by Cheryl Holt
Her cloak had a hood, and she yanked off her bonnet, and used the hood instead, hiding her face, concealing her identity. Then she slipped out and hurried to the front of the shop.
Edwina was there, and she held up a swath of fabric. “Look at this, Clarissa. Madame thought it might suit me better than the red.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes…ah…could we go? It’s been a very long day, and I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, yes, of course. What is it? Are you tired? Are you catching a cold?”
“It might be something I ate.”
Clarissa rushed out, her face still concealed so Eddie couldn’t observe her stricken expression. Their carriage was down the street, their footman and driver patiently waiting for them to finish. Clarissa waved, then raced toward them, practically falling into the carriage in her haste to be safely inside it.
She snuggled into the corner, her eyes closed, and when Eddie climbed in, Clarissa ignored her. When Eddie tried to talk, Clarissa pretended to be asleep, but her frantic mind whirled.
What to do? What to do?
Matthew’s grand ceremony was the following evening, with the honors ball immediately after. Supposedly he was seeing Penelope earlier in the afternoon. Would they meet at Penelope’s house—the one Matthew paid for her to live in?
Would he invite Penelope to the ball? Or would he ask her to stay away because Clarissa would be there? Or would he be stupid enough to let Penelope come? If so, what would be Penelope’s role? Would the poor woman lurk in the shadows, seething with fury over Matthew’s betrayal? Or would she titter with her friends over Clarissa being a blind fool who couldn’t spot her spouse’s lover?
Would Penelope publicly confront Matthew? Would she cause a scene that would crush Clarissa with mortification?
The gall of it! The infamy! She and Matthew had been sequestered in the country, so Clarissa had conveniently forgotten he had a whole life about which she knew nothing. What else didn’t she know? What other secrets had he hidden? Were there other mistresses, other houses, other scandals? In what revolting ways would she learn of them in the future?
She’d never been more ashamed, and oddly she felt as if she was in the wrong, as if she was at fault.
She shut her eyes more tightly, wishing she could utter a magic spell and vanish into thin air.
* * * *
Edwina strolled into her bedchamber, the one to which she’d been assigned for their London visit. The residence belonged to an army chum of Captain Harlow’s. It was a charming place, and Edwina should have been enjoying herself, but she was distraught over having left Rafe at Greystone. It was all she could think about.
When Clarissa had invited her to London, she’d tried to refuse, but Clarissa had insisted, and Edwina hadn’t known how to decline in a plausible manner. After all, who wouldn’t want to shop for clothes, cheer as the Captain was feted for valor, and attend a grand ball?
All of those events were exciting, exactly the types of adventures Edwina always claimed she was dying to have, and she was thrilled to have come. She simply would have liked Rafe to come too.
She couldn’t bear to consider him being at the estate without her. She’d noticed several housemaids slyly studying him, even the older ones, even the married ones. They would all eagerly leap into an affair with him, and of course Angela was still present and anxious to wed a Harlow.
Eddie wouldn’t put it past Angela to seduce Rafe again, and if Eddie returned home only to find that Angela had succeeded in enticing him, Edwina would throw herself off a cliff.
“Hello, Miss Edwards.”
Eddie jumped and whipped around. “What are you doing here?”
On entering the room, she’d been so lost in her miserable reverie, she hadn’t observed what was right in plain sight. Rafe was in a chair in the corner, his coat off, his shirt open, and apparently he’d been there for quite awhile. He was drinking, a large amount of liquor emptied from the decanter.
“It was too boring at Greystone after you departed,” he said. “I missed you.”
“How much?”
“Enough to chase you all the way to London when I promised my brother I’d remain in the country.”
“Won’t he be furious when he realizes you came anyway?”
“He’ll get over it. He always does.”
“Who’s watching Roland?”
“No one except the servants, but he’s packing his bags and should be leaving even as we speak. I’ll head back in the morning after the ceremony, so I’ll only be gone for a day or two. I told them to send a fast messenger if there’s trouble, but what could happen in such a short time?”
“Could I ride with you when you go?”
“We could ask.” He motioned to her, and she hurried over and sat on his lap. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been?”
“Clarissa and I were shopping, but she was feeling ill. She’s napping.”
“I hope it’s not serious.”
“It’s not. She’s just overwhelmed.”
“Well, Matthew is an overwhelming man.”
“Yes, and it has to be exhausting, being married to him.”
“You could be right about that.”
Rafe laughed and kissed her, and she heartily joined in. He’d taught her all sorts of naughty conduct, and she relished any chance to practice her amorous skills so she could improve them.
“Let’s stretch out on your bed,” he said.
“Why, Private Harlow, you scandalous fellow. It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“So? I came to see you, and you know how I am about getting a reward for my efforts.”
“I have to lock the door”—she went over to spin the key—“and you have to be quiet. Clarissa’s room is down the hall. I wouldn’t want her to hear you.”
“I have to be quiet?” Rafe scoffed. “You’re the loud one.”
She took his hand and led him into the bedchamber. They climbed onto the mattress like a pair of unruly children who were behaving precisely as they shouldn’t. They fell on each other like animals, as if they’d been separated for years instead of days. They clawed and scratched and bit, and she’d never imagined anything like it. He desired her more than ever, and it certainly made her fretting seem ridiculous.
Clearly she needn’t have worried, and she suffered a little thrill, delighted with her swift progress, delighted that he was growing smitten. He had to be. What other explanation was there?
They were yanking at each other’s clothes, and eventually she was stripped to her chemise and drawers, and he was wearing his trousers.
He grinned. “I should have visited your bedchamber a long time ago.”
“No one was stopping you.”
“You always came to mine, and I was trying to mind my manners. I hadn’t realized how easy it would be to undress you.”
“I’m not all the way undressed.”
“Not yet.”
“Are we going to…to…”
Though she attempted to be brazen around him, she still became tongue-tied when she discussed sexual acts. She couldn’t manage it with any aplomb. There were simply some words she couldn’t force herself to pronounce.
“We might, and we might not,” he answered.
“Meaning what?”
“I like to keep my trousers on.”
“What if you didn’t? What if you removed them?”
“Then we might march down this road you’re so hot to travel.”
“I’d do it for you.”
“You say it like a dare.”
“Maybe it is.”
She’d brashly hurled the taunt, but she wasn’t sure why. She constantly dragged him farther than he wished to go, but what if she’d finally coaxed him into proceeding? Would she balk like the nervous virgin she was?
There were warning bells chiming in her ears, urging her to recall all the lectures she’d ever listened to about
sin and morality. She was supposed to keep her knees together and her skirt hem down—unless she had a ring on her finger.
Yet all kinds of females forged ahead, grabbing for what they wanted, and they wound up with the prize they sought. If a couple fornicated, they had to wed. It was a perfect route to push a boy into matrimony. It always worked, and Eddie hadn’t heard of a single case where it hadn’t.
But still, what if she was wrong? What if Captain Harlow wouldn’t let them wed? Or what if she ruined herself, but Rafe trotted back to the army despite her sullied condition?
No, no, she’d never think that. He was decent and honorable.
“Would you ever marry me?” she stupidly blurted out. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut?
He’d been nibbling at her bosom, and he frowned up at her. “No. I told you I wouldn’t.”
“You seem to like me more now.”
“I do like you. You’re a fine girl.”
“A fine girl,” she muttered.
“Should I tell you you’re not a fine girl?”
“What if you plant a babe in my belly?”
“I know how to be careful.”
“What if you weren’t? What if I ended up with child?”
He slithered up so they were nose to nose. “It won’t happen. Don’t fuss so much.”
“I’m not fussing. I merely feel I’m entitled to a few guarantees from you.”
“I give no guarantees except that we’ll have loads of fun, enjoy ourselves, and when we part, we’ll always be glad we met.”
“You’re behaving as if we’re strangers chatting in a tap room.”
“You can’t expect it to be different than that. I’ve been very clear. Right from the start, haven’t I been clear?”
“Yes, but I didn’t believe you.”
“Girls never do.” He pulled away and sat up. “Evidently I should be even clearer with you.”
“You don’t have to be. I understand you, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I’m a rich, landed gentleman, Eddie. Matthew would never permit me to marry you. Even if I begged, he wouldn’t agree.”
“We could elope.”
“Why would I? I have no desire to be shackled. I’m only twenty-two.”
She couldn’t let it go. “But if you did desire to wed, would you consider me? Even for a minute, would you?”
He shrugged. “I might, but that’s all it would be. Me, considering. I’ll probably marry an earl’s daughter. That’s what Matthew is planning. We’ll find some stuffy earl who’s penniless, and I’ll take a daughter off his hands with all my money.”
“I see.”
“You don’t look like you see. You look like you’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting. I’m just…disappointed.”
“Why are you in a snit? Why wreck everything?”
“It was an accident. I get to worrying, and my head fills with silly ideas.”
“I better go.”
“No, no, no, you don’t have to.”
He tried to climb off the bed, but she clasped his wrist and held tight. She smiled so he’d know she wasn’t sulking.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she claimed. “No strings attached.”
“You keep saying that, but with how you’re acting, it can’t be true.”
“I was overwrought.” She waved away her fit of pique. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I’m being ridiculous.”
He stared at her, his expression dour.
“I think you’re grand,” he finally said.
“You talk as if I’m a pet.”
“You’re a grand girl, and I mean it in the very best way.”
“Don’t think of me as a girl. I’d like to be more than that.”
“Maybe you can’t be, not when we have such divergent views of our friendship.”
“I told you I’d do whatever you ask.”
“You make it sound like it would be a chore. I want you to do it because it’s fun, because you enjoy being with me.”
“I enjoy it!”
She reached for her chemise and pulled it off so she was naked from the waist up and clad in only her drawers. She thought it would yank them over their impasse, but it was the wrong move.
He scowled. “It’s too late now.”
“It’s not too late!” she insisted.
“I dabble with partners who are eager to be with me. I don’t like all this discussion and drama, especially when it’s plain you haven’t been listening to me.”
“I’ve been listening,” she glumly said.
She was such an idiot! Her problem was that she loved him so desperately.
If she’d simply spread her legs and shut her mouth, she could have been deflowered already. She could have had him trapped in her marital noose, for no matter what he assumed, if they fornicated, he’d have to marry her. It was the honorable, moral, and predictable conclusion, and Captain Harlow couldn’t refuse, not with his being wed to Clarissa.
When Clarissa learned about Eddie and Rafe, she would demand a marriage, and the Captain doted on her. He’d force the union merely to make Clarissa happy. Rafe would belong to Eddie, and she’d built up so many romantic scenarios in her mind that if she didn’t win him in the end, she didn’t know how she’d go on.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t be hysterical over me. I’m not worth it.”
“I disagree. You’re absolutely worth it.”
He jerked away and stood. “I’m hungry. I have to find something to eat.”
“Can I come with you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
He hurried around, tugging on his clothes. Shortly he was dressed, while she sat on the bed feeling like a dunce. She picked up her chemise and clutched it to her bosom, using it to shield her breasts. Not that he was looking. He didn’t notice her at all.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He spun and departed.
She dawdled in misery as his footsteps faded down the hall. Then she flopped onto the mattress, wondering how she could have played the situation so badly. He’d missed her so much after she left Greystone that he’d ridden to London to be with her. Obviously he liked her more than he knew, and if she’d just participated as he’d expected, she could have had her entire future set in place.
There was only one solution she could see. She’d wait until dark, then she’d sneak into his room. She’d join him in his bed, and she wouldn’t give herself time to nag, wouldn’t give him time to dither. She’d grab for what she craved.
And after she did, everything would be all right. He’d realize how much she loved him, and he’d realize he loved her too. She was certain it could happen like that.
She was supposed to have a ring on her finger first, but what if a girl couldn’t get that ring before proceeding? What if the boy was too thick-headed and didn’t recognize how much he cared? Wasn’t it best to snag him by any ruse necessary? Was it wrong?
Rafe might imagine his bride would be a fussy earl’s daughter, but it would occur over Eddie’s dead body. He’d never be content with a mewling, whiny debutante. He needed a rough and tumble female like Eddie, someone who adored him, someone who would spend her life making him happy.
Yes, he needed Eddie, and she had to ensure he understood that fact, no matter the cost—to her and to him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes.”
Clarissa smiled at Matthew. It was tremulous and shaky, but she kept it in place, and he didn’t notice anything was amiss.
She’d just come down to breakfast, while he was finishing his meal. The previous evening, after her disastrous visit to Madame LaFarge’s shop, she’d claimed to have a sick headache and had gone to bed early. He’d attended a supper with some army chums who were in town on furlough too, and they’d stayed out late.
His absence had given her many hours alone where she could contem
plate the gossip she’d heard.
She’d assumed she could march down and interrogate him, but now that she was facing him across the dining table, her idea seemed fraught with pitfalls. He was grinning, blustering about, complaining of a hangover and having had too much fun with his friends. And he was being extremely solicitous, pouring her tea, refilling her plate.
She might have been an automaton. She chuckled in the right spots and responded when she needed to speak, but for the most part, she merely observed him, wondering—with a sick sort of dread—if she really knew him at all.
What if she simply blurted it out? Have you a mistress named Penelope? What are your intentions with regard to her? Will you set her aside?
But she hadn’t a clue how to have that conversation. There were probably wives in the world who could delve into those thorny issues, but she wasn’t one of them.
What if she quizzed him, only to discover the gossips had been wrong? What if she accused him of immorality based on erroneous information? How would they overcome such a debacle? Or what if she raised the subject and it was correct? What if he refused to split with Penelope? What if—in the ensuing decades—he always had mistresses? What if he had second and third families? What if he had children scattered in various towns, with mothers he supported out of Greystone assets?
Rich men committed those sins. Rich men behaved that egregiously, and he insisted he was rich.
Before marrying, in the ancient era when she’d been a poverty-stricken spinster, she’d often pondered a wife’s lot. There had been a notorious case of adultery in their neighborhood, with the husband keeping a mistress for twenty years, siring a dozen bastards on her, with his wife knowing and looking the other way.
Clarissa had deemed that wife to be a fool. She’d bragged to herself that—should she ever find herself in such a horrendous situation—she would never sit idly by, with blinders on.
Yet it was so easy to be sanctimonious when she was dissecting another woman’s choices. Here Clarissa was, very likely in the same precise predicament, and she couldn’t bear to learn the facts. If she questioned him and he lied, what would she do? If she questioned him and he told her the truth, what would she do?
She couldn’t decide which ending would be worse.
