Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (27 page)

A
fter Clarissa straightened her dress, Dominick unlocked and opened the door. Colin stood there, his hand raised in preparation for the next knock.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, his features taut with concern.

“Splendid, actually,” Dominick answered, leading Clarissa into the corridor.

His brother's expression relaxed. “I just didn't want you to punish her because of me. We were only dancing.”

“No, I…I wasn't punishing her.” He looked at Clarissa and raised his eyebrows.

She flushed scarlet and clasped a hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes sparkled in amusement. Her hand fell away. “I was giving my husband a proper welcome home.”

Dominick fought the urge to laugh.

Colin appeared oblivious to their mischief. His expression remained grave. “Blackmer, you and I need to—”

“Go back to Mother's party.” Dominick smiled at his brother. “We've already been gone too long, and we both know her ladyship has taken notice.”

“No doubt she has,” Colin agreed quietly.

“Let's talk tomorrow.” He clapped his hand on Colin's shoulder and turned him toward the ballroom. “There is much to be said. Let's go back inside. Together.”

“There's a lot of people who've been waiting to welcome you home,” Colin said. “Myself included.”

“You're a very good dancer,” Clarissa exclaimed, falling into Dominick's arms, exhausted at the end of the quadrille. “To think I didn't know.”

He held her close, his hand coming to rest affectionately on her stomach. “Let's find a place to sit.”

“Here!” called Lord Stade, pointing at a comfortable armchair. “Dear daughter, we don't want you getting overly fatigued. Perhaps no more dancing tonight.”

Making his way through the guests, he insisted she take his arm and he escorted her there, as Dominick followed behind looking mildly bemused. When she was seated, her father-in-law bent to press a kiss to her forehead.

The show of affection both startled and pleased Clarissa. Watching his father, a smile turned Dominick's lips.

Just then, a flash of pale blue appeared at her side. Looking up, she saw Miss Brookfield, who indicated the chair beside hers. “May I?”

Clarissa smiled. “Of course.”

The dark-haired young woman looked toward Blackmer. “I saw the two of you dancing and had to come tell you what an attractive couple you are.”

“Thank you,” she answered, but not without wariness.

“His Lordship is obviously smitten with you.”

“And I with him.”

Miss Brookfield sighed and crossed her hands in her lap. “As it should be.”

And just like that, they were friends. When the announcement came for the midnight buffet, Dominick came to escort her, and Colin, proving himself a gentleman, extended his arm to Miss Brookfield. Some two hours later, standing alongside Lord and Lady Stade, they saw many of their guests out the door, while others retired to the rooms where they would stay as overnight guests. Only then did Clarissa and Dominick climb the stairs and at last come to stand outside their chamber doors.

“Your room or mine?” he asked huskily.

“I propose we start in yours and end in mine,” she teased, a deep rose flush rising into her cheeks.

He swept her up in his arms and carried her into his room, where he stripped her to her chemise and urged her into bed. Moments later he joined her, wearing loose linen drawers, and gathered her in his arms.

Propped on one elbow, he planted a soft kiss on her nose and another on her lips. “Do you know what I want?”

“You want to make love to me again.”

He chuckled. “I do, but do you know what I want more?”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to go to sleep,” he softly urged.

She sighed, happily. “It's been a long night, hasn't it?”

“You're very tired. I can see it in those beautiful blue eyes of yours.” He kissed her forehead, then each of her eyelids. “So instead of slaking my incessant lusts on you—”

She giggled.

“I want you to fall asleep.” He smoothed her hair across the pillow. “Here in my arms. That would be just as satisfying.”

He was so handsome, looking down at her in the firelight.

“I love you,” she said. So much it made her heart hurt.

“I love you too, Clarissa.” His hand moved beneath the covers and under her chemise to splay across the bare skin of her stomach. “I have loved you almost from the start, I think. And this baby of ours.”

He kissed her once more, before pulling her closer, against his shoulder, and stretching beside her, so that their bodies were entwined. She never felt more loved or protected. Never more at peace.

Her last thought before fading was that she wanted each night for the rest of her life to end like this.

Dominick stood by the bed, cleanly shaven, a towel slung low around his hips, looking down at his sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired wife. He loved the way her gaze slid over his chest and torso, shining with unconcealed appreciation.

“Let's go for a ride,” he said, his hand sliding beneath the covers to encircle her ankle. “Up to the folly. I'll tell you about Frost End.”

He'd let her sleep until he heard her rustling and caught her peering at him from the shadowed recesses of their bed. They'd slept late, arms and legs entwined, and already noon approached. He needed to tell her about the fire at Frost End, and his concern that it had been intentionally set and that perhaps…perhaps they didn't need to take residence there so soon but instead remain at Darthaven with the family at least until after the birth of the baby.

With each other's assistance they dressed—playfully, their hands and mouths causing several delays. When he went in search of his coat, Clarissa sat down in a chair by the fire to lace her boots.

“Dominick, now that I'm awake and can think clearly, I have something to tell you too,” she said. “Something that happened while you were gone.” Her eyes darkened.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” he asked, instantly alert and listening.

A quiet knock came at the door, and at Dominick's response, Miss Randolph entered carrying a tea tray with rolls and pastries.

Clarissa looked at Dominick. “It can wait until we're at the folly.”

After saying good morning to Miss Randolph, Clarissa stood and went directly into her dressing closet. He watched her go.

“Good morning, my lord.” The older woman diverted her eyes. “Since everyone is sleeping so late after the party, they seem to be forgoing breakfast in the dining room, and I thought you might do the same.”

Clarissa emerged from the closet, still tucking something into her pocket.

“Actually,” said Blackmer, “we were going for a ride, up to the overlook. We'll take them with us and enjoy them there.”

Miss Randolph dutifully transferred several pastries from the plate to the center of a napkin.

“What about the tea?” asked Miss Randolph.

“You sit and enjoy a cup with one of those pastries,” encouraged Clarissa. “If I know you, you haven't eaten yet.”

“You know me too well, my lady. Enjoy your morning,” the woman replied, pressing the small, still-warm bundle into Clarissa's hands.

Dominick and Clarissa went on to the stables and waited for the curricle to be brought out. A cold wind swept across the grass, rippling the edges of her skirts. Dominick rearranged her scarf, so that it covered her throat more fully. She held their breakfast between them, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread filled his nostrils.

He still wondered what she'd been about to tell him in her room, but he'd wait until they were at the overlook to remind her.

“It's a bit gloomier today,” she observed, looking at the sky. She'd chosen to wear gray, which only made her blue eyes appear brighter. A low thrum of excitement coursed through his veins, just from the mere act of standing beside her, of touching her so familiarly. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. He'd never get enough of her.

“Winter comes early here and seems to last forever. It won't be long before the first snow.”

“How terrible,” she teased. “That I shall have to depend on you to keep me warm.”

He raised a brow as a slow tug of desire tightened his groin. “Perhaps we
should
have stayed in.”

He moved so that he stood behind her, his hand affectionately on her stomach, and she rested her hands atop his.

Suddenly she gave a little gasp and smiled, holding his hands more tightly where they were.

“What is it?” he inquired, looking downward over her shoulder, where she held his hand more tightly against her.

“Did you feel it?” she exclaimed.

“Feel what?”

“The baby moved. I'm certain of it.”

“I didn't. Oh, that's not fair.” He scowled, but in the next moment he smiled. Enchanted. Thrilled.

She turned in his arms and rose up on her toes to kiss his lips. “Next time. It will happen often now.”

“Next time hopefully we won't be wearing leather gloves. Or clothes.” He grinned.

The sound of wheels and horses' hooves on earth interrupted their flirtation, and the curricle rolled into view. The groom dismounted and held the door while Dominick led her to the step.

But just then a footman emerged from the back of the house, raising a hand and shouting for them. They waited until he made his way across the grass.

“What is it?” Dominick asked.

The man wheezed, red-faced from exertion. “It is Lady Blackmer's maid, Miss Randolph. The upstairs maid just found her collapsed on the floor. I'm told she is ill and in terrible distress.”

“Poisoned?” Clarissa gasped, perched on the edge of the settee where Miss Randolph lay. Perspiration dappled her maid's upper lip, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. Fear struck through her. “You are certain?”

Blackmer stood at the tea tray. He had already poured and tasted the tea. Now he sampled the pastry, touching his tongue to a fragment he had pinched off. He grimaced and spat. “It's in the pastry. That's hemlock.”

Her heart beat frantically, and she grasped the woman's hands. “Is she going to die?”

Miss Randolph mumbled, “It tasted strange. I…I spat it out.”

“Thank God,” muttered Blackmer. “She will be ill for a day or two, but I believe she'll be all right.”

“Did you hear that, Miss Randolph?” Clarissa squeezed the woman's hand. “You're going to be all right.”

Yet Blackmer didn't look relieved. Indeed, as the moments passed, he looked more troubled, more stricken than before.

“Hell, bloody hell,” he cursed, his face stricken. “When I think of what could have happened. The tray was intended for you.”

He strode to the door and directed the maid who waited in the corridor to summon the cook, Lord and Lady Stade, and a physician.

“This is my fault,” said Clarissa, her heart racing. “I should have said something before now about the miniature.”

“The miniature?” he said, returning to her side.

“The day you left for Frost End, I found this on my bed.” She pulled the small portrait from her pocket and handed it to him.

Staring down at the frame in his hand, Blackmer's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes and cursed. “It is not your fault what happened to Miss Randolph but mine. Your torn dress…the letter. That woman I saw.”

“You didn't tell me you saw a woman,” she answered, turning toward him.

“It was foggy, and late. That she should be there seemed so bizarre. So unbelievable.”

“Is it Tryphena?” cried Clarissa, her eyes bright and afraid. “Could she be alive? Blackmer, if she is, we aren't married.”

She wouldn't be able to bear it if their marriage wasn't legal.

“No,” he answered firmly. “That's not possible. I know, without question, she is dead. I also don't believe in ghosts, but I do believe in revenge. I am certain someone wants it against me.”

She exhaled. She had to believe him.

“Did she have family? Or perhaps it could be another officer?” She said no more, knowing she could not reveal his connection to the secret service in front of anyone, even the very ill Miss Randolph. “A…lover?”

“Family, I don't believe so.” He paced, frowning. “She told me everyone who had ever meant anything to her was dead, unless she wasn't telling me the truth, which would not surprise me. The other possibilities you mentioned might be possible.”

“It wasn't Colin,” she announced firmly.

“I know that.”

“What are we going to do?” said Clarissa.

“Firstly,” he murmured, deep in thought, “I'm getting you far from here, that's what.”

She nodded, standing. “Is Frost End livable? Can we go there?”

“No,” he answered. “There was a fire there, in one of the barns, I feel was intentionally set. That's what I was going to tell you this morning. Mr. Gilbraith and I were sleeping inside at the time—”

Clarissa gasped. “You could have died?” She stood from the bed, more frightened now than before.

Dominick closed his eyes. “Whatever the case, it's not safe there either. I will stay here, while you go to Camellia House to be with your family, where you and the baby will be safe. I will write Wolverton a letter which you will deliver to him only. There is an agent in the household who'll know what to do.”

“An agent in the household?” Clarissa's eyes widened. “Still protecting him?”

“Yes.”

“I thought he wasn't in danger any longer.”

He lifted his hand. “It's just a precaution. Just as this is precautionary.”