Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (28 page)

“Then why aren't you coming with me?”

She didn't want to be separated from him, even to see her family. Just the thought of being parted from him under such circumstances made her feel unsettled and anxious.

“Because I'm going to find out who is responsible for this.” Dominick spoke in a calm voice. “And I'm certain whoever is doing this is acting alone.”

“How can you be certain?”

“I do have some expertise in these matters.” He gave her a pointed look. “That said, I can't be absolutely certain, but nothing further of concern occurred after you found the portrait?”

“No.”

He nodded. “I strongly suspect that after they left the miniature here for you, they set off directly to follow me. And now that I've returned, don't you see, this has occurred. This person wants to hurt me, and if you are here, they will hurt you as well to cause me pain.”

“I don't want to be separated from you,” Clarissa said firmly.

“It won't be for long, I promise,” he said. “I'll come for you as soon as I know there's no danger.”

She knew he would not change his mind. She paced back and forth beside the window. “When must I go?”

He went to stand behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her. “Tomorrow morning, very early. There's a regular post chaise scheduled to London then, and I shall arrange for them to stop at the posting inn in Lacenfleet, if not Camellia House's doorstep. I'd ask my father for use of the carriage but don't want to make a show of your departure, in the event that all of this is part of something bigger I don't yet understand. Indeed, don't mention your leaving to anyone. We'll do this quietly, so there's a delay before anyone even realizes you've gone.”

She nodded. “I'll be ready.”

“I'm sworn to secrecy,” Miss Randolph said, moaning. “I shall try to be better by then.”

Dominick turned toward the bed. “I'm afraid not, Miss Randolph. You're staying here until you're fully recovered.”

“Mistress's orders,” Clarissa added.

After the doctor visited and confirmed Dominick's assessment, the couple spent the afternoon making Miss Randolph comfortable and packing Clarissa's things. Blackmer quietly investigated the source of the tainted pastries, which he felt certain was in some way related to the scores of additional hands hired from town to assist with the party. All had been vetted for the appropriate recommendations and experience, but still, someone could have misrepresented themselves while the house was in the midst of preparations and gone unnoticed.

Although Miss Randolph's condition improved, Clarissa insisted her lady's maid sleep in the dressing room so she would be close enough to hear if the older woman called out for help or assistance. The servant's proximity made no difference to Dominick, who coaxed Clarissa into making love, at first discreetly, with many whispers and muffled laughter, and then passionately, until the bed creaked and swayed. The next morning, they were much more quiet and discreet.

But then it was time to go. Though she still did not want to leave Dominick, she understood why she must go. He drove her in the curricle to Ashington, along with the young footman Philip, whom Dominick had recruited to attend her. After a short wait and several shameless kisses on the street, Dominick assisted Clarissa up into the coach, to join a gray-haired older woman accompanied by a young boy. Philip climbed up to sit on the perch at the back of the carriage, bundled in a heavy coat and scarf.

Clarissa managed not to cry when the coach pulled away. Blackmer waved from where he stood beside the curricle, looking as morose as she to be separated. When he was out of sight, she did shed tears, but only briefly, because she knew he would find out who was behind the disturbances at Darthaven and join her soon.

Just then the carriage changed direction and rolled to a stop. A moment later and voices sounded outside and the door opened. A pretty young woman in a straw bonnet and serviceable dress climbed inside, and smiled shyly between Clarissa and the other occupants.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, taking the seat next to Clarissa and resting her valise on her lap. “Very sorry to cause any delay. It seems I'm always five minutes too late. Thank heavens the driver saw me and stopped.”

Dominick returned to Darthaven in a sullen mood. He hated to send Clarissa away, but she would be safe at Camellia House with her family. In addition to writing the letter to Wolverton, on the same coach that conveyed his wife, he had dispatched a sealed letter to Mr. O'Connell, Wolverton's personal valet and protector, informing his former fellow agent of his present concerns.

 Inside, Colin waited in the vestibule.

“Blackmer, there you are. I was hoping we could talk,” said Colin. He looked at his brother, and much of the tension within him eased. While they hadn't had a chance to talk out the past and officially reconcile the night before, it had been clear at the party that the conflict between them had all but disappeared. He had his little diplomat Clarissa to thank for that. “Let's go into the library.”

Once inside, the brothers looked at one another for a long time, each without words.

Colin looked at him steadily, his eyes filled with emotion, and after a long moment rubbed his hands over his face. “I had such an eloquent speech planned, and now it has all gone from my mind. I should remember the words easily. I've been writing them in my head for years.”

Dominick smiled. “It's all right. I don't need a speech.”

“I'm sorry, Blackmer.”

“I am too. And that's all that matters. Let's start over. Let's start new.”

“All right.” Colin stepped back, letting out a great sigh of relief. “I'll start by asking what you've done with your wife. I saw you leave in the curricle this morning, and you've returned without her. Where is she? There's nothing wrong, is there?”

“Actually, there is.”

“Does it have to do with that miniature being left in Clarissa's room and her destroyed dress? Who could have done such a thing?”

While he could not reveal his past as an agent to Colin, nor the circumstances of Tryphena's death, he told Colin about the fire and the poisoned pastries and expressed his concern that someone was trying to torment him in some way about his first wife's death.

Dominick turned toward the opposite wall, trying to clear his head of emotion. Trying to understand. “I have no idea who is doing these things, whether it's a servant who developed some attachment to her when we visited Darthaven, or perhaps…perhaps a former lover.”

“Well, it's not me.” Colin pressed a hand over his chest, looking earnest.

“I know that.”

“Dominick, I want to be honest.”

“Please do.”

“But I don't want to offend you.”

“You won't. Tell me anything.”

“I've had a lot of time to think about the past. Looking back now, I can see that her attentions toward me were very precise and intentional. They weren't about attraction or desire, but it felt more like something she
had
to do.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“It's just an instinct, but I can't help but feel I was just a convenient ploy for Tryphena to…perhaps to end her marriage to you. Does that make any sense?”

Memories flowed into his mind, an overwhelming flood. Tryphena had done her best to make him miserable before they separated.

For so long he'd forbidden himself from thinking of their last day together as man and wife, the day he'd told her to go. She'd said such provoking things and behaved so hatefully. Yet the last moment before she walked out the door to travel to Brighton, he'd thought he'd seen something. He closed his eyes, remembering—

Her eyes had shone with tears and regret and something else.

Love?

Dominick had told himself he was only seeing what he wanted to see. That he'd been wrong. As an agent in the secret service, she had always been competitive, wanting the most prestigious, most dangerous assignments. He'd always harbored in the back of his mind the belief she'd married him to get there and that, once there, her use for him was done. But if she'd loved him, none of that made sense.

If she'd loved him, why would she have seduced his brother—if only for a kiss?

Because if he hated Colin, he wouldn't stay at Darthaven. He'd return to London, and his life as an agent…and she with him.

Why would she want him to hate her, to push her away?

Because if they hated one another, it would be easier for her to betray him.

To kill him.

For him to kill her.

Shock jolted through him. The answer had come out of nowhere, a gift of instincts, of his deepest psyche. Without context, what did it mean?

“Blackmer, are you all right?” asked Colin, his brows drawn together. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“No.” As Dominick had told Clarissa, he didn't believe in them. “Just thinking.”

“Speaking of ghosts,” his brother said softly. “Do you know…I thought I saw her yesterday.”

A slow curl of awareness rippled through Dominick, starting in his stomach and spreading out through his shoulders. “Who?” The word emitted from his lips as a whisper. But already he knew the answer that would come.

“Tryphena. In Ashington, walking along the street.” Colin rubbed a hand over his forehead, and frowned. “I knew it was impossible. That it couldn't be her, but I…I even tried to follow her—that is, the woman who looked like her—but when I rounded the corner she was gone.”

“That's interesting,” Blackmer said.

Interesting indeed.

C
larissa glanced out the window and smiled as Camellia House came into view atop the hill overlooking the village of Lacenfleet. In just moments she would see her family. It was the only thing that made leaving Blackmer less painful. She prayed he and everyone else at Darthaven were safe and that he would determine who was behind the disturbing events that had taken place over the previous weeks. She had no doubt he would because she suspected he had been a very formidable agent, before Tryphena's death had changed his circumstances.

She turned back to the young woman sitting beside her, who had been such a pleasant companion for the duration of the trip. Miss Joyce had recently lost her position as a companion after the elderly lady with whom she spent her days had passed away. Miss Joyce had originally traveled back to London.

“Nonsense, Miss Joyce, you'll come with me. It's a temporary position, but perhaps by the time Miss Randolph returns to serve as my lady's maid, we'll have found something permanent for you as well.”

Miss Joyce's face brightened. “Truly? You're willing to take a chance on me? How very generous. Thank you. I'm grateful for even a temporary position. Time spent in the service of the Earl of Wolverton will be quite the feather in my cap and would improve the quality of positions I can attract in the future.” The woman relaxed back into her seat and sighed. “What a relief it would be not to have to present myself to my poor father for support. He has such a small pension and can barely tend to himself. I do have a letter of recommendation from my deceased employer's son, which I can give to the housekeeper.”

“Then the matter is settled.”

The driver kindly delivered them to Camellia House's door. Outside the carriage, Philip took possession of her small bag, advising the Duke of Claxton's footmen he would deliver it personally to her room.

Miss Joyce inquired of the footmen as to the location of the servants' entrance and set off right away, after indicating she would follow proper protocol and introduce herself to the housekeeper, Mrs. Branigan.

Clarissa entered the house and removed her bonnet.

“You're here! What an unexpected and wonderful surprise,” Sophia exclaimed, rushing into the vestibule, her arms wide. They embraced, and Clarissa gave her sister's very round stomach an affectionate pat. “Claxton told us there was no hope of you coming whatsoever. I'm so glad he was wrong.”

“Look at you!” cried Clarissa.

Sophia did the same. “Look at
you
. You're increasing as well.”

Daphne joined them, her expression transforming from lively to crestfallen in an instant. “Oh, Clarissa. I'm so sorry. What did that blackguard do to you? Come, let's go inside, somewhere private, and you can tell us all about it.”

Lady Margaretta swept out from the great room to embrace her. “She doesn't have to tell you or any of us anything if she doesn't want to. Give her some privacy and some time.”

Clarissa pulled back to smile at them. “I don't need any time or privacy. Blackmer and I are very happy. I've just come for a visit. He'll join me as soon as he can.”

Her mother exhaled in relief. “That's wonderful to hear.”

“Come inside.” Sophia led her into the cavernous great room, which Clarissa was surprised to find full of people she knew. “Everyone, look who has arrived. My sister, Lady Blackmer.”

“What's the occasion?” Clarissa asked, delighted to see so many familiar faces.

Sophia answered. “I'll be confined soon, so I decided to throw a small house party before then so everyone could see the house now that it's been repaired. Some guests are just here for the day, while others have yet to arrive.”

“It's lovely.” Camellia House, though built in the time of Elizabeth, smelled clean and fresh and new. After a fire last Christmas nearly destroyed a third of the sprawling manse, the Duke and Duchess of Claxton had undertaken measures to return the property to all its prior glory.

Daphne touched Clarissa's arm. “Claxton and Raikes are in the garden with some of the gentlemen, talking seeds and hybrids and such. I'm going to go and let them know you're here. They'll want to come inside to greet you as well. You stay here and give Grandfather a kiss. He's sitting just over there. Do you see? He's missed you terribly.”

She looked in the direction her sister indicated, toward a small alcove on the far side of the large room, and saw Lord Raikes's mother and father sitting with Wolverton, who appeared even thinner than before—but well, with robust color in his cheeks. All read books or newspapers and remained oblivious to her arrival. Little Michael sat between them, dressed in a suit like a little man, playing with a pair of soldiers.

Her grandfather. Yes! She could not wait to see him, and tell him how well her marriage to Blackmer had turned out, and to thank him for his part in ensuring her happiness. But as she approached, Michael leapt up and barreled toward her.

“Michael!” Clarissa called to him, opening her arms.

How he'd grown, in just their brief time apart! Vinson and Laura would have been so proud. He climbed down and ran to her.

“Auntie!” he cried.

She caught him up and squeezed him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. He smelled so good, like little-boy skin and soap and, yes, a recent peppermint.

Wolverton reached a wrinkled hand for her. “Come and give me a kiss too, my dear.”

Clarissa did so, relieved that he looked at her with the same old unabashed affection he always had, even after the circumstances in which they had last parted.

She bent to kiss him. “I'm so glad to see you well. I've been so worried about you.”

“I am feeling so much better. My dear, where is Blackmer?” His gray eyebrows raised. “I must speak privately with him. With you both.”

Michael wiggled to be set down, and after went to the windowsill where he scrutinized several toy soldiers and cannons there, and repositioned them.

“He did not come with me. It will only be a week before he joins us, I hope.”

“Are you well?” the old man asked, his eyes intent and concerned.

“Better than well, Grandfather. I'm very happy.”

He closed his eyes and smiled, clasping her hands in his. “He is a…
good
man.”

“He is more than I could ever have hoped.”

“I'm glad to hear that. I…acted as best I could, given the situation, though even I did not realize the marriage would come at so great a personal expense for him.”

“Yes, he lost his…diplomatic assignment. It was difficult for a time, but I think he has recovered from that disappointment.”

“I pray so.”

“Grandfather, he did ask that I give you a letter.” Clarissa opened her reticule and presented him with the folded parchment.

Wolverton stared down at the letter in his hand and traced his finger over the wax seal. Clarissa saw him break the seal after Sophia appeared again to steal her away so that she could say hello to additional guests.

Everyone greeted her and wished her well on her recent wedding. In the vestibule, there came the sounds of additional guests arriving. Sophia broke away to welcome them.

“Where is this Lord Blackmer?” asked Sir Keyes, her grandfather's longtime and equally elderly friend. “I'd like to meet him.”

His affianced, the tiny but always smiling dowager Countess of Dundalk, looked behind her. “Don't tell me he didn't accompany you.”

Clarissa feared she would have to answer the question a thousand times. “He did not. He has business to attend to and will join me later.”

Sophia returned in the company of the new arrivals. “I believe everyone here knows Lady Quinn—”

Clarissa's eyes flew open in shock, seeing the former Emily FitzKnightley. She felt not one bit of ill will or jealousy toward the young lady, but she realized her presence might also come with that of her husband, someone Clarissa would be happy never to see again.

“And her mother, Mrs. FitzKnightley.”

A glance across the room showed Wolverton's lips turned into a deep scowl, his eyes ablaze with fury. As discreetly as possible, Clarissa lifted a calming hand to him.

Sophia returned to her side, murmuring out of the side of her mouth, “I don't know them very well, but Claxton's trying to convince the Duke of Lowther to change his way of thinking about a few things before Parliament goes back into session. They can't seem to agree on anything.”

Clarissa didn't have to wait long to confirm her fear about Lord Quinn's presence because he entered the room at precisely that moment. Her heart sank, and she struggled to keep her expression blasé. Dominick had proven himself to be the most honorable of men. Quinn, in contrast, made her skin crawl.

“Ah, Miss Bevington,” Quinn said, his eyes fixed warmly on her. “What a wonderful surprise to see you.”

“Lady
Blackmer,
” she corrected him. “I am Lady Blackmer now, if you will recall.”

“That's right. I forgot. The Earl of Blackmer. Where is he?” He surveyed the room. “Not here? That's too bad.”

The heat in his eyes intensified, and her blood went cold.

“It is very nice seeing you,” she replied coolly. To Sophia, she said, “I'm very weary. Would you mind if I went to my room?”

“Of course you are weary. I recall in the early days of my pregnancy I was so tired all the time. Now I'm full of energy. Mother says I'm nesting. You'll do it too!”

Sophia led Clarissa toward the staircase. In the distance, away from everyone, she spied Wolverton speaking to his valet, O'Connell.

“What was that your sister said?” inquired Lord Quinn, following along behind. Clarissa cringed, hearing his voice. “Are congratulations in order for you as well?”

Sophia paused and, turning, replied, “My apologies, Lord Quinn, I should not have spoken so familiarly in the presence of those who are not family, but I suppose it is no secret. My sister, like me, is happily expecting.”

His gaze fell to her stomach. “That's…wonderful news. Your husband must be thrilled.”

“He is indeed.”

“Well, then.” He paused, staring into her eyes far too probingly. “Emily and I extend our congratulations. Hopefully she and I will be able to share the same happy news soon as well.”

Upstairs, Clarissa spied Philip positioned at the far end of the corridor, wearing the distinctive red Stade livery.

To Sophia, she said, “I hope you don't mind. Blackmer sent Philip to attend to me.”

“I appreciate that. I'm afraid I've stretched our small staff to their limits with this number of guests.”

“I've also a lady's maid, Miss Joyce.”

“We've rooms for them both in the attic. I'll speak with Mrs. Branigan to ensure they're included in the staff count.”

In the privacy of her room, Clarissa did her best to put Quinn from her mind, praying his stay at Camellia House would not be long. She napped and dreamed of Blackmer, a dream so pleasant she did not want to awaken when Daphne shook her gently and told her it was time to dress for supper.

Clarissa considered claiming weariness, so that she might pass the evening in her room. But she would not allow Lord Quinn to ruin this time with her family. Miss Joyce appeared, along with servants carrying water for a bath, and did a fine job of dressing her and styling her hair before she returned downstairs.

She might as well have stayed in her room. Despite her efforts to discreetly rebuff him, her former lover constantly gravitated to her side. Supper turned out to be a two-hour-long miserable affair, with her seated between Quinn and his father the duke—and Wolverton scowling at all of them.

After dinner she stayed close to Lady Quinn because it was the only place where Quinn seemed reluctant to follow her. She wasn't surprised to learn she liked Emily. She could only feel sympathy that the girl had married such a lout. Thank heavens she had not. She missed Blackmer so much.

At last, she excused herself and made her way to her room, only to see a door open to the chamber next door, and Philip inside, crouched beside the bed and reaching under.

Sir Keyes crouched there too—as well as his aged legs would allow.

“Do you see them?” he said.

“Have you lost something?” she inquired from the door, drawing Sir Keyes's attention.

“Hello, Daphne,” he replied cheerfully.

She corrected him, with a smile. “It's Clarissa.”

“My apologies, dear.” He chuckled and tapped his cheek. “Just my spectacles.”

“I see them, sir,” said Philip, flattening himself against the floor.

“I'm so glad. Good night then,” she said, and went onto her room.

She had only just shut her door behind her when the door opened again.

Quinn entered and quickly shut the door, turning the key.

 “What are you doing here?” Clarissa backed away, alarm spearing up inside her. “Get out of my room this instant.”

“I needed to see you alone and tell you I've been so miserable with Emily. It's because I'm still in love with you.” He moved toward her.

His words only annoyed her. “You never loved me. If you did, you wouldn't have married someone else after—after—” She gritted her teeth. “It doesn't matter anymore because I'm married now, and I'm very happy. Please leave.”

Quinn's smile turned cruel. “You're putting on a good show about being a sweet and dutiful wife, but there's no need. I know you. You're just like me. Adventurous. If you weren't, I wouldn't have had your innocence on that garden bench.”

Clarissa gasped in outrage, hating him in that instant. “I was innocent and believed you loved me. It would never have happened otherwise.”

“I did love you,” he replied angrily. “And I love you still. If only you'd let me show you.”