“Ladies.” Thornton bowed. His cousin and friend did the same. “Shall we proceed to dinner?”
“That would be lovely,” simpered Miss Cuthbert.
Cleo wanted to throttle her. Instead, she clenched her teeth and pierced Thornton with a glare. He met her gaze and looked hastily away. The rotten man. To make matters worse, Miss Cuthbert made certain she made her way to the dining room on his arm, eschewing the order of rank. Thornton did nothing to dissuade her, as of course he could not. What had seemed like a madcap getaway for the two of them had multiplied into a horribly awkward house party. She had quite lost her appetite and she would sooner pluck out her eyelashes than suffer a dinner with Miss Cuthbert fawning all over Thornton, powerless to stop it. Unfortunately for her, she was not offered an alternative. Pleading a headache would be too obvious and would only serve as a victory for Miss Cuthbert.
Dinner was an even more horrid affair than the drawing room had been. Mr. de Vere had over-imbibed and spent a lot of time using inappropriate language and stabbing the air with his fork as he spoke. On one occasion, she was certain that he sprayed a good portion of béchamel across the table linens. The dowager insulted Americans and insinuated that Cleo was old. Miss Cuthbert attempted to engage Thornton in political discussions and exclude the rest of the table and largely succeeded. The aunt appeared to fall asleep during the fish course. Bella and Mr. Whitney occupied themselves with one another and Cleo and her sisters were an unappreciative audience to it all.
By the time Thornton slipped into her chamber later that evening, Cleo was seething. She clutched her wrapper around her and glared at him. “What do you think you are doing in here?”
He grimaced and looked chagrined. “I’ve come to deliver an apology.”
Cleo remained unimpressed. “If you think you’ll be sharing my bed tonight, you’re mistaken.”
Thornton began sauntering toward her, a sensual, knowing expression on his face. “You know none of this is my fault, sweetheart. I certainly did not invite Miss Cuthbert here.”
“Yes, but you did listen with rapt fascination to her solution for the Lambeth street floods.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if they could form a shield. “Not that I don’t care about the plight of Lambeth, mind you, but she deliberately excluded everyone else from the discussion save you.”
His sulky mouth tipped up into a charming grin that never failed to send heat washing through her veins. “Cleo.”
But she was not ready to be swayed by him. She rather had her dudgeon up. “And forgive me if I think that raising the tenements is a horrid solution. The government needs to erect another channel for when the Thames overflows. The flooding is causing all their problems. Raising tenements will keep their homes dry, but the fevers will still strike their men, women and children.”
“Cleo.” He began closing the space between them.
“No you don’t. Not a step more. I’m not finished speaking yet.”
“Cleo, what I’m trying to say is that I agree with you, love.” He came closer. “Miss Cuthbert’s plan is inherently flawed and I told her as much when you were engaged in conversation with your sisters. Moreover, while you think I was listening to her in rapt fascination, I was actually enjoying the most delightful fantasy in which I stripped you bare and ate cook’s damn miniature tansy cakes off your breasts.”
“The tansy cakes?”
He nodded, his grin turning wolfish. “Off your breasts. I even debated plopping one into my pocket for just such an occasion.”
Drat him, he was winning her over. She had promised herself she would stand firm. “Did you tell her?” She took a step in retreat.
“Tell who? Cook? While old Mrs. Williams is fond of me, I don’t think her fondness would extend to sharing my plans for her tansy cakes and your bosom. Have I told you lately that your breasts are brilliant?” He took another step toward her.
“I won’t be distracted, Alex. I’m speaking of Miss Cuthbert, the woman who thinks she’s your betrothed, not Mrs. Gilliam.”
“Mrs. Williams.”
She gritted her teeth and resisted the overwhelming urge to stomp her foot. “Williams, then.”
“What was I to have told Miss Cuthbert?”
“That you shan’t be marrying her, for one thing.”
“Oh, that.” His grin faded. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Truly, she began to think he was obtuse. If her voice rose a trifle high and sounded very nearly hysterical, it was hardly her fault.
“Well, Christ, Cleo, when would you have had me tell her? During the soup course?” Those deep gray eyes of his turned flinty.
“Of course not, but what would you have me do? I am your guest while she is your presumed fiancée. Do you understand how awkward this has been already for us both? In the drawing room, she all but told me Margot Chilton had written her with suspicions of you and me.”
Thornton closed the distance between them and drew her body against his. He lowered his head to press their foreheads together. “Darling, I’m sure you’re cut up for nothing.”
Cleo allowed herself to soften against him. After all, obtuse duffer or not, she loved the man. Any reason to be in his arms was good enough. “Ask Tia or Helen and they shall tell you the same, Alex.”
“She and I will speak on the morrow.” He kissed her and it was a gentle, reassuring kiss, not borne of the frantic hunger that ordinarily arced between them. “You are the woman I love. Not Miss Cuthbert.”
She sighed. “I love you too.”
Their mouths met again and this time there was a fiery, carnal passion simmering beneath the surface. Heat swirled through her. Alex’s hands traveled a lovely path down her back, molding the silk of her wrapper to her bare skin beneath. When his hands cupped her bottom and angled her against his cock, she lost any sense of control. She scrabbled to remove his evening clothes, ripping at his tie and shirt.
“I thought I wouldn’t be sharing your bed this evening,” he whispered against her lips.
“Stubble it.” Her fingers landed on the fastening of his trousers.
He obeyed.
*
Thornton left her bed before dawn. She couldn’t sleep after he left her, so she rang for Bridget before venturing below to the morning room for an early breakfast. With Tia and Helen still abed and Thornton off riding with Mr. de Vere and Mr. Whitney, Cleo made her way to Marleigh Manor’s rather extensive—if obviously neglected—library for some peaceful time on her own. But it did not last long. Hands behind her back, she walked calmly down the wall of shelves, searching for something Shakespeare. She’d just settled on Romeo and Juliet when the delicate sound of a lady’s cough interrupted the silence. Almost afraid to turn, she cast a look over her shoulder and discovered that, much to her dismay, her privacy had been interrupted by Miss Cuthbert.
“Lady Scarbrough,” she intoned with false brightness. “What a surprise to find you here this morning. I confess this room has always been a haunt of mine while I stay here at Marleigh Manor.”
Cleo pulled the volume from the shelf and spun about to face her nemesis. “I had not realized you were such a fixture here. But fret not. I was just on my way.”
“No.” Miss Cuthbert held up a staying hand. As if to underscore her virginal innocence, she wore a frumpy white gown this morning and her blonde hair was twisted into a looser style that made her appear girlish. “Please stay. I had hoped to have a private word with you, my lady.”
Guilt speared her, mingling with dismay. The woman before her, odious though she may be to Cleo, had no notion that her almost-betrothed had spent the evening in Cleo’s bed. “Of course, Miss Cuthbert. What was it you hoped to say?”
Miss Cuthbert’s small mouth tightened. “May we sit, please?”
Oh dear. Her face flushed. She wanted to run from the room. Instead, she crossed the carpets to a chintz sofa that she knew must have been purchased by the dowager. Thornton could not abide by chintz. Miss Cuthbert seated herself
with a prim air and arranged her skirts before hitting Cleo with a direct stare.
“Lady Scarbrough, I was raised to speak very plainly and I shall not hesitate to do so with you now.” She tilted her head and resembled nothing so much as a sparrow. “It has been said by others that you are Lord Thornton’s particular friend.”
Cleo braced herself and chose her response with care. “Miss Cuthbert, you are making dangerous accusations.”
“It is not I making the accusations, my lady, but a great many others who were present at the house party from which you have so recently come.” Miss Cuthbert folded her hands in her lap.
“However, it is you repeating them. I do not appreciate gossip.” Cleo kept her tone frosted and in control.
“If you continue on your current path, you will invite more of it.”
She could not believe the woman’s temerity. “Miss Cuthbert, you overstep.”
“It is you who oversteps, Lady Scarbrough.” Miss Cuthbert sat straighter, her bearing stiff with purpose. “Lord Thornton is destined to be a distinguished leader of the Liberal Party. He is single-handedly responsible for the Prime Minister’s victory. He is the furthermost political mind of our century. And yet, he is but a weak man, brought low by his baser emotions.”
Cleo schooled her expression into one of boredom. Her heart began thumping faster. “I am aware of Lord Thornton’s political acumen. You need not catalog his accomplishments for me, as I’m sure they are many and I simply haven’t the time.” She rose. “If that is all, I must be on my way.”
Miss Cuthbert rose as well. “A moment more, if you please. I catalog his accomplishments with a purpose. Don’t you see that by connecting his name to yours you are ruining him?”
She attempted to skirt the adamant woman, determined to leave the room and Miss Cuthbert’s troubling words behind her. “Enough, Miss Cuthbert.”
Miss Cuthbert’s face contorted, losing its complacency for the first time. “I love him, Lady Scarbrough. For years and years, I have loved him. For as long as I can possibly recall, I have watched him from afar, working with my father on reform, changing all of London. Changing England.”
“I am not your confidante,” she interrupted coolly. “Pray do not say anything more.”
“I was raised to be Thornton’s wife. I belong at his side. I would never bring him shame.” She paused to catch her breath. “Do you think me a fool? Do you think I don’t recognize why you have come here? You bring your sisters for the pretense of propriety but make no mistake about it, you have come as his mistress.”
“Get out of my way, Miss Cuthbert.”
Her opponent seized her arms in a grip that was surprisingly strong for such a frail-looking woman. “You will only ruin him. In these times, with men such as him, even a breath of scandal can be the kiss of death. What can you possibly think to gain? Release this hold you have over him, I beg you. You cannot think of yourself. You must think only of him.”
Cleo shook her hands away. “I do not know what you speak of, nor do you. This dialogue has been most unpleasant. Do not seek me out again.”
And then she walked from the room, desperate for Miss Cuthbert not to see just how much she had been shaken by the exchange.
Chapter Sixteen
The dowager was not a woman who believed in leaving important life decisions, like her son’s marchioness, for instance, to a turn on Fortune’s fickle wheel. No, indeed. She was rather the sort who instructed her maid to have an informative discussion with Miss Cuthbert’s lady regarding belowstairs suspicions about her son and Lady Scarbrough. She was also the sort who wrote letters. Not particularly eloquent letters, and she spelled words in an abysmal fashion, but those factors did not curtail her écriture in the least.
So it was that she was not as disappointed at the lack of progress made by her protégé Miss Cuthbert during her interview with that woman as she may otherwise have been. For she had already spent the morning penning a lengthy, if abusive, epistle to that lady’s cuckolded husband.
The dowager considered Miss Cuthbert as she sat across from her in her private apartments. The dear girl was no beauty, that was certain. Her face had an almost equine quality to it if she was to be honest. However, the girl came from a good family with excellent connections and the dowager didn’t truly give a fig about her looks.
“It was good of you to come to me with your concerns, Miss Cuthbert.” She paused with consequence. “Might I call you Honoria?”
Miss Cuthbert pressed a hand to her heart. “Of course, madam. I should like nothing more. Thank you for the honor.”
“You will soon be a treasured member of this family.” The dowager bestowed a rare smile upon her. “Think nothing of it. Now, how can I allay your fears?”
“I know I overstep my bounds in even broaching the topic. Indeed, I would not ordinarily be so bold—”
“Nonsense, Honoria. Honesty before integrity is what I always say. Or is it pride? Oh dear, I quite forget.” She mulled the phrase for a moment. “’Tis of no moment. What I mean, dear girl, is that you need not worry yourself in that particular arena. I believe the countess may soon receive a summons.”
“Oh?” Miss Cuthbert’s expression turned rabbity in her anticipation.
Goodness, the girl certainly bore a startling resemblance to creatures. But no mind. She was still the dowager’s chosen marchioness for her son.
“I penned an epistle this morning and that is all you need know for the time being. My son is an honorable man, Honoria. He will do his duty to this family, to this fine country of ours and to you.”
“I am aware of his lordship’s sterling qualities.” Miss Cuthbert smiled. “His reforms for the London poor have changed so many lives already.”
“Yes, well.” The dowager gave a dismissive gesture. She was far less interested in the lower orders than she was in her son’s reputation. “The poor really cannot help themselves, can they? Otherwise, I dare say they would not be poor.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Such a biddable girl. The dowager’s smile grew. This was a daughter after her own heart. “I expect at least two grandsons, my dear.”
Miss Cuthbert flushed pink. “I shall do my utmost.”
“As will I.”
She didn’t notice Miss Cuthbert’s expression of mild alarm. She was too busy crowing inwardly at her own triumph. Oh, she would turn her wayward son into a man yet.
*
The day was unseasonably cold for September. This was Cleo’s thought as she trudged through the wood behind Marleigh Manor. Thornton had sent her a note requesting she meet him by the lake and she had decided at the last moment—perhaps foolishly—to eschew a mount and simply go by foot. The lake was a bit farther off than she had recalled and the wind nipped her through her mantle and quite dismantled her coif beneath her dashing hat.
At long last, the trees gave way to a clearing and she spotted Thornton’s tall, lean form at the lake’s edge. He grinned when he saw her, striding forward to catch her up in his arms. “Darling.”
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Alex. I’ve missed you.” Although it had only been hours earlier when she’d last seen him, it felt more like a week.
Cleo tipped her head back and in a breath, his mouth was fast and hungry on hers. She sank her gloved fingers into his hair and rather wished they were bare instead. When she finally broke the kiss, she asked him the shaky question dominating her mind. “Where have you been all morning?”
“Riding with Ford and Jesse.” He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Christ, you’ve the most adorable nose. Why haven’t I noticed that before?”
A smile curved her lips but she wasn’t yet ready to be distracted. “I’m gratified you appreciate it.” She scrunched up the nose he’d just been admiring. “Riding all morning?”
His expression turned quizzical. “You doubt me?”
“No.” She gave her head a slight shake. “Of course
not. I merely…I had an interview with Miss Cuthbert this morning.”
He stiffened. “Cleo, there was no need for you to seek out Miss Cuthbert. I’ve promised you I’ll tell her today.”
“She sought out me.” Cleo extricated herself from his embrace. “Not the other way around.”
He tunneled a hand through his hair. “What did she have to say?”
“Nothing of import.”
His gaze probed hers. “I don’t quite like the sound of that.”
“And why should that be?” She rubbed her arms, suddenly more chilled than she had been on her walk to him. Could there be more to his relationship with Miss Cuthbert than he indicated? No, she did not think it likely, but there remained a small, insecure part of her that wanted to stomp her foot and rail at him. She wanted the woman gone, wanted to be freed from her insufferable marriage so that she could be a real wife to him. She wanted to give him what Miss Cuthbert would, a wife in whom he could take pride, not a woman who would bring him scandal and shame and ruin his future.
“Are you cold?” His voice was solicitous, but there was something else in it, a tone she couldn’t define.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Cold and confused, Alex. What was your purpose in bringing me here? I have a husband and you have a betrothed who thinks me the world’s greatest strumpet and this all seems suddenly so impossible.” Tears scalded her eyes.
“Don’t cry, sweeting.” Thornton took her back in his arms, wrapping her snug in his embrace. His handsome face was stark in its seriousness, all harsh planes and chiseled angles. “I’m sorry if Miss Cuthbert exchanged words. And Jesus, I’m sorry for the muck I’ve made of everything. I planned on having you all to myself and somehow we’ve ended up with yet another house party watching us. I expressly informed my mother not to come here and she defied my orders.” He clenched his jaw. “I’ll have the lot of them gone by the morning, I swear it. Don’t cry, darling.”
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