An Affair Most Wicked (23 page)

“I believe we are tied to each other,” he said.

Clara closed her eyes. Of course, that was how he would see this. He would not speak of hurt feelings or disappointments. He would speak only of the necessity of duty in these circumstances.

“I never wanted to trap you,” she said.

He did not respond to that. He merely went on talking as if she had not spoken—with a notable lack of sentiment in his voice. He could have been speaking about a pot of tea that had gone cold.

“I am hardly in the position to call any kettle black, so we will be married. We will hope that this matter will not arise again after today, and that whoever sent this telegram will let it die. If not, and there is a scandal, then I will deal with it accordingly.”

“I don’t wish to be a problem you have to deal with,” she said.

“Scandal is rarely a problem for me. I have learned that one can be perfectly happy outside of society. Sometimes I wonder why I ever wanted to venture back in. Oh, yes. Because of desire.”

Now because of obligation
. Her mood sank.

He came around the sofa and stared down at her with cool, detached eyes. He looked very different from his usual self. She had never seen him when he wasn’t exuding his famous charm.

“We must simply put this behind us, Clara. You are a beautiful woman and I still desire you.”

Was that all? A basic physical attraction? Had this conversation spoiled their chances for anything deeper?

She felt as if she had taken one step forward with Seger—they were getting married after all—but two steps back as far as moving toward anything beyond desire.

Finally, a small fragment of affection found its way back into his eyes, and he kissed her hand. “I will see you in a couple of hours?”

Feeling numb, she stared up at him. “Yes.”

“Good.”

With that, and nothing more, he walked out, leaving Clara feeling as if she knew him less now, than she had the first time she’d seen him.

Chapter 15

“I cannot believe he is going through with it,” Quintina said to Gillian in the carriage on the way to the church. “What in God’s name did she say to him to prevent him from calling it off?”

Gillian gazed listlessly out the rain-soaked window. “Maybe she lied.”

“We can only hope. If she did, there might be a chance for an annulment. He could claim fraudulent misrepresentation or something of that nature.”

Gillian turned to her. “How do you know about that sort of thing, Auntie?”

Quintina’s eyes bored into Gillian’s. “I’ve been reading up on it, dear, trying to find ways to shift things in our favor. The last time this happened, Henry—God rest his soul—had used an iron fist to stop Seger’s marriage, but I don’t have that option. Seger is a man now, and has an iron will of his own. We must be more conniving and move him to end it himself. Believe me, if there is any way to terminate this, I will find it. I am not one to give up hope.”

“But he is going to marry her today, Auntie. After that, there won’t be any hope.”

Quintina gazed at her niece, saw the despondent look in her eye, and remembered the day the gel’s mother— Quintina’s dear, dear twin sister, Susan—had died. A sickness had spread through her body, and for weeks leading up to the end, caused her excruciating pain that made her writhe hideously on the bed. Quintina had found it difficult to stay with her, for it had been too unpleasant to watch. Grotesque, really. She had not been there when Susan died, though Susan had asked for her repeatedly.

Quintina still felt guilty about that. Susan had been her twin.

At least Gillian had been there at her bedside the entire time, waiting, praying, and hoping. She had been dutiful to the end.

There was such finality in death, Quintina thought as she watched her niece stare out the window at the passing traffic. No wonder the gel found it difficult to hope now.

Quintina squeezed Gillian’s hand again. “Do not despair, dear. This is happening very quickly, and a man who marries in haste often finds himself nursing regrets later on. Fortunately for us, Seger is not the type to worry about divorce scandals. I believe he would be the first to leap on an opportunity for freedom if he is not happy.” She leaned back and pulled on her gloves. “We must hope there won’t be any children right away. That would only complicate things.”

“What are you saying, Auntie?”

“I’m saying that even if he does marry the American today, it doesn’t mean he will stay married to her. I know, I know, it sounds scandalous to even think of a divorce in our family, but I cannot bear to see you hurt. You have been hurt enough, with your dear mother departing this world and your father nothing but a cruel brute, God rest his putrid soul. You mother was my twin, and you are as precious to me as my own daughter. You deserve to get what you want, Gillian, and you have wanted Seger your entire life.”

“I’ve more than wanted him, Auntie. I’ve loved him.” The carriage swayed back and forth and rumbled over the bumpy cobblestones. Gillian smiled at Quintina. “Do you remember when I was twelve, and I fell in the courtyard at Rawdon Manor and cut my knee?”

Quintina nodded, her heart squeezing with sympathy as she recalled that cloudy afternoon.

“I remember how much it hurt and that I couldn’t get up, and how badly I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t because I was afraid Father would find out. He always got so angry when I cried. Then Seger appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up in his arms and carried me inside. I buried my face in his coat collar, and he said, ‘Don’t worry, Gillian, I’ve got you. You’ll be fine,’ and I burst into tears. Nothing ever felt so good as to cry that day. My knee was throbbing, and all I could think about was how wonderful Seger was, saying to me, ‘there, there now,’ and rubbing his cheek against the top of my head.

“Then he came back to check on me that afternoon and the next, and that’s when I fell in love. No one knows what he’s really like, Auntie. Not like I do. I know the real Seger. Society has always judged him wrongly.”

Quintina tried to keep her voice from quaking. She remembered that day. Very well. That’s when the seed had been planted, and it had grown into something far too substantial to be ripped from its roots now. Especially by an American.

Quintina straightened her shoulders and spoke with fresh resolve. “This is impulsive for both of them. There is room to maneuver, Gillian, and to manipulate the situation. We will all be living together in the same house very soon, and I for one will not simply hand the reins over to a vulgar, opportunistic foreigner. She has no heart invested in this marriage, while you have half of your lifetime invested in loving Seger, deeply and truly. It is not fair, and we will do what is necessary to find a way around this obstacle. You will have him. It won’t be difficult. With all that we know about that woman and her past, we
will
find a way to put an end to this.”

He should not be troubled, Seger told himself, as he spoke his marriage vows in front of the reverend and the small number of guests. Clara simply had a blemish in her past, which was nothing compared to the complete discoloration of his own tainted history. He should think of it as further proof that they were a good match. She was a kindred spirit, so to speak. She was by nature impulsive and somewhat rebellious toward social restrictions, even though, since the near brush with scandal, she had tried to walk the straight and narrow.

He had witnessed that wild impulsiveness in bed a week ago, when she had pleaded with him to make love to her, and he’d given in and had delighted in it. He had delighted in her passion.

What was the problem now? he wondered, resisting the urge to rub the tense muscles at the back of his neck. Why did he not feel elated on this day when he was securing a beautiful, spirited woman as his bedmate, and he was removing the cloud of duty that had hung over his head his entire life—the duty to marry and produce an heir and continue his line.

He should be relieved. He should feel that a great weight had lifted, but he did not. He felt only apprehension.

Perhaps it was because he was entering into a permanent relationship with a complicated woman, and he would have to deal not only with the problems of life, but with her resulting emotions.

He’d dealt with a problem this morning, and it had not been a pleasant discussion. He hadn’t enjoyed asking her those questions. He’d tried to be impartial, and had wanted the same from her in return, for he had only once let himself near a woman’s emotions, and in doing so, he had fallen in love. Then he had been devastated beyond contemplation when it came to an end.

No, he said to himself as he slipped the ring on his bride’s slender finger. He should not feel apprehension or any other convoluted emotions. This was all very simple. Clara had made a mistake once, and almost married a swindler. She did not care for the man, and it was ancient history. He knew about it now, and he would very quickly forget it.

In fact, he should try to see this as a good thing. Clara’s secret had put some distance between them. They did not really know each other, and this morning that truism had been brightly illuminated.

Yes, he should be able to relax somewhat. There was a small measure of space now.

So. All he had to think about was taking on the very pleasant task of providing his line with the next Marquess of Rawdon. He would devote himself entirely to her pleasure, hour upon hour, until she was completely satisfied and sighing in his arms.

Not such a terrible fate after all.

* * *

Clara waited in her room that night for her husband to come to her.

Her husband. It hardly seemed real. One day, she was adoring him from afar, not even knowing his name. Now, only weeks later, she was married to him—married to her mysterious dream lover.

Just then, the door knob turned and her husband entered the room. Her breath caught in her throat at the awesome sight of him. He wore a black silk robe and approached the bed like a panther—all confidence and seduction. If there was any resentment in his mind left over from this morning, he certainly didn’t show it. He looked completely at ease and full of sexual anticipation.

“You were right,” he said, sitting down on the bed. “It was a good idea to consummate our marriage a week ago. Now you’ll be able to enjoy our wedding night without any pain. There will only be pleasure.”

Pleasure. It was always the priority.

She gazed at him with a sense of bewildered blankness. This was her wedding night, but she did not know how to feel. She couldn’t be frightened, because they’d already made love, and there was nothing to fear as far as her body was concerned. She should be looking forward to the pleasure he had given her a week ago, and promised to give her tonight.

Or perhaps she should be worried. Worried that he did not trust her and they would never be able to move beyond this wrinkle in their relationship. Perhaps she should be worried over the fact that he seemed completely at ease with everything. He was as charming as ever. As charming as he had been with Lady Cleveland. This was his persona, she supposed. The persona he revealed to strangers.

As his wife, was that all she would ever know? The same Seger half the pretty women in London knew?

She wished she knew him better. She wanted to
be
more to him.

She wanted to know the Seger that no one else knew.

He rolled onto his side, resting his cheek on his hand and gazing at her with rakish eyes.

She couldn’t help smiling. She snickered, even, because he was in the mood for fun, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to find her own desire for such pleasures. This was the basis of their marriage, after all. At least so far.

Seger raised a finger and stroked her cheek. “I thought it went well today. The food was superb.”

“Delicious. I especially liked the cream cakes.”

“Ah, you like desserts. I knew it,” he said wickedly.

“Knew what?”

He ran his finger down along her jaw to her neck and caused a torrent of gooseflesh to rush over her shoulders. “Some women like appetizers, some like the main course. But you… I had you pegged for a dessert woman.”