The Bride Insists (25 page)

“Yes.”

“Aren't you pleased? I would have thought you'd be delighted.”

“I am. I'm just… startled that I didn't notice it happening.”

“I didn't either. They were very discreet.”

Clare didn't say that men rarely noticed such things. “I thought Selina and I were so close. She listened very patiently to all my… worries. I feel I haven't paid enough attention to her concerns.”

As the undoubted object of many of these worries, Jamie didn't know how to respond to this.

Clare shook herself. “I'm just being foolish. Selina looked very happy, didn't she?”

“She did.” He smiled with raised brows. “Carew, too.”

Clare laughed. “As he should be! Selina will be a perfect vicar's wife.”

“A happy ending.”

She looked up and met his dark gaze as it turned serious.

“Clare.” He lost himself in her tiger eyes, thinking back to the first time he'd seen her, on the dim stairs of Billingsley's offices. It wasn't so very long ago in the greater scheme of things, but so much had happened since then it seemed an age.

The happiness on the faces of Selina and the vicar came back to Clare. She and Jamie had been moving toward that kind of harmony before all this began. She knew they had. And now they'd weathered this emotional storm. If he was willing—as he seemed to be—surely they could find their way? As someone had said to her long ago—her mother?—marriage was about compromise.

As Carew had done, Jamie extended his hand across the tablecloth. “I've missed you so.”

Tears pricking, Clare took it. Their fingers curled together, and they rose. Jamie stepped around the table. Clare moved into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. They stood there, intertwined, in a silence broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock. Then Jamie pulled back a little and looked down. The tentative hope he saw in her face shook him to the core. “Come upstairs,” he murmured.

She could not have done anything else. His arm still around her, they went quietly up to her bedchamber. Though it was still early, they saw no one in the corridors. They slipped into Clare's room, and Jamie locked the door. When he turned to her, her pale hair gleamed in the light of the low fire, her slender form outlined by orange light. He'd thought she was beautiful as soon as he saw her; now that he knew her, she seemed so much lovelier, as if the kindness and intelligence inside lent more beauty to her physical lineaments.

Clare's skin warmed under his appreciative gaze. Memories of their nights in this room made her heart beat faster. She smiled at him.

In three steps, he was with her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a kiss that held equal parts tenderness and desire. Clare melted under his hands. Doubts and hesitations couldn't withstand the depth of this kiss. It paused and resumed until it shut out the world, leaving only the two of them, together.

Jamie's body and spirit had caught fire. Yet he didn't want to hurry. He wanted these exquisite sensations to go on forever. When Clare arched against him and tangled her fingers in his hair, he whispered in her ear, “Slowly, my darling, let us tantalize each other.”

Clare drew back and looked at him. His eyes were pools dark enough to drown in, but a slight smile curved his lips. She caught his mood and responded with a shy smile of her own.

As his fingers played with the row of buttons down the back of her dress, she loosened his neckcloth and teased it away, letting the length of starched cotton slither down from the strong column of his neck. She pushed his coat from his shoulders. Jamie straightened his arms, and it fell to the floor with a sigh of fabric.

Her gown went more softly, with a mere whisper. Clare's breath escaped in a long sigh as Jamie dropped kisses down her neck and onto her bare shoulder. She undid the buttons of his shirt and slipped her hands inside it, running them over the muscles of his chest, making his breath catch as she let them stray across his hard belly. Then she eased the shirt back and over his broad shoulders. It fell, then caught briefly, until he once again straightened his arms and freed the cuffs from his hands.

Bare-chested in the firelight, Jamie untied strings and loosed her petticoat. It whispered down to join the pool of cloth at their feet, and Clare stood inches away in her half transparent shift. Firelight danced through, outlining her body. Boots, he had to get rid of his boots. He stepped back long enough to yank them off, and then pulled her into his arms again.

This kiss was more urgent. He couldn't sustain this game much longer, not when her fingers were on the fastenings of his breeches. Jamie ran his hands up her sides, lifting her shift until he found the hem. He drew it over her thighs and hips, lingered at the curve of her waist, and then, in one swift movement, yanked it up and over her head. Distracted by the glorious sight of her naked body, he almost threw it in the fire.

Under his burning eyes, Clare put her shoulders back and stretched a little. She'd never felt this way before. She wanted to rouse him even further, wanted the fire she saw in his eyes to flame higher. Holding his gaze, she undid his breeches and let a hand stray behind the laces.

“Ah,” Jamie groaned. This was the end of the game; he could bear no more. In one swoop, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She smiled seductively as he set her down, a vision of pale gold and cream and rose on the blue counterpane. He pushed off the rest of his clothes and joined her.

At last there was nothing between them. The heat of skin to skin built toward conflagration. Jamie's hands, browned by the sun, roamed over her, leaving trails of sweet fire. The ache of desire rose in both of them.

Clare panted his name, and Jamie gave in to her unspoken plea. His fingers caressed the soft arch of her ribs, the arc of her hip, the silk of her inner thigh. They drifted inward and slipped to the center of that ache, teasing and appeasing.

Clare's whole body responded to his touch. She yearned toward him, entwined a leg with his, and tightened her arms around him. She danced into a blaze of light that built to a magnificent intensity before it broke in a million sparkling pieces.

When her head fell back, and she cried out, Jamie's control shattered. He could wait no longer. He rose over her and let himself go. It was like discovering new realms of pleasure and coming home, all at once. As they moved so sweetly in unison, it seemed as if they could never be out of harmony again. They rose to the peak together, lingered there for a timeless moment, then dropped into paradise side by side, hanging onto each other as if they would never let go. He wouldn't, he vowed to himself; he would never let go. He took her lips again with that silent promise.

Sated, entangled, gradually their pulses slowed, their breathing eased. Jamie turned on his back, keeping Clare close. She rested her head on his shoulder as if it belonged nowhere else. One hand gently stroked his chest. In its own way, the tender aftermath was as moving as the passion, and Jamie realized then that he'd fallen in love with his wife. It was like an old joke, but this was dead serious. Over these last tumultuous weeks, as he'd come to know her many facets, as he'd won her and then very nearly lost her and finally won her again, he'd given his heart to this woman in his arms. She'd become vital to his existence. He had to do whatever it took to keep her in his house, in his arms. If he had to change, it was worth it, more than anything before in his life. As he pushed a strand of pale hair off her brow, following his fingers with a kiss, he silently determined to bend all his efforts to keep her close to him for the rest of their days.

“What do you think of this ribbon trim for the bonnet?” Selina asked anxiously.

“It's perfect,” Clare answered. “You're going to be a beautiful bride.”

“I don't want to look beautiful,” was the fretful reply. “I want to look suitable and reverent and…” Selina's voice trailed off, hearing the tone and absurdity of the sentiment. “I do beg your pardon, Clare. It's just…”

“I know.”

The marriage of the local vicar had turned out to be a momentous event in the eyes of at least some parishioners. Many, of course, were simply glad for Reverend Carew. But others seemed to have an almost proprietary interest in him and had eyed Selina with doubt and touches of envy. Questions flew about the parish like a swarm of bees. While Edward took it all in stride, used to his doings being more or less public, Selina had some difficulty enduring the beady gazes at church and in the village streets. They roused in her a desire to ensure that every element of her conduct, and the upcoming ceremony, was above reproach. Uncharacteristically, she consulted Clare about the smallest details of her planned costume and arrangements.

Clare was glad to offer her support, and well able to do so now that her own life had shifted back into happiness. The two women spent many pleasant hours in the solar or the sewing room talking over busy hands.

Jamie had thrown himself into the building projects that had slowed without his supervision, his enthusiasm for restoring his estate renewed. On one afternoon, he showed Clare all the figures for the new and repaired tenant cottages. Tentatively, nervously, they worked their way through this fraught experience. At one or two points, Jamie had to fight the impulse to tell her he simply knew best. Though his dark eyes snapped, he did fight it, and Clare noticed and appreciated his efforts. Once all was explained, he found her quite understanding about the higher costs.

What Jamie did not tell his wife was how difficult he was finding it to keep his promise to reduce his drinking. Though he freely admitted that he'd been overindulging, changing his habits was far from easy. Each evening he vowed he would drink less. But it shook him to find just how much he wanted one more glass, which he knew would lead to another, and another. The change in the amount he imbibed affected his physical state, too. He sometimes felt rather ill and had to struggle to hide this from the household.

Clare returned to her work of refurbishing the house, continuing to add brightness and color to their surroundings. She also involved herself more closely in the twins' lessons and activities. They seemed genuinely contrite about their escapade, eager to earn back riding privileges and the right to roam. Though she sometimes wondered how long their repentance would last, Clare enjoyed the increased closeness and the buoyancy of their company. Occasional remarks revealed that their anxiety about people leaving without warning had been assuaged but not erased.

All in all, however, it seemed that their household had found its way through the tempests to contentment. Clare didn't imagine that all tumult was past, but she thought they would be able to navigate new bumps in the road as they appeared with much more aplomb.

She was thinking something like this on a bright morning in late June as she and Gwen hung new draperies in one of the guest bedchambers. Jamie was out at some distant building site. Selina had gone down to the vicarage to consult Edward's housekeeper about a list of details. The twins actually seemed content over their books in the library.

Clare had no thought of trouble when Anna Pendennis came in and held out a letter, saying that a messenger from the village had brought up a packet that had arrived with the mail coach. The envelope was addressed to Clare, and when she unfolded the fat document, she found it came from a hated source, her cousin's solicitor. She'd long ago learned to dread communications from this man. His missives—Simon's communications—were always unpleasant or insulting. This time, though, she held the pages with less trepidation. There was nothing Simon could do to hurt her now. She was beyond his control. She was even tempted just to put the thing aside. It was too fine a day to be ruined by her cousin. But she couldn't quite manage; better to know the bad news than to worry about what it might be.

Clare folded the document up again and took it to the solar. She sat down and started to read. After the first few sentences, her sight blurred, and she swayed in the chair. This couldn't be right. She'd misunderstood. She started again from the beginning. But there it was on the page, in careful, clerkly handwriting. This hateful solicitor claimed that he'd been given the authority to act on Jamie's behalf, and that her husband was suing to set aside the document they'd signed upon their marriage. He would ask a judge in chancery to turn over all control of her inheritance to him.

Clare refused to believe it. It couldn't be true. She read faster, the legal language twisting in her mind. Under the larger document, she found a note from her cousin, explaining that he had been present when Jamie signed the authorization. Clare could almost hear Simon's snide voice in the written words. She could see his sneering smile. A paragraph at the end, in a different hand, stated that a clerk named Cyrus Gorrige had also witnessed Lord Trehearth's request for legal assistance and would so swear.

The stiff pages dropped to the floor of the solar. Simon's part in this was no surprise. He would do anything to hurt her. He never seemed to tire of it. She was accustomed to her cousin's malice. She'd learned to expect nothing else. But Jamie! Her husband had joined her cousin to betray her. Far worse than that, he had smiled at her, held her in his arms, talked of their future together as if all was now well between them. And all the time he'd known that this suit was being prepared. It was like the time she'd visited the banker in Penzance and found that he'd secretly undermined her position with the firm. Only far, far worse!

Clare crossed her arms over her chest and bent over them, as if to hold herself together. Before, he had at least stated his position openly. There'd been no sneaking subterfuge, no sly intermediaries. This time, betrayal came with smiling hypocrisy. He'd kissed her and caressed her as he waited for this blow to fall. Clare had to stifle a sound that was humiliatingly like a whimper.

Every time she thought she knew him, she found she was wrong. When it came to Jamie, it seemed her judgment was fatally flawed. He clouded her perceptions, made her trust without reason. Places inside Clare that had opened and expanded in what she saw as the warmth of his affections now felt like slashing wounds. When she was poor and a governess, she'd put up inner barriers to protect herself. She needed them back! She couldn't stand this; she couldn't function while she was dizzy with anguish.

Minutes ticked past on the mantel clock. Fortunately, no one entered the solar while Clare grappled with her pain. The household was occupied; the staff was busy elsewhere. She sat there, alone, and panted like a wounded animal. At last, after an endless time, she was able to straighten in the chair. After a bit more, she could wonder what to do.

Part of her longed to run—the part that had sent her fleeing before. Hire a coach, race to London, confront Everett Billingsley, hire some other representative to help her. Of course she would not have Selina's companionship this time. She couldn't separate her friend from the vicar, spoil her wedding plans. And she had promised the twins not to abandon them again. Why had she made such a rash promise? Why had she trusted in the future? Thoughts raced around her brain in chittering chaos. Go, stay, go. She felt very much alone.

Clare knew that running away wouldn't solve her problems. She'd proved as much. But the thought of facing Jamie in this devastated state made her shudder. To see him walk in, perhaps smile at her, hold out his hand… The image cut through her like a knife. It was all she could do not to run down the hallway and out the front door into the fields.

Clare swallowed, took a tremulous breath. She bent and picked up the stiff pages from the floor. They shook in her hands. She must write to Billingsley, find some other solicitor, have him prepare a response to this suit and… other things. She couldn't put two thoughts together. The vision of Jamie changed to a sight of him in a courtroom. What would she say, how would she endure it, as she fought her husband in court? She had to grit her teeth to keep from weeping. If she started, she didn't think she'd ever stop.

There was a slight sound at the doorway, and the twins came in. “We were looking for you because it's time for our…” Tegan trailed off.

“What's the matter?” said Tamsyn.

“Nothing.” Clare's voice sounded completely false in her own ears.

“Something's made you sad,” Tamsyn went on.

“And mad,” added Tegan.

These girls were far too canny for their age. Clare searched for an excuse they would accept.

“We didn't do anything,” said Tegan.

Clare swallowed. “No, you didn't.”

“Did Jamie do it?” Tegan wondered.

She couldn't help it, her eyes flashed to theirs, then dropped again. She had to regain her composure. It wasn't fair to involve the twins in her turmoil. She didn't want to lie to them, but neither could she share the truth. “There's nothing for you to worry about,” she tried.

Immediately, the girls looked worried. “Are you going away again?” asked Tegan.

“I promised I wouldn't do that,” Clare replied. Could she keep that promise? She'd made promises to Jamie, too. Vows that she never meant to break. Clare couldn't help it; she rested her forehead on her hand. She wanted to keep up appearances for Jamie's sisters, but she felt so broken, so tired. “If I could just get away for a bit, not long, have some time to think,” she murmured, too quietly to be heard, she thought.

But the twins had ears like foxes. “You want to hide for a while?” asked Tegan.

Clare looked up into two pairs of dark eyes, so like Jamie's she wanted to cry. “Hide?” That was exactly it; she wanted to go to ground, like an injured animal crawling off to lick its wounds in solitude.

“We know a place you can hide,” said Tamsyn.

Clare gazed at the girls. They'd never discovered where the twins went when they ran away. They had some secret lair. She shouldn't pull them into this. It wasn't right. But she was dazed with hurt and confusion. Clare struggled with her doubts.

“It's not a hole in the ground or anything,” added Tegan. “You'd be all right there.” Tamsyn nodded.

It was so tempting. Too tempting. “Perhaps… just for a few days. I… I need to think.”

Tamsyn and Tegan looked at each other, then back at Clare. “A few days,” said Tegan.

“Then you'll come back?” Tamsyn asked.

“Yes.” She had to, Clare thought. Her whole life was in question here. She had to find a solution.

“We can take you,” Tegan said.

“It's a longish walk,” said her sister.

“But no one will find you. They didn't find us!” Tegan grinned.

“And we won't tell. We never tell.” Tamsyn looked quite proud of herself.

She shouldn't allow them to take on this responsibility, Clare thought. But if she didn't get away, very soon, she would break down completely. “All right. Just for a little while.” She would organize her thoughts and come back to face Jamie. They would have it out, once and for all.

The girls nodded solemnly.

Once she'd made up her mind, Clare was goaded by the thought that Jamie could come home at any moment. She quickly packed a few things in a small valise and scribbled a note to Selina, telling her that she was all right, just going away for a few days. The final matter was what to do with the hateful document the mail had brought. In the end she decided to leave it on Jamie's desk in the estate office. Despite everything, she felt he deserved some idea of why she had left the house.

It was after noon when they set out, Clare with her valise and the twins each carrying a parcel of food purloined from the kitchen. Randolph bounded along beside them as they followed a path heading southeast. It ran near the ocean for a while, then veered inland. Clare scarcely noticed its twists and turns. All her faculties were occupied by her inner turmoil. After an hour, though, she grew tired. “How much farther is it?” she asked the twins.

“We're more than halfway,” Tamsyn replied.

“It's beyond the bounds of Trehearth,” Tegan explained.

That was why none of the tenants had known where they were, Clare concluded. She wasn't sure why she was so tired; she'd often walked farther than this in the past. It must be the shock of receiving the document and trying to figure out what to do. She set her valise on the ground and stretched her back. The twins paused as she did. “Are you tired?” Tamsyn asked.

“Randolph could carry your bag for you,” Tegan said.

“What?”

“He can carry it. We do it all the time.” The girl pulled a length of rope from her bundle and went to pick up the valise. “Randolph.” The huge dog obediently stepped over to her, and he stood still as she set the small bag on his back and began to wrap the rope around it and his chest and belly. Clare watched in amazement.

“We trained him to do it,” said Tamsyn.

“It's lots better when we have his pan-ears.”

Clare blinked at a momentary fantastical image.

“Panniers,” corrected Tamsyn. “They use them on donkeys. I saw a picture in a book.”

“And we made them out of feed sacks from the stables.” Tegan knotted the rope, pulling on the valise to make sure it was secure. “Randolph likes to help.”

The dog's red tongue lolled, and he turned from one of his mistresses to the other. Clare thought he looked more indulgent than pleased, but she was once again impressed by the twins' ingenuity.

The walk became easier without her burden. They went on past some cultivated fields and a long stretch of waste ground, then into a forested dip with a small stream at the bottom. Randolph slurped water in sloppy gulps. They'd been on the move for nearly two hours when they rounded a hill and came upon one of the oddest dwellings Clare had ever seen. It was built on one of the round stone foundations of the ancient peoples, raised higher by a motley collection of timbers, and with a crude fireplace added at one side. Grass and wildflowers grew so thickly on the thatched roof that the place seemed like an extension of the nearby hill, or perhaps a fairy mound.