The Stanforth Secrets (15 page)

“Of course I know Randal,” said Justin coldly. “If you can spare the time, Chloe, I really do need your assistance with estate matters.” He stood by the door in a way that made the suggestion an implacable command.

“Of course,” said Chloe, knowing she was a flustered red. She followed him out of the room, aware of Randal’s amusement, feeling very like a naughty schoolgirl.

Damn all men.

The atmosphere in the study was chilly as they went through all the current business of the Delamere estate with Chloe filling in the background. By the time luncheon was announced, she was heartily glad to escape, but Justin stopped her as she made her way to the door.

“I’m sorry if I reacted badly earlier,” he said. “I can’t help but think of you as a lady under my protection, but you are not really that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, glancing at him and seeing no trace of anger or condemnation in his face. “I just felt rather silly, to be caught like that.”

“Not very discreet, to be sure. Chloe, I am not sure that Randal—”

“Heavens, Justin,” Chloe broke in. “Never think that Randal and I were . . . We were just being foolish, playing a game.”

A smile twitched his lips. “Were you? Be careful, my dear. You can still get burned at that game, and Randal is, I think, somewhat inflammatory.”

Chloe put her hands on her hips. “Justin Delamere, we were not even playing
that
game . . . Oh, what a ridiculous conversation this is. As far as I’m concerned, Randal is about as inflammatory as a bucket of cold water.”

It was as if a cloud passed. He grinned. “You must be the only woman in England to feel that way. I must quote that to him when he’s feeling full of himself.” After a short silence he added, “Do you really mean to leave on Tuesday?”

Chloe nodded and looked away. “It’s time.”

“It may seem like ages to you, my dear, but I have only just arrived.”

“You don’t need me here anymore, Justin.”

“Don’t I?”

Chloe knew in that moment that she could stay. At a word Justin would offer her his hand, and perhaps his heart. Reactions warred within her and she turned away. He came up behind her and placed warm hands on her shoulders.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said softly.

Chloe shook her head. She could not put her feelings into words even if she would. Was he moved by convenience, nostalgia, or could it be love? If it was love, would it make any difference? Stephen had loved her once, after a fashion.

His hand moved up to the bare skin of her neck and played in the soft curls there. Chloe sighed and leaned back against him. His arms slipped round and she rested there.

They had never touched like this before. They had been close, almost intimate in their knowledge of each other, and yet they had rarely touched. For she had been Stephen’s.

They did not speak. They did not move. Still, they communicated. Chloe knew she was offered here a feast she hungered for and yet . . . and yet, she wasn’t sure if it was real or not. If it was real, that perhaps terrified her most of all. She never had to surrender to Stephen as she would have to surrender to Justin.

“This has its virtues, my dear,” he said, “but I can think of more promising positions. If I sit with you in my lap, will you be as quiescent as you were with Randal?”

Chloe pulled out of his arms and moved two quick steps away. “No.”

She had expected a protest but when she turned to look at him, he was smiling broadly. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” she asked.

“When you are in my arms, Chloe, I do not want you to be quiescent.”

“Justin—”

He stopped her with a raised hand. “Please don’t run away on Tuesday.”

“I must.”

He sighed. “I had intended to stay here for a while, but I suppose I will have to follow you.”

Chloe blinked. “You can’t do that!”

“Is there a law against it?”

“I’ll be going to the Towers.”

“Do you think Randal won’t invite me?” he asked.

“I’ll tell him not to,” said Chloe imperiously. Justin just raised a brow.

Chloe left abruptly, before he could say more. She ran Randal to ground in the billiard room, potting balls with cool efficiency.

“Come to offer me a game?” he asked, leaning picturesquely on his cue.

“No,” she said. “Randal, if Justin asks to be invited to the Towers when we leave here, can you not do so?”

He looked at her. “Be a bit uncivil, wouldn’t I?”

“Your reputation will stand the strain, I’m sure,” she retorted.

He idly chalked the button. “A man don’t have so many friends he can afford to offend them.”

“Are you saying you won’t oblige me?” Chloe asked in amazement.

“Basically, yes.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

Faced with this, Chloe turned away. “Randal. He’s . . . he’s
wooing
me.”

“Always thought he was a knowing one.”

Chloe turned back. “Randal. He’s a Delamere!”

“So are you.”

“Not for long.”

“Anyway, a saucy Ashby throwing up the dirt at a Delamere is like the pot calling the kettle black. I think you and Justin would suit very well.” He turned and casually made a cannon, then moved round to the white ball and potted the black.

As he replaced the black on its spot he said, “What is it that bothers you so, Chloe?”

Forced to put it into words, Chloe hesitated. “I want a quiet life, Randal.”

“You wouldn’t like it. If you married Stodgy Cedric you’d be climbing the walls within a year. You’d probably run off with an adventurer.”

“I have to get away from here before I make any decisions.”

Randal look at her and shook his head. “All this rusticating has dulled your wits, my girl.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

He laid down his cue and walked over to her, coolly elegant, and probably the most devastatingly attractive man in England. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, slowly. His lips brushed over her fingers softly, and then back again.

“Randal—”

“Hush.”

He drew her into his arms. She felt his hands on her back and tilted her head up automatically, perhaps to protest. What was he about? If he had suddenly decided to pay serious court to her, it would be most embarrassing, but there was only wicked amusement in his clear blue eyes as one of his hands slid up to play in her dusky curls.

“What are you thinking, my dear?” he asked.

“That you have run mad,” she said, just a little breathlessly. He was, after all, amazingly attractive, and she wasn’t dead yet.

He lowered his head and his lips skimmed softly down over her forehead and nose, to hover over her own.

Chloe struggled slightly, but his arms tightened and she couldn’t escape. “Randal!”

Very softly, he whispered, his warm breath mingling with hers. “What is worrying you, my dear? Be honest.”

Then she knew. She looked up into his eyes, which demanded the truth. “Justin might come in again,” she whispered.

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and released her.

“The time for decisions is past, Chloe,” he commented dryly.

Chloe took refuge in anger. “You conceited oaf! Do you think a woman can resist you only if she is in love with someone else?”

He leaned back against the billiard table, grinning insolently. “That seems to be the case so far.”

Chloe made a little growl of exasperation and looked around for something with which to attack him. Finding nothing, she said, “I think I
will
set Justin onto you with pistols.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you. We visited Manton’s and I’m by far the better shot. Give up, Chloe. You and Justin are in love. It’s clear as a pikestaff to an observer. It’s my opinion you’ve been in love since you first met, and you only married Stephen by mistake.”

Chloe felt shock lance through her. Tears rose in her eyes. She brushed them angrily away as his expression turned from humor to concern.

“Sometimes, Randal, I could hate you,” she declared as she ran out of the room.

Chloe took luncheon in her own room, only picking at the food. Randal had forced open a door into an area of feeling she had hoped buried forever. Young and heedless, she had never thought, on that long journey to Scotland, about the two men as different from one another. She had known she was going to marry Stephen, she had wanted to marry Stephen, but she had thought they would always be together, the three of them.

It was on her wedding night that reality intruded. It had not been an unpleasant business, all in all, for Stephen was a kindly lover, but she had missed Justin. Over the next few days, she had been bothered by the times he had gone off to leave them together. On the return south he had frequently ridden beside the carriage instead of within, and she had wished he wouldn’t.

After the young couple, facing scandal boldly, had established themselves in Town, Justin had disappeared and his absence had been a void in her life. Soon she heard he had bought a commission. She followed the adventures of his regiment closely, scrutinized every casualty list. They had met briefly on only two occasions after that, and on the last one . . .

They had been in the small library of Stephen’s house in Clarges Street, all three of them. Justin was in uniform, and looked splendid. Chloe remembered thinking that, and noticing how Stephen looked pale and puffy around the eyes by comparison.

She and Justin had hardly spoken to each other, and yet she was conscious of him at all times. When he passed her a glass of wine their fingers did not touch, and yet there had been a sensation, a vibration, between them. She had stared up at him, startled. His eyes held an arrested look.

Then Stephen left the room to fetch some object. She and Justin had sat in silence. She finally looked at him, and found him studying her. They had said something then, she did not know what.

She
did
remember suddenly being aware of his body beneath the uniform, of the long strong muscles of his legs, the tendons of his sun-browned hands, the breadth of his shoulders. It had come to her that in lovemaking with Justin she would feel more than the mild contentment she experienced with Stephen.

She had leapt to her feet in alarm, and he had risen too, concerned. Stephen returned at that moment. She had made an excuse and escaped.

She and Justin had never met again until he came to Delamere as Lord Stanforth. She had buried the memory of the occasion, of the betrayal she had committed in her mind, deep down.

To leap joyously now into Justin’s arms, over Stephen’s grave, was unthinkable. Did he not feel it? Perhaps he had not been as guilty as she. Perhaps he had not, in the secrecy of the night, toyed with the idea of Stephen ceasing to exist, so the other possibility could become reality.

Even now, the thought of it overwhelmed her with guilt. She covered her face with her hands. Thank God she could at least say that the news of Stephen’s death had filled her with nothing but grief for him. Any other reaction, no matter how involuntary, would have been intolerable.

She picked up the miniature of her husband that stood upon her bedside table. Smiling and handsome, he looked out on life with merry anticipation. Chloe found herself comparing Stephen’s features with Justin’s harsher ones. His expression with Justin’s bleaker one. She remembered that moment in the Sea Room when he had regained a youthful, carefree look.

She put the portrait down. Could she not summon a trace of sorrow for a life cut short so early? How could anything good grow out of such poisoned ground?

A scratch on the door brought a welcome interruption. Chloe hurried to open it and found her grandmother’s maid.

“The Duchess asks if you would join her, My Lady.”

Chloe glanced in the mirror to check that her disturbed mind was not evidenced in her appearance, and then followed the maid. The Duchess would have heard she had not gone down to luncheon. The old lady was still in bed but looked well, not in pain.

“How are you, Grandmama?” Chloe asked as she bent to kiss a withered cheek.

“Pretty fair, my dear.”

“Randal said you had the rheumatics.”

“Well, I would have if I tried to get about in this weather.” The old woman studied Chloe. “You don’t look so wonderful yourself. Got the rheumatics too?”

Chloe smiled wanly. “Just blue-deviled.”

“Randal said he’d been a damned fool, and it appears he was right,” said the Duchess.

Chloe felt herself flush. How much had Randal told their grandmother?

“Have you been in love with Justin all these years?” the Duchess demanded.

“No!”

“The truth, please.”

Chloe looked at the stern face. It was not as if she’d been able to help it. “A little perhaps,” she confessed.

“Niminy piminy. That’s not got you blue-deviled. Did you love Justin more than Stephen?”

How could anyone ask such a question? Chloe turned away and found she was twisting her fingers. “Grandmama, what can it matter? Stephen’s dead now.”

“And if you didn’t love him as much as you love Justin—I’ve seen it too, gel—you’re doubtless feeling like a regular ghoul. Let me say this. If you have been regretting your choice and making the best of it, I respect you more. Once for keeping your marriage vows, and twice for having better taste than I gave you credit for.”

“Grandmama!” Chloe protested.

“It’s the truth. What are you going to do about it now you have a second chance? Not many of us are given those in life.”

Chloe looked up sharply. “I never had a first chance. Don’t put all the blame on me. Justin never indicated the slightest wish to marry me.”

The old woman looked at her thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Ah well. It will work out. Things tend to. Randal’ll learn not to be quite so meddlesome too. It’s time his heart was touched. I worry about that boy. Far too good looking. Now, who do you think pushed Frank off the cliff?”