Love Is Blind (16 page)

"Lord
Mowbray
!"

Adrian stiffened, straightened slowly, then turned to face the mob. Clarissa saw him look her way, and was suddenly aware of a chill. Glancing down, she saw that the top of her gown was still undone and now gaping open, baring a good deal of her flesh to the crowd. Biting her lip, she pulled it closed. Adrian looked down and recalled his own half-dressed state.

Clarissa had just realized how compromising a situation they were in when Adrian straightened his shoulders and said, "Lady
Crambray
, may 1 ask for your stepdaughter's hand in marriage?"

Chapter Nine

Clarissa chewed her toast and avoided looking at Lydia. She could not see the woman's expression anyway, not without some spectacles, but she could actually feel the woman's glare every time her head turned.

Her stepmother was furious, and had been ever since the night of die fire. She hadn't said anything, not even after the flames had been put out and they'd been allowed to return to their beds. Fortunately, the fire had started in the hall near Clarissa's room, and while it had blocked anyone from getting to her from inside the house to warn her, it had destroyed only that end of the hall and her own room, and the rest of the house was fine except for two of the servants' rooms and the salon under her, which had sustained some water damage. Yes, the rest of the house was perfectly fine except for a bit of smoke damage.

Clarissa was now residing in a guest room. She was also terribly short of gowns until hers could be re-

placed, though two or three had been scrounged up for her to wear in the meantime.

Directly after proposing that night, Adrian had suggested Clarissa and her stepmother stay at his mother's home while the town house was repaired, but Lydia had refused with an icy disdain that made it clear she would not be moved on the matter. She had been treating Adrian coldly ever since. He bore it, and both he and Clarissa did their best to ignore her silence and glares when he came to visit. There was little else to be done.

The worst part of it all was that Lydia had not left them alone since that night. Clarissa had no idea why. The banns had been read, the wedding was set for two weeks to the day after the fire, and all was in order. The woman should be happy. After all, she'd landed her stepdaughter an earl. But it was obvious that she wasn't happy.

Clarissa sighed and took another bite of toast, her thoughts running over the same worries and fears that had filled her mind since the night of the fire. Part of her was happy at the prospect of marrying Adrian. Certainly he was preferable to
Prudhomme
, and she liked him. Then there was the fact that the marriage bed would be far from a trial, if the things Adrian had done to her in her bedroom were any indication.

In fact, Clarissa thought she could be very happy married to Adrian ... if their relationship had run a normal course and he'd proposed of his own accord rather than circumstances forcing him to do so in order to save her honor. She feared it was something he might come to resent later. Clarissa didn't want her own happiness at his expense. She'd rather suffer through scandal alone than do that. She'd survived it before, and could again.

In fact, that was what Clarissa had expected when she saw all those people coming upon them and realized they'd been caught. Adrian's asking for her hand had stunned her as much as it seemed to infuriate Lydia.

The door to the dining room opened, and Clarissa glanced around, then paused, squinting to try to see better. She saw a tall shape with silver hair that wasn't a wig.

"Father?" she asked uncertainly. "Hello, Clary," John
Crambray
called. She was immediately enveloped in the scent of saddle oil and the smoke from his pipe tobacco as he hugged her close. "What are you doing here?" Clarissa asked with amazement.

He straightened. "Did you think I would not come see my little girl married?" he chided. "As soon as I received Lydia's message, I headed for London."

Clarissa's gaze shot in Lydia's direction. Her stepmother hadn't mentioned writing.

"I brought some of your clothes from home," John
Crambray
added. "Your stepmother's note said yours were ruined before they could put the fire out." Clarissa nodded. 'Yes, Daddy. Thank you." "We shall have to get some new ones made for balls and such; most of what you left behind weren't fancy." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Where are your spectacles, Clary?"

"Clarissa broke them," Lydia lied smoothly. "I sent a message home to have her spare set sent to town so that she could see whom she is marrying, but I sent it after the first message I sent, so it may not have arrived until after you left."

Clarissa gave a start at this news. Her stepmother hadn't mentioned this, either; but judging from her

tone of voice, Lydia considered it a spiteful act and not a kindness to arrange for her to regain her spectacles. Clarissa couldn't for the life of her understand why.

"Well, accidents do happen," her father said, drawing Clarissa's attention back his way. Then he announced, "I am very happy for you, daughter. I have always liked
Mowbray
. He's a good man."

Clarissa noted the way that Lydia stiffened, but she was more concerned with her own surprise. 'You know Adrian?"

Yes, of course I do. His father and I were good friends, mostly through correspondence since your mother died. Adrian's father was an excellent businessman. He could wring profits out of any rocky outcropping. We were always writing back and forth about our properties. When he retired and Adrian took over, I began to correspond with the son instead."

"I did not know that," Clarissa murmured. "There is no reason you should. I did not bring up our correspondence with you. I doubt it came up in conversation with him either," John
Crambray
remarked easily.

"Oh." Clarissa stole a glance at Lydia as her father took a seat at the table. Her stepmother's expression was grim, and as a servant rushed forward with a cup of tea for her father, he nodded a thank-you.

It was then that Clarissa realized her father never showed affection to her stepmother, and while he had greeted his daughter with a hug, he hadn't greeted Lydia at all. It occurred to her then that her father never did, and she wondered about the two of them and what sort of relationship they had. Perhaps there was a reason for the lady's bitterness and even her anger,

and perhaps it really wasn't anything to do with Clarissa at all.

"Why do you not show her the gallery?"

Adrian blinked at the suggestion from John Cram-bray, then smiled wryly at getting caught staring at Clarissa while speaking to her father.

"Go on," the man suggested. "The two of you remind me of her mother and myself when we were your age. Each of you is constantly following the other with your eyes, always aware of where the other is." He smiled reminiscently, then sighed. "I miss her still."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "What about... ?"

"Lydia?" Lord
Crambray
sighed wearily. "She was a mistake. I thought Clarissa needed a mother to help her into womanhood, especially after the scandal. I also did not want the burden of the household falling on her shoulders when she was so young. I wanted a marriage of convenience. I knew I would never love another woman like I did my Margaret." He shook his head. "I thought Lydia understood that. She
said
she understood. But in the end, she did not understand at all. Lydia thought that I was still just grieving, that I would eventually get over it and come to love her as she felt I should. When she realized that wouldn't happen .. ." He shrugged, his gaze finding his daughter.

"Clarissa is her mother's child. She looks like her and is the living embodiment of Maggie ... who—in Lydia's mind—is her rival for my affections."

"I see," Adrian said quietly. It explained a lot of Lydia's behavior.

"I am glad to see you and Clarissa found each other. I think you shall be as happy together as her mother and I were. Now, go show her the gallery," Lord Cram-

bray repeated. He added, "I would suggest a walk in the garden, where you would have more privacy, but 'tis raining, so the gallery is the best I can offer."

"Thank you." Adrian nodded and crossed the room to collect his soon-to-be bride. She was sitting with his mother, his cousin Mary, and Lydia, and for the first time since Adrian had met her, Clarissa looked as if she was enjoying herself at a ball. In fact, she looked happy. She was chatting away with his mother and Mary. This time it was Lydia who looked unhappy. Her demeanor was sullen and miserable. If it weren't for how unhappy she constantly worked to make Clarissa, Adrian would have felt sorry for her.

It was the first ball either of them had attended since the fire. Lydia had refused to allow Clarissa to attend any without her, and had refused to attend herself, claiming she couldn't bear the scandal. Now, with John's arrival, everything had changed. He'd insisted they come out tonight, and had insisted Adrian accompany them, having him ride over in their carriage. Lord
Crambray
was making a point of including him in their family. "Adrian?"

He smiled at the certainty in Clarissa's voice as she looked up at him. Despite her inability to see, Clarissa always seemed to recognize him.

'Yes," he said, then added, 'Your father suggested I show you the gallery."

Lydia appeared as if she were about to protest, but closed her mouth with a sigh. She could hardly override her husband, though she looked like she wanted to.

Beaming widely, Clarissa took the hand he offered and got to her feet, then walked with him out of the ballroom. "I did not realize you and Father were good

friends," she murmured as they started up the hall toward the gallery.

"Well, we are not the best of friends or anything, but

we do correspond several times a year. He's a nice man."

"I like him," Clarissa agreed lightly—then gave a

grin that showed that her feelings for her father went

far beyond liking.

Adrian smiled and admitted, "Actually, I did not realize he was your father. I mean, I did not connect you to die John
Crambray
I correspond with." He gave a laugh. "He has invited me to your home several times over the last couple of years. If I had realized he had you for a daughter, I would have accepted."

Clarissa was smiling at this comment as they entered the gallery and Adrian was so enchanted watching her that he didn't see the woman in his path until he crashed into her. "Lord
Mowbray
."

Adrian glanced down sharply, his mouth tightening as he saw whom he'd run into: Lady Blanche Johnson. His gaze slid warily over her ice-blond hair and lush body. Adrian hadn't seen her for ten years, and would have been happy to go another fifty without the privilege. This woman had hurt him more than all of the cringing and fainting and overheard insults he'd suffered during his last visit to court ten years ago put together. She was a viper. Only, this woman had not turned from his scarred face. She alone had smiled and cooed and flirted and welcomed his touch.... It wasn't until she'd lured him back to her home and seduced him that he'd learned why. As they lay, still sweaty and panting, the lady had laughed with exhilaration and announced that she'd always found freaks exciting, and that she had the best sex with them.

Adrian had lain frozen on the floor of her boudoir, where their passions had overtaken them, his stomach churning as she'd told him of some of her other lovers. It seemed a dwarf and a hunchback had been tied as favorite until him, but he had given her the best ride. "Freaks are always so eager to please, you understand," she'd told him.

Adrian left London two hours later. There had seemed little reason to stay. Most of the
ton
found him hideous to look on, and he was not interested in being a freakish toy for anyone.

"My, my, you look as yummy as ever," Blanche announced, running a familiar hand up his chest.

Adrian caught the hand in a hard grip that should have been painful, but all that flashed in Blanche's eyes was excitement. He should have realized she would like pain. He grimly tossed her hand away.

"Lady Johnson, may I introduce my fiancée, Lady Clarissa
Crambray
," he said coldly, a warning in his eyes. "Hello." Blanche did not even bother to glance Clarissa's way; her cold, flat gray eyes were too busy eating him alive. "What a lucky girl you are, to have landed yourself such a stallion."

Adrian saw Clarissa's eyebrows rise and a small frown pull at her lips, and felt anger roar through him. Lady Johnson was playing dangerous games.

"After you take your little friend home, you should drop around to my place for a ... friendly drink, my lord. I would be most happy to receive you," Blanche murmured. Her hand returned to his chest, then dipped dangerously low to brush toward his groin.

Adrian knocked the hand away, this time with barely controlled violence. Her behavior was an insult to Clarissa, and he would not allow it.

"One 'friendly drink' with you was more than enough, Blanche," he said dryly, deliberately neglecting her tide. And, turning his back in another deliberate insult, he caught Clarissa by the arm and moved them past the blonde, leaving her standing in the doorway.

"She seemed .. . interesting," Clarissa said faintly as he led her down the gallery of paintings.