by Cheryl Holt
She’d want him to remember why he’d taken up with her in the first place, and she’d relish the chance to dance with him, to have all of London watching and tittering about poor, deceived Clarissa.
“I saw you with her, Matthew. I saw you kiss her in her doorway.”
“I didn’t kiss her!” Penelope had kissed him, but he supposed that was splitting hairs a tad too thin.
Clarissa ignored his denial. “And when you claim you wouldn’t have flaunted her in front of me, I don’t believe you. You two might do anything to me.”
“That’s not true,” he hotly said. “I would never hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t? Are you joking? I’m wounded to the very core of my soul.”
She scooted her chair back and stood. She stared down at him, making him feel petty and horrid.
“Clarissa, listen to me.”
“No.”
He attempted to clasp her hand, but she stumbled away so he couldn’t.
“How many other mistresses do you have? Is she the only one? Or have you dozens? How many others should I expect to encounter in the future?”
“How many others?” His temper started to flare. “I had one, and now I have none.”
“I don’t believe you,” she repeated, “and I’m leaving.”
“For where?”
“Greystone. I never should have traveled to town with you. You never should have invited me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not leaving. Let’s hurry and dress, and we’ll head to the ceremony. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
“We’ll head to the ceremony?” She oozed offense. “Your mistress will be there!”
“So? She’s no longer my mistress, and we’ll ignore her.”
“Ignore her! How would we accomplish that precisely?”
“You’re my wife, and I want you by my side. She’s irrelevant to you and me.”
“Are you mad?”
“No, I’m simply trying to get us through a very awkward circumstance.”
“I’m trying the same. It’s why I’m going.”
“It’ll be dark in a few hours. I won’t have you trotting off when night is about to fall.”
“I have servants joining me.”
“You’re not going.”
“You’re not bossing me. Not in this.”
“No, Clarissa. I can’t let you depart. It’s not happening.”
He shook a scolding finger at her, but it had no effect. She strutted out as if he was invisible, which enraged him. He was too vain to be disregarded and still new to being a husband. He assumed he should be able to command her and prevent reckless conduct when she was acting foolishly.
She was at the door, about to step into the hall, and he marched over and clutched her arm.
“Unhand me.” Her pretty eyes were distressed and condemning.
“Remain here at the house. You needn’t attend the festivities.”
“So glad to have your permission, my lord husband.”
“We’ll talk in the morning. We’ll decide what’s to be done.”
“I’ve already decided.”
“I won’t allow you to traipse off so late in the day.”
“You won’t allow it?” she sputtered. “Answer this for me. Why didn’t you tell your mistress she couldn’t come to the ball? Why didn’t you show respect for me? Why didn’t you protect me and order her to stay away?”
“I told her she couldn’t come! She insisted she had an invitation, and I couldn’t stop her.”
“Well, Captain Harlow, it appears you have two women in your life who refuse to be bossed.”
With that snotty comment deftly hurled, she yanked away and stomped out.
He hovered in the room, struggling to control his fury, but he wasn’t sure how to proceed. If she’d been a man, he’d have been perfectly clear in his choices. But she wasn’t a man. She was a female, and his wife, and his bride. In the scheme of things, he couldn’t figure out the best path.
He’d informed Penelope that he’d wed, that they’d have to work out an arrangement to move her out of the house he’d rented. He’d also informed her that her allowance would be ending.
However, he wasn’t cruel and wouldn’t toss her out on the street, just as he hadn’t tossed Clarissa and her relatives out of Greystone. He thought six months was adequate to complete a separation from her. It would provide her with sufficient opportunity to find a new situation. She was a great beauty and wouldn’t have any trouble snagging another hapless idiot to support her.
Of course Penelope had vehemently disagreed with his plan, and he had no doubt she’d try very hard to change his mind—when he simply wished she’d go away.
Women! The entire debacle had given him a headache so fierce he felt the top of his skull might blow off.
Clarissa had asked why he’d brought her to town, and he was certainly wondering the same. He should have left her in the country, should have come to the city and dealt with Penelope in private. Clarissa would never have learned about Penelope, but his rash decision was presenting problems he’d never envisioned and didn’t care to experience.
Downstairs Clarissa was talking to the servants, preparing to flee, and he chased after her like a supplicant, like a beggar. By the time he pounded into the foyer, she’d already donned her cloak and bonnet. A footman had carried her traveling trunk outside, and through the open door he could see his carriage waiting to whisk her away.
He could have shouted at the footman to haul her trunk back in. He could have commanded the driver to take the carriage to the mews, but he wouldn’t create a scene. If she was intent on leaving, to hell with her. She could trot off in the dark and imperil herself. If she was so eager to behave like a lunatic, why should he stop her?
He glared at her, yearning to intimidate, to force her to feel bad, but she blandly gazed back, looking calm and composed. Whatever upset she’d been suffering up in their bedchamber, she’d tucked it away, and the realization galled him.
Why wasn’t she raging? Why wasn’t she weeping? She was a betrayed wife—well, sort of betrayed. He’d visited Penelope to split with her, and he’d made a muck of it. If there had been a betrayal—and he wasn’t admitting there had been—it was merely a sin of omission.
He hadn’t told Clarissa about Penelope. And why would he have? What husband would discuss such a topic with his bride? Why was Penelope any of Clarissa’s business? Matthew had had a whole life before he’d met Clarissa, and he wouldn’t apologize for any event that had occurred prior to their wedding.
Why was she in such a snit anyway? She’d been adamantly opposed to marrying him, had complained and protested and nagged. Now she was acting as if theirs had been the love affair of the century, as if her heart was broken. Her fit of pique was absurd.
“I didn’t tell Edwina I was departing,” she said.
The odd remark had his head spinning. He had no idea what he’d expected from her, but it wasn’t that.
“Why not?”
“I would hate to confess what’s happened. She worships you, and I have no desire to burst her bubble.” She tied the ribbon on her bonnet, gave the bow a tight, curt tug. “Send her home whenever you like.”
“What? You’re not worried about her virtue? You’re not worried about her remaining in the city with Rafe and me?”
“I’m done worrying about everything. I’m returning to Greystone. I know my place at Greystone. I know the rules there.”
She walked out, and though he shouldn’t have followed, he did. A footman helped her into the carriage, then stepped aside. Matthew leaned into the open door, relieved to see a maid was with her, that she’d have a female companion for the trip.
“If you have any trouble,” he advised, “have someone ride to town and fetch me.”
“I won’t have trouble,” she replied.
They stared and stared, both of them aggrieved and angry, their unuttered comments practically sizzling in the air between
them. He hadn’t said what he’d intended to say. Every statement had come out wrong, had been misconstrued or misinterpreted, and her lack of empathy and ability to consider his point of view was maddening.
“You don’t have to leave,” he ultimately said.
“I’m aware of that, but I have to get away from you.”
“We could work this out tomorrow morning. Why are you raising such a fuss?”
“That’s why I’m going. Because you don’t understand anything.”
He wanted to snap at her, wanted to inform her he’d split with Penelope, that the house rent and allowance were ending, that Clarissa was being a shrew about the entire situation. But he’d never mention any of those topics in front of the servants.
“Fine,” he spat, and childishly he added, “Be that way. Scurry home as fast as you can. I don’t care.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Have fun at your ball.”
She flung the word ball as if it was an epithet, and he loathed how her denigration hurt.
He’d had so few chances in his past to have a loved one watch him being honored, and he’d been desperately anxious for her to witness his triumph. It was the true reason he’d brought her to London, so she could watch and be proud of how he was admired and esteemed by others.
Well, so much for that, and how could it matter if she was present or not? He’d always been alone, just him and Rafe against the world, and Rafe would be with him instead. In fact, he’d probably enjoy himself much more without her there.
“Goodbye,” he said.
For the briefest moment, he was overcome by the worst urge to fall to his knees and beg her not to go, to insist he was sorry over and over until she forgave him.
But he wasn’t a man who pleaded, had never sought or required a woman’s regard or approval, and he didn’t need hers.
“Goodbye,” she said too—and much too coolly.
Matthew motioned to the footman to climb into the box, motioned to the driver to be off. Then he spun and went inside, and as her carriage rolled away, he refused to let himself glance back.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“You shouldn’t try to either.”
Rafe and Edwina were together in the ballroom, and he was struggling to enjoy the fancy party. The music was lively, the crowd enthused, the food delicious. There was plenty of wine and whiskey, but he was too angry with Matthew to have much fun.
Edwina looked beautiful, and Rafe looked splendid too. They’d danced twice and were a striking couple. People stared at them when they waltzed by, and Rafe always liked being the center of attention.
Since their quarrel the prior afternoon, he’d avoided her, but hadn’t been able to stay away completely. Matthew had let Rafe escort her by himself, the two of them riding alone in a carriage, although alone probably wasn’t an accurate word.
There had been a driver, three footmen, and a housemaid to accompany them, so they couldn’t have chatted about the weather without someone tattling to his brother.
“What do you think happened to Clarissa?” Eddie asked.
“Matthew claims she went back to Greystone.”
“Yes, but why would she depart without telling me? She was adamant about not leaving me in the country with you, so why would she leave me in town with you?”
Rafe leaned nearer and murmured, “They had a fight, and Clarissa fled in a huff.”
“Clarissa…fighting? I don’t believe it. She’s the most mild-mannered person I’ve ever met.”
“Matthew isn’t.”
“That’s true.”
“They were arguing quite vehemently,” Rafe said. “I heard the servants mention it.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
Apparently Clarissa had caught Matthew in a peccadillo with another woman, and Rafe didn’t have to ponder very hard to deduce what other woman it might be.
Penelope Bernard was a poisonous viper, and he’d warned his brother to be careful around her, but Matthew hadn’t listened to Rafe, and this is where they’d ended up.
Matthew was typically an excellent judge of character, so it was a mystery why he didn’t recognize Penelope for what she was. Then again, she performed like a whore in the bedchamber, and with her being so gorgeous, what man wouldn’t like to parade her about on his arm?
Rafe wondered how Clarissa had discovered the liaison. Matthew must certainly have been surprised, and Clarissa must have been appalled. Rafe was glad she’d gone home.
Matthew was up at the front of the room, and his brother was a master at controlling his emotions, at hiding what he didn’t want others to observe. He’d learned that trick from dealing with Rafe’s father for so many years.
Matthew was laughing and joking, happily accepting all the compliments that were his due. On the other side of the room, Penelope was holding court, her friends surrounding her, watching for what would occur when she sidled over to Matthew. He’d been in London with Clarissa for a few days, and there were rumors that he’d brought a bride to town, but people weren’t sure if it was true.
So everyone was on pins and needles over Matthew and Penelope, and with how Penelope was glancing over at him, Clarissa was extremely lucky to have left. Rafe would leave as soon as he could too.
How would Matthew ever fix things with Clarissa? His marriage was likely ruined before it had had a chance to begin, and his conduct would make it difficult to visit Greystone in the future, which meant Rafe wouldn’t get to see Eddie very often.
The notion bothered him very much.
“I can’t figure out,” Eddie said, “what Clarissa and Matthew would discuss that would be so horrid she’d go home over it.”
“Neither can I,” he lied again.
“And why would he permit her to travel alone? He’s so fussy. I can’t picture him allowing it.”
“I guess he tried to stop her, but she told him to stuff it, and she went despite his command that she not.” He shrugged. “That’s the servants’ gossip anyway.”
“Clarissa blatantly defied him? I simply can’t imagine it.”
“Look on the bright side,” he said.
“What bright side?”
“Your chaperone has vanished, so there’s no guardian to protect your virtue.”
“I realize that, but I feel guilty. If I was any sort of friend, I’d have left with her.”
“She didn’t ask you.”
“No, and I’m curious why not.”
“She was in a hurry.”
“It sounds like it, but without a word of farewell? It’s so strange. How long do you suppose we can remain in London?”
He raised a brow. “If we keep our heads down and stay out of my brother’s way, we might be able to pull it off for ages.”
Rafe peered toward the front of the ballroom again, and he was disgusted to find Penelope finally making her move. Her gaggle of shrewish companions tittered behind their fans as Penelope sauntered over to him. Slyly, she edged others away so she could wheedle herself next to him.
No one was surprised to see her there. When he and Rafe had first returned to England, Matthew and Penelope had frequently been together in public. But with gossip floating of the Captain having a bride and her not being present, there was so much innuendo and misinformation flitting about that the walls were nearly dripping with it.
Eddie took that moment to look to the front too. Normally she’d have been too short to see over the crowd, but the hoard of guests had parted so she had a clear view.
Penelope had glommed onto Matthew like a tick on a horse’s rump. She was leaned close, her voluptuous body pressed to his.
With Matthew being the center of attention, he was too polite to push her away. They were an arresting couple, and it was impossible to ignore them.
Eddie frowned. “Who is that woman with Captain Harlow?”
“His mistress,” Rafe blurted out, acci
dently revealing his brother’s secret.
“His…mistress?” Eddie yanked her gaze away from the decadent pair and glared at Rafe. “What do you mean?”
Rafe tried to backtrack. “I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s pretend I didn’t.”
Eddie stared at Penelope again. “What’s her name?”
“Penelope Bernard.”
“It suits her. Has he been involved with her for very long?”
“Long enough,” Rafe muttered.
“All this time that Captain Harlow was in the country at Greystone, was she here in the city waiting for him?”
“Yes. They started in when we were in Belgium. Before the Royal Tempest ever sank, she had her claws in him. If it makes any difference, I loathe her.”
“It doesn’t make any difference, but I like your saying it.” Eddie studied Penelope, and it was easy to see why Matthew would be titillated. “Are they in love?”
“Love has naught to do with what happens between them.”
“It’s merely a salacious affair?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is this why Clarissa left?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t understand men.” An expression of intense distaste spread across Eddie’s features. “Explain something to me.”
“If I can.”
“Why would Captain Harlow pitch Clarissa into such a sordid situation?”
“I have no idea, Eddie.”
“He’s your brother, and he’s my hero. Tell me why.”
“There’s no explaining it.”
Rafe hadn’t talked to Matthew about what had occurred. He’d been dressing for the party when Matthew had poked his nose into Rafe’s bedchamber and told him to escort Eddie, that Matthew and Clarissa weren’t coming with them, that Matthew would arrive later.
He’d rushed out before Rafe could question him. Then…Rafe had heard two housemaids whispering, and it all became very clear.
Rafe felt sick and aghast. He’d liked the notion of Matthew settling down with Clarissa, of Greystone being their home. He could have traveled to England occasionally to see Eddie, to spend time with her. It was all ruined now.
Penelope snuggled herself closer to Matthew and murmured a flirtatious remark in his ear. He chuckled, and she sauntered away, headed for the doors that led onto the verandah. From past experience, Rafe knew Matthew would tag after her as soon as he could sneak off without generating too much notice—although in light of the heightened atmosphere, there could likely be no disguising or hiding his conduct.
