Reckless in Pink (17 page)

When she curled her arm around his neck and tugged him back, that was all the persuasion he needed. Instead of moving away, he took a seat on the sofa by her side and drew her into his arms, kissing her again. She tasted of all the things he’d ever wanted, and some things he hadn’t known he wanted. He didn’t even have words for them yet.

For now he could enjoy holding her, the silk of her gown slipping under his hands. She wore a pair of stays underneath, but light ones, so the heat of her body caressed his palms. She responded to his kiss with eagerness, caressing his tongue when he slid it into her mouth and sucking gently, the way he’d shown her last night. He guided her close to him, his arm about her shoulders, careful to avoid the bandaged part, and drew away from the kiss smiling. He hadn’t smiled so much in years. Perhaps he could truly find some happiness and even better make her happy in return. He could willingly devote his life to that.

“When do you plan to return home?” he asked. “Even though this will be your home soon.”

“Yes.” She cuddled close. “My father is due home tomorrow. When I was hurt, my mother sent him a message. He will turn around directly, or so she said. She wrote me a note. She wants me home today, now I’m better.”

Lady Strenshall had paid her an anxious visit yesterday, and it was only Claudia’s obvious exhaustion and Binney’s tender care that persuaded her to allow her daughter to remain. Today, Claudia was up, happy, and dressed. No further reason for her to stay.

“I went to Doctor’s Commons this afternoon. We should have a special license tomorrow.”

She grasped his hand. “I know we said we would do this, but you told me you intended to marry nobody. Can you tell me why?”

“Yes, I must.” He caressed her hand with his thumb, stroking along the soft skin. “I invited your cousin Julius to come, since he has some answers for me, but your brothers will probably arrive first. One thing we must decide upon, sweet Claudia, is what to do with that house you inherited.”

“The one in Hart Street?”

“The very same. Will you agree to sell it?”

“I would rather not. I’m warming to the idea of having a place I can call my own, even if it is a house of ill-repute.”

“Witch,” he said with some feeling, and kissed her again for that.

He would prefer to lose himself in her, but he was determined to have one matter at least sorted out. “If I give you one of my houses in the settlement, will you give me yours in exchange?”

“What kind of house?” Leaning against him, she traced a line along the pattern embroidered on his waistcoat, twisting vines. Down, down, she went, and since it was a long waistcoat, she would finish in his lap. “Tell me.”

He swallowed and concentrated. “A small town house in London. It’s near Red Square and one of my aunts used to own it. You may have it on the same terms as you have this one. As long as you promise not to allow it to become a house of ill repute or a place where traitors meet.”

She smiled, dimples indenting her cheeks. “Very well, on those terms.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s dangerous for you to even own the house. Your name associated with it will cast all your relatives into the shadows. What possessed the woman to give it to you?”

“I don’t know. I hardly spoke to her, but she said in her letter that she wanted a spirited youngster to own it. It may be a coincidence. She might not have known.”

He told her with his snort what he thought of coincidences. “They sometimes happen, but not like that. Not falling into place so neatly. I will get to the bottom of it, but you need not concern yourself.”

She stiffened in his arms. He loosened his hold on her, in case he was hurting her. “What is it, my sweet?”

“You will not put me to one side. You will not!”

Ah, he’d made a tactical mistake there. If he carried on explaining, he’d only dig a deeper hole for himself. He did the best thing in the circumstances. He apologized.

The door bell clanged in the middle of his apology, which had turned to something much more interesting. He barely had time to help her tuck in her fichu before a gentle knock on the door announced the entrance of his butler. The man held three cards on his tray, the corners all turned down, to indicate the owners were waiting for an answer.

“Let them in,” Dominic said.

Val, Darius, and their magnificent cousin Julius entered. While Dominic wore his elaborate city clothes as a mask, Julius, Lord Winterton, wore his like a flag declaring war. He flaunted his masculinity from clothes in the most outrageous colors and wigs so snowy white they seemed made of spun silk. He was no exception today, making Dominic’s green twilled silk almost ordinary.

Even Dominic would have balked at wearing that particular shade of yellow, so pale it was almost white, defying the sooty streets of London to stain it. How he kept it smut-free remained a miracle society sometimes wondered at, but he never gave the explanation to everyone. Add to that a tall, strong frame he made no attempt to conceal, a fashionable nipped-in waist and slender hips, invariably circled by a sword-belt. Julius Winterton was an unmistakable figure.

Dominic rose and bowed, and then defiantly took his seat next to Claudia.

Julius stared at her from blue eyes under hooded lids. “Do you return home soon?”

“Today,” Darius said firmly. “For the last two days she’s been cared for by Livia and Dominic’s servant, one of the best damned surgeons I ever saw.”

“I see.” Julius took a seat, every movement graceful. “Any more and shocked rumor will turn into outright scandal. It’s hard to overcome that, though I fancy if any family can do it, we can.”

Val chuckled and took a seat on the sofa across from where Claudia sat with Dominic. She sat up straight, hands in her lap, the perfect example of a graceful society lady. Five minutes ago, she’d been in his arms, her breasts all but exposed, kissing him like a courtesan. He was proud of her.

“Where are you going from here?” Julius asked.

“I visited Doctor’s Commons today. I should have a license tomorrow.” His heart sinking, Dominic leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as if ready to spring up and leave. How he wished he could. “I was hard put to know what name to put on the license. I have learned too much recently about my beginnings. I find it hard to reconcile the truth with what I have been led to believe all these years.”

Julius raised a brow but didn’t appear surprised. But then, little surprised Lord Winterton. “I have undertaken research of my own. So that we are not talking at cross purposes, tell me what you know.”

“That my parents, who were engaged in diplomatic activity before and at the time of my birth, were not in Paris as they always said, but in Rome. That I was not born Dominic, Lord St. Just, but an unnamed baby, the child of one Maria Rubio.”

Darius’s curse almost drowned Val’s gasp.

Julius held up a restraining hand, not taking his attention from Dominic. “Go on, if you please.”

“That’s it. My father was named on the certificate my parents showed me, but I don’t know if it’s true. She may have used his name because she was his mistress.”

“Name him.”

Julius’s command was unequivocal. Dominic couldn’t look at Claudia. “James Francis Edward Stuart, sometimes known as the Old Pretender.”

The name fell like a bomb into the room. Darius leaped to his feet, his hand going to his sword belt, though what he meant to do with his weapon remained to be seen. Val went to his sister’s side and put his hand on her shoulder.

Claudia’s muffled sob came to Dominic through everything else. He’d hurt her. Regrets filled him, sinking his stomach. He should have told her, but he’d been too much of a coward to do it.

At least now she’d know why he couldn’t marry her. “My parents bought me from Maria Rubio. They gave me a birth certificate they’d bought in France. I’ve known for years that they were traitors to the Crown, after I found a letter referring obliquely to the affair. They assure me they have not betrayed their country for a long time now, and I found no proof that they did.”

“We will find a way around this business,” Val said before anyone else could interrupt.

They accepted his word? “Don’t you want to see proof?”

“We don’t need it,” Darius said. He went to the window in a swirl of brown cloth, sticking his hands in the capacious pockets of his coat. He leaned against the small table and glared at Dominic. “How long have you known?”

Dominic shrugged. “A week. Before that, I knew my parents were traitors, but not what they’d done. They wanted an heir so badly they bought one.” He hung his head. “It’s a disgrace I can never recover from.”

Warmth touched his leg, just above where his elbow rested on his knee. Shocked, he faced her.

Claudia had touched him, and was gazing at him, compassion in her lovely eyes. “You’re still Dominic.”

“Dominic Rubio, the bastard son of an unknown Italian woman and a philandering outcast. How can you marry such a man?”

Julius cleared his throat. “Not so. I know a little more than you. As do the two men here. All the Emperors know something about the affair. We suspect the Dankworths know, also, but not how much.”

Dominic whipped his head up and stared at him. Julius drew a paper from his pocket. Old, the edges curling with age, and the remains of a red seal, long gone brittle, hanging from a crimson ribbon. He laid it on his silk-clad knee. “Maria Rubio was the mistress of the Old Pretender. At least, that was what we thought until recently, until certain documents came into our possession. Now we know that she was more than that. She was his wife.”

Was he hearing right? What did the man mean?

Dominic dropped his head into his hands, his mind spinning. He’d all but discounted the name of the father on the birth certificate his parents had given him. Anyone could claim paternity, but only the mother knew for sure. In all the literature he’d read about the Old Pretender, he’d never come across the name Maria Rubio. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He lifted his head. “I thought he was married to Maria Clementina?”

“He was, but he married her after he’d married Maria Rubio.”

Worse and worse. “Do you have proof?”

Julius gave him the certificate. At first Dominic couldn’t focus, then he did and he read the names in old flourishing script. A marriage certificate. Something of the nature had been rumored a century before. King Charles was supposed to have married a woman when he was in exile, but it had been shown to be false. Was this the same? “Is this forged?”

“No. It’s a copy. Maria Rubio married the Old Pretender in 1717. Two years before he married Clementina. His acknowledged wife gave him two sons, Charles and Henry. Then, unable to tolerate his moods, or so we are told, left him to enter a nunnery. In fact she may have discovered the earlier marriage, and instead of facing the disgrace, chosen another path.

“Maria Rubio’s house burned down in 1740, and she perished in the fire. Either the documents pertaining to her marriage burned with her, or they were kept in the Vatican, where we cannot get to them. We don’t know. She was aware of her perilous position and that of her children. Clementina had powerful friends. As her children were born she sent them away with a personal letter and a copy of their birth certificate and her marriage certificate.”

Dominic turned the paper over and over in his hands. Julius’s words didn’t make sense. How could this happen? “My parents bought me from her?”

“The chances are that Maria gave you to them. They must have been a Godsend to her. They were wealthy, able to take care of you, and not under suspicion. From what we can discover, she was careful to choose families who could defend her children and ensure their safety. From that, we infer that she loved them. We could be wrong. I am still investigating, but obviously I have to be very careful who I let in to the secret.”

“This is treason,” Dominic murmured. “Sedition at the very least. You could be plotting to take over the throne.” Wait. Facts slowly seeped into his head, resolving themselves into inescapable truth. “According to you, I’m a legitimate child of this Maria Rubio and a Stuart.” He paused. “No.”

“You’re too good for me,” Claudia said. She was the only person in the room smiling.

How could she take this lightly? Didn’t she realize? Dominic rounded on her, his head pounding, his hands balled into fists, the proof of his birth falling to the floor. He was barely aware of Julius scooping it up. “How can you jest? This is—this changes everything!”

“Does it?” she said quietly. The knuckles on her clasped hands were white. “Surely it’s how you feel about it—” Then her face paled. “The attack—the shooting—”

“Could have been meant for me.” Yes, of course. Who would want to shoot Claudia? Who would risk the wrath of the powerful Emperors by doing so? But to kill him would be to remove a threat to the Young Pretender and possibly the British throne. The danger could have come from anywhere.

“If it was meant for you, someone else knows your secret. They’re willing to kill.” Julius’s smooth words fell into the fraught silence.

She was in danger as long as she was with him. Dominic suffered all his dreams. They fell into dust on the pristine surface of the carpet. While he’d told himself he was marrying her to protect her, he’d be doing the exact opposite. Her vitality, her very soul would be no more. Rather than see that happen, he’d ensure she was safe.

He got to his feet, bracing himself against the inevitable bodily weakness that came with shock. “If you would escort your sister home,” he said, not looking at her, but at Val. “We will contrive to get out of this scrape.”

“I believe her injuries necessitate a visit to the country,” Val said.

Julius interrupted them. “No. Give it a week. She must face the people who are accusing her. She must not run away. Let her appear in public with her arm in a sling. Her injuries were too severe for her to be moved. I will swear that Viscount St. Just stayed at our house. God knows the servants are due another bribe. They’re getting restless. That is if you wish to take that course. Otherwise, I felicitate you both.”