by Renée Dahlia
‘Ow, you bitch.’ He leapt backwards clutching his armpit. She didn’t stick around to see what he’d do next. She bolted out of the room, slammed into her footman Higgins. Who grabbed her arms, using her momentum to get her out of the way. She landed in a heap on the hall floor, a sprawling mess of limbs with her gown spread around her. Sharp pain stung her elbow as it hit the wall. The door banged shut behind her and a series of thuds rang out. She glanced up to see Higgins grimly holding the handle, as the banging continued.
‘Are you alright, Miss?’ said Higgins.
‘I think so,’ she whispered. ‘And you?’
‘I’m fine, but I take it Mr Thackery isn’t very happy.’ More thuds landed on the door, and the muffled shouts of abuse from the other side of the door filtered through the rushing noises in her ears.
‘Yes. I can hear that.’ She paused for a deep breath. ‘How did you know?’
‘Clemton received a note from Mr Howick to say that there was a threat against you, from in this house, and he suggested that we do our job,’ said Higgins. Claire laughed, a nervous giggle of relief that Ravi had sent help just when she’d needed it. ‘I imagine you didn’t much like being told that by an outsider.’
‘But he was right, wasn’t he?’
‘He is right about many things.’ Claire sighed. Tension seeped out of her limbs and she felt like a puddle on the floor, slowing spreading wider. The door stopped rattling. Higgins pressed his ear against it.
‘I think he has given up. Do you need a hand to stand up?’
‘Thank you.’ She reached one hand towards her footman, who let go of the door handle to help pull her to her feet. The door flew open. Mr Thackery charged into Higgins who was caught off balance. The two of them fell to the floor beside her, wrestling. She scrambled backwards, tugging her skirts to get out of the way. They crashed against the side table. A vase toppled down, hitting Mr Thackery in the middle of his back, and showering the two men with shards of ceramic, soggy flowers, and a splash of water. Higgins rolled over, until Mr Thackery lay underneath him, kicking and screaming, thrashing about. The edge of Claire’s dress was caught under their bodies. She gave it a strong pull, and the silk ripped, destroying the dress, but at least she was free. She clambered to her feet, gathered up the remaining material and ran towards the front door.
‘Clemton,’ she yelled. Where the heck was the butler? How had he not heard this commotion? Higgins needed assistance. She flung open the front door. Her stomach dropped as she saw Clemton chatting on the pavement to her father.
‘Clemton. Come quickly now.’
The butler sprang into action, running up the few steps towards her. She pressed herself back against the wall as he ran past, her gaze following him as he joined the affray to help Higgins subdue Mr Thackery. Once they had him under control, she turned back to her father. He stood on the pavement with an odd expression on his face. She walked down the steps, her arms full of bundles of material, and all the rush of blood inside her body stopped. He looked so old, and lost.
‘Father,’ she said, instinct telling her to speak softly and calm to him. He stared at her with his eyes sad and confused.
‘Rachel?’
‘No, Father. It’s Claire. I’m Claire,’ she said. He blinked and his eyes changed, the confusion disappearing.
‘Of course. Claire. What on earth happened to your gown?’
‘There was a little trouble with Mr Thackery,’ she said.
‘That man is always trouble. I don’t know what Mrs Carlingford was thinking, bringing him into our house. A stranger, and always asking me for the most inappropriate things.’ His nostrils flared, and that broad moustache twitched. Father’s breath smelled like garlic, tugging at her memory, as if the detail was important.
‘Perhaps you should come inside, and we can discuss it. He has made the most extraordinary claim,’ she said. She transferred her shredded gown into one hand, and tucked her other hand under Father’s arm. Together they walked inside to an empty hallway aside from a housemaid cleaning up the broken vase. Otherwise, there was nothing that indicated anything untoward had occurred. Claire steered Father around the mess, and took him into his office. She helped him sit at his large desk, and was struck by how much he looked like he didn’t belong there. Had this happened in the last two weeks, while she was away in the country, first at Dalhinge’s estate, then at Josephine’s? Or had he been shrinking for much longer? Did he know, and was that why he pushed her so hard to take over?
‘There is something I need to tell you, Claire,’ said Father. You are dying. I know, I can see it now. Snippets of information nagged at her as she tried to compile all his symptoms. The confusion she’d seen, the way he faded in and out, maybe a slow form of distemper. Father was surely too young for senile dementia. She swallowed as hot tears welled up. She nodded, not wanting to trust her voice. Father reached down, pulled open the top drawer to his right, and pulled out a well-handled miniature.
‘I want you to know that I didn’t mean to keep this from you. At the start, you were so little, and I missed her so much, that I couldn’t do it. And then it became a habit,’ he said.
Her heart started to pound in her chest, as an uncomfortable chill covered her skin. Goosebumps rose on her arms, the little hairs rubbing against her clothes.
‘She isn’t my mother, is she?’ she blurted, wanting, and simultaneously not wanting, confirmation of Mr Thackery’s claim.
‘No. The current Mrs Carlingford is not your mother. I married her when you were only two. Rachel died of the influenza, and I needed someone to take care of you,’ said Father. He made an odd choking noise, and held the miniature against his chest. Rachel—her own middle name was the name of her long dead mother.
‘Mr Thackery claims that she is his mother,’ she said, just to say something, some words to stop the tears that threatened to flow.
Father’s head jerked up. ‘If that is true, she hid him well.’ He lay the miniature carefully on the desk and tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk. ‘Whether it is true or not is irrelevant.’
‘He does look rather like Wil.’
Father’s tapping sped up. ‘Yes, so it is a possibility.’
‘Do you think he is the one behind the betting scam?’ asked Claire. It made complete sense in her mind. Mr Thackery would get Father removed, and step in to take over. He was already an employee, and his connection to Mother … She blinked to get rid of the sudden wooziness as the consequence of Father’s announcement sunk in. All those terrible things she’d been told over the years by Mother. None of them mattered. Mother, no, stepmother, had no power over her anymore. She grabbed the arm of the chair, faint from the revelation.
‘It’s a definite possibility,’ said Father. What? Oh, the betting. That stupid scam, and her slimy half-brother, were the last thing she wanted to think about right now. She reeled under the weight of her own history.
‘What can we do about it?’ She shrugged. ‘There is no proof, only the probability of his motivation.’
‘Mr Howick.’
‘Excuse me?’ she queried. Her father had that ten-mile stare he often got when he’d made a connection of thought. Those moments of genius that separated him from ordinary men. Claire knew better than to interrupt.
‘He’s a sensible man.’ For a second, Claire thought Father meant Mr Thackery. She clutched the chair until her knuckles glowed white. Father truly had lost the plot if he thought Thackery was the solution to this mess. She wanted to run as far away from her stepmother and Thackery as she physically could.
‘If you marry him, Mr Thackery will be unable to marry you,’ said Father. Oh, you meant Ravi. Claire pressed her fingers into her temples as a thrill rushed up her body at the mention of marriage to Ravi.
‘Thackery has already read the banns once,’ she said.
‘All the better to get a special licence then. Doesn’t Howick have a Lord as a brother?’
***
Claire marc
hed home with Higgins beside her, the afternoon light sharp on this gorgeous London late summer day. For once the clouds had been chased away by the sun, and the city’s coal smell sat heavily in the clear humid air. Her footman sported a black eye, and had lost a tooth in the fight with Mr Thackery. No-one knew where he’d gone. He’d wrenched himself away from Higgins and Clemton and they had chased him out the back of the house until he’d disappeared into the crowded London street. Claire hoped he had the sense to stay away, now that his scheme had been uncovered. They had yet to prove any of it, and that uncertainty stung too. All she wanted to do was go home, have a cup of tea and a scone with raspberry jam, and bury her brain in work. She had to quiet the noise in her head. In just a day, she’d learnt that she wanted more than kisses with Ravi, that Mother was her stepmother and her actual mother had died when she’d been a toddler. How could she even start to process that? Father’s excuse for not telling her felt flimsy. A hot pinprick of irritation sat above the rolling mess in her stomach. Why hadn’t he told her sooner? She’d had to suffer years of Mother’s hurtful comments, and if he’d just said something, she might have found a way to dismiss that internal monologue. How dare he keep it from her? Her fists bunched at her sides, and her stride length increased again, as tears stung the corners of her eyes.
‘Higgins, how are you?’ She spoke only to distract herself, not wanting to cry in the middle of the street.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Doctor. It’s all in the name of the job.’
If only she could be so pragmatic. The prospect of Mr Thackery out there in the world, some place unknown, sat heavy in her stomach, an icy pool of dread that mingled with the burn of anger at Father’s decision to hide such crucial news from her, until she thought she might cast up her accounts. She dragged in a ragged breath.
‘And how about you, Doctor? I imagine it was quite a shock to see the typically civilised Mr Thackery turn so violent,’ said Higgins.
She waggled her head. Civilised? ‘Mr Thackery is a fortune hunter, pure and simple. His type have a tendency to inspire unease in me. No, it’s not much of a surprise that he finally showed his true colours.’
‘Why didn’t you say something? I would have kept a closer eye on him.’
‘I recall that your job is to keep a close eye on everyone who I deal with,’ she said, hiding the churn of emotion under a tart response.
‘Even Mr Howick?’
‘Mr Howick is none of your business.’ Claire increased her speed, marching with arms swinging along the street. Even as she said it, she knew it was unfair. Higgins was paid to make it his business, but the quick comparison to Mr Thackery raised her hackles and made her lash out. Ravi was nothing like Mr Thackery and his vile desire to control her money and her life. Ravi could be trusted with her independence. He could be trusted when she had no-one left to turn to. Her mother betrayed her by pushing a marriage with her half-brother. Her Father disappointed her, deeply, gut-wrenchingly disappointed her, by keeping the truth from her.
‘Higgins. My apologies.’ Claire stopped, letting out a long breath. ‘Do you have the directions to Mr Howick’s lodgings? I need to see him.’ She swallowed. Her mouth always seemed to know the truth before her brain could register it. She did need to see him. Goddamn it, she needed truth, trust and love. Josephine or Marie would accept her, comfort her, when she needed it, yet her friends had all moved on with their lives. They were both pregnant, living with husbands in the country. She craved the partnership and trust her friends enjoyed with their husbands. She needed to banish this feeling of being unloved, abandoned by the mother she hadn’t known existed. Ravi was her constant, all through this drama, he’d been there for her. Necessary.
‘Would you like me to order a hackney? We can go directly there,’ said Higgins.
‘Thank you.’ She glanced at Higgins, whose expression was carefully shuttered. He mustn’t agree with this choice. Too bad, she had always been bold. Ravi would be her bold step forward. Her solution.
Chapter 21
Claire’s heart pounded as she leapt from the hackney. She bounded up to Ravi’s front door, knocking loudly in time with her rapid pulse. Would he even be home in the middle of the afternoon? He’d left Josephine’s estate even earlier than her with Officer Wedsley to chase up a lead given by Sutton over dinner. She could only assume that he’d come to his lodgings afterwards. For a long moment, there was no answer, and her toes tapped in her shoes. Blast. Maybe her assumptions were wrong. She brushed her clammy palms on her dress, anticipation and nerves overcoming her usual care for her expensive fabrics. She started to turn to leave, head lowered, when the door creaked open. She twisted towards the door, a little sigh escaping as she saw Ravi, immaculately dressed, his hair messy as if he’d been running his hands through it. Her fingers tingled with the desire to do the same, to feel his black locks like silk against her skin.
‘Claire, how did you find me?’ Ravi’s voice washed away her worries, and she waved her arm.
‘Higgins knew your directions.’ She half turned to her footman. ‘You can leave us now. I will be safe here.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Ravi.
‘Yes, I’ve always been safe with you.’ She reached for his hand as he peered over her shoulder at Higgins. He closed his hands gently around hers, sending warmth gliding up her arms. Yes, this was the right decision.
‘What on earth happened to Higgins?’ he asked.
‘It’s a long story. How about you let me in, and we can discuss it in comfort,’ she said.
‘Higgins must come in too. At least let me offer him a cup of tea while we talk.’
‘I plan to be here for rather a long … talk.’ Heat prickled her cheeks, unbidden, as she blurted the innuendo.
‘In that case.’ He looked over her shoulder, and called to Higgins, ‘Thank you for your services, Higgins. I will send for you when Dr Carlingford is ready.’ After a pause, Ravi pulled her hands, tugging her gently inside. He kicked the door shut behind her, and she stepped into his arms.
‘Claire,’ he whispered, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘This.’ She stretched up and kissed him. Time slowed as sensation took hold. Every word he’d whispered at Josephine’s house became a promise that seeped into her skin, her heart, and wrapped her up safe. Her hesitant question turned urgent, and she pressed her body to his. Home. Trust. Every fibre sighed against his hard chest, her pulse clambering with need. She pulled her hands from his, stroked them up his arms, his jacket fabric rough under her gloveless palms.
‘Claire.’ He lifted his head, his dark skin glowing, and his eyes almost black with desire for her.
‘Yes.’ She deliberately lifted one eyebrow. If she was going to be bold, she may as well go the full distance. ‘You know why I’m here. I trust you, and I—’ And I need you. She inhaled sharply, unable to say the full truth aloud.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’ Damn him for being so perceptive. For a half-second, she considered saying ‘nothing’ and kissing him again. Her lips tingled at the thought, but his gaze held hers and she knew he couldn’t be fobbed off. She puffed out an annoyed sigh, and stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides.
‘Perhaps we should have that cup of tea after all.’ She sucked in a deep breath, twisting her fingers in her skirt. ‘Or we could skip tea until later.’ She muttered a curse as her words sounded far too hopeful.
‘As much as I’d love to take your offer, I want to know what happened to Higgins, and why you’ve marched in here with this demand.’
‘You know what they say about curiosity,’ she said, still winding her ribbons around her hand.
‘Is this one of those pot and kettle moments?’ He chuckled.
She grinned. ‘Yes. Yes, you should take advantage of my curiosity. God knows, you’ve pushed me for long enough. Why not say yes now that I’m willing?’
‘I’m concerned. You arrive here with a footman sporting a black eye. Then, after stating endless times that yo
u aren’t interested in more than kisses, you kiss me and demand more. I’m worried about you.’ His gaze had softened, a small crease between his eyebrows. Her breath caught in her throat, a straw-like lump formed. How long had it been since someone worried about her? She cracked her neck. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have friends who cared, a loving brother, and a father who championed her achievements. Betrayal at the way Father had kept vital information from her tightened her chest, and she let out a ragged breath. Everyone expected, demanded, that she stay strong, no matter what happened. When had her strength become a burden? No wonder she yearned for Ravi. He worried about her, he saw all of her, and with a connection that ran deep between them. She blinked away the misty, blurry view of him. He reached up and brushed his finger under her eye. She flicked her skirts, the lump in her throat threatening to spill out in an ugly, raw cry.
‘Just kiss me, damn it.’ She threw herself at him, mouth connecting with his, rough and hard. Frustration, hurt, anger, and desire exploded into a flame of sensation. The heat of his body clashed with hers as she pressed her whole self against him. Her breath was fast, and her blood whizzed in her veins.
‘Claire. Claire, don’t push me.’ His voice sounded as ragged as she felt, stripped bare, all her reasons for holding back gone, and she wanted to feel this need, this desire in its entirety.
‘I have to. For once in my life. I have to do something for me. I’ve been holding myself back for too long.’ She grabbed his jacket, undid the buttons with trembling fingers, rushing and fumbling at them, until she could push the jacket aside and tug on his shirt. She was hardly aware of his hands, resting gently on her shoulders.
‘For completely valid reasons. What has changed?’ His eyes glinted. In warning? She ignored the new wave of dizziness, the weight in her stomach telling her she should listen to him.
‘I have changed. I can’t be alone forever. My heart is big enough to cope with any grief we might be unlucky enough to suffer. I want a partner who understands me. One I can take on the world with. You. For better or worse, in sickness and health, and all of that.’ She shoved her hands inside his shirt, spreading them over his taut stomach muscles. She almost pulled them away again as his hot skin scalded her palms, his muscles trembling under her touch. She slid her hands up his sides, taking her time to explore each muscle and rib. He hissed, a sharp noise between his teeth, as she reached his chest muscles. Confidence surged inside her, pushing away the uncertain weight in her belly, and replacing it with a warmth that traversed her whole body down into that secret place between her legs. Emboldened by his reactions, she spread her fingers over his chest muscles, exploring the contours.
