Ruthless Charmer (34 page)

"And rude," she added irritably. She looked at the little pot of violets, frowning. "I was so certain he liked violets!"

Tinley eased himself into a chair at the table. "There hardly seems much his lordship cares for of late. I find him rather dreary all in all."

Yes. Impossibly so. Claudia stood and picked up the violets. "We will change that, Tinley." Shoving the little pot in the crook of her arm, she smiled at the old butler. "Or die trying," she chirped, and marched out of the breakfast room.

After much internal debate, she decided against putting the pot with all the others, as this one had been especially decorated for Julian. The girls had spent what seemed hours laboring over the pot for their uncle, so Claudia at last entered his dark study to put the forlorn little plant in a prominent position on his desk. He could not possibly miss it—she just hoped he didn't toss it aside as he had every other gesture she had made to reach out to him. Particularly since violets were so bloody difficult to come by this time of year.

She folded her arms across her middle as she considered her placement of the little pot, trying very hard not to give in to the despair that had plagued her these last weeks. Yesterday, Doreen had cautioned her to be patient, reminding her that what she had done was not easy to forgive. Rocking in that chair of hers, she calmly informed Claudia that it might take months, if not years, for Julian to forgive her, then had tactfully pointed out that he might never forgive her.

What if he never forgave her? Claudia shifted her gaze to the drawn curtains, great swaths of heavy velvet that shut the world out from this room, just as Julian had shut the world out of his heart. How would she possibly exist in darkness like this? How would she survive the sunrise every morning, the sunset every evening, and all the lonely hours in between? God, how would Julian survive? He was despairing, drowning in it. It was painfully obvious—he wasn't sleeping, hardly eating, and the dark shadow of worry grew deeper under his eyes each day. She had helped to do it to him, she knew, but she could change it only if he would let her. Yet he stubbornly shut her out as he did the rest of the world, refusing to let her in. And that was killing them both.

With a firm shake of her head, Claudia pivoted on her heel and marched out of the study. One thing was certain—she would never survive if she dwelled on it every waking hour. Her best course was the same that had always sustained her—to stay frightfully busy. All those years waiting for her father to notice her, she had stayed busy. Waiting for Phillip to call, she had stayed busy. And when she had been forced into this marriage, she had done the same, not letting a single moment of unplanned space exist, not one bit of time in which she might think or feel or hope.

It was not easy—the guilt and loneliness she felt in this house was only made worse by the scandal Sophie's elopement had visited upon this family. Lord Dillbey had delighted in it, using it as a platform to warn everyone at supper parties across all of Mayfair that Claudia Dane's ideas would lead to ruination for women everywhere. There was no doubt that the entire Kettering family was suffering from their scandals, and as for her, no one would come to a tea now if her life depended on it.

So she spent her time with Jeannine and Dierdre, Ann and Eugenie, Doreen, and her weekly call to Sophie.

When she arrived at the Stanwood home later that afternoon, another new and harried footman greeted her—servants never seemed to last more than a day in this house. Apparently, the poor man had not received the proper instruction in being a footman as of yet, because he left her in the vestibule while he went off to find Sophie. That was why Claudia had the misfortune to encounter Stanwood. He strode into the vestibule as if he was the king himself, another footman on his heels.

A lecherous grin spread his lips the moment he saw her. "My, my, look who has come to call, Grimes. Lady Kettering." He extended his hand, palm up. Reluctantly, Claudia put her hand in it, repulsed when his lips moved over her gloved knuckles. He took his time in releasing her hand, his grin widening.

She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her cloak.

"My wife did not mention she was expecting you. I wonder why not? Perhaps she is sensitive to your unfortunate reputation? Hmmm? Do you suppose?" he asked as he casually fit a leather glove onto his hand.

The man was an ass. Conscious of the footman, Claudia merely smiled. "I can't imagine why she didn't mention it. I call every Wednesday afternoon."

"I usually don't allow Sophie to have callers unless I am present," he continued, meticulously fitting the second glove. "But I rather suppose I might make an exception in your case. I am certain that your visit will be quite circumspect, given your own dilemma."

All right, she had gone past being sickened to being quite infuriated. "I beg your pardon, sir, but what dilemma would that be?"

With a dark chuckle, Stanwood had the audacity to chuck her under the chin as if she were a child. "My hat, Grimes," he said to the footman, then smiled again at Claudia. "Forgive me for attempting to be gentle. I was referring, Lady Kettering, to your ruination. They say he had you on a table—is that true?"

Lord above, what she wouldn't give to strangle the breath from his throat! "Actually, it was a workbench," she politely corrected him, acutely aware of the dark color flooding the poor footman's face.

Stanwood laughed roundly and moved toward her until he was standing very near, towering over her, his eyes stone cold. Claudia's stomach did a nauseating little flip; a kernel of fear rooted in her and began to grow rapidly. Miraculously, she held her ground, meeting his gaze head on. "I assume that you work hard to repair your tattered reputation, madam. And I further assume that in doing so, you would not wish to embroil yourself in more scandal, and therefore, would not advise Sophie to any foolishness. I will allow you to call." His gaze fell to her mouth; his tongue flicked slowly across his bottom lip. "However, I shall quite definitely be in residence when you grace us with your presence Wednesday next."

Claudia could not help herself; the man revolted her, and she awkwardly stepped back, bumping into the door. Stanwood chuckled. "Go on, then," he said patronizingly. "Go find our Sophie." Claudia did not wait—she was suddenly desperate to be away from him. How in God's name had Sophie ever found him desirable?

She heard him laugh, speak low to the footman as she hurried out of the vestibule, and her stomach twisted again.

Fortunately, the other footman found her in a narrow corridor. "Beggin' your pardon, milady. Lady Stanwood is in her sitting room just now. If you will follow me." Claudia nodded, and followed the footman through a small maze of doors and hallways and staircases. On the second floor, he paused in front of a green door and rapped. From the other side, Claudia heard Sophie's muffled reply.

As the door swung open, she spied Sophie sitting with her back to the door, slightly hunched over. Thanking the footman, Claudia anxiously stepped inside and shut the door behind her. "Sophie! Are you well?"

With a thin smile, Sophie turned slightly; Claudia's breath caught in her throat at the sight of her sister-in-law. It had been only a week since Claudia had last seen her, but the change was remarkable. She was still in her dressing gown, although it was nearly three o'clock. The girl was gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten in days. Dark skin ringed her bloodshot eyes, and the natural luster was gone from her hair. "Sophie! What has happened to you?" Claudia exclaimed, feeling a rise of panic.

"Happened?" Sophie choked on a laugh. "Nothing has happened! I've been a bit under the weather, that's all."

It was a lie. "Have you sent for a physician? You should be—"

"No, of course not," she said. "I am quite all right. Now come and please sit down—I'm so glad you've come! Shall I ring for tea?"

Claudia tossed her cloak to a chair and sat nervously on the edge of an ottoman near Sophie. "Now I see why Eugenie and Ann were so concerned yesterday—Ann says she never has the opportunity to speak with you alone—"

"What is their concern?" Sophie asked, a little impatiently. "I can take care of myself!"

"Of course you can," Claudia hastily reassured her, and leaned forward, settling her hand on Sophie's knee. "It's just that you don't look very well. Has Sir William said anything at all? Surely he has noticed—"

Sophie surprised her with a bitter laugh. "He's hardly here enough to notice much of anything," she said, glancing at her hands. "Really, Claudia, I am quite fine. I've had an ague, I suppose, but I am well down the road to recovery."

But she wasn't fine. "Why isn't he here?" Claudia asked bluntly. The cretin ought to be fetching a physician, if nothing else!

Sophie shrugged. "I don't know, precisely. But in truth
. . .
in truth,"—her voice fell to a whisper—"I am glad for it."

Claudia blinked, surprised. This was hardly the same woman who had made such emotional declarations of undying love for him. "Oh, Sophie, darling . . . what is wrong?" she asked, wincing when a single tear slipped from Sophie's eye.

"He's
. . .
he's not at all the man I thought," she said, and suddenly looked frantically over her shoulder— rather odd, seeing as how they were alone in the room, and giving Claudia the very distinct impression that she was afraid. "Promise me you won't tell a soul what I've said!" she whispered anxiously as she jerked her gaze back to Claudia.

"Sophie—"

"Promise me, Claudia! If Julian knew_.__ . ._ if any of them knew, they would be so very angry with me!"

She was panic-stricken, and Claudia grasped her hands, holding them firmly between her own. "No one will be angry with you."

"They will! They will because there is nothing they can do! I married him for God's sake, and now I am his for all eternity!"

Claudia could not dispute that—the moment Sophie said her vows and signed the betrothal papers, there was nothing short of an act of God or Parliament that would set her free. Much to Claudia's chagrin, her eyes began to water, brought on by the never-ending sense of guilt. She looked at Sophie through a haze of tears—stooped over as she was with her hair falling limply about her—looking as if she carried the weight of the world on her thin shoulder. "Oh, Sophie, what can I do?" she blurted. "Tell me how I can help you!"

Shaking her head, Sophie pulled her hands from Claudia's grasp and unsteadily wiped her own tears away. "Nothing. There is nothing you can do, Claudia." She glanced up and attempted a weak smile. "I suppose we all pay the consequences of our actions, don't we?"

Ah, God.

Ashamed, Claudia stared at the carpet, unable to conjure anything comforting to say to Sophie, other than she was so very, very sorry. Lord help her, she was forever sorry these days, but it was never enough. If she could, she would trade herself for Sophie, put her own life in this predicament so that Sophie would be free.

"I'll ring for tea," Sophie muttered, and pushed herself from the chair. As she moved sluggishly toward the bell pull, Claudia lifted her head.

What she saw froze the blood in her veins.

A myriad of images suddenly deluged her mind's eye: images of Phillip holding her, Phillip crushing her to the wall, crushing her breast, crushing her lips, crushing her throat with his hand. Drunk out of his mind, he had attacked her the last night she had seen him alive, his hands everywhere, hurting her. Terrified, she had struggled, finally stopping the assault with a slap that reverberated up her arm. Never in her life would she forget the fear and revulsion and the feeling of utter helplessness the moment she realized she could not possibly stop him from raping her.

All of that came rushing back to her, pounding dangerously at her temple as she stared at the multi-colored bruise on Sophie's shoulder where her dressing gown had slipped away. It frightened her, made her belly roil with nausea and her heart hammer hard against her chest. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and rushed toward Sophie, startling her badly.

"Claudia! What are you doing!" she shrieked as Claudia reached for her dressing gown.

"He did that to you, didn't he?" she demanded, her voice shrill with fear.

Sophie's face went ghostly white; she clutched at the thin dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around her.

A silent scream of terror and remorse lifted from her heart to God, and Claudia lashed out at Sophie's hands, pulling them off the dressing gown. Shrieking, Sophie tried to fight her, but Claudia was too determined—she had to know, had to see it with her own eyes, know the full extent of Stanwood's depravity. When at last she freed Sophie's hands and yanked the dressing gown open, she stepped back in horror, covering her mouth with a badly trembling hand.

There were bruises everywhere—up and down her ribs, in varying shades of purple and yellow and green. On the underside of her breast, across her abdomen. The clear mark of fingers on the inside of her thighs. Sophie stood rigidly, her head bowed meekly as Claudia gaped at her with tears spilling from her eyes. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Sophie. . ."

Sophie carefully pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then slowly wrapped the ends of the dressing gown around her before calmly tying the sash. "He is very careful to hit me where no one can see," she murmured. "Except for my maid Stella, that is, but he has threatened her life should anyone find out."

Sophie had to leave. At once, without delay. All the bloody consequences in the world be damned, Sophie had to leave this house at once. "You must leave here," Claudia said quietly.

"No!" Sophie responded sharply. "I cannot leave! What respectability my family has left will be destroyed if I—"

"You cannot stay here!" Claudia cried, gesturing wildly at her body. "The next time he may very well kill you, Sophie!"

Sophie laughed, a strange, high-pitched laugh that pierced Claudia's heart. "He won't kill me! He needs me! Without me, he hasn't any income!" she shouted hysterically, and whirled toward the wall, banging her fists against the paneling. "Christ God, what a fool I am!"