More Than You Know (27 page)

Rand was still impressed. “Even so, those are large stones. If that's his pleasure, then I can understand why he wants the seven sisters. Even if three hundred years has exaggerated their size, I expect they will still dazzle."

"Just like in the old rhyme,” she said, a shade sleepily.

"Hmmm.
One more lovely than the other ... Each, at heart, as cold as stone."

"Not your riddle,” she told him. Claire stretched and turned on her side again, this time with her back to Rand. She closed her eyes. “I meant like the nursery rhyme. You know, the one that ends with something like:
With the sisters, this verse brings ... Wealth beyond the dreams of kings."

"And all the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty Dumpty—"

Claire's husky laughter cut him off. “I think you're mixing your Mother Goose verses."

Rand laid his head on his arm and curled against her. “If you say so."

"I do.” She made an abrupt little yawn. “Will you wake me before you leave?"

"If you'd like."

She nodded. His fingers had slipped under her hair, and she felt them run lightly across her nape. She felt herself relax. Her arms and legs grew heavy. When she finally spoke, even her voice was thick. “I would like to help you find your treasure."

Rand didn't answer. He wondered what she would think if he told her she already had.

The days and nights grew warmer as
Cerberus
sailed into tropical waters. Following the path of the glowing star Sirius, the ship stayed on a true course for Raiatea in the Society Islands. While the clipper maintained a steady speed of ten to twelve knots, Claire noticed that the crew moved more slowly. Island time, Rand called it. The men were already anticipating the less demanding pace of life in the Sun Islands.

Rand sat on the edge of the bed, Claire on the floor between his splayed legs, and lazily pulled a brush through her thick hair. “I met Cutch in the companionway this morning as I was leaving your cabin."

"It was only a matter of time,” she said. With Rand joining her in her cabin almost every night for the past week, it would have been odder if the change in their relationship had gone undiscovered. “I think Mr. Cutch—and probably most of the crew—has known for days."

"Truly?"

Claire laughed at his naivete. “It's not as if we've taken any special pains to hide our affair."

Rand didn't especially like the term
affair,
but he didn't bring it to her attention. She would ask him for a better description, and he didn't have one. “You're not upset?"

"No.” Claire reached up and caught his wrist as he would have made another pass with the brush. “I'm not ashamed, Rand. I have no reason to mind that anyone knows about us.” She felt him stiffen slightly, as if he were prepared to take issue with her. Claire shook her head, cutting Rand off, and released him. “Tell me what Mr. Cutch said."

"How do you know he said anything?"

"Because he's your mentor, your friend. He wouldn't let the moment pass."

Rand's deep chuckle signaled that he had finally found some humor in it. “He asked me if I knew what I was doing."

"And you said...?"

"I said ‘yes.’”

"That's all?"

"It satisfied Cutch. He went on about his business and I attended to mine."

Claire smiled. “It must have been the
way
you said it. I imagine Mr. Cutch would have liked to press for more information."

Rand agreed, but said nothing. He did not explain that this time with Claire was so precious to him that he did not want to share any part of it with others, even Cutch. He did not want to explain himself or be forced to think of the consequences. “Has he said anything to you?"

"No. I wouldn't expect him to. Mr. Cutch likes me, but he loves you."

The brush strokes slowed, then finally stopped. “Are you telling me I
should
talk to him?"

"I'm telling you that I don't mind if you do. I have much more experience with affairs than you do, Rand. I think I know what to expect. I'm not certain about you."

Rand put the brush aside. He tipped her head back and studied her features for a moment. She was perfectly serious, he realized. Rand let her go. “What in God's name are you talking about?"

Claire moved outside the vee of Rand's splayed legs and stood. The back of her gown was partially undone, and she pulled the neckline back where it had fallen over her shoulder. She smoothed the sateen material across her midriff. It was cool under her fingers. Her features were composed, solemn, when she turned to face him, but there was a shakiness to the breath she drew. “I heard what you said about forever,” she told him. “I know you believe you will always want me, that you will always feel about me as you do now. I treasure that, Rand. I
do.
I just think about it differently. Experience says that I should."

It was difficult for Rand to remain seated. He did because he couldn't think of one thing that would be gained by towering over her. “What experience?” he asked with credible calm. “Claire, I know there's never been anyone else. Whose affair are you talking about? Your father's?"

"My mother's."

Rand stared at her. He wondered why he had never suspected. There had been hints, now that he thought about it, but he hadn't heard Claire with the same keen ear she turned on him. He really hadn't known. “The Duke of Strickland,” he said at last.

Claire nodded. Her smile was rueful. “My godfather.” She found the edge of the desk and skirted it. The chair scraped against the floor as she pulled it out. Claire sat down, her hands folded in her lap. “Perhaps I should have told you."

"I can't think of any reason that you should have—until now. If your mother's affair is making you have some doubts about us, then now is precisely the time you should tell me."

Claire drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “There is not so very much to tell. It's not even a particularly unusual story. If I hadn't observed the pain of it firsthand, I might think it simply melodramatic and trite."

"May I decide for myself?"

Claire closed her eyes briefly, her acquiescence a barely perceptible nod. “My mother's family had large aspirations but very little consequence. My grandfather was a baron whose penchant for horses and horse racing nearly bankrupted the small fortune of his forebears. What my mother had was a singular beauty that her parents thought could be parlayed into a marriage that would support them all.

"Mother made an impact her first Season. There were any number of suitable matches she could have made to please her family, but she wanted Evan Markham. It must have seemed to her that the Duke of Strickland wanted her as well. If Mother understood that her lack of position made an offer impossible, then she never acknowledged it. Perhaps she believed he would change his mind. I don't know the extent to which their affair progressed at that time. At the end of the Season they were on separate courses. Stickle had proposed marriage to the daughter of an earl. My mother had accepted the most unlikely candidate among all her suitors."

"Sir Griffin."

"He was just Mr. Bancroft then. A mere professor. His interest in the natural sciences was not the frivolous pastime of a peer. He actually
worked
at it.” Claire's tiny smile was wry. “My mother's family was convinced he was beneath them in every conceivable way. There was some belief that Mother had accepted him just to spite everyone else."

"Strickland included?” Rand asked.

Claire shrugged. “Perhaps. I don't know. Actually, I've always thought that my godfather may have encouraged the match."

Rand's eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful. “What makes you say that?"

"Just little things I heard over the years."

Rand understood then that Claire's talent for listening was not simply the result of her blindness. She had merely learned to hone a skill that she had always practiced. “Then what you know is not because of what either of your parents told you."

She laughed at that. “God, no. Even Stickle, who can be painfully forthright on occasion, has never discussed this with me."

"But you know there was an affair."

"Oh, yes. My mother took me to Abberly Hall quite frequently. I suppose she thought that my presence would somehow conceal the real nature of the visits. I was the duke's godchild, after all. And he doted on me in his own way. What could have been more natural than to see him at his country home?"

"Did your father know?"

"That we visited? Yes, of course. That there was an affair? Yes, eventually. He never asked me. I shall always respect him for that. He seemed to know that I was charged with a terrible secret and he never made me choose between my mother and him. He never once asked me to take sides.” She sighed. “The truth is, Rand, I don't know that he cared very deeply about my mother ... or even about me. Until Tiare and Tipu, I would have said that Sir Griffin's work was all he was capable of loving."

Rand said nothing. Contradicting her, insisting that her father must have loved her because she deserved to be loved, would have been false reassurance. He didn't know that Sir Griffin had loved her at all.

"Stickle's duchess died in childbirth,” Claire went on. “The baby was stillborn. Had she lived, things may have proceeded differently, but in his grief the duke sought out my mother. I was still an infant. I think Stickle asked if he could take some responsibility for my upbringing and my mother agreed to name him my godfather."

"You must have wondered...” Rand's voice trailed off.

"If I was his child?” she asked. “Yes, I've wondered. How could I not? I've never asked, though. I'm not certain that I want to know or even if it matters. I can't think of a thing that would change if it were revealed to me as the truth."

"Tipu wouldn't be your brother."

"It would be a fact of biology,” she said. “It would have nothing to do with the way I feel about him. Or anyone else."

"Very well,” Rand said. “But I don't understand what your mother's affair has to do with us."

Claire's brows rose fractionally. “You don't? I thought it was clear. There was no future in it. In time it made everyone involved miserable."

"And that's what you expect to happen to us?"

"Expect? I don't know if I would put it that strongly."

"But you wouldn't be surprised."

"No. Not at all."

Rand stood. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He shook off his agitation before he went to Claire's side. He sat on the edge of the desk and propped one foot against her chair. “I never thought of being with you as an affair,” he said.

"Give me a better word,” she said.

"I thought you might say that. I don't have one. I'm only saying I never thought about being with you in that manner ... as if it were something illicit or faintly sordid. I love you, Claire. I thought you understood that."

"Stickle loved my mother, I think. She loved him. It didn't change anything."

"We're not them. I'm not arranging your marriage to someone else so I can keep you as my mistress. Claire, do you think that either your mother or the duke had anything but marriages of convenience? It wasn't loving each other that was the tragedy. It was the way they felt obligated to meet the rigid expectations of the social order. I never noticed that you particularly cared about that."

"I don't,” she said softly. “But you do."

"Me?"

"Rand, you fought a war to protect your precious Southern social order. You risk your life to restore your family honor. I don't fool myself into believing I'm the woman you ever imagined at your side."

"Then take issue with my imagination,” he snapped.

Claire's head lifted at the harshness of his tone. She frowned, uncertain. “You're angry."

"God, yes."

Claire felt her chair rock back as Rand's foot pressed harder against it. She steadied herself by holding the arms tightly. “I don't understand."

"Is it simply that you don't believe I can love you, or that I can love anyone?"

"You're twisting what I've said."

"I don't think so, Claire. Why is it so hard for you to accept that I love you?"

Tears made Claire's dark eyes luminous. Her effort to blink them back was not successful. “Because no one ever has."

Rand took her by the upper arms and lifted Claire to her feet. He drew her close, embracing her loosely. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. A few tears were squeezed out, dampening her cheeks, then his shirt. He felt them and said nothing.

"My father. Mother. The duke. They were all caught up in their own interests. Most days I was an afterthought. I supposed it was my fault. No one ever told me it wasn't."

"Oh, Claire."

She shrugged, impatient with herself. “Until now I've been practical about it. They were all kind to me when I came to their attention, but I always knew that somehow I was being used. Mother and the duke hid their affair behind me. Father used me to further his research. I can't help it if I'm a bit unsteady with the thought that you love me. I'm afraid it will come to matter too much. As much as I want it, I'm also frightened."

"Frightened?"

"My mother loved the duke. It destroyed her."

Gently Rand drew Claire back. He searched her gravely set features. It was clear she believed what she was saying. “How?” he asked. “Tell me how."

"She couldn't refuse him. Even when what he asked was unreasonable, potentially dangerous, she couldn't say no."

"What are you talking about?"

"At first she argued with him about my father going to the South Pacific. I know because I overheard them. When she realized the duke expected her to accompany Sir Griffin, she was furious. What I remember the most was that she couldn't stay angry. In the end she acquiesced. Her small point of rebellion was to insist that I accompany them. My father and the duke were both against it. They wanted me to stay in boarding school. I wanted to be with my mother. I suppose that's what tipped the scales in her favor. In the end she and I sailed with my father. We were gone five years. It could have been longer, but Mother became ill. She died a few months after we returned to London. Stickle was with her. In spite of what happened, she forgave him for sending her away."

"He couldn't have been responsible for her illness."

"Her illness couldn't have happened anywhere but the South Pacific. The poisonous fish that cut her in the shallows lives in those waters only. My father did everything he could to cleanse her blood. It wasn't enough. It was a miracle that she survived as long as she did. I think it was because she wanted to see the duke again."