An Affair Most Wicked (26 page)

The sky was overcast and the air cool, and as Clara galloped over the grass, she was surprised to be enjoying herself. Perhaps it was because Gillian was so quiet. She spoke very little, never mentioning their conversation the morning before. She merely rode ahead of Clara, who gladly brought up the rear. She had no desire to race with the girl.

They were on their way home, however, when Gillian slowed her pace and waited for Clara to ride up beside her. Their horses nickered and flicked their ears.

“What a glorious day for a ride,” Gillian said. “We should do this every afternoon.”

“It is lovely indeed.”

“I enjoy our friendship very much, Clara. I am so happy Seger married you.”

The statement surprised Clara, who instantly doubted her feelings from the day before. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions, and Seger had been perfectly justified to react the way he had.

“I enjoy it, too, Gillian,” she replied, patting her horse’s neck.

They trotted side by side. “Did you know,” Gillian said, “that my father had once wanted me to marry Seger?”

Clara’s mood took an abrupt, deep dive.
Oh no
.

“Really?” She did not want to have this conversation!

“Yes,” Gillian said brightly. “I refused, of course. I told my father that Seger was only a friend to me, that I could never imagine him as my husband, and then after the scandal with Daphne, and Seger’s withdrawal from society… well, Father changed his tune after that. He wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted someone respectable for me. Of course, I never believed that Seger was not respectable. I knew he had more honor than any other man in London, and he was merely pining away over Daphne, whom he had loved very deeply. But Father could never see that. He didn’t know Seger intimately like I did.” She gave Clara a sidelong glance. “But you must know him like that as well, because you’re his wife. He must share everything with you. He probably tells you he loves you every time you’re together.” She looked up at the sky. “You are a very lucky woman, Clara.”

Clara didn’t feel so lucky at the moment. She felt like she was losing her mind. Nothing Gillian said hinted at anything untoward between her and Seger. Gillian had said that Seger had been a friend to her, and that her feelings went no deeper than that. Yet there was something in her tone. Something that goaded Clara—and seemingly on purpose. Gillian’s voice was condescending, and she seemed intent to have Clara recognize it.

And she kept bringing up Daphne.

“So tell me,” Gillian said, “does Seger say he loves you often?”

Clara swallowed over the urge to tell Gillian to go ride her horse straight into the Thames. She reminded herself, however, that Gillian was a member of Seger’s family. Clara could not prove that Gillian was designing to upset her, and she could not, therefore, be so rude.

Lord
, for all she knew, she
was
imagining it. She could merely be feeling vulnerable, because of all the other women in Seger’s life—whether they were former lovers propositioning him at balls, hateful cousins, or the ghosts from his past.

Clara wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“If you don’t mind,” Clara said softly, “I would prefer to keep certain things private between Seger and myself. I’m sure you understand.”

Gillian shifted her riding crop from one hand to the other. “Good heavens, forgive me. I did not mean to sound like a busybody. I loathe people like that. Don’t you?”

Clara merely nodded, and they rode out of the park toward home.

That night, when Seger came to make love to her, she smiled flirtatiously and removed her nightgown, and pushed every thought of Gillian and Daphne, and all those other women, from her mind. She would not again make the mistake of spoiling the only intimacy that existed between herself and her husband.

“Has Seger ever shown you a picture of Daphne?” Gillian asked Clara over breakfast the next morning. “He had a miniature of her at one time. He must still have it somewhere. I can’t imagine he would ever discard it.”

Clara tried to speak with indifference. “No, I can’t imagine he would either.”

“Well, she was very beautiful, and the reason I ask is because you are beautiful, too. To be honest, you resemble Daphne. We’ve all noticed. Auntie mentioned it the first time she saw you. The housekeeper mentioned it, too.”

Clara struggled hard not to reveal her animosity. She tried to sound unruffled and merely curious. “In what way do I resemble her?”

“You have the same color hair, and your mouth is the same.” She pointed at her own mouth. “It’s the lips. Seger has an appreciation for lips, doesn’t he? Have you noticed that about him?”

As if
you
should have noticed
!

Clara fought for self-control and forced herself to sound as confident and triumphant as Gillian. She smiled wickedly. “Yes, I suppose he does have an appreciation for lips.”

She was pleased that her voice hinted at all kinds of sexual innuendo. To her surprise, Gillian’s gaze shot straight across the table, and her cheeks flushed red. Clara had hit a sore spot.

So there
! she said to herself, and happily sipped her tea.

Gillian was the first to break the awkward silence that followed. “Do you know about the gravestone?”

Clara saw the competitive glare in Gillian’s eyes, and began to think that things were spiraling out of control. Gillian’s resentful air was no longer subtle, no longer debatable. There was recognition now, for the both of them. Gillian knew she was throwing daggers, and she knew that Clara knew it. The dynamic between them was now a plain, open-field battle.

“What gravestone?” Clara felt suddenly fatigued.

Gillian raised an eyebrow in a hateful, invidious manner. Was she not even going to try to be subtle?

“Daphne’s gravestone. He had one erected, you know.”

Clara admitted defeat in this one, small skirmish. She sipped her tea and set the cup down in its saucer. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think he would mention it. He had it erected in their private meeting place at his country estate, and planted daffodils all around it. Daffodils were her favorite. He told me about that once, when he was lonesome for her.”

Clara took in a deep, calming breath, and leaned forward in her chair. “Gillian, your comments about my husband are beginning to give me a headache.”

Gillian’s chin rose up a notch. “I don’t know why that would be the case.”

“No?”

“No.” There was such challenge in the cursed woman’s eyes!

Clara squeezed her fists with fury. “In the future, let us try to talk of other things. You have other interests, don’t you? Music? Books?”

Gillian smiled sardonically. “I understand, Clara. I understand completely.”

Clara had just finished brushing her hair before bed, when Seger entered her bedchamber carrying a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” he said, his voice low and seductive, his eyes warm.

Having never shared a bedroom with a man other than Seger, Clara wondered if all husbands were as gracious and charming as he.

Not likely, she decided, feeling quietly aroused. His overwhelming allure was why he was in such high demand as a lover, and why she could not resist him.

“You always know what I’m in the mood for,” she replied.

With more than a little appreciation, Clara took in the breadth of his shoulders and the sheer perfection of his body as he moved gracefully across the room. He was flawless beyond contemplation. He looked like the statue of David, if one could imagine David wearing a black silk robe.

She, for one, imagined her husband quite without the robe.

Things were different tonight, however. For one thing, her monthly had begun today, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. What did husbands and wives do when the wife was indisposed?

On top of that, neither of them had mentioned their argument about Gillian. It was as if it had never occurred. They’d made love last night, but Clara had felt distanced from Seger and didn’t know how to breach that distance without starting another argument.

She rose from her chair and forced herself to smile, all the while feeling like she barely knew her husband. Nor he her. They were like two casual acquaintances, making light conversation, laughing about trivial things, and making love. Though he picked up on each and every desire she had sexually, and satisfied each and every one beyond any expectation, he didn’t want to hear about her anxieties or problems. He just wanted her to smile and be beautiful and amusing.

She was thankful that it was easy to smile and be beautiful when he was making love to her, for that was how he made her feel.

As she watched him pour the wine, however, she realized uneasily that the persona she was forced to keep up when he was
not
making love to her was beginning to try her patience.

There were moments when she wanted to shout at Seger, or throw a vase at him to stir up some emotion between them. But she feared that if she did that, he would think she was irrational again, and she did not wish him to think that. She needed to hold onto his respect, and build their intimacy from there.

He handed her a glass. “Try this, darling. It’s the best we had in the house.”

She sipped the wine and felt the most pleasant sensation of heat pouring down her throat and relaxing all her limbs. She had needed that.

“It’s delicious,” she whispered.

He held up his own glass. “Not nearly as delicious as you. To your beauty.” He took a long swig.

Clara watched him in the dim lamplight, marveling at his own beauty—the square line of his jaw, his strong, masculine hands. Sometimes it seemed like he had no awareness of the potency of his appeal. Other times, he knew exactly how to use his charm.

Distracted as she was by her husband’s attractiveness, she still couldn’t get the image of Daphne’s gravestone out of her mind. Seger had erected it on his country estate, and the memorial to his first love would always be there, even after Clara moved in.

She wondered if he still went to visit it. Did he continue to bring daffodils? Would he carry on the tradition after Clara was living there?

She shook her head at herself, and tried to sweep those thoughts from her mind. She did not want to spoil their evening together. Instead, she sat down on the bed and asked him about his day, resolving to make this a pleasant, memorable night.

As she watched him saunter toward her, sleek and irresistible, she knew it wouldn’t be difficult.

Seger gazed down at his wife and wondered how it was possible that any woman could be so exquisite in every way—from her earthly beauty down to her angelic, bright charm. Her smile was everything to him. Sometimes it was sweet and adorable, other times confident and poised, and still other times, it was sexually charged and drove him around the bend with hot, blazing need. She was the perfect combination of innocence and worldliness.

He had forgotten their conversation of a few nights ago, and she had seemed to forget it, too. She had not mentioned Gillian again, and he was glad. He did not want to be reminded of the fact that Clara didn’t completely trust him, when he had done everything to earn and deserve her trust. Nor did he want to talk about Gillian when he was with Clara. Gillian was the last person on his mind.

He set down his glass and climbed onto the bed, then took Clara into his arms. He pressed his mouth to hers and gloried in her wine-flavored tongue as it mingled with his, curling into his mouth and sending hot flashes of eroticism straight down to his sexual core.

God, with the exception of a few small impediments, marriage was bloody spectacular so far.

Though he couldn’t imagine it being this good with anyone else. He had never been the slightest bit inclined to take this route with any other woman before.

Well, he had with one woman, but that had been a very different time.

He eased Clara down onto the pillows and began to unbutton the top of her gown, but she stopped him. “Seger…”

Stalled briefly—and a tad surprised—he drew back. “Yes?”

“I’m not sure we can do this tonight.”

He blinked a few times. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She rose from the bed and walked toward the door. She folded her arms over her chest, looking cold. “My monthly arrived today.”

All the breath sailed out of his lungs, and he realized he’d been a little wary of her response. He’d actually feared she simply wasn’t in the right “mood,” even after he’d given her his best open-mouthed kiss. He was relieved to discover it was something else.

“I see.” It wasn’t often he’d had to deal with this problem. Most women he knew simply stayed out of “social” situations when they weren’t fully able to consummate them.

Then it occurred to him that this meant Clara was not with child. “Are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed that we can’t make love tonight?” she replied, in the sweetest, most innocent tone of voice that melted his heart.

“First of all,” he said, “we can make love if you wish, but that’s not what I mean. Are you disappointed that we didn’t conceive a child?”

Her face softened. Her voice was shaky. “A little, I suppose. I do want to give you a son.”

He approached her and took her into his arms. “Don’t be disappointed, darling. It often takes a few months, I’ve heard. Look on the bright side, we will have to try doubly hard in the weeks to come. I don’t think I’ll mind that very much, will you?”

Clara smiled. “No, I won’t. But what will it mean for tonight? Things are rather awkward down there.” She touched his lips with her thumb. “Will you go back to your room?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Her voice became breathy like a whisper. “There is still your pleasure to consider.”

He snickered and felt his arousal grow. “What exactly are you referring to?”

His adorable wife went down on her knees and untied the belt of his robe. Her eyes were dark and mischievous as she looked up at him. “I think you know exactly what I’m referring to.”

He cupped her head in his large hand. “I was only trying to be courteous, love. I didn’t want to presume…”