A Spy's Honor (36 page)

She snaked her arms up between them and knocked his away, her eyes flashing. “You won’t propose, but you will take me to your bed? How is that being honorable?”

He threw up his hands. “
You
seduced
me
. I distinctly recall trying to persuade you to wait. But if a proposal is what you want, I wouldn’t want to be accused of not fulfilling your needs. Will you marry me, Clare? Will you have me now?”

As soon as the words were spoken, he wanted to cut his tongue out. That proposal was only a fraction better than Mr. Darcy’s first, ill-spoken one. And Claire’s reaction was little better than that of Elizabeth Bennet.

“Please, do not dishonor yourself for me,” she spat.

“Claire…,” he ground out.

“I always thought I loved you, but…”

Even though this time she barely spoke above a whisper, he jerked back as if she’d punched him. He managed to rasp out, “And now?”

She wrenched away, turning her back to him. He bit back a curse. There was no one more beautiful than his Claire when she was angry, but that wasn’t the emotion he’d been hoping to evoke this morning. How had everything gone so wrong?

“Claire?”

He waited for her to speak, waited as the air in the sitting room grew staler by the moment, and when she finally turned back to him, he saw that she wasn’t angry. Pale cheeks, moist eyes and tight lips painted a picture of wretchedness that made his chest hurt, and he desperately searched his brain for the words to make things better.

She spoke first, her voice nearly hoarse. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what I’m feeling. You spout nonsense about honor instead of wanting me. You…you are always leaving me, as my father did. After that ball last week. Two mornings ago. Five years ago. How can I ever believe you’ll stay when I need you?”

Those situations weren’t the same at all, but he knew better than to voice that opinion. Why hadn’t he remembered how much being abandoned affected her?

Because he hadn’t “abandoned” her. He’d been working, trying to save the country. Where was her faith in him?

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have a home here. You don’t even hold a respectable position. You could be off to the Continent next week. In fact, you adamantly stated your intention to return. There’s nothing to keep you here.”

“Is that what this is about? That I don’t have a title and a bloody estate like Kensworth?” He knew it wasn’t, but damnation, it was difficult to keep a civil tongue when the woman he loved was rejecting him. “My reason to stay is you. I need no other. I’m going to stand for Parliament, with or without Kensworth or my brother’s support.”

“Why haven’t you told me that before? Are you saying it to placate me?”

“No. I’ve been preoccupied with my investigation,” he growled. “Which is precisely why, in addition to caring for Kensworth’s reputation, I wanted to wait—to make love to you, to ask you to marry me. I’ve been courting you when I can because I know how much it means to you.”

Or, maybe it didn’t mean anything to her. He was a patient man, but even so he was quickly losing charity with her.

She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

“You once told me that if you loved someone, you should give them what they need. I’ve done that over and over for you, Claire. You needed a stronger man, so I made myself into one. You needed the steadiness of someone like Kensworth, so I stepped away. You needed romance and flowers, so I tried to give them to you. I’ll admit some of my actions were misguided, but the intention was always good. But in doing all of that I lost who
I
am. I just want to love you for who you are, and I want you to love me the same.”

He huffed out a breath. “Here I was concerned that you might not accept me because of my hand when it’s just
me
you won’t accept. Maybe I set a dangerous precedent by whisking you off to Scotland, but that was done in honor. I know it would have been oh-so-romantic of me to sweep you off your feet and demand you leave Kensworth, but that’s not who I am. And you clearly want me to rush things now you are free of him, but that’s not what I want.”

Was any of this making sense to her? She watched him with a stillness that sent shivers up his neck. “I think… I don’t know. Maybe I had the right of it when I said that, if the one you love isn’t what you need, that is your failing not theirs.”

“So
I’m
a failure at love? Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

The tears still pooled in her eyes; she refused to let them fall.

Stubborn, obstinate Claire.

“No, you are not a failure at love,” John said. “That’s not what I meant.”

She lifted her chin. “That’s right. I’m not, because I won’t open myself to heartache again.”

He felt as if he were trudging through a bog, straining to reach solid ground. “So you would shut out love entirely? My love.”

“Yes.”

If she’d whispered, if her voice had held a quiver, if she’d hesitated, he might have hoped. But she looked him in the eye and her words were clear. After the mistakes he’d made, she wasn’t going to give him any quarter. Nor was she going to admit the mistakes she had made. Stubborn,
unforgiving
Claire.

He could remind her there might be a child, their child, but that was a situation best dealt with
if
it occurred. She was under the guardianship of his brother; it wasn’t as if she could disappear from his life completely.

He cleared his throat. “So, I’ve declared my love for you, apologized for leaving you to do my duty, assured you that I do not intend to leave again, and your answer to my proposal is…?” He wanted her to have to say it, to deny the love he knew they had.

To give her credit, she did hesitate. But no longer than it took to unnecessarily adjust her shawl. “No.”

Feeling as if his life had become a nightmare, he stared at her, stared until she finally whispered, “I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.” And, turning, she walked toward the door.

He had a lot more to say. “I will not stop loving you just because you are being foolish!”

He expected her to continue out the door, but she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Then that makes you the bigger fool.”

***

Claire could not flee the sitting room, and John, fast enough.

She ran upstairs and sagged against the wall outside her bedchamber, closing her eyes.

What had just happened? Instead of a happy reunion with John, instead of a proposal, she’d received a lecture on her failings at love. Her failure had been holding on to that love—waiting for him to return to England, waiting for him to declare himself, waiting for him to come back to her. Always waiting. Just like her mother.

Her miserable mother. Well, she was done waiting.

“Ah, there you are.”

Claire opened her eyes to find Emily standing before her. She pushed away from the wall and said, “I am coming with you to Bellemere.”

Emily tilted her head. “You are? What has happened? Claire, I—”

“Stop.” Claire gently tugged her sister’s wrist. “I must leave here. Now, shall I help further with the children?”

Emily took the hint and accepted Claire’s decision without discussion. Claire packed her things hurriedly and haphazardly. She saw nothing of John but did hear Allerton and the dowager exclaim over his return.

Within ninety minutes she was ensconced in the coach with her family. She spent the trip occupying the children and avoiding any meaningful conversation with her sister, who was almost comically curious. Something in Claire’s demeanor must have served as a caution, however, as Emily said not a word about John.

***

John suddenly realized, during an uncomfortable conversation with his brother, that the entire family was deserting him in London. How fitting Claire must find that.

He wanted nothing but to obliterate that ghastly episode with her from his mind. Too bad he couldn’t do so at his club with a bucketful of brandy. Instead he would seek out David and turn him off his disastrous path, hopefully saving Kensworth’s already dented reputation from further damage.

Except, Claire’s stricken face swam before his vision and her heartbreaking rejection of his love echoed in his ears. What had she been thinking? They had both committed monumental errors, floundered around for years in self-pity, and finally struggled to a precipitous moment in their relationship. Only for her to turn away from him?

After only a fortnight he’d come full circle and once again faced a lifetime without Claire. She’d never even declared her love for him.

Well, he had more than enough experience pushing Claire to the back of his mind; it was time to do so, and for once he wished she would turn her stubbornness to good use and stay there. Armed with a strategy, John would set off for Kensworth House.

He’d just crossed Grosvenor Square when a hurried pedestrian knocked into him. John shook it off, but the other man stopped.

“Sir!” the short, compact man hissed in a low voice. It was Duncan, one of those who should be keeping an eye on David.

If he was here, there must be urgent news.

“What?” John asked.

“The young’un has ridden out. We follered him as far as Camden Town. Then I turned back to bring you the message. Flewett still has him in his sights.”

Duncan’s eyes shone brightly, undoubtedly anticipating the danger and action to come, but Duncan would be disappointed. It sounded as if David were heading north—to Hertfordshire and his brother’s estate. John couldn’t fathom why he would do so on the day he meant to carry out his plot against the PM, but it was possible to get there and back in a matter of a few hours. The day was young. John, and John alone, would catch up to David and beat some sense into his head.

He nodded curtly. “Thank you, Duncan. Return to Kensworth House and keep a sharp eye on the older Cahill. I cannot be absolutely certain he doesn’t have a part to play. I’ll ride after David.”

Duncan’s shoulders slumped, but he was too well-trained to voice a complaint. After he scuttled off, John hastened back to Allerton House, requesting his horse be saddled before changing into riding clothes. Fifteen minutes later he headed north.

Once clear of the clogged streets of London, he broke the bay into a gallop, praying he guessed right and David was heading for Wakebourne and hoping he could catch up to him soon. Then they could have a serious tête-à-tête the rest of the way and John could hand the troublesome David over to his more sensible brother.

After an hour of riding hard, but not so hard as to blow his mount out, he finally caught up to Flewett. Stopping to let his horse rest, John put on his spectacles and saw David in the distance atop a stallion. He exchanged brief words with Sidmouth’s man and then sent him on his way back to London.

Tucking his glasses in his pocket, John sighed and set his horse trotting again. He caught up to the young Cahill, and David had just entered a wood of stout and ancient oaks when John hailed him.

The burly lad turned in surprise, but his mouth eased into a smile. “Well, hullo. What brings you this way, Lord John?”

“My brother’s estate. I assume you are heading to your brother’s as well.” John returned his smile with good cheer. “Now we shall make good company.”

David didn’t seem so certain, but he acquiesced with a nod and proceeded through the shadowed wood. He spoke of the shooting to be had in Hertfordshire in the autumn, and John listened politely. They were still miles from Wakebourne. There was time aplenty to redirect the conversation.

Eventually David’s stream of chatter ended, and John jumped into the breach. “Have you been to Covent Garden recently?”

The younger man’s brow furrowed. “I don’t much like the theatre.” But when John remained silent, David’s jaw tightened and a flare of enlightenment illuminated his eyes.

“It’s not the way,” John said, keeping his voice low. David seemed far too prone to letting his emotions lead him. “Reform can be achieved peacefully.”

“No, it can’t.” Cahill’s eyes sparked with their usual passion and a youthful boldness. “Now is the time to show the Tories we are serious. And the Whigs for that matter. They aren’t pushing as hard as they could.” He shrugged in a dismissive manner. “I always knew you were a namby-pamby. Stay out of my business, Reyburn.”

The young man drove a heel into his stallion’s flank, spurring him faster, but John kept pace. “I won’t let you be so foolish. Not only for your sake, but for Kensworth’s and England’s.”

“What do you know? Nothing, I’ll wager.” But, despite his braggadocio, a dash of panic flitted across David’s face.

“I know enough not to let you anywhere near Covent Garden tonight,” John replied. “Be sensible for once, David.”

The younger man abruptly pulled his horse up and dismounted. “Need to piss,” he grunted.

John hopped off his horse as well, eager to stretch his legs. It might be easier to speak with David eye to eye anyway. It would probably take him the entire ride to talk sense into the boy; Cahill was that determined.

He checked the saddle on the bay, all the while listening to David shuffle amongst the underbrush, attuned to any hint the man might try to run.

When he heard Cahill shambling back toward the horses, John patted his mount and swung around. He began his pitch again, sparing nothing.

“Murder and mayhem will not lead to reform. What it will do is leave you hanging from a rope. David, this is no child’s—”

Cahill burst into a run, rammed his shoulder into John’s stomach and they thudded to the ground in a heap. John brought his knee up into David’s abdomen, and while he recoiled John drove a fist into his jaw. Cahill shook it off; he wasn’t going down easily. John leapt on him and delivered another punch. He’d just cocked his fist for a third when Cahill’s arcing arm flashed into the periphery of his vision.

Thwack
.

The blow caught him just above and behind his right ear. A tree branch if he was any judge.

God, no.

Kensworth. Liverpool. England.