An Affair Most Wicked (18 page)

Seger moved to the mantel. “I am not a romantic, Clara, nor am I interested in lying to you. On top of the reasons I already gave you, I have always known that I must marry eventually. I require an heir.”

Even when he was giving her the cold, hard truth, he was delivering more flattery than she’d ever known in her life. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her, and it made her weak in the knees. She felt as if he could pull a yes from her lips with a mere smile.

“So it is duty,” she managed to say.

“Partly.”

“And desire.”

“Definitely. I can’t resist you.”

She took some pleasure from the compliment, for he was in his own way telling her that she was special. She had done something no other woman had been able to do. She had gotten a proposal out of him.

“What about the marriage settlement that is sure to come?” she asked. “Have you been seeking that all along? Did you somehow manipulate all of this to cause a scandal and force my hand?”

“Good God, no. I have enough money of my own. I don’t dabble in politics, so I dabble in other things. The American stock market for one. I am probably as rich as your father.”

Clara’s eyebrows lifted. “I had no idea.”

“Not many people do.”

She moved away from him to pace around the room. “So you’re not one of the infamous impoverished English lords? That will certainly surprise the New York newspapermen,” she said with bite. “They don’t seem to believe that any Englishman would marry an American for anything other than money.”

“We will break the mold, then.”

Clara stared at him for a moment, considering all of it. “What about love?” she finally asked, knowing she was pushing the limits. “Since we’re being blunt…”

If he was unnerved by her question, he didn’t show it. He seemed more amused than anything by her “negotiation.”

“I had wondered if you would bring that up.” He gazed out the window for a moment, then looked directly into her eyes as he spoke. “I won’t coddle you, Clara. You’re an intelligent woman, and you must realize that we barely know each other.”

“I do.”

“And as I told you last night, I’ve only loved one woman in my life, and it ended badly. I will admit I am jaded, but that doesn’t mean our marriage cannot be a success.”

He was being honest and sensible, admitting that he did not truly love her, and she couldn’t deny she respected him for that. If he’d told her he loved her, she probably wouldn’t have believed him and would have felt as if she were being patronized or lied to.

But still, in her deepest heart of hearts, this was not what she wished they were saying to each other right now. She didn’t want to hear about the other women in his past, not to mention the woman he had once loved—the only woman he had
ever
loved. The mere mention of her cut Clara to the quick. She had dreamed of so much more where Seger was concerned.
She
wanted to be the only woman in his heart and mind at this moment.

“Are you suggesting that you would grow to love me?” she asked.

A reasonable question that she hated asking. It hurt. It made her feel rejected. It humiliated her to have to ask it.

“Possibly.”

Possibly. Not definitely. The response sank like a cold, hard stone into her belly.

Would the mere possibility of love be enough? Could she take such a risk with a man like him? What if he only grew bored with her?

Seger must have recognized the doubts in her eyes, for he strode toward her and spoke firmly. “I would treat you well, Clara. You would become a marchioness and live here in England near your sister. It would be a life of privilege and grandeur. In addition to that, I desire you and you desire me. Can’t that be enough, at least for now?” He gazed at her for a turbulent, fleeting second, then said, “Imagine the pleasure, Clara.”

Oh yes, she could definitely imagine that.

He gently lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. The feel of his mouth upon hers was so right, so wonderful, that she couldn’t stop herself from devouring him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let out an involuntary moan.

Holding her face in his hands, he pulled back from the kiss. “I want to marry you, Clara, because I am starving for you. I must have you. I want you for myself in my bed. I want no other man to ever touch you but me. Yes, I need a wife and an heir, but this is not just about duty. Believe me, I crave you.”

It was about passion, but not love. Could she live with that? She had wanted love.

But wait, no, she had not. She had wanted a decent man who would be a good husband and father. A man who would be faithful to her.

Seger’s heart was decent. She was certain of that—as certain as she could be where any man was concerned. He had always kept her best interests in mind, doing what he could to protect her when she’d ventured outside the safe circle of her proper world. He’d even tried to push her back in. Except for last night in the carriage, when he had led her out, but that was because he desired her.
Craved
her, as he put it.

Perhaps it would not take much to turn that craving into love.

So his heart was decent and he desired her. She could try to be patient in regards to a deeper love.

But was she certain he could reform and be a faithful husband? Or was that simply what she wished? Everything to do with him had been a fantasy for so long. She couldn’t be sure where the fantasy ended and reality began.

He was very passionate, that much she knew. He enjoyed pleasure. He enjoyed women, so much so, that he broke all of society’s rules to satisfy his urges. Would she be enough for him? Would she be able to keep him satisfied for the rest of their lives?

He kissed her again and she melted in his arms. “Say yes, Clara.”

Senses blazing, she returned the kiss with abandon and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then, before she realized what she was saying, she blurted out, “Would you be faithful to me?”

This, she realized, was the final question that would determine her future.

He pulled back to look at her. For a long moment he considered her question while her stomach turned over with a sickening fear that his answer would be no. Or that he would say yes, and she would know he was lying.

“That’s a difficult question, Clara. I don’t have a crystal ball.”

She wasn’t satisfied. “Answer the question, Seger.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep intake of breath. “I would try to be.”

Clara knew it was as honest an answer as she would ever get from
any
man. He was right about the crystal ball. No matter who she married, there would never be any guarantees. Marriage, by nature, was for everyone a leap of faith.

He kissed her again and she gave herself up to the passion, for that was the one thing she knew they shared, then she let that passion bring her to a decision. Somehow, she managed to speak.

“I believe, my lord, you’ve found yourself a wife.”

Chapter 12

Clara, Sophia, James, and Mrs. Gunther gathered in the drawing room after Seger left. The tea was now cold, but the parlor maid had not been allowed in to take the tray away.

“Sophia,” Mrs. Gunther said, as if Clara were not in the room, “you must realize the mistake your sister is making. The Duke of Guysborough proposed first. He is the better choice. He outranks the marquess, not to mention the fact that he is respected by society, where the marquess is not even invited into it.”

James was quiet for a long moment, then he strode to the mantel. “May I remind you of the old adage not to judge a book by its cover?”

“How else can one judge it, when appearances mean everything?”

Everyone was silent. “Not to me,” Clara said softly.

“Or me,” Sophia added, gazing up at her husband, who smiled down at her.

“You have lost your senses, all of you,” Mrs. Gunther said. “Your Grace, you must do something. They are smitten simply because the marquess is an attractive man. They must be made to understand.”

Hands behind his back, James moved to stand behind his wife’s chair. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I believe, madam, the only one here who must be made to understand anything is you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I mean no offense, Mrs. Gunther, but you are not in full possession of the facts, and it is time someone enlightened you. The duke acted in a most unseemly manner, and threatened to destroy Clara’s reputation if she did not accept his proposal. There. Now may we dispense with the arguments?”

Mrs. Gunther stared blankly at Clara and Sophia. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” Sophia replied. “He knew about Clara attending the wrong ball that first night. He threatened to use it against her.”

“But did he actually threaten it,” Mrs. Gunther asked, “or merely suggest that she would be better off avoiding the possibility that such a thing might get out?”

“It was a threat,” Clara said firmly.

Mrs. Gunther’s voice took on a desperate tone. “But he is the Duke of Guysborough. You should not have crossed him by refusing him, Clara.”

Everyone, including James, gaped at Mrs. Gunther.

“Are you saying I should have accepted his proposal, regardless of his behavior?”

“
His
behavior?
He
was not the one with the scandalous secret, Clara.”

For a moment Clara thought her chaperone was referring to what had happened two years ago when she almost eloped with Gordon. Then she remembered that Mrs. Gunther knew nothing about that—no one did, except for Clara’s family. Mrs. Gunther was talking about the Cakras Ball, nothing more.

Still, her meaning was the same. Make a mistake and pay the price.

James held up a hand. “I believe this discussion is over. Clara has made up her mind.”

“But Your Grace, the duke is…Well, he’s a duke.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

She shifted in her chair. “Meaning Clara would be a duchess. Imagine, two American duchesses, and sisters! It is too good an opportunity to—”

James narrowed his gaze at her. “You would have Clara marry a man who threatened to publicly destroy her?”

“No one would ever have to know.”

“But I would know!” Clara said. “I wish to be happy, Mrs. Gunther, and I would not be happy with the Duke of Guysborough.”

The older woman’s cheeks flushed with smug condescension. “Why? Because he is not as handsome as the marquess? Mark my words, Clara, a handsome face will not keep you happy when your husband is cavorting with other women right under your nose.”

Clara bristled.

James held up a hand again to hush everyone. He turned toward Mrs. Gunther. “I believe, madam, that your duty to my sister-in-law has been fulfilled.”

Though she spoke to James, Mrs. Gunther turned her admonishing gaze toward Clara. “She is making a grave mistake, Your Grace.”

“I do thank you for your attendance to her,” he added.

After some deliberation, the woman rose from her chair and smoothed her hands over
her skirt. “If you will excuse me, I am suddenly in need of a rest. I will be in my boudoir.”

She turned to leave, but James took a step forward. “I will send a footman to ascertain the time of the next crossing to America, Mrs. Gunther. I am sure you are anxious to return home.”

Mrs. Gunther halted, but did not turn around. “Thank you, Your Grace,” then she walked out with her nose pushed high in the air.

Clara sat in silence staring after her chaperone, and felt the impossible weight of her own doubts descend upon her.

After Seger broke the news of his engagement to his stepmother, he retired to his study and realized that the expression on her face had been the same as it had been eight years ago when he’d told her he intended to marry a merchant’s penniless daughter.

Only Clara wasn’t penniless. She was, however, American and not “one of them.”

Quintina—after she had realized she would not be able to change Seger’s mind—had made a point of mentioning that at least with an American bride, their vulgar in-laws would remain on the other side of the Atlantic, and wouldn’t be dropping by for tea. She’d actually accepted the fact that she would have to abide by his choice this time and make the best of it.

He sat down at his desk and realized with some chagrin that he was experiencing a slightly perverse pleasure from that fact.

A knock sounded at his door just then. “Come in.”

Quintina entered. She strode all the way in and stopped before him with her hands clasped in front of her as if she were nervous.

“Yes, Quintina, what is it?”

She hesitated a moment. “I believe, Seger, that I… would like to invite your fiancée as well as the Duke and Duchess of Wentworth to dine with us one evening this week.”

Seger leaned back in his chair and stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me the first time. You’re just making me repeat it to punish me further.”

“None of this is intended to punish you, Quintina. I want to marry Clara Wilson because she delights me. It’s as simple as that.”

She nodded quickly, almost as if she needed to hush him, as if she did not wish to hear any explanations of that nature. “Either way, if we are going to be related, we must come to know these people.”

He supposed it didn’t hurt that Clara’s sister was a duchess. American or not, a duchess was a duchess. That was likely what was behind this.

Well, he’d take it. “Magnificent. Send the invitation first thing in the morning.”

She turned to leave. “I will, Seger, and…” She stopped at the door. “Congratulations.”

He gazed with scrutiny at his stepmother, feeling uneasy with her remark, for he knew it was taking every kernel of will she possessed to say it.

“Thank you, Quintina,” he replied.

Quintina walked out of her stepson’s study and closed the door behind her. She met Gillian in the hall and stopped abruptly. The girl’s eyes were red and puffy. She was clutching a handkerchief.

Quintina felt her heart throb painfully.

“Well?” Gillian said in a shaky voice.

Quintina put her arm around her distraught niece and led her toward her boudoir.

“Don’t worry, my dear. Dry your eyes. I will handle this. I have an English acquaintance—a woman currently abroad in America. She will be a useful connection in New York. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see. Now let us go and fix your hair. From now on, you must always look your best. Come, we will talk about what you need to do.”

Clara entered Rawdon House with James and Sophia, and handed her cloak over to the butler. She looked up at the crystal chandelier over her head in the entryway, and the numerous, huge family portraits that lined the wall up the wide, carpeted staircase. It was difficult to believe this was going to be her home one day, when she became Seger’s wife.

Never in all her life had she imagined such a future for herself, certainly not when she was a child living in Wisconsin, where stories of princes and dukes and duchesses with coronets on their heads were merely fairy tales.

Then, after what had occurred two years ago just after Sophia had married James, Clara had thought her future was doomed. She had never expected to marry a man she adored. She had expected to have very little choice in the matter and consider herself lucky if anyone even asked her. Or she had expected not to marry at all.

But two years had passed and that particular time seemed like someone else’s life. It was ancient history. She could barely remember Gordon’s face. Thank goodness she had been able to move on.

Clara walked with Sophia and James as the butler led them upstairs to the drawing room. She continued to gaze at the portraits on the second floor. Everyone was very grand. Her belly quivered suddenly at the daunting idea of becoming part of a family such as this.

She followed the butler toward the double doors of the drawing room and tried not to feel intimidated. Instead, she focused on the crude and simple fact that in the near future, she would share a bed with Seger and it would all be perfectly respectable.

That was the best part in all this. She would not need to worry about being ruined. In fact, it would be her duty to let him “ruin” her. She could hardly wait.

The butler showed them into the drawing room where Lady Rawdon stood by the window, and her niece, who Clara remembered from the assembly, sat by the fireplace. She stood, however, when they all walked in.

“Your Grace,” Lady Rawdon said, turning toward them with a warm smile. She approached with her hands outstretched and greeted each of them, then invited them in to sit down.

The woman’s gracious manner and her amiable welcome caused a whole slew of Clara’s apprehensions to drain away. She found herself smiling in return as she shook hands with Gillian, realizing that this shy young woman was her future cousin by marriage.

Just then, Seger appeared in the doorway. Clara’s heart tumbled over itself at the mere sight of him looking so handsome in the light from a wall sconce next to him. He wore a formal black jacket and white waistcoat. His face was pure perfection—all fine lines and classical elegance.