An Affair Most Wicked (25 page)

“We’ve always been friends,” Gillian added, “for as long as I can remember. I was only one when Seger’s father married Auntie. Seger was eleven, and he used to play with me and teach me things. We’ve been through a lot together. When my mother died, he was such a comfort to me, and before that, when he was suffering with a broken heart over Daphne…” Gillian paused and glanced up from her embroidery to look at Clara. “I do beg your pardon, perhaps you don’t know about Daphne. I have no manners sometimes. I can be so clumsy.”

Gillian resumed her embroidery.

“Please, do not worry yourself,” Clara said. “I know all about Daphne. Seger told me everything. Sad story, isn’t it?”

Clara wasn’t sure why she felt such a strong compulsion to inform Gillian that she knew about Seger’s first engagement, and why she felt suddenly competitive. It made no sense at all. Gillian was Seger’s cousin, for pity’s sake.

But she’d known Seger her entire life. She knew so much more about him than Clara did.

You’ll catch up
, she told herself.
Soon, you’ll know him better than anyone
.

She reminded herself that Gillian had never seen Seger naked.

Lord, what a petty, ridiculous thought. All the anxiety of the past week was making her loony.

But it did make her feel better. At least she shared one type of intimacy with Seger, and his sexuality was something that she would come to know better and better. From there, other kinds of intimacies would grow.

She must not let go of that hope.

* * *

“You are the most beautiful creature here,” Seger said, escorting Clara onto the terrace of Weldon House, where they had been invited for an assembly.

The breeze was warm on Clara’s cheeks, the champagne sweet on her lips and tongue. Seger had not stopped looking at her all evening, and she felt beautiful in her red silk, form-flattering Worth gown, with embroidered pearls on the bodice, and a flowing, flounced train. At her neck she wore a huge diamond pendant that flashed and sparkled. Seger’s gaze had dropped many times to her cleavage, though she doubted he was admiring the diamond.

She had met a number of interesting people so far that evening, and Seger had not left her side for one minute the entire time. He had presented her to everyone they met, and had seemed genuinely proud to introduce her. There were very few sinister glances or upturned noses over the fact that he was a former libertine and she an American. Most people probably perceived them as a novel couple, an amusement.

Clara gazed up at him flirtatiously over the rim of her champagne glass as she sipped. “You shameless flatterer.”

Lord, she couldn’t wait to get home and be alone with him.

She recognized his acute sexual instinct alerting to her desires. He picked up on these things like a wolf catching a scent—always eager to respond and meet her needs, whatever they were.

He gave her a look that offered promises for later. “Shameless is my middle name,” he said. “I can flatter you all night long if you wish.”

Just then, a woman approached from behind and grabbed hold of Seger’s sleeve. She pulled him around to face her. “Oh, you must flatter me, too, Lord Rawdon. I haven’t heard your delicious talk in a dog’s age. I’m sure your lady-friend won’t mind sharing.”

“Sharing?” Clara said, stepping forward.

The woman leaned close. Her breath smelled of whisky. She nearly lost her balance as she whispered in Clara’s ear, “Your bed or mine, darling? We can take turns back and forth, five minutes each. What do you say, Seger?”

Horrified, Clara gazed up at her husband. He was staring down at the woman with a blank look on his face. Clara wasn’t even sure he knew who she was.

Then he said her name and Clara realized he did know. He was merely flustered. She’d never seen him flustered before.

“Mrs. Thomas, my wife, Lady Rawdon.” He gestured toward Clara with his hand.

The woman stared at Clara for a second or two, then finally let go of Seger’s sleeve. “Your
wife
?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know. No one said anything,” she replied incredulously. She backed up a step and laid a gloved hand on her chest. “Good gracious, I’m frightfully embarrassed. I’ve been in Paris, you see, and I just returned yesterday and…”

Seger turned toward Clara. “Darling, this is Mrs. Abigail Thomas.”

The woman held out her hand. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you,” Clara replied, shaking her hand.

The woman fiddled absently with a lock of hair around her ear as the three of them stood in awkward silence, then the woman commented on the weather and dropped her gaze to the ground.

“It was very nice seeing you, Lord Rawdon,” she said, “and a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rawdon.” She smiled sheepishly, turned from them, and left.

Seger watched her go, then faced Clara. “I do apologize.”

Clara swallowed hard and tried to keep her voice steady. “No need. It wasn’t your fault.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep intake of breath. “I hope that sort of thing doesn’t happen again. I’m surprised she hadn’t heard.”

“We married quickly, Seger. It’s not likely that everyone would know. The news will get around soon enough.”

He downed the rest of his champagne and smiled at her understanding, then escorted her back inside. Clara forced herself to forget about the incident and did not mention it again, but she did notice an unspoken tension between herself and her husband for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, Clara sat in the breakfast room sipping her tea and reading the newspaper.

Gillian entered quietly and sat down across from Clara. “Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Clara replied, stifling a yawn, for she might have slept well, but she had not slept much. She and Seger had made love three times.

“Did you have a nice time at the assembly last night?” Gillian asked.

Gillian had arrived later in the evening with Quintina, and Clara had seen her talking to a number of handsome young men. “Yes, I did, and it looked like you were having a good time too. Who was that man with the blonde hair? He always seemed to laugh at what you were saying. You must have been very witty last night, Gillian.”

“His name was Stanley Scott. His father is a baron from the north, so dear Stanley is only a mister. He seems very young, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I thought he looked kindhearted.”

Gillian rolled her eyes. “Kindhearted and limp in the head.”

Clara didn’t know what to say. She picked up her tea and took another sip.

“I noticed that you barely left Seger’s side,” Gillian said after a few minutes of silence. Her eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you trust him?”

The question caught Clara off guard. She set down her cup and tried not to gulp too loudly before she spoke. “Of course I trust him. We simply enjoy each other’s company, that’s all, and there were a number of people he wished to introduce me to.”

Gillian swallowed her food. “Like Mrs. Thomas? I saw her speak to you. You did very well, Clara.”

Clara felt her insides begin to churn. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I saw you shake her hand. You were quite composed. One would never know.”

“Never know what?”

“That you were seething inside.”

Clara closed the newspaper and sat back. “I was not seething.”

“Come now, Clara, you don’t have to lie to me. I know how it is with Seger and all the women who want his…
services
. But you were very good. Just the kind of wife he needs.”

Clara tried not to choke on her tongue. “Gillian—”

“I’m not sure I could do what you do, being American. I’ve heard you people have different expectations about marriage, that a man who strays is regarded with contempt.” She shook her head at the notion and took another bite of her breakfast.

Clara didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think she’d be able to speak if she tried.

Somehow, however, she managed to find her voice, and thought it a miracle. “Gillian, I don’t like what you are insinuating.”

Gillian stopped chewing and stared at her. “Oh, heavens, I am sorry. It does bother you, doesn’t it?”

Clara had to swallow over the bile rising up in her throat. “Nothing bothers me, because there is nothing like
that
going on. Seger was very apologetic about Mrs. Thomas’s behavior.”

“Of course he was. Do pardon me.”

Clara took a deep breath. She picked up her paper, but Gillian did not take the hint. She spoke again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. I see how you look at him.”

Clara set down her paper again. “I’m not going to get hurt.”

“I just know how I would feel if
I
were his wife. He is a handsome and remarkable man. It would be difficult not to be possessive.”

I am going to blow a gasket.

“Permit me to offer you some advice,” Gillian said. “You must try to remember that you are an Englishwoman now, and English wives look the other way when their husbands take lovers. If he were
my
husband, that’s what I would do. I wouldn’t think twice about it, because he is worth it. Not only is he a marquess, but he is handsome and fascinating, too.”

By this time, Clara’s blood was boiling in her head. Her tone was sarcastic when she said, “So it wouldn’t bother you at all if he went off with other women?”

Gillian sipped her tea and tossed her head. “No. I’d be happy that he chose me as his wife above all the rest— especially considering the fact that no one thought he would
ever
marry, because of Daphne. He loved her so deeply. If you could have seen them together, Clara. They were made for each other. They were kindred spirits, the best of friends. Some say that kind of love comes along only once in a lifetime.”

She gazed dreamily into space, then wrenched her attention back to Clara. “Oh, but pardon me, I’m straying off topic. As I was saying, if I were Seger’s wife, he would know that I would always be there for him and I would put his happiness first. He is a great man who deserves an understanding wife.”

For Clara, whose fury had hit the ceiling quite some time ago, it became difficult to even see Gillian. Everything—from the tabletop to the chandelier over their heads to Gillian’s mouth moving clownishly as she chewed—appeared red and grossly mutated.

Clara had not expected this from Gillian, who had been very sweet up until now. Why in God’s name was she saying these cruel, hurtful things, and reminding Clara that she was not the love of Seger’s life?

Then it dawned on Clara. It was like a gaslight exploding brightly inside her head.

Gillian was in love with Seger.

Chapter 17

That night, while waiting for Seger to come to her, Clara was quite unable to refrain from thinking about the things Gillian had said to her that morning. She tried to tell herself that she was jumping to conclusions about the young woman’s feelings, but it did little good. She couldn’t forget the way Gillian had insisted that she would have been a perfect wife for Seger.

Clara wasn’t angry at Seger. The rational part of her mind knew that he had done nothing wrong, at least not that she knew of. She was angry at Gillian for saying what she had said, and she was angry at Mrs. Thomas and Lady Cleveland for reminding her that her husband was coveted by other women, and that he would face temptation every day for the rest of his life.

Women would offer themselves to him. Desperate, lonely women who knew how gracious and selfless he was in the bedroom. Beautiful women, who wanted nothing more than a few casual hours with an expert lover— a man who knew by instinct exactly what they wanted. A man who knew just how to move to give them the most intense orgasm possible.

A small chill cooled her skin at the thought of all the women her husband had made love to, but she was sensible and she knew better than to dwell on it. It was in the past.

Was Gillian beautiful? she wondered suddenly. Not particularly. But she
knew
him, better than Clara herself knew him.

Later, after Seger had come and made love to her, he rolled onto his back and sighed. “I believe I like being a married man.”

Clara tried to smile. “More than being a bachelor?”

He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. “If it means I get to bury myself inside of you every night, definitely.”

“But what if I became ill and was sick for a month? What would become of our marriage if there was no sex? Would you wish for a different wife?”

He rolled onto his side to face her and rested his cheek on his hand. “I told you before that I desire no one but you.”

Desire, yes, but love? Will there ever be love between us?

“You’ve asked me that question before,” he said, “and I’ve answered you, yet here you are asking again. Is it because of what happened at the assembly last night?”

Clara realized how foolish she was sounding. He was right. She had asked this question before and he kept giving her the same answer. She had to try to accept it.

“I’m sorry, I’m saying silly things. I… I think it’s because of the conversation I had with Gillian this morning. It made me uneasy.”

He frowned. “What did you talk about?”

Clara hesitated, not sure if she should tell him, but then she decided it was worth discussing. Perhaps it would bring them closer together on an emotional level, which was what she wanted after all.

“Gillian told me that she saw what happened with Mrs. Thomas, and she congratulated me for not making a fuss. She said that if
she
were your wife, she would give you the freedom you needed.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I cannot believe you had this conversation.”

“Neither can I. All day I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Gillian might be… It’s possible that she might be in love with you, Seger. Have you ever suspected it?”

Seger sat up and gaped down at her. “That’s ridiculous.”

Clara sat up, too, hugging the covers to her chest. “Is it?”

“Of course! She has never so much as glanced at me in that way. She thinks of me as a brother. I cannot even imagine such a thing.”

“But if you could have heard her talking this morning. Haven’t you noticed how she’s been dressing lately? How she’s been changing the way she looks?”

“No, I have not. I think you are letting your imagination get the best of you, Clara, and you always seem to think the worst of me.”

“No, I am not accusing you of anything, Seger. I believe it is all on Gillian’s side, and maybe she doesn’t even know it herself.”

“Know what? That she wishes she were my wife? Good God, if
she
doesn’t know it, it hardly seems possible that
you
could.”

“I just sensed it.”

He got out of bed and pulled on his robe. “This is absurd, Clara. I understood your reservations about marrying me in the beginning, and I understand if you are upset about Mrs. Thomas’s solicitation last night, but this, Clara—this is getting out of hand.”

Her temper began to twitch within her. “You think I am having delusions?”

He sighed with resignation. “I think you are worried about your decision to marry me because of what happened last night, and it has caused you to be irrational.”

Irrational?

“Gillian is just a girl,” he continued, “a shy, quiet girl. She’s not like Mrs. Thomas, so do not think what you are thinking. To tell you the truth, I’m getting tired of your lack of confidence in me. I told you I would endeavor to be a faithful husband, yet you keep bringing up this sort of thing. I’m tired of discussing it.” He crossed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Clara asked, her anger rising. Seger had not understood any of what she was saying. He didn’t believe her, he couldn’t bring himself to doubt Gillian’s sweetness, and he thought she was irrational.

Even if she was completely wrong, he could have at least been sympathetic and tried to ease her mind about it. Instead, he had called her feelings absurd. He had defended Gillian. He was walking out. He did not want to delve into her emotions. He wanted only light conversation and sex.

All he knew was how to be casual.

“I am going to get a drink and read for a while,” he replied. “Suddenly I don’t feel much like sleeping.”

Nor do I
, she thought miserably, flopping back down on to the bed after the door closed tightly behind him.

* * *

Clara couldn’t sleep. She desperately needed to talk to someone, but she couldn’t go to Gillian, nor could she go to her stepmother, who adored her niece and would probably react like Seger had.

Clara wished she could talk to her sister, but Sophia had gone to Bath with James to spend a few weeks with his mother and his sister, Lily, who had wished to escape the pressures of the London Season this year. Sophia had explained to Clara that Lily had gotten into some trouble two years ago, shortly after James and Sophia had wed. Lily had run off with a Frenchman. The whole thing had been covered over, but Lily, unfortunately, had not yet gotten over it. She was uneasy around men and didn’t trust her own judgment.

After a moment’s contemplation, Clara decided to write a letter to Sophia. If nothing else, it would help to express how she was feeling. She went to her desk, pulled out a clean sheet of stationery, and dipped her pen in the ink jar.

“Look what I found?” Quintina said to Gillian the next morning, entering her niece’s boudoir and waving a letter in her hand. “It was sitting by the front door waiting to go out with the rest of the family’s correspondence, so I decided to take a peek.”

Gillian was sitting at her dressing table, trying different hairstyles. “What is it, Auntie?”

Quintina handed it to her niece. “It’s a letter Clara wrote to her sister last night. I almost feel like celebrating.”

Gillian stared at it. “Aunt Quintina, it is unconscionable to read someone else’s mail. Can we be so devious?”

“You can’t pretend to believe that Clara wasn’t devious when she did whatever she did to get Seger to propose. I can only imagine what tactics she used.”

Gillian considered that a moment, then slowly opened the letter and read it. “She told him what I said! I could brain her!”

“Now, now, it’s not such a bad thing. She says Seger didn’t believe it and he called her irrational.
Irrational
, Gillian. He would have absolutely no patience at all for an irrational wife. I believe we’ve found our strategy.”

Still reeling with rage at the image of Clara telling Seger about their conversation that morning, Gillian glared impatiently at her aunt. “Which is what?”

“You must continue to say things that make her mad with jealousy. Hint at things—even things about Daphne—but never be clear. When you are with Seger, behave as you always have. Even ignore him a little more than usual, so that he will think Clara is imagining everything. If we can drive her to tears, that will be even better, because you know how he hates that sort of behavior. He’ll think she’s unbalanced. Then, I will top it all off with my trump card.”

“What’s your trump card, Auntie?”

Quintina smiled. “Would you really like to know?”

A wicked glint lighted Gillian’s eyes. “Of course.”

Quintina sat down on the bed. “As it happens, there is a gentleman from America. His name is Gordon Tucker, and he has agreed to do something for me.”

Clara spent the afternoon riding with Gillian through Hyde Park. She had not wanted to go, but nor had she wanted Seger to learn that she’d refused, so she accepted Gillian’s invitation, donned her black riding habit and top hat, and pasted on a smile.