by Jo Beverley
“I’m assuming you weren’t successful,” she said bleakly.
“Unfortunately not. We spoke with Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt this morning. At first, he tried to put us off, but he eventually revealed that he knew of the rumors.”
Christian hesitated, and Clarissa’s heart sank.
“Just say it,” she said, bracing herself.
“After some discussion, the lieutenant-colonel admitted that they had surfaced once before. Immediately after the battle, and from a credible source. Jeremy’s battalion commander at Badajoz was an old friend of Colonel Middle-ton’s. For the colonel’s sake, he ordered the matter hushed up. Harcourt swore he hadn’t heard another word about it until this week, and now it’s too late to do anything about it. To his way of thinking, the damage has already been done. In fact, he flat out refused to deny the validity of the rumors, saying it was best not to talk about them at all.”
Clarissa fought to pull in air as the muscles in her chest contracted into a crushing band. A hundred thoughts buzzed in her head, but none made any sense.
“Who accused Jeremy of being a coward?” she asked.
Christian glanced at Lillian, who slid her arm around Clarissa’s waist.
“Dearest, does it really matter?” Lillian murmured. “We know it’s a lie, as will everyone who ever knew Jeremy. Eventually it will all die down.”
Clarissa stared at Lillian, stunned by her friend’s response. Did she really not see why they had to fight back?
“Of course it matters,” she retorted. “The cad spreading these lies must be held to account. For Colonel Middleton’s sake, if for no other reason. Jeremy was his only child, and this will likely destroy him.”
Lillian transferred her gaze to Christian. Again, a silent message passed between them, one they obviously didn’t want to share with her.
Instantly, Clarissa knew why.
“You know who it is, don’t you?” she demanded of Christian.
He sighed, deep grooves of unhappiness bracketing the corners of his mouth. She suddenly noticed that he looked like he hadn’t slept well in days.
“Believe me. You’re better off not knowing.”
She grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his sleeve. “Tell me right now, Christian, or I’ll go to the Horse Guards and find out for myself.”
He looked mulish, but she refused to back down and glared at him.
“Very well,” he finally said. “I’m almost certain it’s Blundell. I suspected him from the moment I heard the rumors. A few other things I managed to find out confirmed my suspicions. He was one of Jeremy’s superior officers at Badajoz. Given what happened the other night, the timing makes perfect sense.”
Clarissa slumped against Lillian as the ugliness of it all seeped into her bones. Christian had to be right—it was too much of a coincidence. Blundell had threatened to punish her, and what could be more effective than tarnishing her husband’s name? Especially since Blundell had always hated Jeremy for winning her hand.
But what should they do about it? What could they do about it?
Lillian hugged her but directed a quizzical glance at her brother. “What happened the other night?”
He gave an impatient shake of the head. “It’s not important. What is important is how we’re going to handle this.”
Clarissa sat up, forcing back the leaden weight of despair that sought to overwhelm her. She had to fight back. Jeremy had sacrificed his life for his king, and she could not allow his honor to be trampled into the dust by a pig like Blundell.
“Did you reveal your suspicions to Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt?” she asked.
Christian’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “I did. And received a sharp reprimand in return. He told me in no uncertain terms to leave Blundell’s name out of it. He ordered me, in fact, to leave the whole thing alone.”
“How can he expect that of you?” she cried. “Didn’t your father say something? Harcourt would have to listen to him, wouldn’t he?”
“My father is only a baronet, Clarissa,” he replied in a dry tone. “Not nearly as influential as Blundell’s father, who, as you know, is both a marquess and a member of government. Harcourt made it clear he would take it up with my commanding officer if I didn’t leave the matter alone.”
Clarissa balled her fists into his shoulders and pushed. “Let me up,” she snapped.
That muscle in his jaw ticked again, but he stood and drew her to her feet. She jerked away and began pacing the room.
After several rapid turns, she felt able to speak again without shrieking. She came to a halt in front of Christian, challenging his steady gaze. “Could you talk to other soldiers you know … officers who were at Badajoz? Get them to tell the truth?”
He grimaced. “I’d like nothing better, Clarissa. But I can’t—not when Harcourt gave me specific orders. The lieutenant-colonel truly believes it’s best for everyone to let the matter die down. He reasons that if the brass ignores it, everyone else will, too.”
“That’s nonsense,” she retorted. “The man obviously won’t risk angering Blundell’s father.”
He shrugged, not bothering to deny her accusation.
“Can’t you do anything?” she whispered. “Even for me?”
His face turned to stone, but his eyes flashed with the evidence of a bitter internal struggle. Guilt speared through her for trying to manipulate him, but she had to, for Jeremy’s sake.
“I would if I could. You know that. But I can’t,” he replied in a husky voice. “Not in the face of a direct order.”
Lillian joined them. “Dearest, there’s nothing Christian can do. He can’t possibly disobey such an order, especially now that Wellington has his eye on him.”
Clarissa swallowed around the constriction in her throat. “Can’t anyone go talk to Blundell, at least? Tell him to stop spreading these horrible lies?”
Christian blew out a frustrated breath. “I intended to do just that, but Harcourt warned me away from him. And he did it in front of my father, making it quite clear that a duel to settle the matter was also not an option. Father agreed. Strongly, I might add.”
Clarissa stared at him, dumbfounded and despairing. She felt utterly boxed in, and unable to do anything to protect the reputation of the best man she had ever known. Grief seared her soul, almost as intense as it was on the day she’d learned of her husband’s death.
“So, there’s nothing we can do,” she said in a dull voice. “Nothing but listen and watch as Jeremy’s reputation is trampled on in every drawing room in Mayfair.”
Christian broke away and strode to the window. He stood with his back to them, quiet and still, but a furious tension vibrated in the atmosphere around him. Clarissa sensed his frustration, his need to take action, but too many forces were lined up against them. Even though grief held her immobile, some part of her yearned to comfort him.
“We’ve been discussing that,” said Lillian, breaking into Clarissa’s gloomy thoughts. “Father thinks it best that you leave town for at least a few days. He and Mother will try to refute the charges—quietly and in private conversations. But your presence will give the gossips more fodder. He suggested you and I spend a week or two at our estate in Kent. We could leave today and arrive by nightfall.”
She cast a speculative glance at her brother’s back, then gave Clarissa a tentative smile. “Christian will come, too. Won’t that be nice?”
At any other time, Clarissa would have blushed. But despair and frustration leached through her like a poisoning mist, smothering the fragile peace she had achieved in these last few months.
“I couldn’t possibly leave Colonel Middleton,” she said. “Especially not now.”
Christian turned to look at her. Clarissa didn’t know what he saw in her face, but it brought him back to her side.
“You needn’t worry about that, Ladybird,” he said. “My mother sent a message to Colonel Middleton’s sister in Russell Square. Mrs. Parker agreed to stay wi
th him until your return to London.”
He curled his hand around her cold fingers. She gazed helplessly into his eyes, which had grown dark with the shadows of her own reflected pain.
“It seems you’ve thought of everything,” she said in a wretched voice.
Lillian gave her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Clarissa. Everything will turn out right in the end. I just know it will.”
Clarissa nodded, even though her friend’s reassurance was nonsense. Nothing would ever be right again.
Not unless she took matters into her own hands.
Chapter 6
With a surreptitious tug, Clarissa adjusted her bodice, exaggerating the swell of her breasts over the trim of her neckline. Less than a week ago, she’d been horrified to wear a gown that revealed so much flesh. But if she wanted Christian to help her she had no choice. She had to make him fall in love with her using whatever tools were at her disposal, including her bosom.
Sighing, she shifted on the old trundle bed, trying to get comfortable—although most of her discomfort sprang from her guilty conscience. She hated that she had to be so ruthless. But Christian was the only person who could assist her in clearing Jeremy’s name, and clear it she would, no matter the cost. But first she had to entice him to disobey his orders and search for the information she needed. If she could transform his passing infatuation with her into something he believed was real, he might then be persuaded to help her.
There would be consequences when Christian learned the truth about her actions, but she couldn’t think about that now or she’d lose her nerve.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the attic, Christian glanced up from the battered trunk in front of him. Sunlight slanted through the window at the south end of the low-pitched room, gilding his thick hair with glints of amber and casting a glow over his rugged, handsome features. His heavy-lidded gaze skimmed over her figure, lingering on her breasts.
A forbidden thrill rippled through her. It didn’t matter how many silent scolds she gave herself every night as she tossed restlessly on her crisp linen sheets. Whenever he looked at her that way—whenever she remembered his impassioned kiss—her insides quivered.
He cast a lazy smile that made her want to purr like a kitten. “Did you say something, Clarissa?”
“Ah, no,” she replied. “I simply cleared my throat. It is rather dusty up here.”
He arched a brow and glanced around the tidy, well-dusted room that made up the attic of the Archer country manor, but forbore to comment on the idiocy of her remark.
“Would you like to go back downstairs?” he asked politely. “I’m beginning to suspect Lillian is leading us on a wild goose chase, although I can’t imagine why. I’m fairly certain that if there were love letters from Charles II to one of my ancestors, someone would have found them long before now.”
Clarissa choked back a dismayed groan. This was the first opportunity she’d had to get Christian truly alone since they’d arrived at Rosedell Manor yesterday. It was during the short journey into Kent that she’d hatched her desperate plan, but she could hardly launch it with Lillian sitting in the same carriage, right next to her brother. And since then, her friend had stuck to her like glue, clearly trying to distract her by telling one amusing story after another until Clarissa wanted to scream.
Fortunately, while they were lunching this afternoon, Lillian had mentioned an old family tale regarding an ancestral Lady Archer, and her association with the great Stuart king. Letters from the king had apparently survived, but no one had seen them in years. Lillian had mused that they were likely buried somewhere in the attic.
With an inspired flash born of desperation, Clarissa had asked Christian to help her search for the letters. Feigning a boldness that made her stomach hurt, she had pointedly neglected to include Lillian in her invitation. To her surprise, her friend had simply shrugged, claiming she had errands to run in the village.
Clarissa stared morosely at the whitewashed floorboards of the attic. Lillian would be furious that she was manipulating her beloved brother. God only knew if their friendship would even survive.
She sucked in a huge gulp of air as remorse squeezed her heart in an unforgiving grip. Christian looked up from a pile of documents in his lap.
“You need a rest,” he said, looking worried. “We can do this later, after you’ve had a nap.”
She scowled. “I’m not an old lady who needs her afternoon nap.”
A muscle pulsed in his cheek, and she could tell he was trying not to laugh.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along, Ladybird. But, very well. Since you’re intent on doing this, why don’t you come over here and help me go through this bloody great trunk. It’s full of documents, although I have my doubts we’ll find any love letters.”
She started to comply when a better idea popped into her head. Sinking down onto the bed, she threw him what she hoped was a sultry look.
“You don’t really expect me to sit on the floor, do you? Why don’t you drag the trunk over here and sit on the bed beside me?” she said.
His chin jerked up, and he studied her for a long moment. She held her breath, hoping her smile didn’t look as false as it felt. God help her if he said no.
Relief coursed through her when he finally gave a slow nod and unfolded his long legs. He rose, then dragged the heavy trunk across the floor to the bed. He loomed over her, his face guarded, the wings of his eyebrows pulled together in an aggressive, masculine slash.
She patted the mattress and gave him an inviting smile. “Sit.”
He hesitated, then came down beside her, careful to keep several inches between them. The bed creaked, but the sturdy old frame accepted the added weight of his brawny physique.
“Now,” she murmured, “let’s see if we can find those love letters. If we do, perhaps I can read them to you.”
He blinked and a light flush glazed his cheekbones. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he replied in a puzzled voice.
She wriggled across the mattress, closing the gap between them. He tensed, muscles flexing in his broad shoulders.
“But wouldn’t it be fun if we did?” she prattled, trying not to show her nervousness. “One can only imagine what the king wrote. He was apparently quite a romantic and imaginative lover.”
He shot her a startled glance. “Where the hell would you learn about something like that?”
For a moment, she forgot she was trying to seduce him.
“Really, Christian,” she huffed. “It’s not a secret that the king had several mistresses. And I was married, after all. I’m quite aware of what can happen in the bedchamber.”
Oh, Lord. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out. His eyes turned a smoky blue, and waves of heat raced under the confinement of her stays. Well, that was exactly the reaction she was hoping to elicit from him, wasn’t it?
“I’m sure you are,” he murmured. “But I never expected to hear you admit it.”
“I don’t see why not,” she said lightly. “We’re both adults.”
She leaned forward to peer inside the trunk, giving him a generous view of her breasts. She blushed, shocked by her own behavior, but she couldn’t suppress a niggle of excitement. And a surge of satisfaction when she heard the breath hitch in his throat.
Carefully removing a stack of papers, she gave him ample time to inspect her bosom before slowly straightening up. She turned to look at him, surprised to find she was beginning to enjoy playing the role of seductress. She had never been that kind of woman. One who was confident and sensual, and who could hold a man in the palm of her hand. It was intoxicating, especially when it involved a man as strong and masculine as Christian.
Her enjoyment died a swift death when she met his hard, suspicious gaze.
“What are you up to, Clarissa?”
Flinching at the steel in his voice, she fought the urge to bolt. She must be making a mess of it by confusing him. After all, just a few days ago she had begged
him to leave her alone.
She tried again, giving him what she hoped was an adoring smile as she tentatively rested her hand on his thigh. The muscles in his leg felt as unyielding as stone, but the heat flowing into her fingers practically scorched her.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” she whispered, gliding her hand upward.
He hissed out a breath, his fingers engulfing hers and holding them still. “It is. I suppose I’m a fool to question it, but this doesn’t make any sense. You asked me to stay away from you, Clarissa. Have you really changed your mind, or is this some kind of game?” He looked angry, baffled, and … ready to rip her clothes off.
She called up every ounce of internal fortitude and held his gaze, refusing to shrink away from his penetrating inspection. Quelling her fear, she tossed her head and pretended to be as bold as the other widows of the ton.
“A lady can change her mind, can’t she? You were right about me, Christian. I have locked myself away, too afraid to let anyone near. Well, I’ve realized I’m sick of it, and sick of being alone.”
She broke off, stunned to hear the words that tumbled out of her mouth. Stunned to realize those words were true.
The disapproving line of his sensual mouth eased fractionally. “Go on.”
With a terrifying plunge, she finally voiced what she had been denying to herself since that day in the park. “I want you, Christian,” she whispered. “I don’t understand it, but I do.”
He stared down at her, a warrior with a hard, predatory gaze—a gaze that sought to bare all the secrets of her soul. Her heart kicked into a racing gallop and she shrank away, knowing in a brutal flash of clarity that she couldn’t go through with her scheme. Not when he looked at her like that.
But then, as if by magic, the angry warrior disappeared and Christian came back to her. A gentle hand cupped her cheek, and his lips curled into a rueful smile.
“Believe me, Ladybird, I’m not complaining. I want to be sure, because once we start this—once I touch you again—I’ll be lost. I have no defenses against you.”
