Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (6 page)

Dominick glowered at the man, seething. “I am half out of my head as well. I am caught in a terrible spot.”

Mrs. Brightmore whispered, “I've no doubt Miss Bevington will do the right thing, given just a little time.”

“Will she?” he growled, so angry he could not see straight. “Then why am I still here?”

“Wolverton's health is so precarious. Further revelations would only distress him more.” Mrs. Brightmore peered sagely at Dominick. “But I do understand the urgency and must say your silence thus far is admirable. On one hand, I know you're trying to protect the girl and Wolverton, but on the other, such a scandal could threaten your career, even if you are eventually determined to be innocent.”

Protect her, yes. Yes, he supposed he was. But at the same time he was also trying to protect himself, and his future. He had to tread carefully. Clarissa was the Earl of Wolverton's granddaughter. The Duke of Claxton's sister-in-law. Those two men had the power to destroy him. Even if he wasn't to blame here, if he spoke out of turn or offended their sensibilities, he would find himself and his professional aspirations ruined.

“But be patient,” Mrs. Brightmore urged. “The truth will emerge, and Quinn shall have to marry her.”

Dominick closed his eyes and shook his head, his teeth clenched. If only the solution were that simple for Clarissa.

“That, it would seem, is the true scandal at hand and the sole reason I have held silent. Quinn, you see, is already married.”

“No, he isn't,” the housekeeper replied, drawing her shoulders up, her eyes wide and shocked as if horrified by the mere suggestion. “Why would you say that?”

He nodded curtly. “It's true, I'm afraid. As of this afternoon, by special license to the FitzKnightley heiress.”

“No,” she gasped, her shoulders going slack. “Miss Clarissa! The poor girl. What a betrayal.”

“Damn,” O'Connell hissed, his knuckles whitening on the pitcher's handle.

“No, please!” The sudden cry came from inside the earl's chambers, a young woman's voice that Dominick believed to be Clarissa's. Footsteps sounded on the carpet, making their way toward the door. Mrs. Brightmore and O'Connell broke away and proceeded inside.

Claxton stepped out, his expression distant and grave. “The earl wishes to speak with you.”

Dominick nodded, relieved. For a moment he'd feared the old man had expired. If the earl was awake and able to speak, he was moments away from being absolved from this misunderstanding.

Shadows darkened the room. Only one small lamp was lit on a table beside a large state bed draped in gold and black curtains, and a fire in the hearth illuminated the high painted ceiling, wall hangings, and collection of swords that had no doubt been in the family's possession through the centuries.

The windows had been closed, and the curtains drawn against the night and the sounds of London. In the far corner, O'Connell poured water into a basin while Mrs. Brightmore arranged the linens. Dominick approached the bed, which was surrounded by all the members of His Lordship's family and his physician, a tall man with wiry gray hair and spectacles. Solemn-faced and with accusing eyes, they parted for him until he saw the pale pink, silken train of Clarissa's gown.

She knelt beside the bed, clasping her grandfather's hands and pressing her cheek to them.

Claxton frowned. “For a moment he was conscious, and he asked for you. Now…I don't know.”

Sniffles and quiet sobs broke the silence of the room. All the relief he'd felt just moments before drained out of him on the spot. Ought he remain or retreat?

“You” came a ragged voice from the bed.

The old man struggled to rise. Clarissa attempted to soothe him with low words and gentle hands, but he brushed her away.

“Come here,” he commanded, reaching out a shaking hand. The physician took a step nearer, his lips drawn into a thin and disapproving line. Clarissa glanced over her shoulder and through tearstained eyes watched Dominick approach. Was he wrong, or did he see dread there also?

“Yes, my lord,” he answered quietly. “I am here.”

“Listen to me, now,” Wolverton exhaled raggedly before collapsing back onto his pillow.

“No,” Clarissa cried quietly, lowering her head on the coverlet.

“You…will…
marry
her,” the earl commanded.

His blood froze at hearing the words, which weren't at all what he'd expected. He had done nothing wrong and did not deserve such a punishing sentence.

“Oh, Mr. Kincraig,” Clarissa choked, looking up at him with tear-flooded eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

He stared back at her. No, he wouldn't…couldn't marry her. Why should he?

“Clarissa, be silent,” said her mother from somewhere behind them. Wolverton rested his hand atop her head.

Dominick shook his head. “My lord, I—”

Claxton growled, “By God, Mr. Kincraig, if you do not consent, I will shoot you on the spot.”

With that, a round of feminine sobs and sniffles and whispers arose behind him, a heavy cloud of collective female emotion pressing at his back. They were all so disappointed and traumatized at the idea of their darling girl marrying Mr. Kincraig, the scoundrel—a role he simply played, and played very well, as part of his occupation. He had difficulty understanding how he, Blackmer, should be responsible for any sins committed—or in this case, not committed—by Mr. Kincraig. And yet he found himself being threatened with death by the duke if he did not comply. His soul decried the injustice. He had done nothing wrong and did not deserve this condemnation.

“You,” Wolverton urged, reaching toward Dominick again. “Come here.”

Dominick felt trapped. Smothered. He momentarily closed his eyes, then stared at the earl's hand, knowing if he complied that his freedom might very well be forever lost.

There was only one way out. He would have to tell His Lordship the truth about his granddaughter's indiscretion and pray he survived the shock. But discreetly, and out of hearing of the others. Dominick leaned past Clarissa, into the shadows.

The earl seized his arm and pulled him near. For a moment, two aged eyes held his, bright with tears. The magnitude of hurt and emotion he perceived in them struck him like a battering post to the center of his chest.

“She has confessed…the truth—” Wolverton whispered, in so hushed a voice Dominick could hardly make out the words.

Dominick exhaled, relief coursing through him. God bless Clarissa, he should never have doubted her. The earl knew he was innocent of seducing her, that he had not betrayed anyone's trust, and most important that the child Clarissa carried did not belong to him.

Yet the earl jerked him closer.

“—a truth
no one else
can know. Not her mother. Not the rest of the family. By God, no one. Marry her, Blackmer. Grant this dying man's request. I beg you, as my friend. It must be you.”

C
larissa looked up into Mr. Kincraig's face as he backed away from the shadowed darkness of her grandfather's bed. Pale and scowling, he glanced at her coldly before looking across the room and solemnly addressing her family.

“His Lordship has requested a moment alone with the two of us.” His voice was lower and graver than she had ever heard before. He sounded very unlike himself. His jaw twitched, evidence of the emotion he struggled to keep in check.

Her family gathered themselves and filed into the corridor. Tears shone on Daphne's face, and Sophia lingered behind until the duke led her and the bright-eyed Lady Margaretta away. O'Connell and Mrs. Brightmore followed them out last, with the housekeeper turning to give them both one last look before pulling the door closed.

 Clarissa remained on her knees beside the bed. Numb and broken by the events of the last hour, she prayed this was all a bad dream and that she would awaken to find her life as it had been before. Mr. Kincraig reached down and assisted her up.

“Come,” her grandfather said weakly, reaching for her. She grasped his cool palm, enveloping his aged fingers beneath her own and leaned beneath the canopy, complying when he pulled her down beside him.

“You as well,” the earl commanded in a gravelly voice to the silent shadow behind her.

Mr. Kincraig leaned inward, also giving his hand.

Wolverton's eyes met hers, full of love and, yes, hurt. She had hurt him so badly. How could she have made such a terrible mistake?

“Mr.…Kincraig—” Wolverton rasped. “—has agreed to marry you. Tomorrow, by special license.”

She had already known this and still her heart sank at the words, like a stone to the bottom of the ocean.

“He should not have.” She shook her head and looked at Mr. Kincraig, who refused to look back at her, which made her feel even more horrible because he was clearly very unhappy at the prospect of marrying her. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “He should suffer no consequence for merely trying to be kind to me in my moment of need.”

“You will…do this, Clarissa, for yourself and your dear mother and the rest of this family, but mostly…for the child.” The earl placed her hand in Mr. Kincraig's, who stared down at their joined hands, stricken, as did she. “You must never tell anyone the truth.”

“But I must tell Mother.” She blinked. “My sisters. Unless I do they'll all believe he's a…a scoundrel who seduced me—”

“Then so be it,” growled Mr. Kincraig in a low but forceful voice. “It is the only way I will agree to marry you and to be a father to this child. If the child is to have my name, I will have no one believing that he or she is anything other than my own.”

“They would protect my secret.”

“Secrets never stay secrets, Clarissa,” he argued, his dark eyes blazing like onyx on fire. “If the truth is spoken outside this room, then someone will overhear a whisper here, a sideways comment there, and the talk will start, and it will never stop. I won't have it.
I won't.
”

Wolverton nodded his head wearily. “Do you understand, Clarissa?”

She remained silent, frozen by one thought. As angry as she was with Lord Quinn right now, what if he had been forced into marriage with someone else, perhaps by his father, for political reasons? Yes, he had betrayed her, but didn't he deserve to know about the child?

“But Lord Quinn—”

“Has married another,” Wolverton replied in a sharp tone. “It is too late…for recompense. There can be no recourse, no satisfaction without bringing shame and scandal upon us all, not to mention your innocent child. Would you have him or her live under the shadow of illegitimacy for the rest of his life and suffer for the consequences of your actions?”

“No! But neither do I want Mr. Kincraig to suffer the consequences. What if I agree to go away,” Clarissa answered, her voice frantic with hope that somehow she could spare him, “and have the child in seclusion?”

“And give the baby away, for strangers to raise?” The earl scowled, his hand seizing atop hers and Mr. Kincraig's, binding them more firmly together. “I won't have it. The child is my blood and will be always and forever part of this family.”

His words broke her heart, because they revealed such a depth of love for a child who hadn't even been born yet. Yet the effort of speaking with such vehemence had clearly been too much for His Lordship. The earl gasped and fell back upon the pillow. Clarissa abandoned Mr. Kincraig's hand and reached for her grandfather, embracing him, wanting to soothe his distress.

She could not help but pity herself. Just hours before she'd been the toast of London, with all her dreams laid out before her. Now she must agree to marry a known rakehell, who would most likely despise her forever for chaining him to a dull and respectable life.

She deserved no better, and had no one to blame but herself. She must be grateful to Mr. Kincraig for agreeing to marry her at all.

She rested her head on his chest, tears spilling from her eyes. “I will do as you say, my lord. I will marry Mr. Kincraig.”

“I still can't believe this is real, that you'll be marrying Mr. Kincraig.” Sophia sighed heavily and hugged Clarissa from behind, squeezing her as tightly as Sophia's six-months-along pregnant belly would allow. “Tell me, Clarissa, how did this come to be?”

All three sisters lay in Clarissa's bed with her in the middle. Last night, they'd simply held her as she cried and said gentle things until she'd pretended to fall asleep so they wouldn't ask her any more questions—questions she couldn't answer, not when her grandfather had urgently sworn her to secrecy, for the sake of her child and the man who had agreed to marry her.

Although she wanted nothing more than to share the truth with Sophia and Daphne, along with all of her anger and her pain, didn't she owe Wolverton and Mr. Kincraig her strictest compliance after all the difficulty she had caused them and everyone else?

“I don't know,” she answered numbly, staring into the shadows across the room.

She could just make out the pale pink outline of the dress she had worn last night where Sophia had lain it across her dressing room chair. What a wonderful time she and her mother and sisters had selecting the style of the gown and agonizing over the choice of fabric and trimmings. As she'd endured all the necessary fittings, she'd been filled with such hope for a happy future with the man she loved.

Now the dress had become a symbol of her shattered dreams.

“It just happened,” she said in a hollow voice.

But with Lord Quinn, who had told her he loved her, not the bleary-eyed, always disastrous Mr. Kincraig…who had been kind enough not to abandon her.

Why she couldn't have cried on Havering's shoulder? Kind, handsome, generous Havering, so like a brother to them all. She'd much rather be forced into marriage with him.

That wasn't fair of her. It wasn't fair of her at all, not to Havering and most certainly not to Kincraig.

Last night after her sisters had fallen asleep, she'd lain awake alone with her regrets and tears, praying it was all a nightmare she'd wake from in the morning. But now light crept through the curtains, along with the sounds of a stirring city. She simply had to come to terms; she wasn't going to wake up and find it all a bad dream.

She felt tender and bruised, inside and out. Bitterly angry, sad, and betrayed. She wanted nothing more than to confront Quinn, to demand an explanation, but she could not imagine herself playing the part of a cast-off and forgotten little fool. She had her pride.

She could not help but wonder where he was now. Likely honeymooning in the arms of the new Lady Quinn.

Did he think of her? Was he miserable too? She had most certainly made a mistake in not telling him immediately about the baby. It had been three and a half weeks since she'd missed her courses. At first she'd told herself there must be some other explanation, but then she'd started seeing the same bright spots in her vision Sophia had described early in her pregnancy and suffering a vague nausea at various times throughout the day.

And though she had been thrilled,
so thrilled
at the idea of becoming a mother, she hadn't told Quinn because foolishly she'd wanted their lives to follow the prescribed storybook pattern of romance and love, first an engagement and then marriage. Then, and only then, would there be children. The realization she was with child had thrown that “perfect” order all out of balance, so she'd remained silent, believing the news could wait just a little while longer.

Foolish girl. Now her life was anything but a fairy tale.

She felt so dreadfully alone. If she'd told him right away, would he still have married another? The same question had tumbled about in her head all night, unanswered.

One thing she did know of a certain was that she didn't love him anymore. Quinn had told her he loved her just before he'd taken her innocence—something she could never get back—and then he had married another.

A man like that didn't deserve her love. If he'd loved her, then no matter the circumstances or obstacles, he would have fought to be with her.

 She vowed never to speak to him again. Hot tears stung her eyes, fueled by outrage and pain, and her hands curled into fists in the sheets.

Perhaps she would speak to him just once, to find out why he'd married someone else. She wouldn't tell him about the baby, but she wanted to understand and be able to forgive him. She didn't want to despise him for the rest of her life.

“Do you love him?” Sophia asked.

Quinn's handsome face appeared in her mind, to be replaced by Mr. Kincraig's untidy countenance.

She closed her eyes. “No.”

“Are you happy to be marrying him?”

“No!” she blurted.

Saying those words made her feel disloyal to Mr. Kincraig. No, she didn't love him and she didn't want to marry him, but given his generous sacrifice, she must in turn give him her loyalty and respect. After all, he had been nothing but a gentleman to her, more so than the man she had loved.

 “Then why—”

She closed her eyes. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Clarissa, he didn't…he did not—”

“He didn't what?”

“He didn't force himself on you, did he?”

Force himself on her? Of…course not.

Her mind returned to that night at the Vauxhall gala, where there had been music and dancing carried on just out of sight, where their kisses had turned suddenly passionate and Quinn had told her he couldn't wait any more, that he loved her so madly he couldn't control his passions.

“
No,
” she blurted. “He did not force me.”

She'd thought they were in love, and foolishly she'd relented. But they weren't talking about Quinn, were they? They were talking about Mr. Kincraig.

Even though he was the last thing she wanted to think about at the moment, she forced herself to say “Mr. Kincraig has been nothing but a gentleman throughout this entire situation.”

“He most certainly has not,” Sophia retorted. “If he was any sort of gentleman, you would not be in this predicament.”

“I have no one to blame but myself.”

Sophia rose onto one elbow and looked down into her face. “You are an innocent young lady. He is far more worldly than you, which makes him a cad. He seduced you. He manipulated your emotions.” She squeezed Clarissa's shoulder. “You do realize that, don't you?”

Clarissa's head hurt from so many crisscrossing thoughts. Had Quinn ever intended to marry her? Thinking back, it was he who had insisted on secrecy. Like a fool, she had gamely agreed, believing at the time that love was just a fun and happy game. Whatever the truth about her and Quinn's affair, Mr. Kincraig had not seduced her, and she could not in good conscience allow him to take blame.

“Please don't talk about him like that,” Clarissa insisted, and, with a hard wrench of her shoulder, pulled away.

Oh, she was angry. Not at Sophia, but with Quinn. But most of all, with herself.

How Mr. Kincraig must despise her this morning. She could only hope that like many young men, he had aspirations of marrying well to improve his fortune and connections. While she couldn't promise love and passion, she could certainly, with some degree of confidence, guarantee that.

“You feel fondly for him, then, at least,” Sophia whispered softly. A moment of silence passed, and then Clarissa felt a hand gently stroke her hair. “It's just that this has all come as such a shock, but I love you. We all love you, don't we, Daphne? That's all that matters.”

A snore arose from the tousled heap of hair that was Daphne.

“Daphne—” Sophia pinched Daphne's arm. “
Daphne.
Wake up.”

“Ow…what?” Daphne moaned, jerking her arm away and burying her face under the covers.

“I said wake up. It's morning.” Sophia sat up and, with her fingers, attempted to comb out her wild mass of dark hair. She had always worn her dark hair longer than her blond sisters and normally slept with it in a braid. They'd forgone their customary bedtime rituals the night before in favor of sisterly commiseration. “Clarissa needs us to be awake and present, to support her through what will most likely be the worst day of her life.”

“The worst day of my life,” Clarissa exhaled. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“You're marrying Mr. Kincraig.” Sophia sighed drolly, scooting off the bed. “Unfortunately, I don't believe there is any way to make you feel worse.”

She moved slowly and carefully, with a hand resting atop her belly. Clarissa watched, unable to imagine herself in such a state. How she envied her sister.
Both
her sisters, who had married into love matches. She supposed it was too much that three should accomplish such a remarkable feat.