Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “Scotland most likely.”

  Irene’s expression was aghast. “You sent him away.”

  “No, I told him that he was no longer needed. I’ll be accompanying you to Bath. He made his own decision to not stay in London. He was likely only here because you were here.”

  Irene settled down. “I didn’t know I was the reason he was staying.”

  Clive said nothing, only stared at her.

  She sighed. “All right, perhaps there was a part of me that knew he’d stayed for me. I have no family here, only Harry.”

  I am your family. But the words seemed hollow when he thought of how he’d treated her that day.

  Instead, he said, “We’ll make our own family.” He hoped there was still a chance of that.

  The look she sent him gave him doubt.

  “I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” Clive said. “I like you for more than your body. You can say whatever you wish to—”

  “I know I can.” Her face drew tight. “I can say and do as I please.” When they reached the edge of the ballroom, she fought from his hold and stepped away. “I’m going to Bath. I’m going to speak with your parents.”

  Clive felt his fingers begin to twitch and fisted his hands. He began to track her steps. “I know. I’m accompanying you there.”

  Irene’s eyes flashed again. “You can’t.”

  He frowned. “You have no choice. You’re not going alone.”

  Their steps led them to the balcony door. Clive reached out and opened them.

  She continued to retreat into the night.

  They stopped at the ledge.

  She gripped it stone rail on both sides. She looked frightened.

  “Do I scare you now?” he asked. What had he done to her?

  “No, I just… Don’t touch me.”

  Clive stopped. “Why?”

  “Because, I’m not ready to forgive you,” she said. “I don’t want you near me.”

  She meant she couldn’t handle him being close.

  Hope flooded his blood. “I’ll respect your decision.” For now.

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “Good. Now, I’ll return to the party. You will go home.”

  He shook his head. “That is not how it works. You may do as you wish, but I am sworn to protect you. I cannot do that if you are in Bath and I am in London. If you wish to go see my parents, I will go with you.”

  “But—”

  “Do not argue with me.”

  She groaned and looked away. “I’m already packed. It would take you too much time—”

  “I’m packed as well. Your plans to go to Bath were inside Cassius’ note.”

  From the corner of her eye, he saw her glare before her gaze flickered away. “Very well. I’ll be ready to leave once I’ve spoken to Winnie.”

  He nodded and then took a step back.

  His wife swept past him without another a backward look.

  If anyone could see him, Clive was certain they’d see longing in his eyes. Once again, Clive found himself pining for someone he’d likely never have again.

  What was he to do? A part of him said to let her go. He was already growing too close to her emotionally. There was still time to save a portion of himself, wasn’t there?

  And yet, there was that part of him that dared to give her everything and risk it all. Clive didn’t gamble. The one and only time he had was when Lord Maltsby had convinced him to invest.

  It had paid him handsomely, but Irene’s love could not be replaced if he failed. She was more precious than money.

  Lord Harry Hiller came out and leaned against the railing next to him. He had a glass in his hand. “Irene looks upset. She said she’s leaving. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Clive didn’t know the man well but supposed it wasn’t odd that he’d inquire after his cousin, no matter how distantly they were related. “No, but thank you for your concern.”

  Harry stopped next to him. “While I was away this summer, Cecilia stayed with Irene. Though I care for my cousin, I wouldn’t have allowed my wife and daughters to stay there if I’d known of the man who’d been crawling into her window at night.” He looked troubled. “Tell me he’s been found.”

  Clive shook his head. “He hasn’t and fortunately for you, he never visited while Cecilia was in the house.”

  Harry nodded. “Yes, I was very fortunate. I’m glad she has you now to protect her. I spoke to Cassius this evening and it made me realize how remiss I’ve been where Irene is concerned. We are not closely related, but she is family and close to Cecilia. Do you know anything about the man? Is there anything I can do?”

  Clive shook his head. “No, not unless you knew anything about Van Dero.” Clive wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. He turned to Harry fully. “What did you know about your uncle?”

  “Nothing,” Harry said. “The man scared my father and me. I never cared for his son Greg either.”

  Clive went back to his former posture. “I’m not surprised.”

  “I wish Cassius had remained a little longer. I’m off to Southampton in the morning. It would have been nice to have him stay with my family while I’m gone. People already fear him, you know? The title and his strange mannerisms make everyone wary.”

  “Yet you trust him.”

  Harry nodded. “I do. He’s a good man.” He straightened and lifted his glass. “Safe journey to Bath.”

  “Safe journey to Southampton.”

  * * *

  Clive’s voice was the first thing Irene heard the next morning. “We’re here.”

  Irene opened her eyes. It was early. The carriage was just rounding the Circus and they passed the theatre where the old abbey had once stood before stopping in front of a townhouse she recognized.

  “I thought we gave Cass all my father’s properties,” Irene said.

  “He only wanted the ones outside of cities. You still own quite a few of them.” He got out and then took her hand to help her down.

  From what she knew, this was the first time they’d touched since their terrible waltz.

  During the long ride to Bath, Clive hadn’t reached out for her once. He’d sat on his side and she on her own. She’d pretended sleep in the beginning and had watched Clive close his eyes and drift off. She couldn’t help but think that had he not degraded her as he had, they’d have shared a bench and would have likely held one another until they’d fallen asleep.

  Yet as Irene stepped out of the carriage, she was glad when Clive took his hand from hers and stepped away. His touch affected her no matter how much she wished otherwise. “After you.”

  He was being distant, and she was thankful for it, because if he kept touching her, eventually she would give in and then she’d be lost. If he had any respect for her left, she’d give it away and never have it again.

  But there was the chance that her tantrum could cost her his love completely.

  They held each other’s eyes. Clive didn’t bother hiding just how troubled he was. She couldn’t bear it.

  She touched his cheek. “I love you, you know.”

  His jaw felt hard underneath her touch. His eyes turned cold, but then softened. “I believe you.”

  Slowly, she took her hand back. “I’m just upset, Clive.”

  He closed his eyes. “I know.”

  “The way you treated me was despicable.” Her anger began to build as she remembered that day in the garden.

  He groaned. “I know, Irene. I understand.”

  She didn’t know if he did. He was a man. He had no idea what it was like for women. She thought of the way the constable had been during their meeting at her home. Mr. Hull had all but dismissed her, deciding he’d rather speak to the men in the room than the woman who knew more than they did.

  “I need time,” she said.

  He opened his eyes. “All right.” His expression was warm.

  She loved him so much she almost gave in right then and there. She imagined it easy
enough. She’d throw her arms around his throat and jump into his waiting arms. Then they’d kiss. Then he’d carry her inside and they’d do other things.

  But she couldn’t. He’d never learn to respect her pain if she did. So, instead of touching him as her body craved, she turned away and went inside.

  The house was just as she remembered it. Everything was in its place. It had been dusted and the scent of lemon clung to the freshly washed walls and floors. Clive must have written ahead before he’d come to her last evening.

  The townhouse was smaller than her old London residence but was still a monument to everything her father had built.

  She’d rather they’d stayed somewhere else but this would do. She turned to her husband as he gave his hat to the housekeeper. Then he turned to her just as he smoothed a hand through his golden hair and Irene was lost. She was lost in his beauty, the muscle in his form.

  She removed a glove.

  His eyes dropped to the motion, and she stilled when his eyes darkened and his body went rigid.

  It was only her hand and yet he stared at her exposed fingers as though she’d lifted a skirt.

  She removed her glove slowly.

  Clive turned quickly away. “I’ll go and see if the servants have prepared our rooms as I asked.” He started past her, but when he was close enough, she grabbed his arm.

  His eyes burned her with desire.

  She didn’t understand it. She felt like a different Irene when his gaze touched her. “I forgive you,” she said in a quiet breath.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  4 1

  * * *

  At her words, she was surprised when instead of happiness, an expression of mourning came over Clive. “No, I’ve wronged you too greatly this time. I deserve to be punished.”

  “I release you from any punishment.”

  He shook his head. “You should banish me from your life for how I treated you.”

  She turned and captured his face in her hands. “I can banish you no more than I can banish my own soul. You are a part of me. I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

  His body moved in close, but his hands remained at his side. “I hurt you. I knew I was hurting you and yet I still did it.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “To protect myself.”

  That surprised her. “From what?”

  “From you,” he said. “From… feeling anything for you and then watching you walk away from me.”

  She tsked. “I could never leave you, Clive.” She pulled him close. “Not forever.”

  He rested his head against hers and closed his eyes. “Irene, you don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “Tell me. Trust me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m too… You’re too important to me, Irene. I can’t. I can’t risk it.” He lifted his hands as if to touch her, but then fisted them and put them down.

  He was being obedient. He wouldn’t touch her without permission.

  Her heart raced. “Trust me.”

  “Let’s leave Bath,” he pleaded. “Forget about my mother. Forget about Edmund. Let’s just leave.” He opened his eyes. “Please.”

  She looked up into her husband’s eyes and every ounce of resistance she had left vanished. “All right.”

  His eyes emptied as though he’d given up, but then they brightened. “Really?”

  “You can touch me.”

  His hands were at the back of her head a second later “Really?”

  She smiled. “Really. We can go home. I just want you to be happy, Clive, and if you’re happy—”

  “You’re enough,” he said. His expression was still on of disbelief, yet full of an adoration that Irene’s heart flooded with love. “You’re enough,” he repeated. “I just… Let’s allow the past to be the past.”

  She nodded. “For now.”

  He smiled. “For now. I swear, in ten years, I’ll tell you everything.”

  She laughed. “Very well, a decade it is. I don’t care about your past, Clive.” She tucked a short lock of hair behind his ear. “I only care about your future, and I want it to be as bright as ever.”

  For a long time, he didn’t blink. Then he picked her up in his arms and started up the stairs. She leaned into his arms and was as certain about their current destination as she was their life destination. Clive could wait ten, twenty, thirty years to reveal his past, and it would make no difference to her, because this had never been about her.

  It was him. It was the sadness she’d glimpsed in him after he’d gone to speak to Angelini but had been confronted with Edmund instead.

  She would love him no matter what, but he would never believe it until she knew everything. She was starting to understand her husband and the role she played in his life.

  She was glad she hadn’t settled for another man, happy she’d never lost hope in Clive.

  As he placed her into the bed, she was glad that it had been him who’d touched her first and only he ever would. She loved him. He loved her. Adored her.

  She felt it in the way his mouth touched hers before it trailed down her chin. It was in the deftness of his fingers as he undid her dress. His mouth touched what became exposed to him. He handled her with the care of lapidary, as though she were a costly stone.

  And when she was finally revealed, when every inch of her was exposed… What he saw when he looked at her was something she could never be, yet she accepted it. In that moment, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she would gladly join her body with the most beautiful man.

  As they made love, she thought about their vows. She allowed the words to lead her every move.

  When it was over, the air seemed to hum with the energy of what they’d done. Coupling with Clive was about so much more than duty and heirs. It was about them. She rested her head on his chest and smiled as his fingers leisurely stroked her arm.

  His hands trailed up her hair, and she felt a pin being loosened before a white bloom appeared before her eyes. “A wind flower,” he said.

  She smiled. “Anemone. How did you know it means windflower?” She loved flowers.

  “I’ve become obsessed with them in a last few years. They’re beautiful and delicate.”

  She stiffened. If he called her a delicate flower, she would cringe.

  But he didn’t.

  He sighed. “I believe I’d have liked to become a gardener if I wasn’t a lord.”

  She turned over to face him. “Truly?”

  His bright blue eyes fell to her. “They seem to have such a simple and peaceful existence.”

  She smiled. “I agree. I loved attending my father’s garden. It did bring me peace. It also taught me patience.”

  “You’re the most patient woman I know.” He touched the bloom to her nose before putting it to his own. “Lucky me.”

  “We are more than luck. We are destiny.”

  “Oh?” He lifted a brow. “Would you have married me if I were the gardener?”

  She looked away. “No.”

  He frowned. “Why not? I’d still be me. Wouldn’t you still love me?”

  She looked at him again. “Not at all. I only married you for your title.”

  He chuckled and then rolled them over, so he was on top. “Are you certain you’d have turned Clive the Gardener away? He’s very persuasive.” He ran the soft petals down her arm, and Irene was startled by the need that erupted at her core.

  “Perhaps I’d have taken my pleasure from a gardener,” she teased. “But I would never give my hand to him.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So, he could have your body but not your hand?” He kissed her. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I will not answer that question.” She wrapped her arms around his back. “You know the answer in your heart.”

  He smiled and then kissed her again. “How soon can you be ready?” Clive asked quietly against her mouth.

  She sought his tongue out with her own and deepened the kiss. “I don’t believe I can
get up.” She didn’t want to get up.

  He laughed in her mouth. “Very well. There is something I want you to see before we leave Bath.”

  She turned so she could see him. “What is it? Is it something important to you?”

  He nodded. “But you’ll miss it if you don’t hurry.”

  Wishing to know as much as she could about her husband, Irene slipped out of the bed and began to dress. She looked at her husband, who was watching her— something she was certain she’d never get used to— and said, “You said we should hurry.”

  “No.” He sat up. “I said you should hurry.” He stood, pull on smallclothes, and then went to the bell to ring for a maid.

  As Irene began to dress, she watched him.

  Clive leaned in the corner of the room and did nothing but watch her, or more accurately, he studied her. He examined every inch of her, taking his time to memorize her body before he looked at her face again. “Let me do up your buttons.”

  She gave him her back just as a maid came in.

  Clive spoke an address that was to be given to the driver. It was an address Irene recognized. It was a lovely hotel.

  Clive, who still hadn’t dressed, wasn’t coming with her.

  “I’m going to go meet your parents, aren’t I?” Irene asked.

  Clive approached her and touched her cheek. It was then she realized that while she’d been coupling toward unity, he still believed this to be an end. He thought these their last moments together. She saw it burning in his eyes.

  He wouldn’t be convinced that she would never leave until she knew the truth. She wanted to shake him, but it wasn’t completely Clive’s fault. It was his mother’s or Edmund’s. Short of murder, she couldn’t see why he feared her knowing the truth so much.

  “I would tell you that I love you, but I don’t even know if you believe in love,” she said.

  His expression said everything. He didn’t. Not completely. No wonder it was so difficult for him to say the words. They were without true meaning.

  She righted her hair and allowed Clive to kiss her with a desperation that wasn’t necessary— though it was pleasurable— and then she left.

  At the hotel, she gave her name and requested to see Lady Angelini, but it was not Angelini who met her in the tearoom of the establishment. It was Lord Edmund.