Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (26 page)

“Don't we need more couples?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Others will fall in, just you wait and see.” When the music paused, Colin led her toward a wide space on the floor, where carpets had been rolled away. Sure enough, the room fell silent as they proceeded to take their places for a quadrille—but only for a half second as, with a flurry of movement, others rushed with smiling faces to fill the spaces. With a wild trill from the musicians' instruments and numerous raucous shouts from the gentlemen in the crowd, the dance began.

Clarissa danced for an hour at least, partnering with Colin and then a dozen other gentlemen and ladies. She laughed and learned their names and made new friends, several of whom indicated they would be sending invitations to her and Blackmer to come for dinner or tea.

As the ongoing song neared its end, she swung round to return to her original partner, Colin again. The moment they joined hands, a sudden jolt of awareness made the hair on her arms stand on end.

Blackmer was there. She knew it even before she turned to see him standing tall and elegant beside his mother, clean-shaven and with his hair still damp, dressed in evening clothes. Yet when his gaze met hers, it snapped with displeasure.

Beside her, Colin murmured, “He's not happy and it's because you're dancing with me.”

Clarissa made her way through the crowd toward Dominick.

Only then did she realize Colin had followed.

“Why am I not surprised?” Blackmer said, his eyes fixed on his brother and his voice almost a growl.

She forced herself to imagine the scene from his view.

Of course he was chagrined. He'd just found his new wife enjoying herself immensely in the arms of the brother who had once betrayed him. What man wouldn't be bothered?

Just a few feet away, Miss Brookfield and her friends watched with interest. Clarissa didn't even care. Dominick was home, and things were going to be set right.

“Stop glaring at me, Blackmer,” she said, moving closer to his side and resting her hand on his arm.

“I'd like to have a word with you in private.” Dominick peered down his nose at her imperiously.

She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “I'd like to have word with you as well.”

S
hutting the door of the library behind them, he turned to her and opened his mouth to speak.

“I missed you,” she said, her eyes bright and shining. “I know why you are angry, but don't be.”

He closed his eyes and seethed. “How can you imagine that I wouldn't be, finding you and him having the time of your lives together?”

He was tired, and his muscles were sore. He had not slept in two nights. He'd been so worried about her, all those long hours riding back to Darthaven and the even more torturous ones at night, when the roads had been too dark and treacherous for travel. Knowing the fire had been intentionally set had put all sorts of wild fears into his mind. He'd been so relieved to find she was safe. He'd rushed, washing and changing, wanting nothing more but to see her, only to find her with Colin.

“No, we weren't having the time of our lives. I only do that with you. We were dancing and enjoying ourselves. That is all.”

“And
smiling
,” he growled. “At
each other
.”

He sounded so jealous, and he hated it, while Clarissa didn't look apologetic at all—because she had
nothing
to apologize for. He knew that. How could he not, seeing the amusement—and love—reflected in her eyes?

“Clarissa, I'm—” he began.

 “Don't apologize,” she said softly. “Just listen to what I say. That's all I ask.”

Her voice calmed him. Reassured him. Told him everything was all right. A sudden rush of emotion moved through him, one that came from deep in his heart.

“All right,” he said, wholly repentant and wanting nothing more than to gather her in his arms and kiss the sweet lips that insisted on speaking sense while he persisted in behaving like an idiot. Instead, he held himself in check and listened, because she had asked him to.

“Colin is very sorry, Blackmer, about what happened with Tryphena. More than sorry. He said they kissed but nothing more. There's more that he wants to tell you himself, but just know he's never forgiven himself and remains deeply tormented. It's why he acts so abominably. He doesn't know what to do or say.” Clarissa sighed, moving closer.

Dominick tensed, almost unable to bear her closeness because he wanted her so much. But the words she spoke were too important, and he wanted to hear them all.

“I know he's sincere. He told me that all this time, all he's ever wanted is for you to come home.”

“Why couldn't he tell me this himself?” he asked in a low voice.

“Because he's a man. And it seems he's a lot like you…and your parents. You are all hiding behind your pride and your fears and are too afraid to say the words you need to say.”

She was right. She read them all like a book.

“Dominick?” she said.

“Yes?”

Firelight gleamed off her hair and the silk of her dress. His gaze dipped to her breasts, which crushed against the bodice—and lower, to the sight of her now-apparent pregnancy. She looked like a goddess in the night. He had never seen anything more breathtaking.

“Say something,” she urged in a soft voice. “I don't know what you're thinking.”

To believe her heart could be his, now and forever, rocked him to his core.

In that moment he could only speak his heart.

“I missed you too.”

She rushed toward him. He opened his arms, and she threw herself against his chest.

And he was complete again.

Her face came up. “It's what I needed to hear you say.”

Seizing her within his arms, he kissed her long and sweet, before pressing his face to her hair.

“I'm so glad you're home,” she murmured against his skin.

She felt so good. Everything seemed so perfect. Yet one dark cloud continued to loom above them.

“I need to tell you everything,” he said.

She pulled away and looked up into his face. “Everything?”

“About Tryphena.” He released her and stepped back.

“I understand why you can't.”

“Because of my vow of silence to the secret service, yes. It is a very real thing, one I don't break lightly. There's so much I'll carry to the grave, but not this, Clarissa. I can't be with you unless you know it all. I can't…” He exhaled. “Because I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her eyes shining.

“But I can't accept your love—”

“What?” she said, dismayed.

“Not unless you know it all and still look at me…the same way you are looking at me now.”

“Then tell me.”

He nodded, and closed his eyes. Opening them again, he turned from her, walking the length of the mantel, before at last turning to her once more.

“I didn't intend to kill her—”

She nodded. “I know you didn't.”

“Even though I rather hated her, by then. We had been estranged for weeks, but still living and working together.”

“Because of what happened between her and Colin?”

“It goes back farther than that. As you know, we were both agents. We crossed paths for years, encountering one another on various assignments, and at first were…casual lovers. I knew there were others, and at the time, that didn't bother me. She was untamed and free-spirited and we never demanded exclusivity from each other. Then one night in Paris that all changed. We married impulsively, and though part of me knew we weren't suited, I was so proud she'd chosen me over the others. After we married we became partners of a sort, traveling about as a married couple pretending to be on honeymoon or attending an embassy ball, whatever the assignment required.”

Clarissa nodded. “Yes, go on.”

“After we left Darthaven and returned to London, things were good for a short time. But after we learned there might never be children, she became secretive and would disappear for days on end. When I asked for an explanation, I received either screaming or silence in response. At last, I asked her if she wanted her freedom and she said yes.”

“You separated.”

“We agreed we would, after the Prince Regent's birthday celebration, to which we'd both been assigned. Though assigned to the foreign service, I sometimes worked domestic assignments because of my expertise and personal knowledge of the foreign parties who would be in attendance—both by invitation and infiltration—and because I understood the possible dangers involved.”

“This, at the Royal Pavilion.”

He nodded. “There was such a crowd there that night, all wearing Venetian masks, just to make things more challenging. Given the immensity of the event, there would have been scores of lower-level agents in place all about the palace, posing as guests and servants, who would watch for any signs of trouble and assist if the night grew out of control. Tryphena was there, in the crowd, taking part as a guest. I, on the other hand, had been assigned to the Prince Regent's personal detail. As you likely know, he has always been notoriously difficult to mind.”

Clarissa chuckled. “We've coaxed Claxton to tell a few stories, when Mother isn't around.”

“Prinnie was always sneaking off for secret meetings or assignations and doing his best to thwart our efforts to protect him.” He smiled, as if remembering. “Sometimes it was laughable the lengths he went to for privacy. That night, things changed so quickly. In a crush of people, I momentarily lost sight of him. Then several things happened to raise my alarm.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“A kitchen assistant ‘accidentally' knocked over a stack of apple boxes in front of me, which delayed me from pursuing him—and then a young woman slipped and twisted her ankle, which demanded two more minutes of my time. Again, I was aware there were other agents in the crowd providing cover, but they were nowhere to be seen.”

“You believed his life was in danger.”

“It was just that…something felt very wrong. I rushed into the garden, that being my inclination of where he had gone. There were lanterns there and other guests, but I knew his favorite places to go where he had less chances of being seen. It was midnight, and fireworks burst overhead. All I can tell you, Clarissa, is that I saw him in the shadows, waiting for someone, and that when a figure came rushing out of the dark holding what I felt certain was a pistol overhead, I, having already drawn my own weapon, fired.”

Clarissa stood with her hands over her mouth, knowing what he would tell her.

“Everything after that was a blur. Other agents suddenly were there, as if from nowhere, and I was taken to the ground, wounded as well. One of them, thinking I was an assassin, shot me. But Tryphena was dead before she hit the ground. I killed her quite skillfully with just that one shot. Except she wasn't holding a pistol, she was holding her Venetian mask.”

Clarissa gasped. “Her mask…”

“Yes. It seems Colin was not, by far, my wife's most impressive conquest. She wasn't there in the garden to protect the Prince Regent. They were there for an assignation.”

“And your fellow agents—by employing the kitchen assistant with the apples and the girl who turned her ankle—had tried to prevent you from discovering it.”

“Everyone knew but me.”

“You didn't shoot her on purpose.”

 “I made a terrible mistake and, in doing so, killed my wife.”

“An
understandable
mistake.”

“There can be no mistakes at that level.”

“You've punished yourself enough.”

“I want to believe that. I want to leave this behind.”

“It's all right to do so. You loved her, even then. Dominick, it's all right to love her even now.”

His heartbeat staggered in his chest. For the first time he acknowledged that perhaps he did love Tryphena, at least a little—for the good times they had shared.

He exhaled unevenly. “But I also despised her, and no more in those moments after I fired that shot, when the truth of what had just occurred became clear.”

“I can't imagine how you'd feel any other way.”

“You're too good for me,” Dominick murmured, his heart painfully full of love and relief, because, yes, she did still look at him with the same admiring gaze as before.

“What happened afterward?” she asked quietly.

“It was determined that in a moment of…
panic
—” He spoke the word with distaste. “—I reacted unwisely. The whole thing caused the Prince Regent great embarrassment, and the secret service as well. It was even insinuated by some—whom I know were among Tryphena's former lovers—that I shot her intentionally because I was out of my mind with jealousy. There was an investigation. The shooting was determined to be accidental, but as a consequence I was demoted to a domestic service assignment. God, it was awful. My pride was so wounded.”

“And you received an assignment to watch over Wolverton.”

“Where I bided my time and executed every order with care. I had just received orders to be returned to service abroad when I—”

“Very gallantly let a brokenhearted and terrified young woman cry on your shoulder.” Crossing the carpet, Clarissa threw herself against him for a long embrace. Reaching up, she pulled him down for a kiss. “I loved you before, and now I only love you more.” She kissed him again, her breath feathering across his lips. “Kiss me, Blackmer. Hold me forever. Don't ever leave me again.”

“I missed you so much,” he said, kissing her mouth.

“I want you to make love to me.”

Together—still kissing—they circled toward the settee and, tangled in one another's arms, sank onto it. Pillows fell onto the floor.

Just then a knock came against the door.

“Don't stop, please,” she whispered, her cheeks deeply flushed. “The door is locked.”

He was lost in her. Drowning in pleasure. “I won't argue with you.”

His lips moved over her skin. Had she always smelled this good? He wished they were naked, but there was something equally arousing about the prospect of making love urgently in one's clothes. The silk of her dress hissed against the wool of his coat and trousers.

Vaguely, he again heard the knocking on the door, but Clarissa's soft lips on his throat sent the blood rushing into his ears, and his hand came up to cup her breast. Bending, he pressed an urgent kiss against the center of her décolletage as his hand found the hem of her skirts, which he lifted higher, to her knees—

The knocking repeated, terse and insistent.

“Oh, good God.” He broke away. “They're not going to leave.”

He laughed, his voice tight with arousal. He peered down into Clarissa's flushed face and she laughed too. “It seems not.”

He wanted her so badly.

“Make yourself decent. I'm going to answer the door.”