Chloe knew when a person was up to something. After all, she’d invariably been plotting, planning, or scheming… something since she was a girl.
That was why, the following afternoon, with her mother returned from a still expecting Imogen’s side, sister Philippa and sister-in-law Jane squeezed onto the double-peaked, camel-backed sofa wearing like unreadable expressions, Chloe knew this was no ordinary social visit.
Jane broke the silence. “You are… well?”
“Undoubtedly,” Chloe said with false cheer. She reached for the tray of pastries that had been delivered a short while ago by a maid. “Is Imogen well?” she countered.
“Very much so,” the dowager marchioness murmured. “Surely you did not believe I’d miss the first event hosted by you and your husband?”
There was an ill-concealed question about the event. “Refreshments?” Chloe offered quickly. She looked between the ladies assembled.
“Chloe,” Philippa began gently. “You canceled your soiree.”
“If one wishes to be truly precise, it was my husband,” she pointed out. To give her fingers something to do, she plucked an apple dappy from the silver tray. Breaking it in half, she popped a piece into her mouth. Errant buttery flakes sprinkled onto her skirts, and she dusted them off onto the floor.
Her mother stared at her painfully. “Chloe,” she said in agonized tones.
“My apologies,” Chloe mumbled around a mouthful of pastry. Lifting a finger, she finished her bite and grabbed a small dessert plate. “There.”
Her mother moved to the edge of her seat and, with an undowager marchionesslike grab, jerked the dish from Chloe’s lap. “Do you think I am scolding you about whether or not you have a blasted plate, Chloe?” she demanded, setting down the dish in question with such force it rocked back and forth before coming to a slow, clamoring halt.
“Your husband sent word last evening.”
“Did he?” she asked tightly. How she despised her impairment. How she yearned to be like any other woman, instead of living with a sense of dread of the inevitability that she would ultimately be brought low and crippled by pain and weakness. “I trust you’ll have quite a time smoothing over the scandal of a canceled soiree, Mother,” she said, fisting her skirts, wrinkling the ivory satin.
“Chloe,” Philippa chided.
“Do you think I care more about your manners or that damned soiree than I do your well-being?” Their mother spoke quickly over her eldest daughter.
Over the years, Chloe couldn’t have answered that very question with any real degree of confidence or certainty. Never once had her mother stepped between Chloe and the marquess’ blows. “There was a time I felt that way,” she said somberly. “When I was a girl…”
Tears formed a watery sheen over her mother’s eyes. Angling her head down, she discreetly dabbed at the corners. “I deserve that.”
“Now, I’ve come to peace with the fact that we each do the best with our circumstances.” Leo had shown her that. The whole world had judged her husband. And though he was guilty of many sins, so many of them had been products of his existence. “How much easier it is to judge when we don’t truly know a person’s circumstances or the secrets they carry.”
“I know I failed you,” she whispered, pressing her gloved fingertips to her mouth. “I failed all of you. He was a vile, cruel monster handpicked by my father, and I hated him, but I hated myself m-more.” Her voice broke on a sob that tore at Chloe’s heart. “I tried once… and beyond that, I was too much a coward.”
The evidence of her mother’s suffering and shame didn’t bring Chloe any pleasure. Rather, it just highlighted the hold their father held, still. It is time to let him go… It was time for all of them to release the shackles and free themselves. “Mother,” she began.
“N-no, Chloe. I need to say this.” She drew in a shuddery breath. “I haven’t been the mother you deserved. Not just then.” She swiped angrily at her damp cheeks. Other tears quickly claimed their place. “But even after, when your headaches came, and it was so easy to shut your door and let you suffer through them alone.”
Only, last evening, Chloe hadn’t been alone. She hadn’t been tended by a stranger or maid, or shut away alone until she was restored. Leo had been there, and he’d cared for her with a gentleness while preserving her dignity.
Her heart swelled to overflowing with her love for him.
“Are you well?” her mother asked, holding her gaze.
Chloe wet her lips. “They’ll always be there.” The headaches would always be a part of her. They could not be banished by wishing or hoping or even medicine. “But Leo, he was there. He cared for me,” she said softly, wanting the women present to know precisely what manner of man he was.
Jane cleared her throat. “He paid me a visit this morning.”
Chloe stiffened. “Indeed?” she asked curtly. Having slept long past morning, she’d not known that. A million questions swirled in her mind, but only one sharpened into focus. Why had he called on Jane? A niggling suspicion slipped in. As it became clear that Jane was giving her time to make the next move in their dialogue, she asked, “And what did my husband have to say?”
“He explained the reasons you’d wed.”
Betrayal slapped at her like a fist to the belly. “He had no right,” she whispered. The terms of their marriage had belonged to them.
“He explained you wanted the post of headmistress at Mrs. Munroe’s,” Jane murmured. “I should have let you have it. I was the one who indicated your marital status mattered to the post. If it weren’t for me, then you wouldn’t have married Lord Leo.”
Yes, it had been only because of a series of unexpected and unintentional moments that Chloe found herself married to Leo. She stared beyond her family to the swan situated atop the mantel. Those gloriously devoted creatures represented what love should be. In this time, he’d come to matter so much to her. He’d snagged a heart she’d vowed she’d never trust to any man and filled her with a longing for so much more than she’d ever allowed herself even the dream of.
“Oh, Jane. You still haven’t realized.” Chloe glanced over to her mother and Philippa. “None of you have. Everyone has sought to protect me. And though I’ll always be grateful to each of you for caring, never did I wish to be coddled.” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “You should not have given me that post,” Chloe said to Jane with a quiet pragmatism. “I have no experience and no right to ask or expect the post.” She knew that now.
“But you deserve it now, Chloe. Not because it is a favor you or your husband asked, but because you will bring a wisdom and life experience to my students.” Jane held her gaze. “I’m offering it to you.”
There it was… everything Chloe had aspired to and dreamed of—a post at Mrs. Munroe’s overseeing the instruction of young women who’d been shunned by Polite Society. The post would see her away from her marriage and safe.
How wrong she’d been. About everything. She didn’t want safe. She wanted to feel again, without fear. She wanted a family of her own. Leo. I want Leo.
Her mother made a slight clearing sound with her throat. “Won’t you say something, Chloe?”
“I am… honored,” she finally said. For it was a gift her sister-in-law held out and a dream that Chloe’s mother now accepted. But now she had new dreams. Ones Leo had opened her eyes to.
You’ve spoken of your sister’s and sister-in-law’s establishments and the visions they have. But what of your dream? With your funds and cleverness, you can also create something of your own.
“It is a lot,” Philippa demurred. “And given you’re only just recovering, one you should think on. We should let you to your rest.”
Wrong as it was, Chloe was eager for her family to take themselves off. She wanted to be alone so she could seek out Leo and strive to know what he was feeling… about her and their marriage.
As Philippa stepped from the room, Chloe’s mother lingered.
“Chloe, I was not altogether fair…” Her lips pulled in a grimace. “I was not at all fair where your husband is concerned.” As she spoke, her voice grew wistful. “That he would allow you the life you dream of, an unconventional one that would raise a scandal, without a care for how the world views you or him, shows how very much more there is to Leo.” Lifting a hand that showed the early signs of wrinkling and age, she caressed Chloe’s cheek. “I don’t think he’ll ever deserve you. Nor will Gabriel or Alex think that. But no man will ever deserve you, and if you had to choose someone, it would be one who supports your dreams.”
Chloe blinked back the sting in her eyes. She’d been filled with so much resentment over her mother’s inability to accept her for who she was and then Leo. A lightness filled her soul, freeing in its power. Leaning down, she kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thank you.”
A rosy blush immediately stained the dowager marchioness’ cheeks. She coughed discreetly into her hand. “Yes, very well, then.”
Chloe smiled. Her mother would never truly be at ease sharing her emotions, but time had changed her, as it changed them all. “I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. With tears falling, she swept out, leaving Chloe alone.
After they’d gone, Chloe wandered around this first room she’d been shown to by Tomlinson almost a fortnight ago. Then, she’d entered this household, fearful of a future with Leo as her husband and desiring only one thing—her freedom. And now he’d offered it. He’d not only offered it, but he’d gone to her family and secured not only the post of headmistress but peace with her headstrong kin.
Chloe stopped at the bronze swan. She absently trailed her fingertips over the elaborate wingspan.
So why could she not just take what was held out before her?
“Because I want him,” she whispered, breathing life into that truth. And wanting a future with him did not make her weaker, or mean she was abandoning the dreams she’d carried. Rather, it marked a shift in how she wanted those hopes to play out… and whom she dreamed of at her side.
A healing light buoyed her like that first warm sun after the winter’s retreat.
Yet…
Uncertainty intruded. It was dark, unwelcome, and unwanted. For, with it, came the question of what Leo wanted.
At no point had he shared any desire he had for a future with her in it. He had his work for the Home Office and had never been anything but clear that their marriage was a business arrangement.
It had been his actions that had shed doubt upon his indifference, the gentleman who’d read poetry to her in Hyde Park and encouraged her to follow her own pursuits. What had been real, and what had been pretend to serve his role?
She closed her eyes. Every memory and moment they’d shared clamored in her mind like a discordant symphony she sought to pluck a harmonic rhythm out of.
Or mayhap he doesn’t want you, flawed as you are… A woman laid low by migraines that reduced her to a pathetic, quivering mass.
After all, he’d made no attempt to see her today. Instead, he had paid a visit to Jane with the express purpose of sending her on to Mrs. Munroe’s.
Chloe rubbed the lingering ache at the back of her neck. She needed to know, even as she feared the answers. Giving the bronze swan a last caress, she forced herself from her spot at the hearth and wound her way through the halls until she reached Leo’s offices.
She lifted her hand to knock and then lowered it to her side.
Chloe raised it once more. You needn’t knock. He is your husband. And he has seen you at your absolute worst. Surely that intimacy merited more than a perfunctory knock suited to a stranger or a servant.
Before her courage flagged, Chloe pressed the handle and let herself in.
His jacket thrown alongside the back of a nearby chair, Leo sat in his crisp white shirtsleeves. Surprise etched on his face, he hastily shoved back his seat and stood. “Chloe,” he greeted. Almost as an afterthought, he tossed down his pen, the thin scrap of black bouncing between two open ledgers.
“Leo,” she returned, quietly closing the door behind her.
“Come in. Come in,” he said gruffly, motioning to the chair opposite him.
Come in.
How very different that gentle encouragement was from the man who’d ordered her to never enter his offices or ask him questions.
Clasping her hands before her in a demure display Mrs. Belden would have found pride in, Chloe marched over to the indicated seat. With each step that brought her closer, she struggled to return to the easy camaraderie they’d developed. And yet, what did she say to this man who’d seen her at her lowest, humbled and broken and so very battered?
One who sought to send her away.
Leo cleared his throat. “You are… well?” he finally asked haltingly.
And this… this politeness was so much worse. For he didn’t know how to be around her, either, and the truth of that stung every corner of her heart. An urge to cry overwhelmed her. “I’m fine.” In the end, Chloe opted for the directness that had so often had her mother on the cusp of tears. “Jane indicated that you’d spoken,” she said on a rush. Grateful for the high-backed chair that served as a protective barrier between them, she clung to the top of the seat. “That you asked her to provide me the post of headmistress of Mrs. Munroe’s.”
Leo remained silent, and she railed at him to say something, to offer anything other than this stoic indifference. Chloe nudged her chin up. “Is it because I’m broken?” Her voice emerged weak to her own ears.
His mouth moved, but no words came out.
Chloe bit the inside of her cheek, wounding the flesh hard enough to draw blood. Her fear of how any man would see her and that condition had been just one more reason she’d vowed never to marry. But she wanted the headaches to not matter to this man. “If you are sending me away because of your soiree, I can host another.” She hated the desperate quality in the pitch of her voice, but couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “They do not come that often.” Liar. “I, of course, understand why you are upset, because you relied on the gathering, but…” She faltered as Leo moved out from behind the desk. He stopped with just a handbreadth between them. “But I can—” He touched a fingertip to her lips, stifling her false promises.
“I am not worried about the soiree,” he murmured and then lowered his arm to his side. He took a hasty step away from her. She ached to feel the heat of his fleeting caress once more. And yet, he acted as if he were afraid to touch her.
“Your assignment, then?” she forced out on a faint whisper, mindful of the need for circumspection. “You cared about the event for what it meant to your work.”
“That was the only reason it mattered,” he confirmed.
He hadn’t disputed her claims of being too flawed for him to want. That realization left a gaping hole in her heart. “I see,” she said dumbly. Unable to meet his piercing eyes, she glanced down at the hem of her white dress, that color of innocence he so hated. “I’m sorry for the,” she grimaced, “inconvenience posed. I trust your uncle was livid and…” She wrinkled her brow. Except… “But that was also pretend. You needn’t have gained his approval for his funds, so—” Stop rambling. This time, Chloe ended the flow of unending words. A knot formed in her throat. “I should leave you to your business,” she squeezed past it.
Leo followed her gaze to the leather folios that lay open.
How had she failed to see the time he’d spent in his offices? Proof had been there all along that he wasn’t the indolent wastrel Society thought him.
Nay, he was an agent for the Crown, with a sharp wit and dangerously smooth intellect. He deserved more than a wife who was endlessly flawed in every way.
Burying her fisted hands along her skirts, she turned to go. Her quick strides sent her skirts whipping angrily about her ankles.
“Chloe,” Leo called out, halting her flight.
Her tongue heavy in her mouth, Chloe faced him and stared back with a question in her eyes.
With languid steps, he ate away the space she’d put between them. “You aren’t broken.”
Her heart thumped an erratic little beat, and she waited for him to say more. She wished for additional words, ones where he asked her to stay and make a life with him. Ached for him to take her in his arms. At his prolonged silence, those foolish musings shattered and tumbled to her feet. “I know what I am, Leo,” she said, her voice steeped in exhaustion. “People who are whole don’t lose control of themselves and need to be shut away.”
“Shh.” He raised a fingertip to his own lips. How odd she’d never known that exhalation could emerge from a person as so very pleading.
But he’d seen her at her worst, and she’d not allow him to escape the truth that was her reality. “People like me are shut away, Leo. Sent to Bedlam.”
“I would never do that.” Such a wealth of hurt was contained within those five words, they splayed her open.
“No.” The muscles of her throat worked over and over. “But you would send me away, just to a different place.”
“It is what you want,” he pointed out with a quiet pragmatism that set her teeth on edge.
“Do not presume to know what I want,” she gritted out.
A pained laugh escaped him. “Chloe, you stated it in our contract.”
She spun away, frustration rippling through her at his throwing that reminder in her face. “Is that all we are, then, Leo? Is that all we’ll ever be?”
“Chloe,” he said, a frown marring his lips. “You’re only just feeling better—”
She recoiled. “Don’t do that,” she rasped. “Don’t treat me like a fragile piece of glass. You were the only one who never did.” Because he didn’t know the truth of your frailty. “Don’t do it now,” she ordered.
“I’m not.”
“You won’t even touch me,” she cried. “You are acting as if I’m broken, and I—”
He covered her mouth with his in a tender joining of their mouths that immediately sapped the frustration, fear, and fury overwhelming her. They were replaced with a honeyed warmth.
“You are not broken,” he whispered against her mouth. He shifted his lips, journeying them down her neck. Her head fell back. “You are whole and perfect in every way, Chloe Dunlop.” Hearing her name joined with his surname squeezed a pleased little moan from her. Her every sense and nerve were heightened by the flick of his tongue upon her heated flesh. Her lashes fluttered shut as he gently sucked at the skin where her pulse pounded. Then he was flicking his tongue over her lobe, the sensitive place under the shell of her ear.
Her legs weakened, and he immediately caught her, cradling her buttocks.
His tumescence throbbed against the swell of her belly, igniting a forbidden longing. Reflexively, she pressed herself against his length. The feel of him, like steel, burned through the fabric of her satin gown. That pulsing, radiating heat scorched her with its intensity.
Leo groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. “If I were a gentleman, I’d set you aside.” Her headaches. “But I’ve only ever been a bastard, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another.”
Her pulse leaped as he devoured her mouth with his. All gentleness stripped away, he slanted his lips over hers again and again in a primal meeting, fierce in his possession.
Chloe moaned, meeting every thrust and parry of his tongue, tangling the tip of hers with his. He drew her atop his oak-hard thigh. Her skirts rustled like a naughty ballad in her ears as he rocked himself against her aching core. “Leo,” she moaned. She wanted this. Had wanted this from the moment he’d first taken her in his arms and given her a taste of passion.
He responded to her unspoken entreaty by slipping the bodice of her gown down and exposing her breasts to his attentions.
A keening cry tumbled from her lips as he filled his palms with those orbs, bringing them together, caressing, worshiping. “So beautiful. So perfect.” Then he closed his mouth around one pebbled tip.
Her legs turned to jelly, and he easily took over the effort of keeping her upright.
Time, reason, and reality ceased to matter. As he suckled at that sensitized tip, Chloe was capable of nothing but feeling. Tangling her fingertips in her husband’s silken strands, she held him in place, wanting this moment to go on forever. Wanting more. So much more.
Dimly, she registered his hands making work of the handful of buttons at the back of her gown.
Reality washed over her, dousing the conflagration he’d set with a blanket of ice-cold emptiness.
Gasping, Chloe stumbled out of his arms.
His eyes heavy with unsated passion, Leo glanced up.
Struggling to hold her dress in place, she backed away. So beautiful. So perfect. And yet, she was none of those things, not in body, mind, or soul. “I can’t… I’m sorry…” she panted.
While agony wreathed her husband’s features, Chloe pushed awkwardly past him and raced out into the hall.
She pulled the door shut and then leaned her head against the oak surface.
Her body trembled.
Coward. You are a coward. You expected… nay, wanted your husband to share all his secrets, and yet, you would hide every last part of yourself from him.
Tears stinging her eyes, she fought back the useless drops.
Before her moment of bravado faltered, Chloe reached for the handle.