Fated Folly (26 page)

‘
Not be alarmed?' repeated Clare, her pulse vibrating. ‘How can I not?
Tell
me, pray.'

Christian caught her agitated hands. ‘There is nothing to fear. Rupert—'

‘
Oh, heaven help me! What of Rupert? Is he hurt? Is he ill?'

‘
No, no, nothing of that sort,' Christian said quickly. ‘But the news is bad, nevertheless.'

A deep sigh escaped Clare, and her panting breath subsided a trifle. ‘It cannot be bad, if what you say is true.'

‘
I am afraid it is—oh, dash it all, I hate doing this!'

He let go her hand, and Clare blinked at him as he moved away. ‘What is the matter, Christian? My maid said you had a message. I thought it had been from Rupert, for he has not been home all night.'

‘
I know,' Christian said, turning to confront her again, determination in his face. ‘That is, unfortunately, what I have come for.'

‘
What—what can you mean?' asked Clare, all her fears rising again and dreadful possibilities chasing one another through her brain.

‘
I am sorry to be the one to tell you, cousin,' he resumed, ‘but the fact is that Rupert was seen to enter the home of Mrs Arksey last night.'

Clare went white. Numb despair seized her heart. The echo of Rupert's voice whispered at her, like a malevolent breeze.
It is finished
. Finished? Then why had he gone—sweet heaven, why?—fresh from his wife's loving arms, back to Biddy Arksey?

‘
This is the end,' she uttered in a dead whisper. ‘I can bear no more.'

Christian came to her, putting an arm about her shoulders. ‘You have been shamefully used, cousin. What can I do? I'll help you if I can.'

‘
Take me home,' Clare said without hesitation. ‘To my papa.'

‘
I shall do so at once.'

The eagerness in his face registered somewhere in Clare's numb mind, but she was too defeated to wonder at it.

‘
Only get dressed and come with me. I am going away in any event, for my leave is up. I can very well take you to Kent on my way, for I must travel to Dover myself to catch the packet for Holland, and thence back to Hanover.'

‘
I must first pack,' Clare said, her mind filled with the need to get away from here and take refuge with her parents. Papa would see all right.

‘
No time for that,' Christian said, with an urgency that struck her as odd even then. ‘I will never get you away in time, if you stay to pack.'

‘
In time?' Clare repeated vaguely, faint puzzlement creeping into her mind.

‘
Hurry, Clare!' urged Christian.

Too distrait to do anything but obey, Clare left the room, and finding Olive in the hall, asked her to accompany her upstairs and help her to dress. In a very short time, she left the house, climbed into the waiting carriage, and was driven away by Mr Wolverley.

From the gallery above, Miss Flimwell, aroused too late by the commotion and clad only in her voluminous dressing-gown, watched in perplexity. But she had found time not only to dress, but also to pump the maid, by the time Rupert arrived home a short time later. It was by now nearly eight o'clock, but he was still astonished to see Berinthia run down the stairs, waving at him frantically.

‘
Why, what in the world—?' he began, and then stopped, the look on her face giving him instant alarm. ‘Good God, what?'

‘
Rupert, quick!' she cried, seizing his arm and dragging him into the drawing-room.

‘
What the devil is amiss?'

‘
It is Clare,' uttered the lady, agitatedly waving her hands. ‘She has gone off with Christian, Rupert.'

‘
Gone off with him? At this hour? Why?'

‘
I do not know—I mean, I suspect—oh, Rupert, you must go after them.'

‘
Go after them?' His eyes narrowed. ‘Have they not gone to the Grange?'

‘
Oh dear, I don't think so. No, indeed. Olive was listening at the keyhole, and she swears—oh, Rupert, the scandal!'

Rupert seized her by the shoulders. ‘Out with it, woman!'

‘
The maid heard him say—she thinks they are going to Holland. Oh, Rupert, Clare has run
away with him.'

***

 

‘
Why are we stopping?' Clare demanded, as she became aware that the carriage had slowed.

Christian did not answer the question, his concentration apparently on the pair of horses harnessed to the phaeton that was on loan to him from St Merryn's stables. Clare looked about, and realised they had passed Wormenhall village, and in a moment would reach the crossroads where the road that skirted the forest divided, one fork going to the Grange, the other to the village of Okeley. She had noticed neither the route, nor the passing time, her head hazy with the pain of her revolving thoughts.

By the oddest twist of the mind, however, as the pace slackened, she was abruptly conscious that she was being whisked further and further away—from Rupert. She turned suddenly to Christian.

‘
Take me back! It is all a mistake. Oh, Christian, pray take me back!'

Christian brought the horses to a halt at the side of the road, and turned to her. ‘You don't mean that, cousin.'

‘
I do, I do,' Clare said frantically. ‘Turn, Christian, turn!'

‘
But Rupert does not want you, Clare,' he protested. ‘Has he not demonstrated as much?'

‘
I don't care,' Clare told him vehemently, striking her hands together. ‘I can't leave him, I can't. I love him, don't you see?'

She felt tears sting her eyes and Christian's face changed. ‘He does not deserve you.'

‘
That is not true.' She seized his arm and shook it. ‘Christian, before it's too late, take me back.'

‘
It is already too late,' he said. ‘Rupert will be home by now.' Her face paled, and he added involuntarily, ‘Oh, never fear! He will come after us, I am sure.'

Clare gazed at him, her befogged mind struggling now with oddities that had not penetrated before. ‘Why did you come? How did you know? Christian, what are you about?'

Her voice rose in panic on the final word, and Christian, thrown into a state of nervous agitation, turned on her with a snarl.

‘
Damn you, be quiet!' Then he froze, turning his head. ‘Listen! Do you hear it?'

Clare's eyes were on his face, but she stilled, her lips opening on a silent, ‘Oh no!'

For behind them came a sound she could not mistake. Hoofbeats, travelling fast. From several horses. That meant only one thing. Anguish swept through her. What had she done?
Rupert, I did not mean it!

She did not know she had cried it aloud. But suddenly, to her utter astonishment, Christian seized her with his free arm, clutching her to his chest. His voice was urgent, compelling.

‘
Forget Rupert! Clare, you must come away with me. I can no longer be silent. Rupert has treated you vilely. He does not love you. Give yourself into my care.'

‘
Are you mad, Christian?' Clare uttered, too dazed even to struggle.

‘
Mad, yes! Be mad with me!'

‘
Let me go!'

She twisted, trying to free herself as the thudding of hooves sounded louder in her ears. She looked over her shoulder and saw the curricle sweep around the bend.

Just at that instant, Christian, holding her with a wickedly tight grip, brought his mouth down hard on Clare's.

Shock froze her sluggish limbs and mind. Despair gripped her as she heard the furious expletive that issued from Rupert's lips. She knew it was he, and as the stamping and jangling of harness told her that he was reining in his team, she pushed against Christian's chest. Finding herself released, she flung herself back as the phaeton jerked, and turned to see that the curricle was halting a few feet beyond.

She felt sick. And angry. Turning back to Christian to scream her rage, she saw that his horses had become restive, threatening to bolt as the other vehicle startled them. By the time he had them under control, Clare was watching—in no little trepidation, for Rupert was white to the lips and blazing—her husband's descent upon the scene.

Leaving his team in the care of his groom with curt instructions to him to turn the curricle, he came across, and without even glancing at Clare, addressed his cousin in the curtest tones she had ever heard him use.

‘
Get down!'

Christian hesitated, looking fearfully at his cousin.

‘
Get
down
,' came the command again.

‘
But the h-horses,' he stammered.

Wordlessly, Rupert went himself to the horses' heads, led them onto the verge where the forest encroached, and tethered the whole equipage to the nearest tree.

‘
Now—get down!' he said yet again, turning his steely gaze back on his cousin.

Clare watched Christian gather what dignity he could muster as he climbed down, managing at the same time covertly to study Rupert's enraged features. The memory of that dreadful day in his library came back to her with stunning force. If he had been “livid” then, what was he now? Savage, she thought. Savage and dangerous—like the man of fiery passion who had bedded her the other night. Nausea began to invade her, and she felt weak, dreading the moment when those eyes of cold fury, that voice of ice, would turn themselves upon her.

Christian tried to take a high hand. ‘What d-do you mean by it, Cousin Rupert?'

‘
I mean this,' Rupert said, and his fist shot out, connecting with Christian's jaw so hard that Clare gasped as if she herself felt the impact.

Christian reeled and fell, uttering a grunt as he hit the ground. Rupert was standing over him, his fists clenched, black murder in his face.

Almost involuntarily, Clare attempted a protest, ‘Rupert, pray...' Her voice died as his head turned and the blaze of his eyes scorched her.

‘
Don't dare to address me!'

Clare shrank, her heart shrivelling. She hardly saw Christian picking himself up, hardly heard his voice, angry now.

‘
You—you shall meet me for this!'

Rupert's accusing eyes left Clare, much to her relief, and came round to his cousin. ‘The only meeting you'll get is here and now—with my fist.'

‘
I say you shall meet me!' Christian shouted. ‘Damme, I'll not take a blow in the face! From you, or anyone.'

Rupert looked him up and down, contempt in both face and voice. ‘Are you daring to challenge me?'

‘
I do challenge you. Pistols! You shall meet me tonight. At six. In the Dell. With pistols.'

There was a pause. Rupert's frown raked his face, while Clare, her brain reeling with shock, and her heart smarting still from Rupert's fury, looked again from one to the other. Something was wrong. Why was Christian so insistent? But before she could even begin to puzzle it out, Rupert's fists fell.

‘
As you wish,' he said without expression.

Then he turned to Clare again. Involuntarily, she flinched back as his cold, withering gaze sent shivers up and down her spine.

‘
You won't object, I trust, to removing to my curricle?'

Clare turned away, as from an unbearable sight, and tried to get down from the vehicle without assistance, only to discover that her legs were shaking so much that she almost slipped, missing the step.

Two strong hands took her by the waist, and giddiness seized her as she was swung down—and instantly released. Her head swam, and her hand went out automatically for support, grasping at the presence beside her.

Rupert's eyes came down and met hers for an instant.

Tentatively, Clare uttered his name. ‘Rupert—'

‘
Not now,' he returned flatly, and lifting her, threw her up onto the seat of his curricle, which the groom had turned and brought alongside. He gave up the reins to his master, and took his place on the perch behind. The curricle shot forward at a heady pace, its driver wholly unconcerned about the condition of the phaeton and its erstwhile occupant behind him.

As unconcerned, apparently, Clare thought in a flare of sudden resentment, about the comfort of his wife. What right had he to be so—so
manic?
Had not his conduct been the trigger that had caused her flight? Why should
she
tremble?

But the spurt of defiance was short-lived. Shame and dread drove it away. Shame that this appalling scene was witnessed by a servant, although she could not doubt that the entire household must have been informed of her flight. And dread—of Rupert. She glanced fleetingly up at his unyielding profile. Heavens, how terrible it was to feel that. Why had that power of his to manifest itself in such a way? Power in his tongue to tear at her with hateful words, instead of the sensual power that had drawn her in with its velvet softness. Her eyes pricked, and she caught her breath, hoping desperately that the short journey might give him time to cool.