He kept his tone steeped in sarcasm. “Forgive me if I remain suspicious, Mr. Whitney, particularly in light of such an entertainingly murderous soliloquy. What shall I tell Clara, do you think, when she enquires about our audience? That her papa isn’t responsible for my bludgeoning because he assures me I’d already be floating in the Thames if he but wanted it?”
Whitney’s face reddened and Julian knew a moment of satisfaction at provoking him. Clara had accused him of fashioning everything into a game for his own personal entertainment, and perhaps she wasn’t so far off the mark.
“You do amuse yourself don’t you, you son-of-a-bitch? You’ll say nothing of the sort to Clara. As long as my daughter assures me she is happy, I don’t wish you ill. Make no mistake that I do expect an audience with her before I leave today.” His glare gained intensity. “The moment she isn’t happy, you’ll have cause to fear me. But what concerns me now is her safety. If you’ve lunatics attacking you in the street, how can Clara be safe?”
The question abruptly dashed his diversion. It was, after all, a question that he had refused to allow himself to ponder. For he was selfish. He was greedy. He wanted Clara by his side. In his bed. In his bloody arms. He damn well never wanted her out of reach.
“Clara is not in danger.” At least, he had no reason to believe she was. For it certainly seemed that the miscreant who’d laid him low had only been interested in his demise and not anyone else’s. Of course, it did stand to reason that if a madman was targeting him, the bastard could lash out at those closest to him as well. The notion sent a chill through him.
“But you are, Lord Ravenscroft,” Whitney noted, all but saying Julian’s thoughts aloud. “And if you are in danger of further assassination attempts, how can you imagine that she might not be in danger as well? What would happen if the villain who assaulted you returns to finish the deed here in your home? What if Clara is in the way? What if she’s attacked? I know you’re a heartless blackguard but even you must care for her wellbeing, at least in whatever capacity you can manage. She’s your wife now.”
Whitney said the last as though it still made him faintly ill. Yes, Clara was his wife now. She was his, damn it, in every sense of the word. And he would protect her however he must. “No harm will come to her while she’s in my care,” he promised, relenting and taking pity on Whitney. After all, at heart, the wily bastard was only a father who loved his daughter.
And Julian could relate in a basic sense.
For somehow, Clara had made him experience something he’d thought he was no longer capable of feeling: emotion. Jesus. The realization hit him with the force of a blow to the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs, leaving him reeling and confused. He cared, goddamn it.
He cared for her.
That was the sensation expanding in his chest, the knot in his gut each time he looked upon her, the need to keep her from fleeing to Virginia, to touch her, to take her. All of it. Perhaps she’d hooked him, stupid fish that he was, from the day she’d stepped into this same study, bringing her warmth and her orange-scented loveliness with her.
No one would hurt her, he vowed inwardly. No one.
“Naturally, I care for her wellbeing. I’d do anything to protect her,” he elaborated curtly.
“Forgive me if I cannot merely accept your assurance, Ravenscroft,” Whitney drawled. “How can you keep her safe? You’ve nothing here but an old butler and a handful of servants for fortification. Have you even a weapon?”
Of course he didn’t have a bloody weapon. He wasn’t an American vagabond who invaded the home of a peer of the realm, waving a pistol and threatening to do him bodily harm.
“This isn’t war, Whitney,” he said gently. “We live in a civilized world. What would you have me do, hire a phalanx of soldiers to guard the damn door?”
“You need to be prepared.” Whitney scrutinized him, appearing to take his measure and making him want to squirm in the process. “I’ve lived through war, my lord. Man can be a savage when life requires it. I’ll never forget that. Whoever wants you dead will try again. Don’t make it easy for him. Don’t put Clara in danger.”
“I would never put Lady Ravenscroft in danger,” he said coldly, for Whitney’s words had affected him more than he cared to admit. Christ, how could he be so selfish? So stupid? He’d hire every brawny, willing man in London to protect Clara if need be. But he couldn’t bear to part with her. Couldn’t countenance the thought of sending her away as Whitney seemed to imply he ought. “Believe of me what you like, Mr. Whitney, but know that I hold your daughter in the highest regard.”
Clara’s father stared him down, seeming to attempt to judge the veracity of his words. Before he could form a response, the study door opened unannounced. The subject of their conversation sailed over the threshold in an elaborate afternoon gown of deep, riveting navy silk trimmed with gold cording.
From her elaborately styled braid to her hem, she was faultlessly elegant, more beautiful than any lady he’d ever before seen. To look upon her, he’d never guess she had so recently been nude and sated in his bed. He shouldn’t have been so coarse with her and well he knew it, but he’d been consumed, too caught up to control himself. Her cheeks were flushed, the sole sign of any discomposure on her part.
“Father,” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a vibrant affection that would have made him jealous indeed had she addressed any other man.
He was so distracted by drinking in the sight of her that he nearly forgot to stand. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He stood a full half minute after Whitney swept from his chair and met Clara halfway across the study, clasping her to him in an undignified embrace that spoke to the depths of his love.
Julian fought the urge to look away from the unabashed display. He was not familiar with such unfettered emotion and it made him deuced uncomfortable. He was quite certain that neither his mother nor his harsh bastard of a father had ever treated him with a tenth of the adoration Clara’s father so freely showered upon her.
“Clara darlin’.” Whitney’s drawl was infinitely more pronounced as he stepped back, appearing to remember himself. He surveyed Clara as if inspecting her for a sign of ill treatment. “Are you well?”
Clara’s gaze slipped to Julian’s for a moment, and he felt the clash as keenly as he would her touch. The glittering depths of her blue eyes spoke of the abruptness of their last meeting in his chamber. He had been cold to her. Had spilled his seed on her as if he were no better than a rutting animal. And she—regal, elegant, and lovely—she had accepted his every act. She had not questioned. Had not railed against him.
Had he told her all he could offer her was fucking? Suddenly he wondered if it were true. For how could she inspire such fierce feelings within him, the likes of which he’d never known? No other woman had ever made him feel the way Clara did: possessive, bewildered, helpless but to bask in the brilliance of her presence.
He’d never know what his wife read in his expression. Jesus, he liked to think she could read nothing at all, that he wasn’t a book pried open for her thorough inspection. But whatever the case, she turned back to her father with the air of a woman who had reached a decision.
“I’m very well, Father.” She bestowed a beatific smile upon Whitney and embraced him yet again. “How are you and Lady Bella and Virginia? I must confess that I’ve missed you.”
He felt like an interloper in his own home as he awkwardly watched the tableau before him. Never had he even heard his wife speak with such a soft, lilting drawl. And she’d yet to acknowledge him, a slight that was perhaps unintentional but nevertheless unmissed.
“As I’ve missed you, my dear daughter.” Genuine emotion marked Whitney’s low voice. He stepped away from her then, clearing his throat to ward away what sounded like deep sentiment.
By God, was the devil…weeping? Julian found himself straining closer, longing to see the pistol-wielding, threat-issuing American brought to his knees. And wasn’t that the best bloody joke o
f them all, one man laid low by Clara hoping that his nemesis was as well?
Hellfire, he was a wreck. Perhaps the blows he’d taken to the head had rendered him prone to madness. Yes, surely that was the explanation for the confounding round of emotions churning through him now. Emotions. From a man who’d believed he no longer had the capacity to sustain them. What irony.
“Oh, Father.” Clara said in soft tones, her smile warm and indulgent. “I’m not far from you here. You’re always welcome in our home. Is that not true, Lord Ravenscroft?”
Her vivid eyes pinned him once again, bringing him back into the conversation as though he’d just stepped into the room for the first time. He gathered his faculties, took a breath. It wouldn’t do to appear undone or affected before Clara. And most especially not before her violent hound of a father. He was the Earl of Ravenscroft. He’d fashioned apathy into an art form.
“Of course, my lady.” He kept his tone as mild as possible given the wildness of his inner thoughts. With great effort, he smiled at Jesse Whitney, who watched him now with the careful air of a man who’d just spotted a rattler in his path and sought how best to distract him to avoid being bitten. “Mr. Whitney, we would be humbled if you and Mrs. Whitney would join us for dinner in the upcoming weeks. Lady Ravenscroft will send a formal invitation, of course.”
The pleased smile Clara sent his way was worth the pride he had to swallow to invite the man to dinner. There was something about Jesse Whitney that went against the grain. The man didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. Part of Julian couldn’t blame him. Part of him wanted to prove him wrong.
“We would be happy to accept I’m sure,” Whitney said easily, sparing Julian half a glance before looking back upon Clara. “Clara, daughter. Might I have a word alone with you?”
Clara’s eyes swung from him to her father. Julian felt his face settling into a familiar mask. Here was a new experience. No one had ever before forced him to vacate his own study, threadbare and dilapidated though it was. Indeed, he’d come frighteningly near to being evicted from the entire home, but that danger was now a thing of the past. Still, he supposed there was a first for everything, and being dismissed from his inner sanctum was certainly that.
“My lord?” she asked, her gaze questioning. Probing. Seeing more than he damn well wanted her to see.
The truth of it was that she didn’t need to ask him permission. He was not her bloody gaoler. Unable to keep the twist of self-derision from his smile, he bowed with as much formal elegance as he could muster. “Of course, my lady. Pray excuse me. I find I’ve important matters to attend elsewhere.”
Another bow and he stalked from his study, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. But just as soon as he asked himself the question, he’d already acquired the answer. Clara. His little dove. His wife, damn it. She’d changed everything. She’d even begun to change him.
But one thing remained the same. Her oaf of a father could still bloody well go straight to hell. As he stalked from the chamber, Julian comforted himself with that thought.
* * *
Clara tried not to flinch at the sound of Julian slamming the study door. She wished, not for the first time, that she was able to read his shuttered expression and grim gaze with absolute certainty. She thought she’d seen a hint of concern, a spark of caring. Along with something else. The rigid set of his jaw bespoke…what? Irritation? Dissatisfaction?
So much of Ravenscroft remained an enigma to her. At the moment, he was doing his best to keep her at arm’s length. But persistence had always been one of her best qualities. She could meet his determination with some of her own.
Her father’s beloved face drew her attention from her husband’s abrupt departure. Lines of apprehension carved grooves in his forehead and bracketed his mouth. She wondered if he remained this grim as a result of her marriage.
He dispelled her curiosity by breaking his silence. “Clara, tell me the truth. Are you happy? Ravenscroft does not treat you with disrespect, does he?”
Once again the specter of Julian’s reputation had returned. She wanted to rail against the unfairness of it, that others’ judgments of him should always be colored by his past. Somehow, she’d acquired an inexplicable sense of defensiveness on her husband’s behalf. She longed to banish the sadness she sensed in him forever.
Clara met her father’s gaze now unflinchingly. “I’m happy, Father. Truly. Lord Ravenscroft has been a model husband.”
Well, perhaps not entirely a model, she inwardly amended. To be sure, they had much yet between them that would need ironing. Perhaps even mending. Her reaction to Julian confused her as much as the man himself did. She had never known a man as dangerous to her inner balance. He’d had her hopelessly off kilter from the moment she’d entered his study and he’d approached her, as cagey as any predator. She didn’t know where she stood. Didn’t know what the future held in store for them.
But despite all that, telling her father she was happy was not prevarication. For with Julian, she felt as happy and at home as she’d ever been in England. Being his wife would not always be easy, but it was the path she’d chosen. The path that was right for her. She didn’t regret her decision, and she knew that in time they could find happiness together.
Her father’s lips compressed into a tight line of disapproval, as though he weighed his next words. Perhaps he’d anticipated an outpouring from her of how miserable she was in her new role. His undisguised distaste for Julian had not gone unnoticed. She’d been hoping he may have softened. But he had not. He wasn’t brandishing a pistol on this occasion, but his mien was forbidding enough without it.
“Our doors are always open to you,” he said at last. “Should you desire to leave him, Clara, you have a home with myself and Lady Bella.”
His obvious displeasure and distrust of Julian nettled her on her husband’s behalf. “Thank you, Father, but why do you insist on believing that I made such a great error of judgment that I shall need to one day retreat back to you?”
Her father made a sound of exasperation deep in his throat. “Forgive me if I believe you acted impetuously in your decision to marry a known blackguard who compromised you so that he could eliminate his debts with your dowry. He knew I’d consent to nearly any of his terms to save you from ruin and see you settled, the blighter.”
Guilt settled over her, heavy as a boulder. How had it not occurred to her that part of her father’s poor opinion of Julian was due to her subterfuge? She had to tell him the truth, to unburden herself.
Clara placed a hand on her father’s coat sleeve in an imploring gesture. “Father, there’s something I must confess to you. Marrying Lord Ravenscroft was my idea.”
Her father’s brows snapped together. “The hell you say it was. Don’t try to protect him, darlin’.”
Ah, if only she were half the angel her father imagined her to be. But she was not. She was wicked and willful and rebellious. Impetuous too. Lord have mercy, it seemed she had not many virtues in her possession at all if she were to truly consider the matter.
“I’m not trying to protect him,” she told her father gently, almost in the tone she’d use to inform someone that a death had occurred. For she feared his reaction to her full revelation. He would be angry and hurt. Disappointed in her. But regardless, she must tell him everything. “Coming here to his home that night, attempting to be compromised, it was all my idea. I’d never met the earl before that day but I knew of his reputation, and I thought he’d make an excellent foil for my plan to return to Virginia. I offered to pay him to marry me and then annul our union and let me go home.”
Her father’s face went ashen. “Damn it, Clara, tell me you’re lying. Why the hell would you do something so foolish?”
Yes, she had to admit, her actions had been foolish indeed. How naïve of her to ever imagine she could’ve made a man like the Earl of Ravenscroft do her bidding. “You told me you wouldn’t allow me to return to Virginia, that even after I’d reached my major
ity you wouldn’t settle a penny on me. I didn’t want to remain here. It seemed the best means of circumventing you.”
“If all this is true, why not tell me? You could have spared yourself so much.” He waved his hand in a broad, encompassing gesture. “You could have spared yourself this. If I’d realized you wanted to go back to Virginia so much you’d shackle yourself to a devil like Ravenscroft, I’d have sent you there myself.”
His angry words gave her pause, but she didn’t believe for a moment that he would have mildly acquiesced to sending her to Virginia on her own. He was too protective of those he loved. “Julian is not the devil you think he is, Father.”
“Yes he damn well is.” His face contorted. “Did he or did he not compromise you that night? I saw the two of you with my own eyes, Clara. His conduct was not that of a gentleman.”
Perhaps not. She winced. “He didn’t…that is to say, I allowed you to believe he had lured me to his home and compromised me because it facilitated my objective. If I had told you the truth, you wouldn’t have allowed me to marry him.”
Her father shook his head, clearly trying to force his mind to accept everything she’d just told him. There it was, her secret laid bare. She was not a good daughter. She wasn’t sure she knew how to be. But she did love her father, and she did care for her husband, and she knew a rush of relief at confessing the truth.
“That lying whoreson.” His tone had grown positively murderous now. “He looked me in the eye and told me there was a possibility you carried his child. Fed me some tripe about you two falling in love and then demanded two hundred thousand pounds and a hundred thousand in North Atlantic Electric stocks. By God, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see that man for the fortune hunting vulture he is.”
Clara had no excuse to offer. It seemed that she and her husband were not so very different. When they wanted something, they were dogged in their perseverance. “He’s not a vulture.”
“I’m taking you home with me. This is insupportable. The blackguard dares to put you in danger, keeping you here while someone is out to kill him.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’ll spare the villain the trouble and kill him first. I’m of half a mind to gut him like a hog for his manipulations.”
Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6 Page 46
