Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  “How about tonight?” he asked her. “I hope you’ll be feeling well enough to attend the festivities. I’d hate for you to miss them.”

  “I’m sure my condition will improve as the day progresses.”

  “You have to go with me. I’m eager to show you off. I’m eager for everyone to see what a beautiful wife I’ve landed for myself.”

  It was such a sweet comment. If he had a mistress tucked away down the street, would he say such a thing? Could he possibly be sincere in his wish to boast about Clarissa? None of it made any sense.

  To her surprise, the sound of boots pounded down the hall, and momentarily Rafe stepped into the dining room.

  “Good morning.” His usual happy smile was in place. “Is that bacon? I thought I smelled bacon.”

  Matthew scowled. “Why are you in London? I could have sworn I ordered you to remain at Greystone, and you promised you would.”

  “It was too boring there with all of you gone.” Rafe’s expression was impish and innocent. “Besides, I shouldn’t miss your big ceremony. I am your brother after all. I should be there with you.”

  Matthew scoffed. “You are so full of—”

  He stopped and shared an exasperated look with Clarissa, and a slither of unease slid down her spine. She couldn’t imagine why Rafe would have ridden to town unless it was to be with Edwina. Matthew had mentioned the prospect of a flirtation between the two, but Clarissa had been skeptical.

  Obviously she had to have a long, frank talk with Eddie, but in light of Clarissa’s dark mood, such a difficult conversation was completely beyond her ability to manage.

  “When did you arrive?” Clarissa asked Rafe.

  “Last night. You were asleep and Matthew was out, so I had a footman take me to a bedchamber.”

  He went over to the sideboard and filled a plate, and Matthew glared at him, then pulled his annoyed gaze to Clarissa. He shrugged, and she shrugged too, unclear as to how they should proceed.

  “What have you planned for today?” Matthew asked her.

  “I’ll rest this morning, and if I feel up to it I might run some errands.”

  “Send a servant.”

  “The fresh air will do me good.”

  “Probably,” he agreed.

  “This afternoon my ball gown will be delivered, and someone is coming to style my hair. So I’ll be getting ready.”

  She said it with a straight face, even though she wasn’t certain she’d ultimately participate in the ceremony or ball. What if his mistress was there? What if he danced with the woman while all of London tittered about it? Clarissa would never live through the humiliation.

  “Don’t overdo,” he told her.

  “I won’t.” She calmly sipped her tea, letting her pulse slow. Then she inquired, “What about you? What are your plans?”

  “Oh, I’m meeting various friends. I should be back about five to get dressed myself.”

  She studied him but couldn’t detect any signs of deceit. She should have demanded, What friends? Who are you seeing?

  But she wasn’t a shrew, wasn’t about to probe into his private affairs, and with them being so newly wed, she didn’t feel she had the right. And no doubt if she tried, he’d simply rattle off names of men she didn’t know. Her trepidation was back, her nerves spiraling to such a level that she was dizzy and ill.

  He walked by her, kissed the top of her head and continued on, grumbling to his brother, “Don’t be a nuisance.”

  “When am I ever?” Rafe huffed.

  “How about always?” Matthew glowered to no effect, then said, “Tomorrow you and I are having an interesting chat.”

  “I can’t wait,” Rafe retorted.

  Matthew hovered, on the verge of a lecture or quarrel, but the clock down the hall chimed eleven.

  “I’m late,” he said. “I have to go.”

  He hurried out, and as he spun away he’d been smiling—as if he was excited about his destination. On witnessing it, Clarissa was suffering from such heightened fury and distress that she felt unhinged. Yet it was ridiculous to fret and fuss. If she was upset, she couldn’t think rationally, couldn’t make good decisions.

  She excused herself to Rafe, but he was so engrossed with his food he hardly noticed her departure. She tiptoed to the rear of the house, grabbed her cloak and bonnet off the hook, then she sneaked out and dashed to the street.

  Earlier she’d had a footman hire a hackney cab for her, to have it park around the corner. The driver was standing by the door.

  “A man in a blue velvet coat,” she told him, “will be riding out in a few minutes. I need you to follow him so I can see where he goes.”

  His brows rose with surprise, but she slipped him a bag of coins, and his curiosity was quelled.

  He tipped his hat. “Yes, Ma’am. I assume we don’t wish him to realize he’s being followed.”

  “That’s correct”

  “I’ll be very discreet.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  He helped her inside, then he climbed into the box, the carriage rocking as he shifted about on the seat. She peeked out the curtain until her husband passed by, and she rapped on the roof, the carriage rumbling after him.

  They traveled for quite awhile, down many bustling thoroughfares, and eventually they meandered into a very beautiful area with wide lanes and stately trees. The houses were tasteful and refined, providing evidence of wealthy inhabitants, servants, money, and old family names.

  Her husband reined in and went into a driveway. Her vehicle halted, the driver pulling up so she could peer through the fence to the residence. A boy rushed out to tend his horse, to lead it away, and Captain Harlow gaped up at the windows, checking to learn if anyone was watching for him. Then the front door opened, and Clarissa’s heart nearly stopped as the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen stepped out and preened for him.

  With lush auburn hair and big blue eyes, she was voluptuously curved, and she exuded a sensual allure that Clarissa couldn’t have managed in a hundred years. It was almost tangible, and Clarissa could feel it clear out where she was sitting in her carriage.

  The woman was wearing an expensive sapphire gown, the bodice cut very low to display an enormous amount of cleavage. Clarissa recalled how the Captain had taken her shopping, how he’d arranged to buy her the most elegant gowns, sewn from the most costly fabrics. Had he done the same for this woman?

  “Hello, Penelope.” He was cocky and flirtatious.

  “You filthy dog!” Penelope’s voice was sultry, with a sort of come-hither quality that set Clarissa’s teeth on edge. “I didn’t think you’d ever get here.”

  “I’ve been busy.” He grinned at her, flashing the same devil’s grin he constantly flashed at Clarissa.

  She’d begun to love that grin, had supposed he exhibited it for her because she was special and he was fond of her. But apparently he showed it to any pretty female who crossed his path.

  “Have you been too busy for me?” Penelope said it in a taunting way, in a tempting way.

  “Yes,” he arrogantly said, and she laughed.

  “You never sent for me,” she complained. “When you were in the country, I waited and waited, and you never invited me.”

  “I was busy in the country too.”

  “You’ve always been a busy man, my dear Captain, and you look exhausted. I’m certain I can enliven you a bit.”

  “You can definitely try.”

  “I’m betting when you leave, you’ll be a lot happier than when you arrived.”

  He chuckled and loped up the stairs, and to Clarissa’s astonishment, Penelope wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him. He didn’t exactly participate, but he didn’t prevent it or deflect it either. He simply stood there and permitted it to happen.

  “I missed you,” Penelope murmured.

  “Did you?” Thankfully he didn’t reply with the same sentiment.

  “Yes, you bounder. Let’s make up for lost time.”
>
  Penelope linked their fingers and drew him inside, the door shutting behind them.

  Clarissa was in shock, her heart broken into a thousand tiny pieces, as if he’d ripped it out of her chest and stomped on it for good measure. She was a wife now, and he was her husband. She allowed a ridiculous vision to form in her mind of herself—in high dudgeon—marching over, banging the knocker, and dragging him out by his ear.

  But that’s all it was: a ridiculous vision.

  After an eternity had passed, the driver climbed down. He opened the carriage door and peeked in.

  “Have you seen enough, Ma’am? Should we tarry to see how long he stays? Or would you like to go?”

  Captain Harlow had promised to be back by five, so she needn’t linger. She knew how long he intended to misbehave.

  “I’ve seen enough,” she said. “We can go.”

  He didn’t move. Instead he nervously twirled his cap in his hands.

  “Pardon me, Ma’am, but by any chance was that Captain Harlow?”

  Oh, Lord, would the gossip start already?

  “No,” she firmly stated, “that wasn’t Captain Harlow. I’ve never met the exalted man.”

  “I heard he’s newly married.”

  “I have no idea.”

  He hovered, as if he might question her or disagree. He glanced at her wedding band, and ultimately he recognized her excruciating predicament.

  “Fine, Ma’am, fine. I’ll have you home in no time.”

  Mercifully he didn’t say anything else.

  He scampered up into the box, clicked the reins, and they rolled away.

  * * * *

  Matthew walked into the house, aware that he should have been rushing. He’d returned much later than expected, but he couldn’t seem to hurry.

  After visiting Penelope, he’d spent the remainder of the afternoon thinking and drinking, and he wasn’t in any condition to attend a fancy ball. People—mostly strangers—would be toasting him all night. He’d have to waltz with all the dignitaries’ wives, but he couldn’t muster the necessary energy it would entail.

  At the center of it all, he was a simple soldier who relished his rough and tumble life. He hated fussy parlors and stuffy crowds, and if he was never toasted again, it would be a relief.

  “One more to get through,” he muttered to himself.

  Currently there were no other fetes planned, and he’d spread word among his acquaintances that he was heading to his regiment and wouldn’t be in England for ages. Hopefully that would curtail his enthusiastic admirers and—if he was lucky—before too much time had elapsed, some other man would unwittingly commit an act of valor.

  Matthew would be off the hook as the national hero, and he would immediately and gladly surrender his place in the public eye.

  The house was quiet, and no servant greeted him. As he went across the foyer he vaguely noted there was a traveling trunk by the door. He ignored it and kept on, tossing his coat on a chair, then he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.

  He approached his room, and he smoothed his expression, not wanting to provide any hint to Clarissa that he was distraught. She was so astute and understood him so well. She’d notice any upset, and he couldn’t explain the feelings roiling him.

  His marriage had taken him by surprise, and it was still flustering him in ways he hadn’t considered. Had he entered into it too lightly? Had he been too flippant in proceeding? How was he to unravel the quandaries matrimony had created? Did he wish to unravel them?

  At the moment he couldn’t fret over it. No doubt Clarissa would be pacing, wondering where he was and if they’d be late to the ceremony. He inhaled a deep breath, let it out, then swept in, being careful to display his usual zest and arrogance. Instantly he stumbled to a halt.

  He’d assumed she’d be ready, attired in her ball gown, her hair intricately styled, so she’d look beautiful and glamorous.

  But she was seated in a chair in the corner, appearing much as she had the day he’d met her in the woods at Greystone. She was wearing one of her functional grey dresses, her hair pulled into a tidy chignon. She might have been the family’s governess, come to give the daily report on his children.

  “Clarissa, are you all right?”

  “I can’t go with you tonight. I’m sorry.” She paused, then said, “Actually I take that back. I’m not sorry.”

  He dipped down for a kiss, but she turned her head, so his lips brushed her cheek.

  He straightened and scowled. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  “Yes.”

  His pulse raced with alarm. “Is it Rafe?”

  “He’s fine as far as I know.”

  “What, then?”

  She gestured to a nearby chair. “Would you sit for a minute? I have to talk to you.”

  “Of course.”

  He grabbed the chair and placed it directly in front of her, closely enough that—when he eased into it—their feet and legs were tangled together. Her expression was bleak, as if she’d been grievously wounded. She assessed him oddly, as if he was a stranger.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “When you left this morning, where did you go?”

  “Here and there. I had a lot of friends to visit.”

  “Where did you go, Matthew? And don’t lie to me. Please.”

  He frowned, his mind whirring, his sense of danger acute.

  He was a married man now, and he’d been precisely where he shouldn’t have been. But she couldn’t possibly have learned about Penelope. Could she have? Who would have told her? Rafe was the only one of her acquaintance who might have, but he’d have fallen on his sword before he’d have breathed a word.

  “Don’t lie?” he said. “What are you trying to say? I’ve never been good at riddles, so you have to spit it out.”

  “Yesterday, when I was at the seamstress, there were some women in the adjoining room. They were chatting.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  “Oh. Was it some bit of gossip? I should have warned you about Londoners. They’ll spread any rumor. You shouldn’t believe much of what you hear in this city.”

  “It wasn’t gossip, so I repeat: Where were you after breakfast?” A dozen bogus replies flitted by, but before he could utter any of them, she held up a hand. “Don’t bother with any false stories. I followed you.”

  His jaw dropped. “You followed me?”

  “I’m not proud of it, but I know your destination.”

  “Oh,” he said again, and he squirmed in his seat. Like the worst cheating husband in the world, he claimed, “I can explain.”

  “You don’t need to. I saw what I needed to see with my own two eyes.”

  “No, seriously, Clarissa. I can explain.”

  “I don’t want you to explain. I want to know what you were thinking. Why would you bring me to town when your mistress is here and living in the house you rented for her? All of London appears to be aware of it. Why would you shame me like this?”

  Dammit!

  His affair with Penelope had started in Europe and had chased him to England. With Matthew’s notoriety touted everywhere, his name and Penelope’s were constantly linked. It was an open secret that he and Penelope were involved. How much should he confide?

  Clearly Clarissa was furious. How could he keep her from growing angrier than she already was? How did a husband maneuver through such a difficult situation?

  He stared at her, a thousand comments pummeling him, and though he was typically verbose, he couldn’t figure out how to answer her question. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t a clue.

  When he’d arrived in England, he’d had no intention of marrying. Then…he’d met Clarissa, and matrimony had seemed like an incredible notion.

  Yet the wedding had happened so fast, and his status as a bachelor had ended so quickly. He hadn’t had an opportunity to implement any changes, and when they’d been sequestered in the country, they might have be
en frolicking in a bubble where the outside world couldn’t intrude.

  Penelope had seemed very far away. He’d never peered down the road to this horrid moment, when Clarissa would discover the affair and be crushed by it.

  “You’re making too much of this, Clarissa.”

  “In my opinion, I’m not making nearly enough. How long were you with her?”

  “Not that long.”

  “Did you have carnal relations?”

  “No,” he scoffed, and it was mostly the truth. It all depended on what a person would consider to be carnal.

  “So…you were there most of the day, and you were what? Playing cards? Drinking tea?”

  “I wasn’t there most of the day. I stopped by to inform her that I’d wed. As you might imagine, she was upset by the news.”

  “Was she?”

  “After announcing my marriage, there wasn’t much to talk about, and I left.”

  “You spend a lot of time talking with her, do you?”

  Her tone was snide, and he bristled. “Yes. She’s an educated, interesting female who is an excellent conversationalist.”

  “Shut up, Matthew.” She glared as if he was a dunce. “Tell me this. If I hadn’t heard those women gossiping, would you ever have confessed to me about her?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I expected.”

  She tried to stand, but he rested his palms on her thighs and pressed down so she couldn’t.

  “Let me up,” she said.

  “No. Now listen to me.”

  “There’s nothing else for us to discuss.”

  “It seems to me there’s plenty.”

  “Is she coming to the ball tonight? Were you planning on her being there—while I was there?”

  He squirmed again, as if he was facing Mr. Harlow and the man about to reach for his belt to deliver a thrashing.

  “I don’t know what I was planning,” he admitted.

  “Would you have waltzed with her? Would you have sneaked off for a glass of punch to snicker about how blind I was?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have behaved that way.”

  He couldn’t predict how Penelope would act though. She was furious and anxious to continue their liaison, and though he’d insisted he wouldn’t, she wasn’t the type to give up easily. Her vanity was as inflated as his own.