by Carol Arens
“If only we could, but what I meant was, what if we don’t change into dry clothes. Let’s go back in dripping wet.”
“Now that would cause a great hubbub.”
He really did have the most captivating grin when he was up to mischief.
“Oh, the infamy!” He winked at her. “Come on, let’s cause a fuss.”
Chapter Ten
As it turned out, Clementine could not go through with the daring escapade.
When she and Heath turned right at the hallway leading from the patio to the ballroom, they ran headlong into Trudy.
The poor maid was horrified at what had become of her hard-fought battle to make Clementine shine.
The stricken look on her face was enough to make her realize that what was a spot of fun for her might cause her maid shame.
The girl was nothing if not dedicated to Lady Fencroft’s appearance.
She turned to Heath.
“Perhaps we might scandalize everyone another time?”
“Indeed we shall, Lady Fencroft. I’ve no doubt about it.”
He kissed her cheek and then dashed away to find his valet.
While Clementine dutifully followed Trudy up the back staircase, the lingering warmth of Heath’s lips on her cheek chased away the chill setting in from her wet clothing.
So now, an hour later, she found herself in a dry gown with her hair only half-damp, speaking to someone seeking a donation for the betterment of birds.
“How would you like to be plucked?” the lady asked.
That all depended, of course, upon what was being plucked and by whom. If it was Heath and he was plucking off her garments, one by one...
She shook herself, mentally.
“I’ll be delighted to donate.”
“Why, thank you, Lady Fencroft.” The woman’s smile turned her cheeks into a pair of pink balls. “I, for one, rather like American heiresses. Naturally, had you been sporting bluebird wings in your hair I might think differently.”
She cast a frown back over her shoulder at someone who was.
“Good evening, Countess, Baroness. I quite like American heiresses, too,” said a masculine voice. “But for their charm as much as their generosity.”
Baron Slademore presented a neat bow.
“Good evening,” Clementine greeted her guest with a genuine smile.
There were many people in the ballroom whose names she could not recall. She did remember the baron’s, even though the only time she had met him was in the reception line after her wedding.
He was dashingly handsome and had a reputation for good works. She’d even seen him sitting in the front row at church last week smiling all through the service.
“Would you care to give a donation to our avian friends?” her companion asked.
“Yes, certainly.” Nodding, he dipped his head slightly to one side while his smile ticked up only one corner of his mouth. “The world would be dreary without them. In fact, we have an aviary at Slademore House for the enjoyment of the children.”
With a nod of thanks the woman hurried away, presumably in search of another donation.
From across the room she noticed Heath look up from his conversation. His gaze settled on Slademore.
She wondered if the same thought occurred to Heath as it just had to her. It was so logical it must have.
“Baron Slademore,” she said. “I would like to make a donation to your charity.”
“You are generous as well as beautiful. I’ll admit it’s always a relief when I don’t have to ask people to support the dear children.”
“I’m grateful to be able to help.” That was a part of it, naturally. “Each week I will bring a donation, and three times a week I will come and teach the children to read.”
“I can’t recall ever having a more generous offer, Countess, but you needn’t come at all. I’ll send a man to collect. I prefer not to have my benefactors inconvenienced. Besides, Slademore House is not in a part of town fit for a lady.”
“Naturally, I’ll bring an escort.”
“Let me be frank, my lady. The children in my charge will not grow up in a world in which a formal education is required. It is the way of things. I’m certain that on their own they will pick up what they need in order to get by.”
To get by in poverty, the same as their parents had, which no doubt contributed to the children ending up where they had.
Slademore House might be a respectable shelter, but still, had the parents received an education, they may have been able to keep their children.
“We do live in changing times, Baron. Children will need to read. If you do not accept my offer, and along with it my substantial donation, do you then intend to provide public instruction for them?”
“You have a tender heart, and that is to your credit, but I feel you are misguided.”
“I am not misguided.” He did have a winning smile. She wondered if he used it as a deceptive trick in order to get his way. If so, his effort was wasted. She had a worthy purpose and she would not let it go. “You have only to look at the changes going on in our world to know the truth.”
She nodded, giving the appearance of the conversation being at an end. Deliberately, she turned as if she meant to walk toward Heath but he was already pushing through the crowd toward her.
“Oh.” She glanced back over her shoulder, making it appear that what she had to say was an afterthought. In truth it was of utmost importance to her. “My offer will stand until the end of the evening if you wish to accept it.”
An hour later the baron sent a note by way of a footman, accepting her offer to teach the little ones to read.
Whether he accepted for fear of losing the funds or because of a change of heart about the necessity of the children learning to read, she did not know.
What she did know was that she had gotten what she wanted and now felt like she was walking on air, or rather dancing on it.
Heath came upon her, snatched her about the waist and led her to the dance floor.
Life was lovely. She was floating on her dreams. She was smiling into Heath’s eyes, feeling her heart expand, stretch—was this love?
Perhaps it was too soon to know for sure. But perhaps it was not.
For the moment, it was good to swirl about in his arms. In only hours she would tell him she had found a place to teach.
No doubt he was going to be as overjoyed as she was.
Life was lovely.
* * *
Even though Heath was now a city dweller, his body kept country time. Early to bed and early to rise, and all that.
As late as it now was, he excused the footman standing in attendance near the coat room for yawning. He had sympathy for the matron snoring softly in a chair while waiting for someone to take her home.
It was past midnight and yet the guests lingered. Hadn’t they homes and beds waiting for them?
Enough, then. He would set the example.
“I bid you good-night, gentlemen,” he said to a group of fellows with whom he had been discussing the sad state of politics. Or rather they had been—he’d only nodded his head at what seemed to be crucial points.
For much of the evening he had been Clementine’s shadow. When he’d seen her talking and smiling with Slademore his blood had gone cold—or hot. Whichever, it had made him charge across the room with the intention of yanking her away.
Luckily, by the time he reached her, Slademore had turned his slick charm on someone else.
If it was up to him, the man would have been cut from the invitation list. Unfortunately, he was a respected member of society and could not be.
But where was Clementine now?
He glanced about and spotted her near the punch bowl, speaking with Lady Guthrie.
He strode across the room.
&
nbsp; Simply looking at his wife made him smile. Clearly, the late hour had not diminished her energy in the least. She looked as if she still had hours of socializing in her, but he did not intend to go upstairs without her.
Even though he’d been married to her for such a short, chaste time, he’d become accustomed to spending his nights with her.
Coming from behind, he caught her hand and swung her away from her conversation with the duchess without a word of explanation or apology.
However, it was with a great grin.
He could not recall ever acting so impulsively or improperly. But what was one more impropriety when he had been guilty of so many recently.
No matter. Since he’d met Clementine he’d found that a dash of scandal was—well...fun was what it was.
When was the last time he had been this happy? Never was when.
Clementine shot him a wink, lifted her skirts in one hand and dashed out of the ballroom, her hand gripped tight in his.
Halfway up the grand staircase, she pulled against his lead.
“Slow down,” she gasped. “I can’t laugh and breathe at the same time.”
With his foot poised on the next stair tread, he looked down at her face—or near it. What caught his attention was the way her chest moved when she panted.
Madness had taken him. He was acting like a man who was free to be a real husband.
Over Clementine’s shoulder he spotted one of the gossips from earlier in the evening standing at the foot of the stairs. She stared up at them, her mouth sagging open in an unladylike gawk.
Just went to show who was the lady and who was not. Clearly, it was the woman he had married.
In noticing the direction of his gaze, Clementine looked down. She speared the gawker with a regal nod accompanied by an aloof smile to match the best of them.
Then she dropped his hand and raced up ahead of him, all the while laughing out loud.
Not only was Clementine more a lady, she was vastly more entertaining.
Reaching her bedroom door, she spun about and leaned against it.
Running up three flights of stairs had left her winded, out of breath. She pressed her hand to her side as if she had a stitch.
In a moment her breathing would return to normal.
Even when it did, he feared he would never be normal again. He liked having fun. Liked having it with her.
It might be possible to keep his secret while being the husband he wanted to be, a tempting voice whispered in his mind.
“Wouldn’t it have been proper to say good-night to our guests?” she asked. He completely and utterly adored the twinkle in her eyes. “I think we might have created a new scandal. That woman looked ready to drag us through the briar patch.”
“We did miss causing one earlier, so I figure we had one coming.”
The exertion of climbing the stairs made a vein throb in her throat, just below the delicate curve of her jaw. Unable to resist, he pressed two fingers to the spot and felt the warm, quick thud.
The thrum tapped faster.
He had caused that. Knowing that she reacted to his touch in such a way corrupted his reason.
It had to have, otherwise he would not be putting his mouth where his fingers had been—would not, with his lips still hovering over her skin say—
“You haven’t seen my quarters. Would you like to?”
She touched her throat, nodded.
He took her hand again because it felt good to do so, then led her three doorways up the hallway.
This was wrong, but at the same time, right. Anyone would agree that it was not fitting to leave his wife untouched. Did he not have an obligation to her—and really, to God, to “know” his wife?
He was expected to produce an heir. If he did not people would lay the blame at Clementine’s feet. The whisper in his mind continued its assault on good reason.
Opening the door, he drew her inside.
“Oh, this is a wonderful room,” she said, glancing everywhere at once.
He tried to look at it the way she would be doing, as if for the first time: the huge bed, the warm gold-and-brown tones of the drapes and rugs, the high sheen of the wood furniture, the cozy hearth in which his valet had already set a fire.
“It smells like you,” she observed.
Did it? He would not have known that.
“This might be the best night of my life, Heath.”
It might be if—
Surely he could be a husband and the Abductor, because he had to be. It was becoming harder each day to be only one or the other.
Clementine would keep his secret if she knew. In fact, she would probably insist on helping!
What was he to do? Risk her freedom for the sake of his pleasure?
Not likely! He’d be a villain of the worst sort to allow that to happen.
He had taken a vow to protect her, not condemn her.
All at once she let go of his hand and twirled away, spinning slowly across the room.
The back of her knees hit the bed. She fell backward, arms open wide. The mattress gave with her weight and bounced in an inviting way.
He sat beside her, gazing down at her face. She reached up and traced a line along his jaw with one slender finger.
A strand of red hair sagged out of the loops on top. He captured it with his thumb, twirled it and drew it over her chest, forming a crimson blaze across her heart.
What he was not going to do was trace the blaze with his fingers and then his lips.
“Tell me, what was the most wonderful thing about the best night of your life,” he murmured.
All of a sudden she sat upright. “Well, this, of course, being with you, but you won’t believe what else.”
“It must be astounding.” Whatever it was her joy over it washed through him, made him want to rejoice with her even if he had no idea what it was.
“I—” she pressed her fingers to her cheeks as if she still could not believe the wonderful thing “—have found a place to teach.”
“That’s wonderful!” If the charity work made her this happy he hoped she could do it every day. “Who are the lucky children?”
Her eyes glittered with her good news.
“The children at Slademore House!”
“No.”
A blow to the gut could not have cut him to the quick as badly.
* * *
“No?”
There was not a “no” involved here.
“I forbid it.”
She leaped off his bed.
“You...” She pointed a finger at him and saw that it was trembling. She curled it into a fist. “You may not forbid me.”
“Of course I may forbid you.” He stood as well, breathing hard with his arm braced on the bedpost. “I am your husband.”
“You are an arrogant beast.”
“See me any way you wish to. The fact remains that you will not spend a moment in that place or in Slademore’s company.”
Where was the man her heart had softened toward? The one she had been so gleefully ready to give herself to only a moment ago?
This fellow—this vexatious, bullheaded, imperious—clearly she would need Roget’s Thesaurus to find a word awful enough to describe him.
“You’ve gone daft.” Yes, that was it. Daft. “It’s not as though I’ve decided to become a streetwalker or wear feathers in my hair.”
“If you trust me even a little, accept the fact that I have a very good reason for forbidding you.”
Did she? How trustworthy was he when he’d promised to find her a charity position and, now that she’d found one on her own, was forbidding it?
Forbid? The word flashed in her mind in big, red, angry letters.
She could not recall being confronted by it before. Grandfather would “st
rongly advise” but never outright prohibit her from doing a thing she had her heart set upon.
“And if you trust me even a little—” she arched her brows at him, lifting her chin “—accept the fact that I have the good sense to know what I am doing.”
“In this case, you do not.”
A light tap sounded on the chamber door.
“There’s an emergency in the stable, my lord, involving one of the mares.”
Heath made a sharp, guttural sound under his breath. She’d had no idea he used profanity. It went to show it would be best to know a man thoroughly before one committed certain parts of her life to him.
“I’ll meet you there, Creed,” he said, hurrying to the coatrack and snatching off his coat.
She thought he had forgotten her presence in his rush to aid the horse, but he turned at the door to pin her with a glare.
“I expect you to obey me in this.”
Forbid? Obey?
Did her headstrong, irrational—oh, did she need to carry the thesaurus on her person?—husband realize he had just tossed down the gauntlet, waved the red flag in front of a bull?
A skirmish was coming between them because tomorrow she had an appointment to teach. She was not going to miss it because there were “things she did not know.”
There were things she did know. Those children needed her. Their futures depended upon them being able to read and write.
If Heath’s concerns were valid, he should have taken a moment to explain them.
* * *
The next morning Clementine picked up a piece of bacon and yawned at it before she put it in her mouth.
She hadn’t slept well and it was all Heath’s fault. Having become accustomed to his company, she could not now easily fall asleep without it.
And she ought to be able to. She had done it quite well for all her life.
She watched him from across the table, taking note that he did not lift his slice of toast off his plate. He frowned silently down at it.
“Is the mare all right?” she asked because she did want to know, and at the same time she wanted to appear congenial so he would not suspect she was in rebellion against his dictate.
