Cleo accepted the champagne and took a sip, trying to hide her grin. Really, she liked the man too much. “Do begin, Hamlet.”
“Rule number one of conducting an affaire is to never make one’s self excessively available. Keep the blighter on his toes. Don’t allow him to take you for granted.” He grew serious. “And rule number two is that if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his face.”
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Julian.”
“I mean what I say, Cleo. I consider you a true friend. Rare between myself and a female, but there you have it. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I won’t be,” she promised. “But I thank you all the same. You truly are a dear heart, you know.”
He shuddered. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that for God’s sake. You’ll ruin me.” The he cleared his throat and shook the maudlin sentiments from him. “Now, back to my rules. Rule number three…”
*
Thornton was not a happy chap. He liked Cleo’s sisters well enough—Tia was something of a minx and Helen was a nice sort—but damned if he’d planned on cooling his heels with them while he watched that bastard Ravenscroft attempting to seduce his woman. And make no doubt about it, that was the blighter’s intention. His hands flexed at his sides with the impotent desire to thrash the grinning scoundrel.
“My lord, just what are your intentions?” Tia put the question to him then.
He glanced at her. “Intentions?”
“Yes. Clearly, the two of you cannot marry.”
“Not at present,” he hedged, shifting in discomfort. This was not the dialogue he wanted to be having at the moment.
“My lord, you aren’t looking at me.”
Of course he wasn’t looking at her, the daft woman. He was trying to find Cleo before Ravenscroft dragged her from the ballroom and ravished her. He gave a small hiss of annoyance and glanced back at Tia. “Pray accept my apologies, Lady Stokey.” He kept his voice dry.
“You already broke my sister’s heart once before,” she said, rather resembling a terrier having gotten hold of its mistress’ skirts and refusing to let go.
“Lady Stokey, this conversation is fast becoming uncomfortable. Suffice it to say that I have honorable intentions.”
“Honorable?” Lady Helen chimed in now. “Are you having us on, my lord?”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Where the hell had Cleo gotten off to? Hell, these sisters of hers scented blood and they were determined to have the truth from him so he may as well give it over. “I have asked your sister to leave with me and she has accepted.”
“Leave with you?” Tia gaped at him.
“Leave with me.” He smiled politely.
“In your carriage?” Helen demanded.
“I was not planning on requiring your sister to walk the distance from here to Marleigh Manor, my lady.”
“You’re taking her to Marleigh Manor?”
He raised a brow. “I feel confident we are all three of us speaking in the same language. I have spoken plainly and you have heard me correctly.”
“My lord, it will be utter folly to be so open,” Helen protested.
“Being open is rather the point.”
Tia and Helen gasped in unison. But just to be certain they understood his meaning completely, he continued. “Your sister is no longer willing to have a care for proprieties that are not nearly as important as her happiness and I have wholeheartedly offered her my support in this. I may not be able to wed her, but I’ll be damned if I’m denied the opportunity to be the man who loves her.”
“You are mad, sir,” Tia said, fanning herself. “Utterly mad.”
Sweet Christ, where was Cleo? He needed her now to fend off her wily sisters. “I expect so.” He offered the sisters a bow. “And now, if you will excuse me? I have a feeling I need to rescue your sister from the earl’s paws.”
Alex did not hesitate but set off in the direction from whence the earl had spirited Cleo from the dancers. Apparently his costume, fanciful though it was, did not dissuade any of the other guests from his true identity. Naturally, it had taken but little creativity on his part to decide to play the part of the great statesman well before his arrival as a house guest. But given his relationship to Cleo, it made all the more sense.
He was stopped and thwarted in his hasty perambulation of the ballroom on no less than seven occasions. Even the Chilton woman tittered and threw herself into his path. On her fourth season, so he had heard and near desperate for a title these days. It showed. He made a less than polite excuse and continued his determined routing of the earl’s schemes.
At long last, he spotted the two of them having a cozy tête-à-tête over champagne flutes. Jealousy began roiling in his gut. He could admit as much to himself if to no one else. After all they had shared, a part of him remained uncertain of Cleo. He was scared as hell that at any moment she might regain her sanity and leave him to his own lonely devices.
Ravenscroft caught sight of him and stiffened, offering him a mock bow. He inclined his head in return, determined to be no more than civil. “Ravenscroft.”
“Thornton.”
Cleo’s lush mouth flattened below her gem-encrusted mask. He’d never seen a more desirable or beautiful rendition of the Queen of the Nile in all his days. He wanted to drag her away from the earl and everyone else in the ballroom and make slow love to her. And he wanted to tear Ravenscroft’s arms from his body.
“Lady Scarbrough,” he acknowledged Cleo at last, not as he would prefer to do, but as he was forced by propriety and circumstance. It struck him once more that he longed for the freedom to claim her as his own before the obnoxious bloody earl and everyone else. He wanted her by his side, as his wife.
She smiled softly, a slight upturn of her generous lips that he well recognized. It was less brilliant than her ordinary smile but more intimate. “My lord Thornton. Is my disguise so poor that you have already discovered me?”
“Was it your intent to hide?” he rejoined.
“Of course not. It is only that I am surprised. I thought my costume quite clever.”
“As it is, my lady,” Ravenscroft said with a dashing air.
The goddamn rogue. Alex trained his coldest glare on him. “Go to the devil, won’t you?”
“Aren’t you soon due to be assassinated, old boy?” The earl grinned, bloody bastard.
“Not by you,” he returned pointedly. “King Lear, I dare say? Clever pun.”
Ravenscroft sneered. “Hamlet, actually.”
He saw Cleo place a staying hand on the earl’s arm and he resented that touch. “The paunch fooled me. Oh dear me, isn’t that stuffing? Apologies.” He was being childish, but he didn’t give a damn. He wanted the bastard earl well away from his Cleo.
“In lieu of trouncing you again, I do think I shall take my leave.” Ravenscroft lifted Cleo’s hand to his lips for a lingering kiss and gazed into her eyes like a moonstruck puppy. “Cleo, recall what I said. Until we meet again.”
With another stunted bow, he took his abrupt leave.
“Paunch?” Cleo gave him a mothering frown. “Really, Alex. That was too bad of you.”
“Cleo?” he repeated, nettled by the earl’s presence still. “I hardly imagined he was such a close friend to speak to you so intimately.”
“I do not believe in ceremony. You know that.”
“I don’t like him,” he growled, more peeved than ever.
“Alex, you are being an utter bear.”
“I don’t like him near you. Anywhere else in the world, he’s a bloody swell chap. At your elbow, I want to kill him.”
“He’s gone from my elbow now.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“Alex.” She was still frowning, but damned if he didn’t find it enthralling. Her eyes sparkled behind her mask.
“Cleo, darling.” There was a ridiculous, lovesick grin on his mouth and he knew it but didn’t give a damn. He shifted closer to her so that
he could brush a surreptitious hand along the underside of her arm, much-discussed elbow to wrist. Christ, he loved touching her.
“You’re staring at me in a most inappropriate manner,” she said primly. “And you’re quite certainly lingering at my wrist just now.”
“I find the Queen of the Nile most delicious. Forgive me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound contrite.”
“Because I’m not.” His grin deepened and he took another step closer to her, pressing in on her skirts. He found her hand and tangled her fingers in his. She did not draw away, but clutched him as if he were her purchase.
“Lady Grimsby is watching us like a veritable hawk,” she cautioned.
“Let the old crone watch.”
“Alex! You are in a rare mood.” Her fingers tightened.
He shrugged. “I’m Caesar.”
She raised a brow above her mask. “Indeed.”
“And your sisters were once again meddling.” He felt compelled to inform her. “I felt as if I was facing a nervous papa. Lady Stokey demanded to know my intentions.”
Cleo pressed her free hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”
“Precisely.”
“And what did you tell them?”
He leaned even closer and caught the delectable scent of her, lavender and sweet. “Your sisters are hyenas. I told them the truth, that you are leaving with me and you don’t give a goddamn about what Scarbrough or anyone else thinks.”
“Double oh dear.”
“Just so. I haven’t experienced such an awkward interview since my father attempted to encourage me to sow my oats with a chamber maid.”
“Surely your father never suggested you dally with the staff?” Cleo’s expression read horrified, even through her mask.
Leave it to Cleo to linger upon that fact rather than the one at hand. “Sadly yes. But that is neither here nor there, my love.”
“I should think it is. Are you prone to trifling with servants?”
“Cleo, sweet, I am generally given to understand it’s the sort of thing every father encourages his son. And no, I have never trifled with a bloody servant. Apparently, I am only the sort of cad who trifles with innocent ladies of the quality, gets them with child and then abandons them to suffer horrid marriages.”
Her frown deepened. “Oh, Alex, please do not speak so. The fault is not yours but my own. We’ve been over this again and again.”
Lady Grimsby made another, more obvious circle and Cleo broke contact from him, stepping away with a discreet cough. It gutted him that they had to hide themselves in plain sight, that they were not free to conduct themselves as two people who loved one another. He was more convinced than ever of what needed doing.
Regardless of Cleo’s words to the contrary, he would always hold himself accountable for their unpardonable circumstance. Had he been constant, had he looked past his damn pride, she never would have been trapped in a loveless, bloodless union. Now he owed it to her to make restitution for what had come before between them. He would make it right, he vowed as much to himself.
Determined to enjoy the evening despite his heavy thoughts, he placed her hand in his arm. “Let’s dance, love.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I supposed you would never ask.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I forbid it.”
“It’s ruinous!”
“Have you no care for yourself?”
“An affaire is to be understood, but living openly with him?”
With a sigh, Cleo looked from one indignant sister to the next. Tia was in rare dudgeon, so much so that her elaborate hair was askew and she did not bother to repair it. Her cheeks were flushed, her mask long since removed. “Cleo, you cannot be serious to be considering it.”
“I have more than considered it,” Cleo said softly. She appreciated their sisterly concern, but the die was cast and she was firm in her resolve. After this night, all would change. “I have accepted him.”
“Darling, please rethink,” Helen cajoled, coming to her side and linking arms. “When Thornton told us as much earlier, I thought him mad. How can the two of you possibly think to live with one another?”
“Ideally I would seek divorce from Scarbrough.” She had decided that continuing to live a lie was unconscionable. What good was her life if she could not love Alex without fear? After so many years apart, they belonged together. “If we live together, perhaps Scarbrough will sue me for divorce.” Impossible though she knew divorce was, she wanted to paint a brighter picture for her sisters. By no means would she ever want to cause them worry.
“But at what cost?” Tia demanded, throwing up her small hands and stomping her foot. “Cleo, have you forgotten the Mordaunt affair? The poor woman’s name was dragged through the mud, her family had her declared mad and she hasn’t been seen since.”
“I am given to understand that her situation was a bit different from my own,” Cleo said, voice even, determined to keep a stoic façade. “Alex and I are firm in this. But please be advised that divorce or no, we will be together. You need not support me publicly. I only ask that you continue a correspondence with me. When I am in the country and isolated from the world, I should like the comfort of a few kind words from my sisters now and again.”
Helen gripped her shoulders, giving Cleo a slight shake. “Do you mean to say this is to be our goodbye?”
Sadness swept over her. She had not thought of it in those terms precisely, but she could hardly expect her sisters to join her in her fall from grace. “I suppose it may be,” she admitted, hating the hitch in her voice.
“No.” Tia jumped into the fray, taking Helen’s elbow and pulling her aside. “Helen, we shall go with her to Marleigh Manor.”
“What?” Cleo was at a loss, watching her sisters conferencing before her.
Helen beamed at Tia. “Of course we shall. I distinctly recall Lord Thornton delivering us an invitation to his country house for the next fortnight or so. Do you not, Tia?”
“Most certainly. I’ve scads of new dresses yet to wear in my trunks. It shall be a perfect occasion. How neighborly of Lord Thornton to entertain such old family friends.”
They were doing their best to blunt the gossip, she realized, amazed at her sisters’ selfless determination. Tears stung her eyes. “You need not do so on my account,” she objected. “Truly, it is most unfair that you both be subjected to gossip when I have made this decision for myself. I would not expect you to attempt to save me at the cost of your own reputations.”
“What cost?” Tia gave her a beatific smile. “It shall all be perfectly proper. No one can say a word against us.”
“What say you, sister dear?” Helen asked.
Cleo eyed them. “I say it appears I have little choice in the matter.”
“Wise girl,” Tia said, stepping forward as one with Helen to envelop Cleo in an embrace.
*
“I absolutely forbid it,” the dowager informed Thornton in her frostiest tone. “It’s ruinous.”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the onset of a bitter, painful headache. It was no secret that he disliked his mother. However, he occasionally acknowledged his duty as her son and this was one of those times. Because he knew she planned to return to Marleigh Manor with Bella on the morrow despite her prattle about the Lake District, he had deemed it prudent to inform her of his own plans. It would hardly be seemly for one to install one’s mistress—even if he loved her and planned to marry her at the earliest opportunity—at the same home as one’s mother and maiden sister. He had made his own decision to court scandal and it was not right that Bella should pay the price. Troublesome though she’d become, she deserved to make a good marriage and to do so, she would need to keep her name untarnished. Even so, looking at his mother now, he rather wished he’d kept mum.
“Madam, I am not seeking your approval,” he said, “but rather paying you the courtesy of allowing you to make other arrangements for yoursel
f and my sister.”
“Marleigh Manor is our home,” she huffed. “It has been the seat of the Marquis of Thornton since the times of Queen Elizabeth.”
Her assertion was a gross exaggeration. The title had only been bestowed in the late seventeenth century by William of Orange. But never mind. He had no wish to make a row out of it with her. He’d caught her as the mask drew to an end and had requested a special meeting with her in her chamber. She had chosen not to dress and wore a simple black gown with a jet overlay, the effect being that she looked as if she had just been from a funeral.
“You will not sully my home by bringing that woman to it,” she continued, her nose actually twitching in her fury.
“It is my home,” he reminded the dowager. “You are more than welcome at any one of my other homes.”
She stiffened, her expression taking on one of horror. It had never occurred to her that he would deny her anything. “But I am not welcome at Marleigh Manor?”
“Not at Marleigh Manor,” he confirmed, keeping his voice gentle. Trying as he found his mother, he did not relish this task, nor did ne savor having to bar her from any demesne. “You may go anywhere else you like.”
The dowager stared at him, her sturdy frame trembling ever so slightly. Her gray eyes were cold, her mouth tightened in a stern, hard line. Before he knew what she was about, she caught up a hair brush from her dressing tray and hurled it toward him. Though it missed its mark by far, he rather understood her point.
“You are an unnatural child,” she accused him. “Get out of my chamber at once.”
When he hesitated, she took up a bottle of something and raised it high. “Get out!”
For the first time in his adult life, Thornton obeyed his mother.
*
The dowager was not a woman who acknowledged defeat. Ever. So indeed, after her unappreciative son left her chamber, she called immediately for her daughter. Bella, though never her favored child, would nevertheless fill in for the purpose at hand. She had never truly loved Bella as much as her firstborn, her son and heir and had until recently thought her a frumpy, hopeless, stick of a girl. But that was neither here nor there.
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