The Rusticated Duchess (12 page)

Clare had a feeling that wouldn’t happen until he’d solved the bigger mystery surrounding her. Would she trust him with her story?

Hunger for her demanded he leave the question alone. She would acquiesce to him, instinct exulted, and lie beneath him. Her inhibitions did not need to be eliminated in order to give and receive pleasure.

Clare had to struggle to think. If he took her now, covered her on the settee and casually dressed her and demanded her secrets, the shell would stay and he would be constantly looking for ways to break it down or go around it.

Clare had to entice her to come to him, to break down that reserve and kiss him, as she’d done in the gazebo. She had to tempt him, to believe that she could. 

So he grazed his lips over the tip of her nose and drew her closer, sliding a hand from her hip to the small of her back and cradling her. He was careful not to tighten his fingers, but let the strength of his arms and legs offer her support. “You promised me that you’d explain what you are hiding from, what Winchester has done for you to run. It’s been four days, and I’m still waiting for that explanation. I begin to think it will be more difficult for you to tell me your name than to share a bed.”

As he’d expected, her breath caught, but she was now too close to him to hide the changes in her expressive eyes or the fleeting emotions on her face.

She blinked and moved to shrug, then found that she was caught in his loose embrace. Clare let his stubbornness show, knowing exactly what she would see when she stared at him. His lips were pursed, his brows drawn together, his cheeks tight. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked quietly.

Clare was barely touching her now, and she knew it. But his arms surrounded her, and if she did move, he would be there to keep her close. “No,” she whispered. “No, you’re not hurting me.”

“And I will not, not even if you simply say his name.”

Her breath caught again, but she said instead, “I detest saying his name. I dread using his name. It makes me feel unclean. Dirty.”

“Ah.” Clare paused, pondering the point. “Then tell me about your son. Is he named after this abomination? What is his name?”

Gloria knew what he was doing. She stiffened slightly, but then she whispered slowly, “No, he is not named after his sire. His name is Eynon John James Swenson.”

Clare absorbed that, careful to show no reaction. In truth, he did know which family held the surname Swenson, but he was not sure about the structure of the family tree, only about the identity of its patriarch and eldest son. Those two were more of the Swenson family than he wanted to know already, and dread pooled in his stomach.

“Eynon is a family name, usually a second or third name but I liked it. John is in memory of my late brother. James is for Eynon’s grandfather and guardian.”

Clare blinked. He’d remembered the reference to the Duke of Lennox that Jenson had dropped in the gazebo, and Gloria had just confirmed it. Her son was a grandson of James Swenson, the Duke of Lennox, which meant she had been married to Lennox’s son, and there were only two sons. He understood instantly—if her son was a ‘lord’, then she’d been married to the duke’s eldest son, who must now be dead, and was mother to the Duke of Lennox’s heir.

Clare was also a duke’s son, a duke’s heir. He understood with perfect clarity Gloria’s refusal to show him even ritual obeisance, let alone any deep curtsy, and Mrs Sinclair’s refusal to be cowed by his title or his presumption of power. Gloria’s husband had been a duke’s heir as well, and with a sickening twist to his gut Clare forced himself to name Lennox’s elder son.

March.

The name crawled down his spine and he fought to conceal his disgusted reaction. That dread turned to a block of dead ice weighing down his torso. This proud, vibrant woman had been married to the dirty mongrel, March.

It was no wonder Gloria had hated her husband, had admitted she might have one day murdered him, dreaded the touch of a man.

March’s—George Swenson’s—reputation among society’s
cognoscenti
was unparalleled, but Clare did not need society’s version of Gloria’s husband to pass judgement. Clare had met both Lennox and March once upon an occasion, and it had been an occasion which did not bear remembering, even seventeen years later.

But when he looked at Gloria, and saw the mixture of emotions on her face, he knew very well he’d face down every one of Lennox’s pathetic attempts to humiliate him again, if required. Because any man who permitted a lady to marry that animal was as responsible for her terror as March himself.

It was a damn good thing March was already dead.

Chapter Eight

Gloria made a noise that Clare thought might be a whimper of defeat, and he knew she’d sensed his body stiffening in recognition. She pulled away from his hand, but he blinked and refused to release her. “That wasn’t so hard then, angel?”

The endearment came naturally from his inward thoughts but seemed to startle her. Or maybe it was his question. Clare considered her and lowered his head, his mouth feathering her cheekbones from under her eyes to her temples. Careful not to mention March’s name, he questioned, “Marrying Lennox’s heir would have caused a scandal and I know you must have been forced to it. Why?”

Gloria shuddered. Clare waited, and after a long pause she whispered an answer. “To avoid a different scandal.”

Gently, carefully, Clare stroked the bare skin of her neck. “Tell me, please,” he requested.

Shrugging her shoulders, Gloria chewed her lower lip for a moment, then drew a quick breath as her muscles stiffened beneath his gentle fingers. “Winchester believed us—my sisters and I—to be his children until just before my marriage. But he is not my sire—nor my sisters’ sire. Once he found out, Winchester determined to punish Mother by organising the most painful marriages he could manage for her daughters. So he arranged for me to marry that man. The betrothal was announced in
The Times
before even Lennox could intervene and stop it. My late husband hired his own solicitors to meet with Winchester, so Lennox was never involved.”

So March had learnt something from the debacle seventeen—sixteen—years earlier. Clare felt nauseous again. March had employed the lessons learnt at Clare’s knee, once upon a time, to defeat Lennox’s manipulations. Was Clare also responsible for Gloria’s predicament, in a roundabout fashion?

Clare frowned as the total sum of her explanation hit him. He wouldn’t hold her birth against her, of course. “But you’re telling me—”

“It’s not common knowledge. Disowning
me
would weaken Winchester’s case. The only one he’s disavowed is my younger sister Genevieve,” Gloria informed him, straightening and putting back her shoulders proudly. Clare viewed the move with disfavour and repositioned his hand on the back of her scalp so he would better be able to tilt her head backward.

“So your natural-born brother—”

“Brody and I share a sire. He was raised at Eynon Castle. I was raised in Winchester houses with my sisters, supposedly the daughter of an earl but actually the daughter of a countess. And no, Lennox is not my sire. That would be too wrong, since I was married to Lennox’s son.”

“So why would Lennox take on Brody, another man’s get?” Clare murmured, his lips tracing Gloria’s hairline at the top of her forehead.

“Brody’s mother was the housekeeper at the Castle,” Gloria explained somewhat breathlessly. She stepped an inch closer to him and Clare rewarded her by massaging her skull for a moment and sliding his fingers down to caress the back of her neck.

“Why did Winchester choose Lennox’s son for you?” Clare asked, tipping Gloria’s head to the side to rest against his upper arm. He feathered kisses over the side of her neck and tasted the upper collar of her gown, nipping at it until she gasped softly and arched against him.

Only then did he withdraw his mouth, holding out an inch away from her skin until she groaned out an answer that shocked him.

“Revenge. My mother has been Lennox’s mistress since she was
enceinte
with me. They kept the secret for almost twenty years—Lennox claims he would rather the title have reverted to the Crown than have one of my mother’s daughters married to that cretin I was forced to wed. But Abigail was already betrothed to Meriden, Fiona had the financial independence and age to outright refuse, and even Winchester knew better than to try and marry Genevieve to Lennox’s son because Genevieve
is
Lennox’s daughter.”

Gloria’s reward was Clare’s mouth at the front of her gown, nibbling as his free hand unfastened her bodice. He pulled it open confidently, his lips trailing downward as her fingers curled into his coat, betraying any lack of hesitancy of her words. She did not want him to reject her, and she wanted his touch.

“And now that you are free of him?” Clare growled. “Why are you in hiding?”

Gloria’s whispered answer was not what Clare expected. “Winchester wants me back under his roof. First, he wants control of my income to pay his own debts. Second, he wants to sell me again. Third, he would like to separate me from Eynon, because my pain is still petty revenge against my mother. He can’t touch her, not directly.”

Outrage, swift and immediate, surged through him at her words. Clare straightened and glared at Gloria, who looked up at him in surprise even as he frowned at her. “I’ll take a bloody sword to his hide first.”

Her eyes crinkled with laughter as she studied him, then she patted him on the biceps. “No, you will not. It is why I am in hiding, and why I remain so. And it is why I must flee at the first sign of exposure—all the way to Italy if I must. Lennox will never permit Eynon to be raised under Winchester’s roof. If Winchester takes custody of me, Brody will take Eynon and rush him to the duke.”

Clare glared at her. “All the more reason for you to remove—with your household—to the Castle. We will close the gates and
he
will not be permitted to enter.” Clare gave a grim smile. “I may not be in residence often, but I am still the magistrate in this part of the county and have my father’s proxy from the Crown.”

“No,” she objected again, and Clare felt the rejection keenly, frustrated by her refusal to consider the obvious and safest solution to her problem. “No, that would prove his point to the court. He’s gone to the Chancery judges to take physical custody of me and my finances.” She went on to explain in excruciating detail the case Winchester had laid against her and against Lennox’s control of her trust, her voice shaking for the entire recital, until Clare’s head whirled and he held up a hand to stop her.

“Enough,” he stated grimly. “I have heard enough.”

“If Winchester appears with documents from the Chancery Court ordering me to surrender to him—or ordering you to help him—you will be bound to do so.”

Clare’s lips compressed at Gloria’s conclusion. He refused to be trapped between his obligation to his position and his personal honour in such a situation.

“I do not want you put into such a predicament,” she said.

“Do you imagine I would offer you up on a silver platter?” If he refused to permit the earl inside the walls of the Castle, eventually his inaction or rebelliousness would be reported to those with more power and authority than he had. How far could he go to protect Gloria from the terror that haunted her? How long could he keep her a hostage, inside his castle?

Gloria followed his train of thought easily enough. She’d likely worked out all possible scenarios herself on sleepless nights. “You’d delay as long as you could, but there’s nearly a year until I’m twenty-one, and the trust is in place until I’m twenty-five, so that’s—at a minimum—eleven months you’d have to look after me and hold out against the warrants. And I’d be penniless for four years—”

“Nonsense,” Clare cut in.

Gloria shrugged and gave a tight, small smile. “True. Lennox would never allow me to be in need or even the appearance of need, even if I refused outright to return to the London house. He funded the capital in the trust, after all, and there is Eynon to consider. But my point is the same.”

“Your point,” Clare said harshly, his vision still blurred with the reality that the angel Gloria could be dragged out of his presence by a man who considered her more of a saleable object than the paintings on the walls of his gallery. “Your point is that you should not be here at all in this charming, defenceless cottage on the sea and you are safer with me. If he does not look for you here, he would not look for you there.”

“Safer?” Gloria laughed and tried to twist away but Clare jerked her back, tumbling her hard against his chest and wrapping his arms and hands around her fiercely.

“Safer with me,” he breathed, his mouth already lowered and brushing against hers. “With me you can always say no.”

Gloria’s eyes opened wide and caught his. They stared at each other for a long second, and her arms came up, clutched his shoulders and her mouth met his.

Passionately.

Lust raged through Clare. He lifted her and clasped her hips, pulling her tight against his body.

Gloria didn’t know why she was kissing Clare. She knew, of course, that she’d been absurdly relieved that he’d demonstrated no outward signs of judgement—at least no judgement of her. He’d been furious over Winchester’s diabolical scheming, and his reaction coloured his hungry mouth now.

It was a bit lowering to think that she was pressed tightly against him, tracing the delicious edge of his teeth with her tongue and tasting the erotic flavour of his mouth, simply because she was grateful.

Still, Gloria fisted her fingers in his waistcoat, because his jacket had somehow come unfastened. Her toes, arched as he settled her against him, left the ground as his hands cupped her bottom and pressed her upward into his chest. It was such an odd, foreign sensation, to be held up with her plump bottom cheeks squeezed in his hands. She shuddered at it, but then they moved to the settee and she felt the slide of her sleeves as they were pushed over her elbows.

Her skirts were loose but his fingers were still fumbling with the fastenings so she tasted the rough texture of his jaw and neck. She jerked, her body trembling when his palms brushed over that same curve of her bottom, pushing down the fabric and leaving only her black silk chemise between her skin and his hands.