Bound By Temptation (25 page)

“If she killed him it was her own doing,” she replied. “Just as I demand that you give her choice, so you must give her the responsibility that goes with it.”

“I do not see it that way and neither does Violet.
She can forgive me for much, but not for that. Isabella will always stand between us.”

“But if she is found—”

“If she is found—what? She will still have killed a man. There was some confusion after the event. Foxworthy was stabbed after he was dead, and we know that was not Isabella.”

“Stabbed after he was dead? Perhaps he was not really dead before? Perhaps she did not kill him.”

“He was dead.” He said it with such finality that there was no doubt left in her mind.

“It makes no sense.”

“No, it does not, but it does not change the fact. If Isabella returns, do we cover her crimes? The answer is, of course, yes, but it gives me little comfort. I do not know how I will face her after what I made her do.”

“You did not make her do anything.”

“It is not worth arguing—besides, that is not all I feel guilty about—it is those damn papers.”

She looked at him with some confusion. “Papers?”

“The ones I signed admitting my own treason. Not all Foxworthy’s papers were found with his body. The ones I signed were missing. I know Isabella took some articles from his desk. I can only assume the papers were among them.”

“And so you have hunted Isabella.”

“Yes. I would have searched for her anyway and just as hard, but—”

“—you feel guilty that your motives were not pure. You feel guilty that you believe she killed
Foxworthy because of you, and you feel guilty that you sought the papers as well as her.”

“I do. It feels like I have lied to the world in not telling the truth.”

“But who could you have told besides Violet? And I know she would understand—and forgive you. And why do you tell me now?”

“Because I have not found Isabella—or the papers. You know that I have given up—I cannot see how she will ever be found now, but you need to know that those papers are still out there. If they ever do turn up, I could be accused of treason—and as my wife, you have to live with the consequences as well. And if Isabella is found, it is always possible she would hang for murder. Do you really want to ally yourself with such potential scandal?”

She felt steadfast. Then she smiled, not a joyful smile, but one she knew was full of emotion and resolution. “I can manage that. I clearly have a talent for scandal.”

He snorted.

And she laughed, a deep, full laugh that contained only the faintest edge of hysteria.

“We are quite the pair, aren’t we?” she asked as the laugh trailed off. “You know of course that all the reasons we won’t suit are still valid?”

“Of course I do, but they don’t always seem to matter, do they?”

“No, they don’t. I don’t understand how you can be so irritating and still so inviting, but at least our lives won’t be boring. I fear I am bound to you
by temptation. I cannot imagine my life without you.”

He came and sat on the ottoman again and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Yes, I think the one thing I can promise you is that we won’t be bored.”

He kissed her palm, softly—letting her rest it against his cheek. He leaned forward and let his face lie against hers. She could feel his stubble abrade slightly against her soft skin.

She turned her face to see him and watched as his pupils darkened, listened as his breathing sped.

There was so much in his eyes—all the words that they were not yet ready to say, but knew were true.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and his breath caught.

Her other hand slipped lower. She felt him tense as her small, curious fingers began their exploration.

No, it would not be dull.

London, July 18, 1821

T
hat blasted man. He had done it again. He had let her have her way.

He had told her the crowds for the king’s coronation would be too great, too loud, too raucous. It would not be at all suitable to bring the children. They were too young to appreciate the spectacle and excitement of the event. They would not remember it. They should be left at home with their nurse.

And then he’d made the arrangements for them all to attend. He’d told her his plans, smiled sweetly, and acted as if it had been his idea all along.

He hadn’t once indicated that she’d spent a full hour explaining why she thought it was important for the children to be there even if they didn’t remember.

Damn that blasted man. If she didn’t love him so much she’d kill him.

There was a small whimper from the crib beside her. Clara leaned over and pulled the thin blanket
up over her sleeping daughter. The newborn was curled on her side, a finger lying softly against her mouth.

He’d told her it was too soon for another baby too. And then he’d promptly set about helping her have one—not that he’d seemed to object too much to that part.

What was a woman to do with a man who actually listened, even when he pretended he didn’t—a man who had finally learned to tell her he loved her, who whispered his feelings in the dark recesses of their bed—a man who’d stood with her through scandal and disgrace—a man who complained only gently when the invitations started to arrive again, and she wanted to dance every night—although sometimes he persuaded her to stay home?

The baby kicked the blanket off and whimpered again.

Clara could only smile.

It was impossible to imagine life without baby Isabella. There had never been a doubt about what their daughter would be named. Bella would be Masters’s second chance.

There was a loud cry from the next room, and Clara blew a kiss at the sleeping baby and walked to the door, easing it open.

Little Johnny was not happy. Her eighteen-month-old son sat upright in his bed, his face red from the scream. His eyes met hers in a clash of wills as she entered the room. “It is time to sleep, dearest.”

“No.” His expression said so much more than the single word.

She came and sat on the bed by his side, brushing his hair back from his face. The dark curls were tinged with red, just like his father’s. “You’ve had your dinner and your bath and I’ve read you your story—more than one, in fact. You know it is time to sleep.”

“No.”

“Come now. Lie down and close your eyes.” She ran her fingers through his curls again.

“Want Papa.”

As if in answer to his words Clara heard the clatter of boots on the stairs up to the nursery. She sighed softly to herself. A proper mother would stop Masters before he entered the room and explain that their son could not have everything he wanted in life, explain that she had already told him his father was out and that he would have to make do with her.

Yes, that was what a proper mother would do.

She leaned over and kissed Johnny’s forehead. “I think I hear Papa now. I’ll tell him you want another story.”

“Yes.”

She heard the boots enter the first room, where their daughter slept. The footsteps paused by the crib, and she could imagine the glowing look on Masters’s face as he stared down at their daughter.

She waited and heard the door ease open again.

“Still awake, are we?” Masters said as he entered. “Don’t you know it’s past your bedtime? Have you been giving your mother a hard time?”

“Papa!” Her son’s voice rang with triumph.

Clara could only shrug as she stood and let Masters take her place on the bed. She handed him the book of stories that had become their son’s favorite. “Only one, mind you. I’ve already read until my throat is hoarse.”

“Of course,” Masters answered. He looked up at her, and she could see that more than the joy of their family was in his eyes. “I’ll be out in a few moments. And Clara, I have news—the very best news.”

She raised a brow in question as she quietly left the room.

She heard the soft rumblings of the two male voices as she sat in the rocker next to her daughter’s crib. The minutes sped by, and she was sure that at least one extra story had been told.

“He’s asleep,” Masters said as he slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“You know you shouldn’t read until he’s asleep. Nurse is always telling us that.”

“I know, but it’s a special night.”

“Of course it is. The coronation is tomorrow. I am sure Johnny senses all the excitement in the air.”

“No, not that. It’s even better.”

“Even better than the king being crowned?”

He crouched down before her until their eyes
were even. “Yes. Lady Connortan’s recent letter was correct. There was a second redheaded governess in Norfolk. I sent one of the grooms who had known her since childhood to investigate, and he assures me it really is her. He says there can be no mistake. He would know her anywhere. He did not approach her because he did not wish to scare her off.” His words tumbled out with excitement. “She was working for the Earl of Hunterdon, but she now has a position as a baby nurse with a Mr. Henry Wattington—I’ve actually done business with the man. Isabella has been traveling with Mrs. Wattington and their child. They were due to arrive in London for the coronation but there has been a strange delay, according to my man—something about the Duke of Strattonford. It made no sense to me. What is important is that if all goes well she should arrive in the next few days. I can’t wait to tell Violet. Should I tell her now or wait? I still can’t believe it. I have found Isabella.”

Clara heard the excitement in his voice. Little Johnny would not be the only one who would have trouble sleeping. It was wonderful to hear him so joyful. He had worried incessantly in the beginning about what would happen when they found Isabella, but lately—now that they’d survived their own scandals—the thought of more did not scare him. In fact, he was positively shining with excitement. It would be hard to settle him to sleep. It would take quite a bit of…work.

Ah, the duties a wife was forced to perform. “Do you know, my love, I just received delivery
of a box of the very finest silk stockings? Do you think they’ll hold tight to the bedposts, or will they slip loose?”

The gleam in her husband’s eye as he pulled her to her feet was enough of an answer.