“There is something you are not telling me.”
She wet her lips in a manner he was swiftly learning indicated she was nervous. “It is nothing.”
“Victoria,” he said in warning tones.
Her eyes darkened at his refusal to be dismissed. “It is only that Thomas mentioned something of his mother’s jewels missing.”
“Good God,” he breathed in surprise.
Clearly anxious to ensure that he did not overreact to her confession, she reached up to grasp his hands with her own. Despite his smoldering anger, Claredon felt a rush of pleasure at the feel of her silky skin against his own.
“Claredon, it simply is not possible. Thomas is a weak man in many ways, but I have never known him to be dishonest. Indeed, he cannot tell the smallest lie without stammering and blushing a bright red.”
“Perhaps you do not know him as well as you think you do,” he retorted in harsh tones.
A wounded expression darkened her eyes, and Claredon swiftly regretted his urge to lash out at her perverse determination to protect her former fiance. Dash it all! He had never concerned himself with whether a woman was singularly devoted to him before. In truth, the occasional mistress who had attempted to make him jealous had merely discovered herself dismissed in disgust at such a childish ploy. He had always presumed that he was above such a tedious emotion. After all, there were plenty of women awaiting his discovery.
Now he reluctantly realized that he could be just as susceptible as the next man, a knowledge that did nothing to improve his temper.
Pulling away from him, Victoria wrapped her arms about her waist. “I think it more likely you are attempting to believe the worst because you do not like Thomas,” she accused.
He heaved a weary sigh. “No, I do not like him. If you want the truth, I am jealous as hell of him.”
She gave a choked sound at his blunt honesty, her expression bewildered. “Jealous?”
A rueful grimace twisted his lips. She seemed to find his confession as difficult to believe as he did.
“He managed to win your wary affection with inept ease, while I have struggled for months in vain.” His hand rose of its own violation to allow his fingers to gently touch the soft temptation of her full lips. “He appears to know the way to your heart.”
He felt her tremble beneath his gentle caress, but she did not pull away.
“You certainly have not attempted to win my affection,” she denied in uneven tones. “You are forever provoking me.”
“Would you have been swayed by soft words?” he challenged with a lift of his brows. “You have been determined to hate me since we were wed.”
Astonishingly, her eyes widened as if she were shocked by his accusation. Or perhaps she simply had not allowed herself to put words to her determined dislike. “That is not true,” she breathed softly. “I do not hate you.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
Claredon experienced a ridiculous warmth flare through his heart at her adamant denial. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. “Then what do you feel, Victoria?” he asked softly.
“I . . .” She swallowed heavily, her gaze abruptly dropping as if seeking to hide her inner confusion. “This is hardly the time for such a discussion.”
He smiled wryly at her ready retreat. Gads, she was as elusive as the fog, near enough to see and feel, but never able to be grasped. Unable to help himself, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms about her waist, jerking her satisfyingly close to the aching hardness of his body. “And when will be the proper time for such a discussion?” he rasped.
Her head jerked upward as her hands raised to press against the coiled muscles of his chest. “Claredon.”
“You have not answered my question.”
A bewitching bewilderment fluttered over her countenance, making Claredon’s arms tighten. She felt so very right pressed against him, soft and so enchantingly vulnerable. He would not lose her to the lure of a gentleman who could never be more than a selfish burden, he swore to himself silently. She deserved better than that.
Besides, a possessive voice whispered in the back of his mind, she belonged to him, and he intended to do whatever necessary to keep her.
“We were discussing Thomas,” she breathed in uneven tones.
“I prefer to discuss us,” he said with a soft persistence, his fingers lightly tracing the delicious curve of her spine. “Last night I had begun to hope that you were beginning to care for me. You appeared so upset that I had been injured.”
She arched beneath the soft caress of his hand, pressing her body even more firmly against his own. Claredon swallowed an instinctive growl of pleasure.
“Of course I was upset,” she forced herself to say as she battled the shimmering heat that flared between them.
“Because you care?” he demanded, all too conscious of the sofa only a few feet away. With one movement he could have her swept off her feet and lying back on the soft cushions. It was small, but he was growing desperate enough to overcome any obstacle. Of course, there was much to be said for the nearby desk, he fuzzily acknowledged. He could place her upon the edge and ...
“Because you’re my husband.” She broke into his lurid thoughts.
He gave a slow shake of his head, refusing to believe her desperate anger of the night before was mere duty. “And you care,” he insisted in velvet rough tones.
Her eyes briefly fluttered closed as his seeking hands cupped her hips and cradled her firmly to his lower body. “I suppose.”
He felt a stab of frustration at her grudging tone. She proclaimed her love for Stice with glorious ease. Why could she not admit even the smallest hint of affection for him without behaving as if she was having a tooth drawn? “Is that so terribly difficult to say, Victoria?” he demanded in sharp tones. “Am I such a horrid person that it grieves you to feel a glimmer of kindness for me?”
She abruptly lifted her gaze to reveal haunted eyes. “I did not wish to feel anything for you.”
He flinched as if she had slapped him. Although he had always known she was determined to keep barriers between them, he had not actually heard the words fall from her lips.
Now he wanted to howl out in frustration.
They had both been forced to give up their hopes and plans for their future. He had lost as much as she. Surely she could see that it was only sensible that they discover new plans that included one another. They could do better than this constant fighting and bickering.
His thoughts strayed back to the nearby desk. Much, much better than this.
“Victoria . . .” The unwelcome voice abruptly shattered the silence of the library, causing Victoria to leap out of Claredon’s arms at the same moment Mr. Stice enter the room. Claredon bristled with instant antagonism, not bothering to hide his displeasure as the intruder stumbled to a halt at the sight of his grim countenance. “Oh ... my lord.”
Claredon flexed his fingers, wanting nothing so much as to wrap them about the man’s scrawny neck. “Stice,” he muttered between clenched teeth.
At least the dimwit had the intelligence to shift uneasily beneath his feral stare. “I merely wished to thank Victoria again for allowing me to remain at Longmeade,” he stammered.
Claredon opened his mouth to inform the fool that not only was he not welcome at Longmeade, but that he would be well served to flee before he found himself drowned in the nearby cove. But the sudden sensation of Victoria’s pleading gaze locked onto him halted the impetuous warning.
Bloody hell.
If he tossed Stice from the estate, he would no doubt be branded an unfeeling monster, even if he were the one in the right. Not only would Victoria accuse him of not trusting her, but she would stubbornly use her grievance as yet another reason to keep them apart. He was well and truly damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, he angrily acknowledged. “I trust that you have been made comfortable?” he managed to choke out with a semblance of manners.
The youn
ger man bobbed his head up and down. “Oh yes, quite comfortable.”
“Good.”
Stice coughed, wisely backing toward the still open door. “Ah ... well . . . I must change before luncheon. If you will excuse me?”
Not bothering to wait for a response, the coward turned to bolt back through the door. Claredon could not deny a faint flare of satisfaction at his swift flight. Perhaps the idiot did possess a bit of sense.
“You will allow him to remain?” Victoria demanded in obvious surprise.
Turning to regard his baffled wife, Claredon smoothed his features into an unreadable expression. He was not about to admit to Victoria that he feared her reaction if he did not give in to her demands. Such power was far too dangerous to hand over easily. “Oh yes, he will remain,” he said in smooth tones. “I intend to keep a very close guard on Mr. Stice.”
Her nose flared with irritation at his explanation. “Really, Claredon, you are impossible.”
“No, I am determined.” He reached out to grasp her chin in a firm grip. “I never play to lose, my dear. You might want to remember that.”
Ten
The week had been intolerable.
Victoria heaved a sigh as she absently crumbled a slice of toast onto her plate. She had not expected Claredon to be pleased by her insistence that Thomas be allowed to remain. In fact, she had been quite conscious that he would be angry at the thought of her former fiance staying beneath his roof. But she had not expected the icily aloof manner that seemed to fill the household with an uncomfortable chill.
He was no longer the teasing flirt that he had been after Humbly’s arrival, nor even the provoking adversary she had come to expect. Instead, he was remote and utterly unreachable.
Much to her dismay, Victoria discovered herself ruing the loss of his determined pursuit. Ridiculous, considering she had been terrified by the thought of succumbing to his practiced seduction. She should be celebrating his cold distance. But in truth, she felt a heavy sense of loss in her heart when he passed her in the hall with no more than a mere nod or sat at the dining table without ever seeming to note her presence.
Even worse, Thomas had proven to be a most demanding guest. It seemed she could not take a step without him at her side. From the moment she wakened until she at last retired to her chambers, he was incessantly seeking her company, filling the air with his meaningless chatter, and constantly fretting over his ill treatment at the hands of his mother.
More than once, Victoria had been forced to bite her tongue when his self-pity rasped against her nerves. How had she never noted how utterly self-consumed this man was, she silently wondered. Or how demanding he could be?
The truth of the matter was that Claredon had been right. She had not known Thomas as well as she should have, certainly not well enough to elope with him. And she was reluctantly beginning to acknowledge that it had been more pity than love that had urged her to reach out to the hapless gentleman.
Feeling utterly miserable, she reluctantly glanced across the table to where Thomas was busily consuming a large plate of food. Both Claredon and Mr. Humbly had wisely learned to avoid the breakfast room whenever Thomas entered. Treacherously, she realized that she wished she were in the position to do the same.
“I must tell you, Victoria, that I was quite insistent that I did not care for the buttons upon this waistcoat,” he was saying with blithe indifference to her lack of attention. “But the tailor simply would not hear of changing them no matter how I pleaded.”
Knowing she was wasting her breath, Victoria could not help but point out the obvious. “It is your waistcoat, Thomas. If you do not like the buttons, you should have them changed.”
He appeared predictably scandalized by her simple solution. “Oh no, the man claimed that it would ruin the entire effect. I would not wish to have an awkward waistcoat.”
Victoria heaved a sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
Suddenly frowning, Thomas leaned forward. “What do you think?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Of the buttons,” he prompted. “Do you think I should have had them changed?”
“Oh.” She gave an indifferent glance over the garish buttons, wondering why the devil she had gotten herself into this bumblebroth. Her husband was furious with her, poor Mr. Humbly had all but disappeared, and this gentleman was swiftly driving her to Bedlam. “They are fine buttons.”
“They are not too large?”
“No, not at all.”
Thomas abruptly heaved a sigh, as if his buttons were of paramount importance. “You put my mind greatly at ease, Victoria. It is so worrisome to make such decisions on my own. I far preferred when you would come with me and deal with such tedious details.”
Victoria shivered, abruptly realizing how close she had come to being at this gentleman’s constant behest. Good heavens, she never would have had a moment’s peace nor a hope of pursuing her own interests. How could she, when she would have been forced to make every decision for Thomas? The unnerving realization twisted her stomach in knots.
Deciding that it was time she take matters in her own hands, Victoria determinedly squared her shoulders. Although she still did not believe that Thomas could possibly be involved with the dangerous Mr. Smith, she could not utterly deny that it was odd that his mother’s jewels had gone missing at the same moment this man had appeared in Kent. Perhaps there was some connection that they could not yet determine.
Besides, she was ready at this point to discuss anything but buttons. “Thomas.”
“Take these boots for example . . .” he continued without hearing her interruption. “I believe that I was quite shabbily taken by Hoby. If only you had been along, I am certain he . . .”
“Thomas,” she repeated, loud enough he could not fail to note her determination.
Giving a mild blink, he regarded her with a questioning gaze. “Yes, my dear?”
“You told me that you had argued with your mother concerning her missing jewels.”
A rather peevish expression settled on the youthful features at her sudden shift in conversation. “I would prefer not to recall that horrid argument.”
“Of course,” she forced herself to say in soothing tones. “But I have been thinking upon your troubles, and I wondered if it is possible that her jewels truly are missing?”
“It is all nonsense. Mother has merely misplaced them.”
Victoria briefly thought of the loud, overbearing woman who ruled everyone and everything about her with an iron fist. “Forgive me, Thomas, but your mother does not seem the type to mislay a fortune in jewels.”
He frowned. “She must have.”
“You are quite convinced they were not stolen?”
Without warning Thomas tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed his plate away with a sulky motion. “Good God, Victoria, surely you would not believe I would steal my own mother’s jewels.”
“No, of course not,” she assured him.
“I should hope not,” he offered her a chastising glance. “Really, I have endured quite enough from Mother. To think you would also accuse me of something so heinous is really more than I can bear.”
Victoria forced herself to count to ten. She had endured almost all she could bear, as well. “Have you considered the notion that someone else might have been responsible for the theft?”
Thomas settled back with a startled expression. “Who?”
“I do not know. When did your mother miss her jewels?”
He gave a restless shrug, as if disturbed by even discussing the unpleasant subject. “She claims that she noted their disappearance shortly after our . . . elopement. She presumed that I had taken them to pay for our journey to Scotland and she had hoped once I returned to London I would eventually return them.”
His overt lack of concern for his mother’s missing property stunned Victoria. “And you did not believe you should make an attempt to discover what happened to the jewels?”
A hint of e
mbarrassment touched his face at her unconsciously chiding tone. “What could I do?”
“Well, at least you could have searched a few of the places she might have left them or questioned the servants.”
“For goodness sakes, I was too furious to concern myself with discovering the jewels,” he whined at her reasonable words. “Besides, I cannot be expected to be bothered with such things. My nerves are very delicate, you know, and easily overset.”
She slowly gave a shake of her head. “But surely . . .”
“What?” he prompted as her words broke off.
“Never mind,” she muttered, realizing that Thomas truly believed his nerves were too weak to allow him to do anything remotely unpleasant. A fine trick, if one could get by with it. “What shall we do today?”
Perfectly willing to set aside all discussion of the missing jewels, Thomas heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose I should write to Mother and tell her where I am.”
“Of course.”
“No matter how angry I might be, it would not do to worry her.”
“No.”
“Not that I have forgiven her, mind,” he hastily added, as if worried that Victoria might consider him too tightly tied to the apron strings. “I shall demand an apology.”
Victoria was past caring. “Of course.”
“And I shall insist that she halt having me followed about like a child,” he added as an afterthought.
“Most wise.”
“I will be treated as an adult.”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause before Thomas regarded her with a pleading gaze. “Will you help me write the letter, Victoria? I am no good as such things.”
“Oh, Thomas . . .” Her words broke off as a movement outside the window suddenly captured her attention. With a hasty motion she was on her feet and crossing to peer down at the gardens.
“What is it, Victoria?” Thomas demanded.
“My husband,” she muttered, readily thrusting aside her thoughts of her annoying guest as she watched Claredon determinedly moving toward the distant stables. How dare he, she seethed. He had distinctly promised her that he would not leave the property without someone at his side. Well, he would not escape so easily.
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