Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (20 page)

Earlier tonight, dinner had been a silent, miserable affair, with only his mother prattling on about nothing in particular to fill the awkward silence. Afterward, restless, he'd walked the shore, allowing the cold and scent of brine to clear his mind. He looked toward the bed, with its fine linens and coverlet and hangings. Its comfort called to him, but he wasn't sleepy. What the hell time was it? He went to the table where he'd left his watch—

But it wasn't there. Instead, he found it on the windowsill. Odd, because he didn't recall leaving it there. Indeed, he
knew
he had not left it there. As an agent, it was a habit he'd developed over the years, knowing with a certainty where his belongings were at all times. Had someone been in his room?

Just the maid, he assured himself. Or even Clarissa, before they'd found one another downstairs. Why would they have touched his watch?

The temptation to escape Darthaven's walls called to him again, but he satisfied himself with the window. Unlatching the pane, he pushed it open and looked into the night.

A movement at the corner of the house drew his attention, an out-of-place shadow that on second glance he realized wasn't a shadow at all. A tall figure stood in a long cloak and wide cowl.

The muscles in Dominick's shoulders and his stomach clenched. Because of the distance, he could only discern a pale blur where the face should be. Yet he recognized something familiar.

Tryphena,
his mind choked out.

No—it couldn't be. Tryphena was dead. He knew that without a doubt, because he had been there when she died and held her for hours after, refusing to believe.

The night and the fog played tricks, because in the next moment he blinked, and saw her no more.

T
he next morning, Clarissa sat in her chemise at her dressing table brushing out her hair. Nearby a fragrant bath steamed, one she hoped would sweep away the lingering effects of fatigue before she went downstairs for breakfast to formally meet Lord and Lady Stade.

In addition to making the best impression possible, she had every intention of being pleasant to Dominick. She'd lain awake for hours the night before…eventually coming to the realization she'd overreacted. Just a little.

It was just that she had always wanted a loving marriage and her own family. Her ideal had always been her parents' seemingly perfect romance and their happy, boisterous family, which had been changed forever by her father's death when she was just fifteen. Perhaps somehow she sought to re-create that happy picture for herself. But it was wrong to place such expectations so soon on a marriage that had started so dubiously. Trust took time, and she reminded herself she must not be overeager or make unrealistic demands on a man who still, by all accounts, remained a stranger to her.

She opened the wooden trunk against the wall and peered inside where her dresses had been carefully stored between layers of scented tissue. From the first moment, something didn't look right. She reached inside and, a moment later, let out an exclamation of bewilderment.

“What is it?” called Miss Randolph, rushing to her side.

Clarissa lifted the gown, which had been torn all to shreds.

Miss Randolph gasped. “Oh, my lady. What could have happened to it?”

It pained her to see the garment ruined. Her mother had chosen the dress pattern for her, with its pale pink tambour work on the bodice, sleeves, and hem, a month before her debut ball. Neither of her sisters had been invited along, because her mother had wanted them to have a special day together, just the two of them. In that way, each time she wore the dress, she relived that happy memory.

“I can think of only one explanation.” Miss Randolph's lip curled with disgust. “
Rats.
”

“Rats?” Clarissa looked toward the corner of the room, almost expecting to see a swarm of furry backs and long tails scuttling to and fro. But would rats have gotten inside her trunk? While it wasn't locked, the latches and lid were very sturdy and secure.

Miss Randolph scrutinized the destroyed silk. “Given the age of Darthaven, I suppose we ought not to be surprised…although it makes no sense, seeing the obvious attention Lady Stade gives her household. Nonetheless, I shall inform the upstairs maid in charge, so that the rat catcher can be summoned forthwith.”

Briskly she moved toward the bell pull.

Clarissa frowned. “But if it was rats, wouldn't the rest of the dresses be disturbed? Wouldn't there be signs of the creatures nesting inside the trunk and…” Her nose curled. “Other disgusting proof that they'd gotten inside? There is none of that.”

Miss Randolph drew her hand away from the bell pull without having touched it.

“You're correct, of course.” Miss Randolph appeared doubtful. Again she took up the remnants of the dress and held them up to the light. “But what else could have done this? It almost looks as if a blade cut the fabric.”

Clarissa spoke her fear aloud. “It had to be a person, Miss Randolph. Someone did this deliberately. But the only people other than ourselves who have been in the room are Dominick and the maids. Why would any of them have destroyed my dress?”

Dominick wouldn't have. She'd tried his patience more than once, but she couldn't believe for even a second that he'd have done something so hateful. So disturbing.

“His Lordship should be made aware.” Miss Randolph removed the destroyed dress and folded it carefully on a nearby table. “I'll have it here if he should wish to see it.”

“I'll mention it to him this morning.” Clarissa looked into the trunk and considered the dresses remaining inside. “Hopefully I have something else to wear in there. Something warm. It's so chilly here.”

 “Let us see what we have.” Miss Randolph steered her by the shoulders to the dressing table and urged her to sit. Returning to the trunk, she removed several dresses and draped them over the nearby screen. “There is no damage to these. How very strange.”

“I can't wear that one, I'm afraid,” said Clarissa, pointing to a white Grecian-styled morning gown. “The skirt is so slender. Perhaps that one, with the higher waist.”

Miss Randolph smiled at her dotingly. “I thought the same thing. We're seeing the first subtle changes, aren't we? Someone is already making himself known.”

Clarissa touched her abdomen, where a small yet distinct change had transformed her shape—a small but obvious swell of her belly, where despite her being so repulsed by all food and drink for days, the child apparently thrived. “Indeed, I've started to show.”

Her voice faltered with emotion. The baby that had turned her life upside down was very real now, and she couldn't be more excited about its impending arrival, though she wondered how she would feel…and how Dominick would feel if the child looked like Lord Quinn. She put the thought out of her mind. None of that mattered. She would love him—or her—unconditionally. She wished her mother and sisters were here to share in her happiness, especially Sophia, who would be giving birth to her baby soon. But that just wasn't possible, so instead she'd settle for writing them all letters this afternoon.

Miss Randolph's eyes twinkled back in the mirror at her. “His Lordship will be so proud.”

“I hope he will be,” Clarissa replied wistfully.

“Do you know I heard him just this morning in the corridor speaking with Mr. Guthrie?”

“What did he say?” Clarissa tensed, waiting to hear.

“Mr. Guthrie was going on and on about how exciting it would be if the child was a boy, and therefore an heir, but His Lordship said he didn't care if the child was a boy or a girl, that he would welcome either with equal enthusiasm because all children were treasures. You should have heard him, my lady, speaking so earnestly. I must confess it brought tear to my eyes.”

And to Clarissa's as well. She could hardly speak for the emotions crowding her throat. Dominick had said those things this morning, even after they'd parted on less-than-ideal terms the night before. Miss Randolph lifted another dress from inside the trunk. “Why not wear the lavender today?”

She nodded. “The lavender will do nicely.”

Once bathed and dressed, she went downstairs. Wan sunlight illuminated the vestibule, enabling her to see the intriguing room in far more detail than she had the night before. Her nose caught the alluring scent of toasted bread and bacon, and she followed it past the large dining hall, to a more intimate room at the farthest corner of the house. For days, the slightest aroma of food had turned her stomach, but this morning she was ravenous. Tall windows, dressed in scarlet curtains, overlooked the craggy cliffs and the ocean beyond, but she barely had a moment to appreciate the view. Hearing a raised voice, she paused outside the open door.

“Belgium,” scoffed Colin. “Constantinople. How exciting and exotic. But all the while you should have been here. Home. Instead you shirked your duty to your family, leaving the full burden to Father and me.”

“And a slew of stewards and land managers,” Dominick answered calmly. “Duty to one's country is just as important.”

A deeper, sharper voice responded now, most certainly belonging to Lord Stade. “For five years, yes. Seven, perhaps. But fifteen? No, I wouldn't agree with that.”

Colin muttered, “It would be different if you were someone actually important, but I've not seen a single mention of your name in any of the papers. No treaties bear your signature. You never ascended to an ambassadorship. You just collected do-nothing appointments, as so many privileged elite do, and refused to come home.”

Clarissa bit her lower lip, waiting to hear Dominick's angry response. How difficult it had to be for him to remain silent about his role in the secret service and not make them aware their assumptions weren't true.

Yet Dominick responded just as calmly as before. “I think you're just angry because you wish you'd done the same thing.”

Clarissa smiled, relieved he remained unprovoked.

“It never bloody hell mattered what I wanted, did it?” growled Colin.

“You will mind your language in Her Ladyship's presence,” Dominick's father warned.

“Please,” begged Lady Stade. “All of you. Not in front of the servants.”

“I won't be silenced,” Colin responded in anger. “After all this time, I've earned a say.”

Clarissa supposed that now was as good a time as any to enter the room. Besides, she was
very
hungry. Perhaps they'd all calm down once she entered.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, announcing her presence.

For a moment they all stared at her in surprise. Then Dominick leapt up from his chair and proceeded toward her, looking freshly shaved and handsome. Behind him, the elegantly dressed, gray-haired gentleman at the head of the table also stood. Colin rose more slowly, his lips never relinquishing their scowl. Lady Stade, whom she had only glimpsed on the day of her arrival, smiled reservedly and reached for her teacup.

“I'm so glad to see you are improved.” Dominick stepped closer, where he murmured more intimately, “Can you ever forgive me for last night?”

“Perhaps,” she answered in a quiet voice, smiling…just a little, relieved that he cared enough to say the words, because it meant hers had been taken seriously the night before. “But I might require some convincing.”

He exhaled, as if relieved by her words, and a heart-stopping, boyish grin turned his lips. Only he wasn't a boy. Her husband was a full-grown, virile man. “Convincing. Yes, I owe you that much, don't I, after being so—”

“Obtuse.” She lifted her eyebrows.

He bit his lower lip, but his eyes shone with humor. “Obtuse. Yes, I can certainly be that.”

“As can I,” she murmured.

“Then we are two of a kind.”

“A-
hem
,” interrupted Lord Stade.

“Oh.” Dominick's eyes widened. “For a moment I forgot they were here. Imagine that.”

His smile turned decidedly devilish, and she smiled back at him—relieved that things could be good between them again, but knowing instinctively nothing had changed. Dominick could smile and laugh and be attentive, but the same guardedness hung in the back of his dark eyes. Would he always be a mystery to her?

Taking her hand, Dominick turned round to face his father. “My lord, after much delay, it pleases me to introduce you to my wife, Clarissa, Lady Blackmer.”

The pride that warmed his voice did not escape her, and for the first time she imagined how they must look to everyone else. She thought they made quite the handsome pair.

Lord Stade strode forward. “Clarissa. What a lovely name. How happy I am to meet you.” He kissed her hand then rose up to scrutinize her face, but not unkindly.

“And you as well,” she said.

“Come, come and sit at the table.” Sweeping her away from Dominick, he tucked her hand into his elbow and escorted her to a chair.

“I am sorry to have arrived in such a sad state,” she said. “Such was not my intention.”

“We are all relieved to hear you are better. Come, sit,” Lord Stade insisted, peering at her through dark eyes so like Dominick's. “I'm so glad you came down for breakfast. Perhaps now, in the presence of a young lady who is not their long-suffering mother, these boys will stop with their bickering.”

Lady Stade spoke from her place across the table from Clarissa. “Are you feeling well enough to enjoy a bite of something?”

Though she smiled serenely, the strain from the ongoing argument at the table remained evident in her eyes.

While Clarissa was curious to learn more about the difficulties between her husband and his family, she hoped more than anything they would reconcile. She loved her own family so much, she could not help but want the same for her husband.

“A bit, yes,” Clarissa answered lightly. “In fact, after days without eating anything of substance, I think I could enjoy a very large bite. Thank you.”

Lord Stade chuckled, amused.

Lady Stade nodded—an almost imperceptible movement—to the footmen. A moment later, Clarissa sat in possession of a steaming plate piled embarrassingly high and a full cup of tea.

They were all being very nice, yet despite all the smiles and graciousness, a palpable undercurrent of tension weighted the air in the room.

“For someone who has been feeling poorly, I can't say I can tell,” said her new father-in-law, returning to his seat. “What a bright spot you are on this dreary morning. A vision of health. It's apparent already that motherhood will suit you.”

Lady Stade nodded, and adjusted a bracelet on her wrist.

“Indeed, she's ravishing,” Colin said, one eyebrow going up as he stared at her admiringly, which she knew he did for the sole purpose of provoking her husband. “But then Blackmer's women always are.”

Dominick's fist curled on the table beside his plate, and the wool of his coat tightened over his muscular shoulder. “Colin, I'd like to speak to you in the corridor.”

Though his expression remained calm and controlled, there was something dangerous in the back of his eyes.

“I'd like to punch you in the nose in the corridor.” Colin bit off a point from his toast and smiled, his gaze darting to meet hers.

Clarissa frowned at her brother-in-law. For a fleeting moment something changed and his smile faltered, but then with a sharp turn of his chin, the obdurate expression returned to his face.

Lord Stade shook his head at them both, before shifting his gaze to her. “Dear girl, forgive me if I don't apologize for their behavior. It's just very likely that I'd only be repeating myself five minutes from now when they do it again.”