‘To be frank, yes. Not only is he a forceful character, he is also wealthy and powerful. I should not care to incur his further displeasure.’
She nodded and summoned a sympathetic smile. ‘I understand your predicament, sir.’
‘I wonder if you do.’
‘I don’t quite...’
‘Did you know that, at his insistence, one of my men has been watching Oakley Court since your return?’
Suddenly she remembered the man she had seen in the park, the one she had taken for a poacher. ‘My husband did that?’
‘Since we did not know how far the rot had spread through the service, he saw it as a necessary precaution. I was inclined to agree.’
The revelation took her aback. She’d had no idea that
Anthony had taken the matter so seriously. It was disturbing on many levels. ‘And has there been any evidence of a threat?’
‘None so far, but it was better to be safe than sorry.’
‘Of course.’
‘In consequence, I’m sure you can understand my reluctance to involve you any further in the business of the service.’
Claudia hesitated, thinking furiously. Clearly direct confrontation wouldn’t work here. A more subtle approach would be required.
‘Would it help you to know that we were intending to go to Brussels anyway?’ It was a partial truth only since the last pronoun was incorrect, but that couldn’t be helped.
‘May I ask why?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘My dear Monsieur Genet, the whole of fashionable society will be there this year, along with every military commander of note and most of the crowned heads of Europe. It promises to be a Season like no other.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘Since I am to be there anyway, it seems a pity not to make use of my skills.’
He hesitated. ‘Well, since you put it like that...’
Scenting victory, Claudia held his gaze. ‘I want to do something for the war effort, no matter how small, for Alain Poiret’s sake if for no other reason.’
‘There is something you could do. It carries little risk but it would be useful.’
‘Name it.’
‘Poiret had a mistress, a woman called Madeleine Fournier. She fled Paris following his arrest and is now residing in Brussels. It is just possible that she knows something.’
‘But surely your operatives there have already spoken to her.’
‘They have tried. However, Mademoiselle Fournier asserts categorically that she knows nothing, and refuses to say any more.’
‘Then how can I be of use?’
‘She may be more willing to speak to a woman.’ He paused. ‘If you learn anything you will report it at once.’
‘How shall I find my contact?’
‘He will find you. In the meantime, I’ll give you Madeleine Fournier’s address.’
* * *
Claudia returned to Oakley Court in a mood of quiet exultation. Even the deteriorating weather could not dampen her spirits. By dint of keeping herself busy she passed the rest of the week tolerably well. It was only the evenings that she found difficult when the empty place at the end of the table reminded her that she had grown more accustomed to Anthony’s presence than was good for her peace of mind. In spite of her best efforts she had missed him, and she needed to break the habit before it became too deeply ingrained.
After she had eaten she retired to the drawing room and played the pianoforte for a while, but the music failed to soothe. In the end she gave it up and turned to her book instead. Yet even the pages of Camilla could not hold her attention for long. It was one of her favourite stories, but somehow Edgar Mandelbert no longer seemed such a dashing hero. Her thoughts were preoccupied with a very different man. She sighed. It was ridiculous to compare them. No-one could be further removed from the heroic ideal than Anthony Brudenell; and yet somehow, in a matter of a few weeks, he had made an indelible impression. Not even weeks, she amended. He’d made an indelible impression immediately. Ten minutes in bed with him put paid to any thoughts of Edgar Mandelbert and his ilk for all time. The recollection was enough to set her blood tingling. That of itself was humiliating. In effect it was as though she had learned nothing from the past, from her parents’ marriage or from the family she had married into. Not only that, she had allowed physical attraction to distract her from the promise she had made to Henry.
Outside, a squall of wind flung rain at the window. Occasional droplets came down the chimney and hissed into the fire. Far off she heard the rumbling growl of thunder. The sound reinforced the unwonted sensations of isolation and loneliness. A glance at the clock revealed that it was only just nine. In spite of that she felt unusually weary. An early night wouldn’t come amiss.
Her bed chamber with its cheerful fire and drawn curtains felt cosy compared to the other rooms. Having undressed and brushed her hair she slid into bed and glanced at the bedside table for her book. In spite of his shortcomings, Edgar Mandelbert would have to do this evening. Then she remembered she’d left him in the salon. The thought of a chilly walk downstairs to fetch him had no appeal so she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes.
However, sleep proved elusive and it was half an hour before she sank into a restless doze. There, the fictional hero was displaced by another man whose touch ignited desire and whose kiss over-rode the fear of intimacy. In moments she was back in Paris, cocooned in velvet darkness, her nakedness pressed to his while his hands explored her body, awakening delicious and forbidden sensations that left her longing for more. She ceased to resist and returned his embrace, but in the street below she heard the sound of hooves and then voices. The police had arrived. Then there was a deafening thunderclap.
She woke with a start, heart hammering. Another thunderclap sounded overhead. Realising then where she was, she let out a long breath and with it some of her former tension faded. Her gaze went to the bedside table again. Sleep would be impossible for a while; she was going to have to fetch her book.
Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, she slid her feet into slippers. Then she relit a candle from the fire and set out for the salon. The corridor and the stairs were every bit as chilly as she had anticipated; the darkness more profound. Lightning illuminated the hallway with flashes of eldritch blue, and shadows swayed in the light of the candle flame. It was, she thought, like a scene straight out of a story by Mrs Radcliffe or Monk Lewis. All it lacked was a ghost. Drawing her shawl closer, she hurried into the salon.
The glow of the dying fire revealed the couch and the forgotten novel. Breathing a sigh of relief she retrieved it and turned to retrace her steps. She had almost reached the door when the next flash of lightning revealed the tall dark figure standing on the threshold. Claudia shrieked and dropped the book.
The figure advanced into the room. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Her heart leapt towards her throat. ‘Anthony.’ With shaking hand she set the candle holder down and tried to gather her wits. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were at Ulverdale.’
‘I was, but business concluded sooner than I’d anticipated.’
‘Oh.’ Her recent fright and his nearness now made it difficult to think. ‘When did you arrive?’
‘About half an hour ago.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I dined on the way.’
‘I see.’
The effect of light and shadow rendered that handsome face more striking, more disturbing in every way, like the aura of virile power he wore so effortlessly. Its attention was focused entirely on her. Belatedly she realised that her shawl was no longer round her shoulders but reposing across her arms instead; that her nightgown was now on open view and that the thin fabric revealed every line and curve beneath it. He stepped closer and suddenly all sensati
on of chill vanished.
‘There is no need for me to ask if you are well. The evidence is overwhelming.’
‘I could say the same of you.’
‘How have you occupied yourself in my absence?’
‘With all the usual things.’ It wasn’t a subject she wanted to dwell on. ‘Was Ulverdale as you expected?’
‘Ulverdale remains as it always was,’ he replied, ‘although the atmosphere is somewhat lighter these days.’
She could well believe it. The demise of the old Earl would have seen to that. Again it wasn’t a topic to dwell on so she made no reply. Then it was hard to know what to say and so the silence stretched out, a silence charged with awareness. Dreams of Anthony’s physical presence had fallen far short of reality.
‘Has anything of note happened here?’
‘No, there’s nothing exciting to report.’
‘I see.’ He hesitated. ‘Did you miss me, Claudia?’
The answer to that was undeniable. She had missed him; if he ever guessed how much his triumph would be complete. She couldn’t make it that easy.
‘Fishing for compliments, Anthony?’
His lips twitched. ‘Needs must since I cannot suppose you would offer one.’
‘No, for then you would take it as flattery.’
‘That is the very last thing I would expect from you.’
‘Do you want flattery?’
‘Not in the least. Besides, I have grown used to your incisive wit. It has the merit of being truthful and is therefore more appealing. Indeed, it’s part of your very considerable charm.’
‘A backhanded compliment if ever I heard one.’
‘Not in the least, though perhaps bewitching would have been a more apt expression, particularly when you’re wearing such a very seductive nightgown.’
The focus of his attention shifted. Lifting a hand he slid one finger under the lacy neckline, slowly tracing a path from her collarbone to the plunging v between her breasts. The touch sent a tremor through the length of her. Her breathing quickened. She was far from being the seductress that his words implied but it didn’t stop her from wanting him, from wanting this. She ought not to. It was playing with fire and she knew it, knew and didn’t care. She lowered her gaze.
‘At the risk of making you conceited, I admit that I did miss you.’
‘Now I am flattered.’
‘I will not ask if you missed me,’ she continued, ‘since I know that you were much too busy.’
‘It would never be possible to be that busy.’
‘So you did think of me sometimes.’
‘How could I not?’ he replied.
‘It’s just that you seemed so keen to get away.’
‘Not at all. Rather, my absence was necessary.’
The statement was ambiguous, perhaps deliberately so. As ambiguous as her own feelings at that moment.
‘Of course,’ she said.
The steady gaze never left her. ‘I thought you’d have been abed long since.’
‘I was, but the storm woke me. I came down for my book.’
‘A happy chance then.’
‘Is it?’
‘I think so.’
His hand moved a little, the thumb brushing across the peak of her breast. All ambiguity disappeared. The thumb continued to stroke, eliciting a sharp indrawn breath. He heard it. Locking an arm around her waist, he pulled her into a more intimate embrace. She made no attempt to resist him, or the tide of heat inexorably flooding through her veins. Her mouth yielded to the coaxing pressure, her tongue tentatively exploring and flirting with his. In response he crushed her closer and the kiss grew deeper.
Claudia rose on tiptoe and slid her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. Through the thin stuff of her gown she could feel the beginning of his arousal, but what she felt now was not trepidation only mounting excitement. His finger slid the gown off her shoulder. Then he pressed kisses to her neck and throat, moving thence to her breast. He took the soft peak in his mouth, sucking gently, teasing the nipple with his tongue. The result was a jolt of electricity through the length of her body. She gasped, arching against him, pressing closer, throwing caution to the wind. She no longer cared if this was unwise or dangerous; danger had just become irresistible and she craved it as a starving man craves food.
He lifted her off the floor, carried her slowly backwards until her legs connected with something solid. Moments later she was tipped onto the couch. He shrugged off his coat and then followed her down, pressing her against the cushions. She felt his breath feathering along her neck and then his tongue gently probing her ear. It sent a delicious shiver through her entire being. The tongue teased the lobe and moved on, tracing a line along her neck to her throat, and thence lower. He slid the gown off her shoulders and drew it down until her upper body was naked, and then his mouth gently resumed where it had left off, triggering other exquisite sensations and sending pooling warmth to the centre of her pelvis.
Sliding her arms around him, she drew him closer, exploring the planes of his back and shoulders, feeling the play of the muscles beneath her fingers. Tugging the shirt out of the way she slid her hands along his skin. Its musky scent was erotic and exciting turning her thoughts in hitherto unsuspected directions.
She felt his weight shift a little and then the skirt of her gown was up around her hips and his hand caressing the bare skin of her belly and thigh. Warmth coiled deeper in her pelvis as the caress became more intimate, more arousing, like his hardening response and the thought of him inside her. His kisses moved lower. Instinctively she reached out to touch his face, her fingers brushing across his brow and the deep furrow there.
Anthony froze and looked up, trying to discern her expression but, since the couch was outside the circle of candlelight, everything was concealed in shadow. He grimaced. Whenever the barriers came down between them it was always in shadow. He had thought of this moment many times since that night in Paris; had tried to imagine the circumstances in which it might happen. He wanted her so badly it hurt. He wanted to possess her, wanted to hear her cry out, wanted to take her to a climax so intense that she’d faint. He wanted to monopolise her thoughts so that no other man would exist for her. He wanted her to yield herself completely, to want him in the same way, for his appearance not to matter. Clearly though it did matter.
It had always mattered, from that first horrifying look in the mirror when the bandages came off and he realised how drastically his appearance was altered. He had not thought himself vain—until then. Having always taken his face for granted he hardly recognised the gargoyle he had become. The surgeon’s careful lack of expression was more eloquent than any words. Eloquent too were the looks of pity and disgust from others. And so he hid the ravaged flesh behind a mask, and the attendant emotions with it. Having done that, he assumed a different persona. As Antoine Duval it was easy to avoid intimacy; as Anthony Brudenell it was another matter. He’d hoped that Claudia might look beyond the physical to see the man he really was, but the hope was a chimera. Even in the dark the scars made their presence felt. Had it not been for his unexpected return tonight this apparently romantic interlude would not have happened, and he knew it.
She felt him draw back, then slowly pull up the displaced fabric to cover her breasts, and slide the nightgown back over her shoulders. Then the skirt was drawn down over her bare legs. With that his weight shifted and he moved away from her to sit on the edge of the couch. Claudia swallowed hard.
‘Anthony? What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Or rather, nothing for which you are to blame.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it won’t do, my sweet.’
‘What won’t do?’
‘This entire situation.’ He bent to retrieve his coat and th
en stood, looking down at her. ‘I’m sorry.’
With that he turned and headed for the door. He paused on the threshold for one backward glance. Then he was gone. Claudia stared after him in bewildered and heart-thumping disbelief, wondering if she had somehow dreamed the last ten minutes. Yet her flesh still burned from his touch. She lifted a hand to her lips. It had been real all right. He had wanted her, or seemed to, only to reject her a few moments later. Nor was this the first time. Humiliation replaced bewilderment, and then a sense of chill. Shivering now, she rose from the couch and sought her shawl, wrapping it protectively around her. Then, lifting the candleholder, she retraced her steps to her room.
She reached it unhindered. There was no sound from Anthony’s chamber although a faint line of light below the door suggested he was there. Just for a moment she contemplated the possibility of knocking and then of having this out with him. Almost as quickly she dismissed the notion. How could she run after him now? What was there to say? She had stopped pretending indifference; acknowledged that she wanted him and made her willingness apparent. No respectable woman enjoys intimacy. What nonsense that had turned out to be. She had not only enjoyed it, but had craved more. Surely that could not be wrong between husband and wife.
In any event, one humiliation was quite enough for one night. It was quite enough, full stop. Of course, it served her right. If you played with fire you got burned. When she thought of how badly she might have got burned she felt saddened. That casual encounter might have led to far more serious consequences, and all for a man who didn’t love her. The entire scenario should never have happened; it was embarrassing and degrading and it demonstrated how far she had lost direction. She had to put that right, take back control of her life before it happened again. Next time she might not escape so lightly. Taking a last glance along the corridor, she let herself into her room and locked the door behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Anthony leaned on the mantel, staring down into the fire, his thoughts in chaos. He could no longer see his way forward. All he did know was that he couldn’t leave things as they were. More rational thinking made him realise he’d over-reacted and badly too; allowing morbid sensitivity to cloud his judgement. A casual touch was exactly that. He shouldn’t have refined upon it so, but old habits were hard to break. He also realised he had to talk to Claudia and try to explain. Heaven knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and yet so much remained unsaid. He sighed. After what had just occurred she might be in no mood to listen. All the same, he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to her room and tapped lightly on the door.
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