An Affair Most Wicked (33 page)

Seger gently removed her hand from his cheek. He held it in his for a few seconds, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. “I’m sorry, Daphne. I can’t.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’d hurt you again? Because I wouldn’t. I’m wiser now, Seger. I know what’s important.”

He stared into the depths of that statement and felt a surge of wisdom himself. “So do I.”

Daphne slowly pulled her gloved hand from his. “Your marriage to Clara.”

He nodded.

She glanced back at the coach and nodded, too. “I’m too late then.”

“Yes.”

She continued to stare at the coach as if she wanted to see the woman who had, after all these years, redirected Seger’s heart, but the curtain was drawn. “She must be very special.”

“She is. It’s time you and I said goodbye.”

Her gaze shot to him, and she shuddered visibly. Then she nodded. “I understand, but first, I… I want to give you something.”

She reached into her reticule and pulled out a stack of letters tied together with a ribbon. “Here, take these.”

“What are they?”

Was this an outpouring of love? he wondered uncomfortably. Were these letters meant to make him change his mind?

She managed a smile. “You probably think they’re from me, but they’re not. They’re Clara’s letters to Adele. I took them. You should read them.”

He accepted the small stack and stared down at his wife’s elegant penmanship on the top envelope. “They’re not my letters to read.”

“Ask her permission first, then, because you need to understand some things about your wife.”

His eyes lifted. Trepidation rippled through him. “Like what?”

“Like how much she loves you.”

Seger stared at Daphne, speechless.

She forced a smile that did not seem to come easily. “I knew,” she said, “that it would go one of two ways today. You would either take me back, or you would be faithful to your wife. I came prepared for the latter.”

He continued to stare at Daphne’s troubled face in the morning light. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because when I read those letters, I wept. I realized that she loved you more than I ever did, because I had selfishly allowed you to idealize my memory for eight years, when I should have proven to you that I was not the perfect woman you thought I was. On top of all that, I was ashamed of myself because I was willing to leave you, Seger. For money.”

He felt his heart throb with what he realized was an unprecedented sense of freedom. He had thought he was free before, never committing to anyone or anything, but he had not been free. He had been in chains, afraid to love. Afraid to let Clara into his guarded heart.

None of that mattered now.
This
… this new understanding of his misconceptions about the past was opening his heart and mind to the extraordinary gift he had in the present.

Still staring down at the letters, he recalled Clara’s patience and understanding when he had not been willing to give her his whole heart. He had never told her he loved her. He hadn’t known that he had, but now… yes, now he knew.

He had desired her from the first moment he saw her across a crowded ballroom. And every day since, that desire had grown and grown until it had matured into love.
Love
! Now that Daphne was here before him, he knew that he loved his wife, and he knew that she had been unwavering in her love for him.

“I don’t need to read these,” he said. “I already know how she feels.”
She has shown me everyday. She has persisted, steady in her constancy, while I have shut her out
.

He heard Daphne’s voice as if it were coming from a great distance away. “You should know something else, Seger. Quintina paid Gordon Tucker to follow Clara yesterday. I know because I went to see him. He told me that Clara loathed him because he was a threat to what she had with you.”

Seger touched Daphne’s arm. “Thank you.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Seger. You’ve suffered long enough. You deserve happiness.”

He glanced up, then stepped forward and took Daphne tightly into his arms.

Clara peered out the coach window, saw Seger kiss Daphne’s hand, and knew she couldn’t bear to watch any more of this. She was infuriated. Her fists were clenched so tight, she was surely going to draw blood. She needed air.

She opened the door and got out. She walked around to the other side of the coach—the street side, where she wouldn’t have to look at them, and where they wouldn’t be able to see her—and leaned her head back against it.

What in God’s name was her husband thinking about and feeling right now? Had his love for Daphne come flooding back, and had he already forgotten the fact that he had a wife watching and waiting?

He had a wife.

Little more than a month ago, he had been a free man. He had married Clara so hastily. Was he regretting it now? Had proposing to her suddenly become the worst, most impulsive mistake he’d ever made?

Glancing up at the coachman, who was oblivious to her at the moment, she tried to decide what to do. She had always been understanding when it came to her husband’s grieving heart, but this was too much. He was now taking advantage of that understanding, and she couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore. She wasn’t a saint. She was a woman with passions and fears. Did he ever think of that? No. He was presently kissing another woman’s hand right under her nose—a woman he had admitted was the love of his life.

It was just as Mrs. Gunther had said it would be.

Could Clara live like this? Could she survive a marriage that would cause this kind of heartache day in and day out? If it wasn’t Daphne, it was Gillian or Lady Cleveland or a score of other beautiful huntresses, who all wanted a share of her husband, and Clara wasn’t sure she could ever learn to trust him enough not to let it bother her.

She couldn’t go on like this.

Just then, a hackney cab came toward her, and the need to escape this pain and anger displaced all sense of reason. She stepped forward and waved a hand.

The cab came to a stop in front of her, and she got in.

As soon as she closed the door, she looked up at her coachman, who glanced down at her. He lurched forward in his seat, but it was too late for him to do anything. Her cab was rolling again, and she was driving away.

She was glad. It was time Seger knew that she was not his ever-faithful crutch. It was time he fretted about
her
for a change.

Seger walked back to his coach. He couldn’t wait to see Clara and prevail upon her the genuine truth that he wanted no woman in the world but her, and that he now had the concrete proof that she was telling the truth about Gordon. He would assure her that he would deal at once with Gillian and Quintina.

When he approached the vehicle, his driver rose to his feet at the reins. “My lord…”

Seger raised a hand. “Not now, Mitchell.”

Not giving the driver another thought, Seger opened the door of his coach. His eyes darted from one seat across to the other. The coach was empty.

He stepped back and looked up at Mitchell. “Where is the marchioness?”

The man’s face was lined with worry. “She got out of the coach so quietly, I didn’t notice until she was driving away. She got into a hack, my lord.”

Panic ignited in Seger’s veins. He made a fist and pressed it against the side of the coach. “Which way did she go?”

The man pointed. “That way, my lord.”

Seger ran around the back of the coach to try and see down the street. “How long ago?”

“Just a few minutes.”

There were a number of carriages in the street. There was very little possibility of finding hers among them.

Seger bolted around the back and got in. “Take me back to Rawdon House.”

He said a prayer that she had simply gone home.

Chapter 23

Seger pushed through the door of his London house and did not stop to remove his hat or coat. He dashed up the stairs taking them two at a time and went straight to Clara’s boudoir.

“Clara!” He knocked once on her door and entered, only to find the room empty. He then went to his own bedchamber and looked there, then headed for the drawing room.

He stopped in the open doorway when he saw Quintina and Gillian both sitting demurely in chairs, embroidery on their laps and a tray of tea and scones on the teacart.

“Seger, you look troubled,” Quintina said sweetly. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Did Clara come home?”

She laid her embroidery aside and stood. “No. Why? Gracious, I hope she hasn’t gone off with that deplorable Mr. Tucker again. Is that what has you worried? How can we help? Gillian, did Clara mention anything to you? Did she say where she was going this morning?”

Gillian opened her mouth to reply, but Seger moved fully into the room and stopped her with a look. “Don’t even bother.”

“I beg your pardon?” Gillian said, as if she were bewildered by his tone.

He stood before his stepmother, glaring coldly down at her. “Clara is not with Gordon Tucker, nor did she ever receive him in this house.”

“Seger, how can you take Clara’s side, when she has been dishonest and—”

“She has been wronged, Quintina. By both you and Gillian, and I will see the two of you gone from this house by nightfall.”

Both women were shocked into silence.

Quintina managed to gather her composure. “Seger, you married Clara impulsively, without a clear understanding of her nature. We now know that she is deceitful, and she has seduced you into believing her. It’s not too late. We can get you out of this.”

He shook his head. “No, madam. You are the deceitful one. You destroyed me years ago when you came between Daphne and me, and informed me that she was dead. You will not do so again.”

“
I
didn’t come between you. It was Daphne’s choice to leave, and you can’t blame me for her death.”

He took another slow step toward Quintina. His voice became hushed, almost a whisper. “We both know that Daphne is alive.”

All the sounds in the room—the ticking of the clock, the snapping of the fire in the grate—seemed to recede into a bleak nothingness.

Eyes wide, Quintina stared up at Seger. “I know no such thing.”

“I’ve heard enough lies.” He turned his cold gaze to Gillian. “And I’ve seen enough cruelty. Clara is my wife, and her happiness is my primary concern.”

Quintina made a desperate move to grasp his arm. “You are not thinking clearly, Seger. Jealousy over this Tucker fellow has turned your head.”

He moved toward the door. “There has never been more clarity in my mind than there is at this moment.” He turned back, however, when Gillian tossed her embroidery onto the floor and called out to him.

“It wasn’t my doing, Seger! Quintina was the one who talked me into everything!”

He recognized the desperation in her voice, saw it in her eyes, but it was too late for that. “You have a mind of your own, Gillian. You could have used it.” He faced his stepmother. “I will wire your brother in Wales and inform him that you and Gillian are on your way to his home for the time being. I will also ensure that you are settled with an adequate sum to live on, Quintina, since you are by rights my father’s widow. All I require in return is that you never set foot in this house again.”

With that, he left the room and returned to his coach. “Take me to Wentworth House,” he instructed the driver, hoping that he would find his wife there, and that she would agree to hear him out.

Seger stood beneath the portico at Wentworth House, asking the butler if Lady Rawdon was inside. The man didn’t answer the question. He simply invited Seger in and escorted him to the duke’s oak-paneled study to wait.

Wonderful
, Seger thought, preparing himself for the certain advent of the so-called “Dangerous Duke’s” infamous wrath.
Bloody hell
, he didn’t have time for this. He needed to talk to Clara.

Finally, the door of the study swung open, and James walked in. He stood tall and grim just inside the door. He stared at Seger for a moment, then crossed the room and poured two glasses of brandy.

He handed one to Seger, and said, “This is disturbingly familiar.”

Seger accepted the glass, then set it down on the desk without touching it. “Is Clara here?”

James regarded him, then set his glass down as well. “You made me a promise once, Rawdon, that you would not treat my sister-in-law carelessly.”

“Yes.”

“It seems you have not kept your word.”

Seger clenched his jaw. “No, I have not. I’ve hurt her, and I know that. But you can rest assured that I have not been unfaithful to her, nor have I ever come close to entertaining the notion.”

James considered Seger’s defense. “That’s not what Clara believes—not after what happened this morning.”

“She’s here, then?” Seger asked, clutching at the hope that he would be able to make things right.

“Yes.”

Seger felt the pressure lift from his chest. “I need to see her.”

“But she doesn’t want to see
you
.”

“Did she say that? Or are you just trying to protect her?”

“Yes to both.”

Seger swallowed hard over his frustration, and paced around the room. “That woman I met this morning… she means nothing to me.”

God
, why was he explaining himself? The only person who needed to hear his explanation was Clara.

“From what I understand,” James said, “Clara has endured a significant amount of distress since she married you. She is my wife’s sister, and I consider it my duty to make sure that such circumstances do not continue.”

Seger’s whole body tensed. “Clara is
my
wife, Wentworth, and any duties regarding her happiness are my concern, not yours.”

The duke’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure you are capable of fulfilling a duty. You have not displayed any such tendencies in the past.”

“Maybe not,” Seger replied irritably, “but we all grow, and some of us even deserve second chances. I thought you embraced that idea.”

Tension hung in the air like a thick haze. “I do,” James said, “and you were given that second chance. I’m just not sure you deserve a third.”

“I did nothing wrong. I had to see that woman. She said she had information regarding Clara, and when I realized who she was, I had to speak to her. You see, she was the woman I—”

“I know who she was.”

Seger felt like he was talking to a brick wall. “Then you must understand why I had to talk to her. But it’s over now. I’ll never see her again. All that matters to me is that Clara…”

His voice broke.

He couldn’t finish.

God, he wasn’t even sure he could go on standing. “
Please
, James,” he said, taking an unsteady step forward and pleading desperately, knowing he sounded pathetic. Knowing that his eyes were becoming wet, his voice was breaking. “I
have
to see her.”

James stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, then his chest rose and fell with a deep intake of breath. He went to the door and held it open.

“She is with Sophia in the nursery. Third floor.”

Seger regarded his brother-in-law with some surprise, then crossed toward him. “Thank you,” he said, pausing before him in the doorway, before dashing up the stairs to find his wife.

Clara sat in the rocking chair by the window, gazing out at the gray sky and the limp, idle leaves on an old English oak, while she rocked Liam to sleep. She leaned her head back, hugged the soft bundle gently to her breast and closed her eyes, but opened them again, slightly startled, when Sophia bent to scoop the babe out of her arms.

“I’ll take him now.”

“But he’s just falling asleep,” Clara whispered.

Her sister almost scolded her. “Clara, I’ll
take
him.”

Realizing something was wrong, Clara glanced at the door.

There stood her husband, filling the doorway completely with his huge, masculine frame.

All her senses trembled and quivered, her heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird. Even after what had happened that morning, he was still the most beautiful man in the world. He still made her weak with desire.

“Seger.”

He glanced pleadingly at Sophia, who carried Liam toward the door.

“I think I’ll take Liam to nap in my bed,” Sophia said, “while John is out in the pram with the nurse. Perhaps I’ll just go and… and…” She gazed awkwardly at Seger and Clara. “I’ll just go.”

She left them alone in the nursery. Clara rose from the chair, her body tense as she tried to resist her womanly responses to him—the same sexual responses that had given him the power to take advantage of her on so many occasions, and talk her into believing that he was the man she had wanted him to be.

She didn’t think he really was. He would always enjoy other women. She had simply been denying it to herself all this time.

Seger slowly walked toward her, as if he wasn’t sure he was welcome, and had to test the waters first.

“Clara,” he said softly, “why did you get in that cab?”

She lifted her chin and wondered how it was possible he could not understand why she had done what she’d done. Or perhaps he was just playing innocent. “Because I couldn’t watch.”

“There was nothing to see.” He took a few more cautious steps closer.

She responded by turning her back on him and walking to the other side of the room. “That is a matter of opinion.”

Every instinct she possessed sensed the intensity of his nearness as he quietly approached.

“No, it is not a matter of opinion,” he said. “Listen to me.” He cupped her upper arms in his hands and turned her to face him. “I had to speak to Daphne to understand what had happened. I was in shock. You must understand that.”

“I’ve understood everything, Seger. I’ve done nothing but understand, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep coming up with excuses for my uncertainties about our marriage. I can’t continue to be understanding and patient, when I am really frightened to death on the inside. I don’t
trust
you. I realized that this morning. I felt sick watching you go off to talk to her. I was sure you were going to leave me.”