"Oh, yes, there is." The words throbbed with passion. Shoving at his shoulders again, she twisted at the same time, and at last managed to jerk free of his hold. When he would have retrieved her she whisked herself out of his reach, shaking her head at him. "That I did such a thing once is shameful enough. I won't let it happen again. You will oblige me, please, by leaving me alone after this, and forgetting that we— that we ever met before tonight."
If there was a catch in her voice, there was iron determination too. Gathering up her skirts, she turned on her heel and, head held high, spine ramrod straight, started walking back along the path toward the house.
"Claire."
He sounded both pained and impatient with her. He was coming after her, of course. Had she doubted that he would? Indeed, she could hear his footsteps on the brick, long brisk strides that would catch her in a trice. Claire quickened her pace until she was almost running. She rounded a bend in the path and suddenly the terrace was in view, complete with backlit couples taking the air. Long rectangles of light spilled across the garden just a little way ahead. Music and the sound of laughing voices reminded her that the ball— Beth's ball— was still very much in progress. Claire suddenly realized that she was in no fit state to see or be seen, and veered off the path to head across the grass toward the little side yard and the door that led down to the kitchen. She would sneak in that way, with no one the wiser, then retire to her room with a "headache" until she had recovered her composure enough to permit her to face their guests again. It wouldn't even be a lie. She did have a headache— and a heartache as well. The headache would go away soon enough, aided by a cup of tea and perhaps a cold compress. The heartache, she feared, never would.
But she had made the only possible choice. The right choice, though the pain of it was almost more than she could bear.
"Claire."
With the soft grass muffling his footsteps, she hadn't known Hugh was still behind her until he caught her by the shoulders, stopping her headlong flight almost in the shadow of the house. Then he stepped so close behind her that she could feel the whole well-muscled length of him against her back.
"Let me go." Just in time, she remembered to keep her voice down. Spine rigid, she stared at the ivy climbing the brick walls, at the swaying branches, at the shadowy side yard only a few feet away, without really seeing any of it.
"I have had a mistress or two in the past, I confess. But the word is never one that I would apply to you." His fingers gripped her shoulders without hurting her, but she knew that breaking free of them would require more effort than she was capable of at the moment. His hands were warm and strong and possessive against her bare skin. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, and his breath stirring her hair. "You would be my love instead."
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she sought to resist her body's instinctive reaction to him. No, her heart's instinctive reaction to him.
"You may call it what you will," she said steadily. "Rose or skunk, love or mistress, all are one and the same. It is a role that I can't and won't play. There can no longer be anything between us. Indeed, if you had told me the truth when you should have, there never would have been anything between us."
"Now that," he said in a devastating echo of the words he had said to her once before, "would be a shame."
His voice was suddenly incredibly tender. His hands tightened, and his head bent so that his lips found the soft curve between her shoulder and her neck. Claire felt their moist heat burning her skin, sending shock waves of rekindled desire all the way down to her toes. Her breath caught, her bones melted, and for the briefest of instants her eyes closed in instinctive response. Then her mind kicked in, overriding her body's reaction. Her eyes popped open, and she jerked free of his kiss and his grip, putting several steps between them even as she whirled to face him.
"Leave me alone," she said through her teeth, arms akimbo as she glared at him. "Just leave me alone, do you hear? How dare you make this more difficult for me? How dare you just show up, and expect me to be glad to see you? How dare you ask me if I missed you? If I missed anyone, it wasn't you. I don't know you. Hugh Battancourt was merely someone you were pretending to be."
"Claire." He reached for her again. Baring her teeth at him in what was practically a snarl, Claire backed away with a sharp shake of her head that forbade him to touch her.
"Claire! Claire, are you out here?" The voice was Lady George's, and it hit Claire like a splash of cold water in the face. Glancing toward the terrace, she could just see, through the shifting branches, Lady George peering out over the garden as her petite form came down the steps.
"My mother-in-law is looking for me. Will you tell her, please, that I went inside with a headache some time ago?"
Her spine was straight, her chin was high, and her voice was under careful control.
He frowned impatiently. "Puss, listen: 'Tis a damnable coil, I admit, but nothing I intended and nothing we can't…"
"No! No more. I don't want to hear another cozening word out of you. What was between us is over and already, by me at least, well on the way to being forgotten. If you truly have a care for me as you claim, you will accept and respect that, and leave me alone before you succeed in ruining me entirely."
The control she had struggled so hard to achieve broke. By the end, her voice was shaking. Hugh's eyes narrowed and his mouth went grim as he listened. When she finished, he held her gaze for the briefest of pregnant moments before making her a slight, ironic bow.
"As you wish."
"Claire!" Lady George called again, her voice slightly muffled now as she had reached the garden proper.
Claire's hands, hidden by her crossed arms, curled into impotent fists.
"Thank you," she said.
Then, head held high, she turned her back on him to walk quickly into the concealing shadows of the dark side yard and from there into the house.
Where she could allow herself only a scant few minutes of privacy while her heart broke for the second time.
Chapter 26
"She is really quite breathtaking, is she not?"
The drawling observation caused Hugh to glance sharply over his shoulder. His cousin David stood behind him, obviously, from the hat and stick in his hand, just on his way out. Hugh himself had just come in from a most instructive afternoon, which had included, not coincidentally, a call on his man of business. It was nearing the dinner hour on the day after the ball, and he had paused in the vast, marble-floored hallway of Richmond House as Claire's voice had reached his ears. He'd run up the stairs, where an instinctive glance through the wide doorway of the drawing room had found Claire in the act of standing to bid good-bye to what appeared to be the last straggling group of afternoon callers. Claire's sister was present as well, and the callers were a lively group of what seemed to be young ladies accompanied by their mothers.
He had eyes for no one but Claire, dazzling as always in a slim white muslin gown tied up beneath her breasts by bright blue ribbons, with her hair dressed in a simple fall of ebony curls that spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Impossible as he would have previously thought it, she was every bit as enchanting in the guise of society lady as she had been as the tumbled, sireneyed vixen who had so unexpectedly managed to sink her claws into his heart.
Damn the little witch anyway, he thought, suddenly aware that his body had tightened and his heart had speeded up from no more cause than the merest glimpse of her. He had no more planned to fall under her spell than she had schemed to seduce him, but it had happened. Now he felt both bereft and angry. With his mind, he understood that she had a perfect right not to enter into an affair with him, and could even salute her for the sense of honor and morality that had led her to make such a decision. With his heart— damnable thing!— he felt that she was already his and to hell with any obstacles that fate tried to cast in the way of his claiming her.
The confusion and disarray that had weakened the French forces in the wake of the catastrophic Russian campaign had led to Boney's abrupt abandoning of Paris for Mainz. That in turn had ended Hugh's most recent assignment, rendering him redundant for the moment and enabling him to solicit a leave from Hildebrand. This had been granted, but should conditions on the Continent worsen he knew he could be recalled at any time. It therefore behooved him to spend his long-delayed sojourn in England checking on his estates and attending to business while he could. Fortunately, Claire's refusal to continue their relationship had freed him up to do just that. Doubtless it had been folly to have sought her out again in the first place, as James had protested repeatedly from the moment he had learned that they were bound for England. Though her decision was, to say the least, unwelcome, that she professed to want nothing more to do with him was undoubtedly a major stroke of luck. A wise man would be thankful for her prudence. Under the circumstances, their relationship, however temporarily rewarding it might be, would be considered by the judicious as something in the nature of a bomb about to explode.
Wooing her back into his arms would not be overly difficult, he knew. However much she might protest, he was experienced enough in the ways of women to know that she wanted him almost as badly as he wanted her. But, though more worldly society matrons might discreetly pursue illicit love lives in half the haute bedrooms in London, Claire was not of their ilk. She was still little more than a green girl, and to seduce her in the teeth of her protests and thus expose her to her husband's wrath, her family's disapprobation, and Society's scandal-hungry tongue would be nothing short of an act of infamy on his part.
He knew it, and, however unwillingly, accepted it. But still just looking at her reduced him physically to the level of a callow youth in the throes of his first calf love.
What he needed, he decided grimly as he turned his attention from Claire to her
husband
, was the hair of the dog that bit him. Claire might disdain to be his mistress, but there were plenty of others— outrageous beauties too, he had no doubt— who were not so nice in their notions. A man of sense would undoubtedly seek one out without delay.
"Oh, never fear," David said. "You may ogle my wife with my goodwill. She is most beautiful, but, having sipped of her nectar, I have long since flitted on to fresher flowers. You doubtless understand: It is the way of the world, after all." David was watching him with lazy interest. Doubtless something of his admiration for Claire had appeared on his face, Hugh realized as their gazes met. Well, there was nothing wonderful about that. Any male between the ages of ten and ninety must admire her.
"As you say," Hugh replied, feigning indifference with some difficulty. As David's words sank in, Hugh found himself seized with the sudden desire to grab his cousin by the scruff of the neck and shake him senseless. Any last vestiges of guilt he might have felt at having slept with David's wife vanished. Coupled with all Claire had told him of her marriage, David's words confirmed that there was no union to break: David regarded his wife not with affection or even regard, but as a prize that, having been won, no longer held any value for him. Not that Hugh was particularly surprised. As David was the younger by six years and Hugh had been sent away to school when the other boy was still in short coats, they had not been friends as children, although throughout his life David had run tame on the ducal properties. Still, Hugh knew him well enough to have been appalled when Claire had revealed the name of her husband. For all his golden good looks, David had always had a cold and calculating center. Animals stayed clear of his path, servants tended to leave his service after no more than a few months, and his friends had been chosen with an eye to who they were and what benefit their friendship might bring to David. This afternoon, Hugh had discovered that his cousin had, if anything, added to his list of vices as an adult, and that was a subject that the two of them needed most urgently to discuss.
Deliberately closing his mind to any further thoughts of Claire, Hugh eyed his cousin a trifle grimly. "If you can spare me a minute, I would have a word with you."
"Ah, a lecture from the mighty duke is imminent, I apprehend." David smiled and shook his head at him. "You must excuse me, cuz. I was just on my way to White's. I am promised most faithfully to Hazelden."
"As I am sure that you have some inkling of the subject we need to discuss, you must know that refusing is not an option. In any case, you need not disappoint your friend. This won't take long."
"Duke, I declare, it is so good to see you back in England! Do let me make you known to my daughter Harriet. Lud, never say you don't remember me: I am Lady Langford."
Faintly startled, Hugh glanced around at the interruption. A plump dowager who looked vaguely familiar, having apparently spotted him, had emerged from the drawing room like an arrow shot from a bowstring with her shrinking daughter in tow. Curse it, he was caught. He should have moved faster. Gritting his teeth, he smiled and did the pretty to her and the other females who clustered around almost immediately as well. The mothers were quite open in their avidity to direct his interest toward their girls, while the daughters, well brought up debutantes, were more discreet. Harriet Langford, a shy little blonde, was the most attractive of the young ladies, but she was quite put in the shade by Claire's sister, whose name for the moment escaped him. Though not Claire's equal in looks— who was?— the little sister was lovely in quite another style with her red hair, milk-white skin, and voluptuous figure set off by a low-necked gown of palest peach. Encountering his gaze on her, she surprised him by returning it without a blush, then looking him over with open curiosity deflected by no maidenly reservations that he could detect.
Shades of Claire, he thought, suddenly amused by the young lady's frank regard, and smiled back at her.