An Affair Most Wicked (27 page)

“Presume all you like. There’s no point wasting a good bottle of wine.” Then she put her mouth on him and lit his body on fire.

Seger lay on the bed, stroking Clara’s soft cheek and kissing her in the darkness. He all at once realized that he was not the least bit disappointed to be lying in bed with a woman, after having agreed to refrain from making love to her.

Not that he himself wouldn’t mind staining the sheets, but sweet Clara seemed self-conscious and he did not wish to embarrass her.

God. He hadn’t felt such tenderness in a long, long time. Eight years to be exact. He had forgotten what it felt like.

He suddenly remembered the look on Clara’s face earlier when she’d told him she was not with child. She had been disappointed. He had taken away that disappointment with a compassionate smile and a few choice words.

Maybe there was hope for him. Maybe, as he and Clara grew closer, she would begin to trust him, and he would not feel so inept when it came to her more complicated emotions. He certainly felt close to her now, and not just in the physical sense.

He closed his eyes, pulled her into his arms, and went to sleep.

Chapter 18

Seeing her sister enter the ballroom, Clara excused herself from the other ladies to go and greet her. “Sophia, you’re back. How was Bath? Were you able to convince Lily to come home?”

“Bath was wonderful and Lily seemed in good spirits. I tried to suggest that she finish out the Season here, but she wouldn’t have it. She has not gained back her confidence.”

Clara nodded sympathetically. “It might take some time.”

Clara knew because she had been there.

They strolled around the room together, smiling and nodding at the other guests, then Sophia looped her arm through Clara’s. “I received your letter.”

“I was wondering if you had. I regret writing it now.”

“Why?”

“Because everything seems better. I haven’t mentioned my feelings about Gillian to Seger since then, and we have been very happy the past couple of weeks.”

Sophia stopped and faced Clara. “But you seemed so troubled when you wrote the letter. Has Gillian said anything else like that since then?”

“A few things, yes, but I’ve learned to ignore it and do my best not to let it bother me. I believe she is rather hateful, but I wouldn’t say that to anyone but you. I can’t insult or scorn Seger’s relations. His stepmother would hate me, and I don’t want that. I want to be accepted by his family.”

They began walking again. “But if she is saying things intentionally to hurt you, you should tell your husband at least.”

“I can’t right now. When I imagine myself repeating the things she says, it truly does sound like nothing. She’s never said anything specifically damaging. It’s merely her tone and the look in her eye that insinuates things. Seger would think I was being ‘irrational’ again. In his opinion, Gillian is a harmless, shy girl who wouldn’t know a nasty thought if it bit her on the nose. Besides, I think it bothers him that I don’t trust him.”

Sophia spoke softly. “But do you think he would take her side over yours? After you’ve been married almost a month? He should realize by now that you are not irrational. Certainly there must be some deeper affection between you. Is there?”

Clara swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

Sophia led her behind a potted tree fern where they could sit down on a sofa and speak in private. “Has he told you he loves you?”

Clara dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap. “No, and I have no idea if he is even moving in that direction. He treats me with kindness and consideration, but…”

“Does he sleep all night with you?”

“Yes, every night.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“I suppose. He is very tender and loving and he flatters me, but I believe that is his natural way when he makes love to women. It’s why they all want him so badly.”

Sophia shook her head. “You mustn’t think those things, Clara. His bachelor days are over and you are his only bed partner. Unless… you don’t suspect that he is—”

“No, no. We are together every night and there has never been any evidence of… well, another woman’s perfume or anything like that.”

Sophia leaned back and looked the other way. “I can’t believe we are discussing such things. There is no need of it, really.”

“No, you’re right,” Clara replied. “Truly, I have let go of thoughts like those over the past few weeks. Well, for the most part. He really has been wonderful, Sophia.”

“I’m glad. And if Gillian continues to behave in a beastly way, it will come about right. Seger’s an intelligent man, and as his respect for you grows, he will see the truth.” She took on a playful tone and waved her fist dramatically in the air. “Good will triumph!”

Clara laughed. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Sophia.”

“You would get along just fine.”

After meeting with his solicitor to discuss a small financial matter, Seger walked through Piccadilly and found himself dreaming of his wife.

He had never imagined marriage would turn out to be so immensely pleasing; he had certainly had his doubts.

Well, he still had his doubts. There was the issue of Clara not trusting him, which continued to trouble him, but he hoped that would soon fade. He was doing his best to work through it.

Other than that, Clara was beautiful, amusing, enchanting. He delighted in making love to her for endless hours in the night, and he was surprised to discover how much he loved just talking to her. His desire for her was overwhelming.

They often stayed up late, conversing about their days as well as books and art and society. He adored her impressions of life and people. Her original, insightful opinions always fascinated him. Perhaps it was because she was American, and had been brought up with different values. He liked how she made him look at life.

He also realized that he was beginning to feel less awkward in relating to her on a personal level, and the notion pleased him.

He felt closer to Clara lately, as if something inside him had awakened. He didn’t know what to say about it, though, if he should say anything at all. Things were so pleasant between them, maybe there was no need. Clara seemed happier with their marriage. Perhaps she could sense what was growing between them, and would learn to trust him over time.

If only he could go back and repeat that argument they’d had about Gillian. He would handle it differently. He would be less defensive. He certainly wouldn’t walk out on her.

God, he should have been more understanding. Clara had been through a great deal with a pushy duke threatening to ruin her, then the loss of her virginity outside of wedlock, followed by a hasty wedding and the severance of her American citizenship. No wonder she had felt uneasy about certain things.

Perhaps tonight he would apologize to her about the way he had handled that conversation, and ask if she still felt uncomfortable around Gillian.

He passed a dress shop and stopped to look at a ball gown in the window. It would look stunning on Clara. She would outshine every woman in London. In the world, for that matter, with her delectable smile and her winsome laughter. The color of the dress was magnificent. He moved on and decided he would tell her about the dress that night. She might want to have a look at it herself.

Good God
, he thought with a smile, tapping his walking stick along the ground. He must be deeply besotted if he was going to talk to his wife about a dress. Imagine that.

He became aware of his stomach growling so he turned into a small cafe. After being seated in the back, he ordered the lamb and requested a newspaper.

Not five minutes later, he heard someone say his name. He looked up.

“Quintina. Gillian.” He set down the paper and stood. “What are you doing here?”

As he rose to kiss his stepmother on the cheek, he realized that their relationship had not been quite so strained lately. He had not thought about his anger toward her because of what had happened with Daphne, which had been the most prominent dynamic between them for years. He wondered if Clara’s companionship was affecting him in subtle ways that were influencing other areas of his life.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Quintina said. “We’ve been shopping and thought we would stop for a bite to eat.”

Seger gestured toward the empty chairs at his table. “Please join me.”

The ladies ordered their meals and told Seger about their purchases—hair ribbons and combs for Gillian, a hat for Quintina. Just before the food arrived, however, Quintina pressed a hand to her head.

“My word, I have developed the most painful headache.”

Gillian touched her hand. “Can I get you anything, Auntie?”

“No, no, thank you, dear.” She touched her head again. “Ooh. It is quite severe.” Glancing around the cafe, she said, “I believe I will skip lunch. Would you mind, Seger, if I leave you to bring Gillian home? I wouldn’t want to spoil her afternoon.”

“Certainly.”

“That’s not necessary, Auntie,” Gillian said. “I’ll go with you.”

At that moment, the food arrived. “Don’t be silly, my dear girl. Enjoy your lunch.”

Seger walked Quintina to the door, then returned to his table. He spent a pleasant hour with Gillian, though as usual, he had to work hard to keep the conversation going.

Clara dressed for dinner and walked to the drawing room. She did not expect to see Seger, for he had told her he would be dining at his club with an old friend from Charterhouse, who now lived in India, but was in London for a fortnight.

Clara entered the drawing room. Gillian stood in front of the window, looking out. She turned and smiled brightly when Clara entered the room.

“You look lovely this evening,” Gillian said.

Clara wondered how it was possible that Gillian could be so hateful at times and so intentionally charming at others. “So do you.”

Sitting down on the sofa, she wished she had brought a book with her so she wouldn’t feel obligated to talk, but she had not thought of it, so here she was.

Gillian sat down next to her. “Did Seger tell you?”

The look in the young woman’s eyes made Clara’s stomach careen with dread. “About what?”

“About the dress? We had lunch together in Piccadilly today, and he told me how much he liked it. I believe he was thinking of it for you.”

“You believe?”

And my husband met you for lunch?

They’re cousins
, she told herself.
Cousins sometimes eat together
.

Gillian stared at her blankly. “Yes, I think that’s what he meant when he mentioned it, though I suppose one can never be sure.”

Clara decided not to respond to that. In fact, she was not going to say one single word. She would not help Gillian spin any tales.

The tense silence made the girl rise to her feet. She wandered to the fireplace and fiddled with knickknacks as if she were bored. “It was a very nice lunch, except for when we talked about Lady Cleveland. I hope I didn’t sound too angry.”