Never Surrender to a Scoundrel (29 page)

“I said, get out of my room,” Clarissa insisted, pointing to the door.

He slowly shook his head. “Not until you kiss me, and then look in my eyes and say you don't feel anything.”

He stalked toward her.

“I'm going to scream,” she threatened. “Everyone will come.”

“I don't think you will,” he said, his gaze growing sharper and his lips turning into a snarl. “Because if you do, I'll tell them all that the baby you're carrying is—”

“
Mine,
” a man's voice interrupted.

Whirling around, Clarissa saw the figure of a man in the shadows at the far corner of the room. Blackmer emerged, wearing boots and breeches and a white linen shirt, open at the throat. His hair was tousled, and his skin looked flushed from hours of riding.

She got chills just from looking at him. He had never been more handsome, or more commanding. She rushed to his side, and he pulled her to stand just behind him, in the shelter of his shoulder. She clasped his arm, binding her hands around the muscle. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, savoring his scent through his shirt.

Quinn laughed sharply. His eyes gleamed with displeasure. “I suppose you will…want to call me out now, or challenge me to a duel and bring scandal down upon us all?”

“Sorry to say, Quinn, I play a dirtier game than that,” Dominick said matter-of-factly. “You've threatened the wrong man's wife.”

“You're just talk.”

“Be assured I'm not,” Blackmer answered, his voice hushed. “Do you know who I am?”

Quinn sneered. “No one knows anything about you, which says a lot because if I and my friends don't know you…you're no one.”

Dominick shrugged. “And yet I know a lot of things about you. I also know a lot about your father.”

 Quinn's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you know things?”

“Delicious, wicked things.” He smiled dangerously. “For instance, I know what happened in Italy last summer.”

Lord Quinn went rigid, and his face paled.

Blackmer said, “Would you like me to tell you what I know?”

“That's blackmail,” he growled.

“Blackmail? No, I'd call it what you deserve.”

“I'm going to go now.” Quinn backed toward the door.

“So soon?” Blackmer teased darkly. Dangerously. “You only just arrived, and we have so much to talk about. In fact, why don't we summon your father, the duke, as well, and perhaps the Duke of Claxton? Wolverton also might wish to hear what I have to say.”

Quinn froze, and shook his head. “I don't agree. We have nothing to talk about. Nothing at all.”

“Quinn?”

“Yes.”

“Don't ever speak to my wife again. Don't even look at her. If she tells me you have, I'll find you, and I'll do far more than talk. I'll make you sorry to be alive. Do you understand?”

Quinn's head jerked in a nod. He unlocked the door, tore it open then escaped into the corridor as if the hounds of hell snapped at his heels.

Clarissa spun away from Blackmer and stared at him.

He blinked, but an impenetrable blackness lingered, something she'd never seen in his eyes before. It was a weapon, she realized, just as deadly as a pistol or knife, and one that he'd been competent using in his former life. “I'm sorry if I frightened you.”

“You did frighten me for a moment.” She bit her bottom lip. “But I liked it.”

His lip turned up at the corner. “You did?”

She bit her lip and giggled. “Am I a terrible woman for being entertained by that? I've don't think I've ever seen anything more impressive.” She moved toward him, taking one of his hands in hers. “Seeing you like that was very…revealing. Breathtaking, actually.”

“How so?”

“I find I like being married to a very dangerous man.”

The tautness of his shoulders eased. The blackness in his gaze faded, to be replaced by gentleness.

“I'm only dangerous where you are concerned.” He touched her chin and drew his thumb along her cheek. “And our child.”

Emotion swept through her, overpowering and sweet.

“I missed you so much.” She went up on her toes, kissing him on the mouth, before asking, “What happened in Italy?”

He drew away to look down into her face. “O'Connell knows about Quinn. He shared a bit of intelligence with me before I came upstairs. I had no idea at the time it would become so valuable.”

“I'm so glad he betrayed me. Or else I wouldn't have you.”

They indulged in another long, lingering kiss.

“I want to take you downstairs and share you with everyone,” she said, tugging at his hands.

“I want to keep you here and share you with no one.”

“Blackmer.” Clarissa stepped back, still holding his hands. “Why are you even here? You had to have departed Darthaven just hours after I left.”

He stared at her steadily. “I fear you are in danger.”

“From whom?”

“I don't know,” he answered. “It is only a feeling. My instincts. I only know that after you left Darthaven, I immediately questioned my judgment in sending you away, and have not slept since. I can't tell you how relieved I am to find you safe.”

“Nothing has happened.” She smiled, wishing he would do the same. “I'm safe. But what instincts are you talking about?”

“I might be wrong.” Yet his expression remained grave.

“Tell me,” Clarissa urged.

He pulled away from her, and turned toward the fire. “I fear that Tryphena was a double agent of sorts. Working for the English intelligence but also someone else.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

Dominick faced her again. “When I met her, Tryphena was a low-level agent, much like Claxton originally described me to be, while I was in a far more selective and highly trusted group of operatives. Once we married, she…expanded her circle of contacts. Charmed my superiors. So much so that they began to offer us assignments as husband and wife. I…suspect she may have married me for the sole purpose of getting inside.”

A terrifying realization washed over Clarissa. “You think she was sent to kill the Prince Regent that night.”

Dominick nodded. “It's possible. Some two decades ago, there was a French spy by the name of St. Guerlain. During the war he employed beautiful women to learn British secrets. Troop movements, battle plans, and so on. They were known as the
Violons Noir
.”

“The black violins?” she repeated. “As in the instrument?”

“No, like the spider. A single bite can be fatal. St. Guerlain has been silent for years and presumed dead, but…”

He crossed the room and pulled something from his coat pocket.

Returning, he said, “Look.”

It was the miniature. In the lower corner of the frame, nestled among the carved flourishes and leaves, was a small violin, barely discernible because it had been painted black just like the rest of the frame.

“A violin,” she whispered.

“It could be just coincidence. But if it's not, I'm not certain who I'm dealing with, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until I do.”

“You'll find out the truth. I know you will,” Clarissa said.

An urgent rapping came on the door. Dominick groaned and released her. Crossing the floor, he opened it.

Daphne stood there, her eyes wide and her face pale. “Blackmer, I didn't know you'd arrived.”

“What is it, Daphne?” asked Clarissa, going closer.

“Perchance is Michael here with the two of you?”

“Michael? No, why?” she replied.

“Because he isn't in his room, and neither is his nanny. We don't know where they are.”

I
'm coming with you,” Clarissa said, buttoning her pelisse, following him.

“No, you aren't,” he said, striding across the lawn, lantern in hand. “It's too dark. Go back to the house. We will find him.”

In the distance, the light of lanterns could be seen moving toward the stables and barns and into the gardens. Then Daphne and Sophia emerged from the house, doing the same as their younger sister, pulling on warmer outer garments and adjusting lamps for more light. They set off toward the front lawn.

“Michael!” they shouted, just as many others did.

Clarissa glared at Dominick. “I'm coming. You've never been to Camellia House and don't know the grounds, and I do.”

He bit his tongue as she accompanied him deeper into the darkness. All the while he tamped down a different sort of fear, one that whispered
danger
. Instinct told him that this wasn't just a little boy who had wandered into the night, whose nanny—whom he knew to also be a secret service agent—had gone in pursuit without informing anyone.

He had seen the same look of concern on the face of Mr. O'Connell. In accordance with prior plans, as His Lordship's valet, he had secured the very worried Earl of Wolverton in his room until the boy could be found, in the event someone attempted to harm His Lordship as well.

Protocol. But necessary? Were the earl and his grandson in danger? Only the coming minutes and perhaps hours would tell.

“Where would the boy go? Is there a place he liked to play?”

“If I were to guess, I'd say the stables, because he loves horses, or the gardens to hide and play. But he would never go to those places alone. Someone is always with him. He's just a little boy.”

“Those places are already being searched by the others. Is there anyplace on the grounds that's more obscure where—” His voice cut off suddenly.

“Where someone might have taken him?” A sharper fear tripped down her spine. She searched her memories of previous visits to Camellia House for an answer. “Perhaps…perhaps the Huntsman's Lodge, but it will be difficult to get to in the dark.”

“Take me there,” he said.

“I'll try to remember the path. Everything looks so different at night.”

Though it was difficult for him to do, he allowed her to lead.

“This way,” she said. “No…over here.”

“Quiet,” he urged in a soft voice.

“Why?”

He hesitated before answering. “If someone has taken Michael, I would not want them to hear our voices as we approach.”

“You think someone has taken Michael?”

“No,” he answered, reluctant to explain. “I don't know. Clarissa, while I was assigned to protect your grandfather, there was protection in the house for Michael too. You cannot tell anyone, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“His nanny is an agent, placed in the house to protect him.”

“But why?” Dominick heard Clarissa's breath catch in her throat. “Does this have something to do with my brother and father's deaths?”

“Possibly.”

Her eyes widened in the night. “Blackmer, we have to find him.” She scrambled over a fallen tree, heedless of the small limbs that snagged her skirts, and then rushed ahead. Eventually, the dark outline of an old cottage rose before them, an eerie sight in the night.

He pushed her into the shelter of a tree. “Stay here. I'm going to look inside.”

She nodded.

He moved forward silently to stand in the deeper shadows created by the cottage walls. He listened for a long moment, hearing nothing.

Then…the creak of a floorboard.

Carefully, he edged closer to the open window and peered inside. A shadowy figure stood against the opposite wall.

He heard a small voice say something. A child's voice.

The hair on his neck stood on end, and all his instincts went arrow sharp—

A hand closed on his arm.

God damn it, Clarissa,
he thought but did not say as he yanked his wife down beside him on the ground, thrusting a hand over her mouth.

Her eyes stared at him, wide and frightened. She pointed at the cottage and he nodded.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Stay here.”

“I know you're out there, Blackmer,” a voice said from inside the cottage. “Why don't you come inside?”

A chill raked down his spine. It was a woman's voice.

Not just any woman's, but Tryphena's.

Clarissa stood, moving as close to the open window as she dared. The voice belonged to Miss Joyce. Or whomever Miss Joyce
really
was. And she, Clarissa, had brought her here, into her family's midst. The realization made her feel sick at her stomach.

“Who are you?” Dominick asked. He'd moved to stand just inside the front door of the cottage. The woman gauged his position by the creak and groan of the floorboards.

“Don't you see the resemblance?” she answered.

“You're Tryphena's sister. May I see the boy?”

Michael! Clarissa had never experienced such fear. She shook with it. She felt responsible. If he had been harmed—

“I think not,” the woman answered. “He's sleeping.”

“What did you give him?” he said quietly, yet angry concern thundered just below the surface.

“Nothing that will harm him,” she said. “Not yet.”

Clarissa's blood turned to ice and she covered her mouth with her hands to keep from making a sound. Just then she spied three figures creeping through the darkness. She considered screaming to alert Blackmer, but then recognized them as Claxton, Raikes, and Havering. They did not see her, apparently, and continued on as if to the back entrance of the cottage.

“It was you at Darthaven,” he said.

“I wanted to have a little fun with you before your demise. Make you believe you were mad, and watch helplessly as my poison killed your pretty wife.”

“As punishment for killing Tryphena.”

“Revenge, yes, for my sister,” she said, emotion thickening her voice. “For making her fall in love with you, which made her distracted and careless. If she wasn't dead, then I wouldn't be here finishing the job. Her death wasn't part of the plan. Yours was. Only she wouldn't kill you.”

“What plan?”

The woman hesitated. “I only tell you this so you'll know just how wrongly life has treated you. You didn't accidentally kill your wife. You saved England.”

“Tryphena was an assassin, sent to kill the Prince Regent.”

“Now you know.”

“Afterward, where did her weapon go?”

“You don't truly believe she acted alone, do you? There are others in your ranks, and that night they concealed the evidence of her failure. It took years to get everything in place. She seduced and married you. Earned the trust of your superiors. Caught the Prince Regent's attention. And then you ruined it.”

“If you want revenge against me, then why did you leave me at Darthaven and come here?”

“You've heard the phrase ‘killing two birds with one stone'?” she said. “After Tryphena's death, you disappeared. I couldn't find you. Imagine my pleasure at learning you had been assigned to Wolverton's detail, a man whom my employer has held a long-standing grudge.”

“You are part of the assassination plot against him as well.”

“I have learned from my sister's mistakes, and my services are in high demand. But just as I found you, you were gone again. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the announcement of your marriage to Wolverton's granddaughter. So I followed you to Darthaven and had my fun. After that, things only got better. By your sending Lady Blackmer away, you gave me the perfect opportunity to get past the wall of protection Wolverton enjoyed and get close to the others. Now, instead of two birds with one stone, I and my accomplices will kill four: Wolverton and Michael, Lady Blackmer and you. Needless to say, this night will be quite a feather in my cap.”

“Who is your employer?”

“I'm done talking. As much as I'd like for you to see me kill the others, I'm afraid you must be first.”

In the silence, there came the sound of a pistol being cocked. Terror tore through Clarissa.

“No,” she screamed, unable to contain her fear.

Inside, the darkness churned with movement. Three hulking shapes hurtled into the room: Claxton and the others. A shot blasted—a blaze of fire in the night. Clarissa ran to the door, desperate to see that Dominick and Michael and the others were all right. She had only just stepped inside when Dominick leapt to shield her with his body, shoving her aside.

Lithe and quick moving, the dark-haired woman seized a sleeping Michael and backed into the corner of the room, her pistol held to his small head.

Clarissa cried out in horror. “No.”

Yet…something in the way the assassin held Michael so carefully…so gently…gave her away.

Dominick stormed toward Tryphena's sister, who whipped her arm straight, pointing the pistol at him. The others leapt on her from the side. Clarissa screamed. Another shot ripped through the dark as the woman disappeared beneath a heap of male assailants.

Blackmer turned, his arms now cradling Michael. Clarissa rushed forward, took the boy in her arms, and ran with him outside.

“How does it feel to be married to a hero?” asked the Duke of Claxton later that night, smiling at Clarissa, then Blackmer.

“I realized he was a hero long before tonight,” answered Clarissa, squeezing her husband's hand.

The entire family gathered in the library, behind closed doors.

Michael, awake and cranky, had been returned to the care of his aunts and grandmother, while his nanny recovered from the sleeping narcotics that had been employed to prevent her interference with the boy's abduction. The house had been secured for the night. Tryphena's sister, whose name was still not yet known, remained under guard, as did her two accomplices, who had been captured earlier by Mr. O'Connell after they had climbed through a window into Wolverton's unoccupied bedchamber. They would be transferred to London that night by Havering and numerous others who had been appointed to go along for the brief trip.

Wolverton leaned forward in his chair. “My grandson-in-law saved the Prince Regent from assassination. Not only that, but he saved the lives of my dear granddaughter and great-grandson.”

“Thank you, Blackmer,” said Lady Margaretta, resting her hand on Michael's tousled head, where he laid sleeping on her lap. “From the bottom of my heart.”

The entire family toasted Dominick then, with brandy all around. Dominick lifted his glass but did not drink.

“Thank you. All of you. But now I think we should get Michael to bed. And the duchess and my wife as well.”

Clarissa looked up at him, her eyes sparkling.

A moment later, he led her down the corridor to their room.

Havering followed. “Blackmer. Might I have a moment with you before I go?”

Dominick urged Clarissa toward their door. “I'll join you shortly.”

Turning back, he met Havering—the man who had been his former handler in the service.

“You know they're going to want you back,” Havering said with a teasing smile.

“Flattering, but I'm done with the service.”

“Hmmm.” Havering smiled ruefully. “I see Claxton has already gotten to you with his talk of diplomatic appointments.”

Dominick raised his eyebrows at that. “No, he hasn't.”

Havering flashed a smile. “He will.”

He wouldn't deny it. It felt good to be admired. Celebrated. Returned to the good graces of all those whom he so deeply respected. But something else felt better—and that was the idea of Clarissa and family—and home.

Domnick grinned. “I think I should like to settle down for a while and have a normal life with Clarissa, and enjoy being there as my children are born.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Havering answered wistfully.

“You should try it.”

“You know that's not possible.”

“I hope it will be for you one day.”

Havering nodded. “I envy you.”

Blackmer chuckled. “You should.”

Havering pulled on his gloves and backed away. “What I should do is to convey these villains to London, where we can question them properly.”

 “Godspeed, Havering.”

“Good night, Blackmer.”

Inside the room, Clarissa waited for him in their bed.

“I'm so proud of you,” she said, pulling the covers back, revealing her unclothed body in the candlelight. Her body was changing now, becoming more voluptuous.

Desire burned in his belly. He stood by the bed, stripping as fast as his hands and clothing would allow.

“You're lucky I don't murder you here myself. How could you risk your life like that, and the baby's, rushing into the cottage tonight?” he murmured.

She reached for him as he climbed in beside him, enveloping him in her arms. “I didn't think. All I knew is I couldn't face a moment without you or let Michael be hurt.”

She clung to him. Kissing her, he rolled her onto her back.

“I love you, Blackmer,” she said, looking up. “I choose you. Forever, you.”

His heartbeat increased as he heard the words because he knew without a doubt they were true. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her there. Inhaling her scent.

“I choose you forever too.”