her for injury.
And as her assurances fell on seemingly deaf ears, it occurred to Chloe that, for a man who continually insisted he didn’t care about anyone’s well-being or happiness but his own, he’d sought to protect her over himself.