The Clarendon Rose (31 page)

So, that’s what self-destruction feels like.
 
That strange, dark vindication of each flash of pain, each reminder that a punishment was being administered exactly as it should be.
 
Of course, her anger had mostly been directed outwards, and it had only been a small, marginalized part of herself that had insisted she must be punished for her inability to hold the duke’s attention.
 
Her little bout of self-flagellation had been mild indeed—nothing like it had been with…
 

Her eyes widened and her head snapped back to Clarendon, where he continued to crouch beside her.
 
He had been almost suicidal in his self-destruction.
 
She swallowed, horrified by this tiny inkling of the kind of darkness and self-loathing that must have been raging inside to have driven him to such extremes.
 
“All those years…”

He shook his head.
 
“I never really thought about how my parents—or even Edmund, for that matter—must have felt each time some new rumor reached them.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“I really was a selfish bastard,” he concluded.
 
“But I’m reaching the point where I’m beginning to accept that as well.”

After a brief silence, Clarendon shook himself.
 
“But enough of that.
 
What did my mother say to upset you?”

Tina sighed.
 
“It’s no longer important.
 
I’m fine now.
 
I should have known better than to allow her to penetrate my defenses—and usually do.
 
But this time, she attacked from an unusual front.
 
I needed time to rally the forces and shore up the defenses.
 
So to speak,” she added with a tired smile.
 
“But I
am
fine now, Clarendon, and I would count it an immense favor if you stopped crouching beside this chair.
 
Go sit down properly, before my knees start hurting in sympathy.”
 
When he hesitated, she grinned.
 
“Please.
 
Now.”

With a sigh, he straightened and complied.

She smiled at him.
 
“So how is that situation of yours developing?
 
The one with Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

He shrugged carelessly.
 
“It seems to be progressing apace.
 
No doubt, it will be resolved in no time.”

“Would you like to discuss it a little, perhaps?”

“Only to repeat what I said earlier.
 
Stay away from him, Tina, and treat any communications from him with caution.
 
I’ve told Edmund the same thing.
 
Oh, and as a precaution, I’ve asked Archer to accompany you on any excursions you choose to make over the next few days—I’ll now ask that you co-operate with him in this.”

“Is that really necessary?”

He gave a dismissive flick of his hand.
 
“As I’ve said, merely a precaution but one I’d rather adhere to.
 
Otherwise, Bastian and I have things under control.”

“You really don’t want to tell me what’s going on, do you?”

He raised his eyebrow at her.
 
“I’d much rather talk about what my mother said to get you so upset.”

Tina chuckled ruefully.
 
“I see.
 
Well then, perhaps we’d best stick to neutral subjects.
 
Lovely weather today, wasn’t it?”
 
Despite her light words, she did feel a little annoyed by his evasion.
 
He had been furious when he learned about Fitzwilliam’s visit.
 
Surely there must be more to the situation than he claimed?

“I imagine so—but I spent most of the morning and early afternoon indoors.
 
By the time I was ready to leave for the manor, it had clouded over somewhat.”

“Yes, I suppose it had,” she said.
 
She had, in fact, only peripherally noticed the change.

“I did manage to get the bank statements—updated to the minute.
 
I left them on the desk for you to go over at your leisure.”

Just then, the tray arrived.
 
Tina ate hungrily, only now realizing that part of her exhaustion originated in the fact that she had barely touched her lunch and had been out walking since.
 
She noticed Clarendon watching her with a smile and she paused, eyebrows raised.

“What is it?”

He shrugged.
 
“I’ve always enjoyed the evident relish with which you devour your food.”

She flushed, glad that the room was dim enough to prevent her heightened color from being too evident.
 
“It’s not very ladylike, I know.”

“It’s very Tinalike, which is far more appealing, as far as I’m concerned,” he said with a grin.

He really is devastating,
she reflected uneasily, still dazed by the effect of the frank—and apparently genuine—admiration in his expression, combined with the magnetism of his smile.
 
No wonder he’s got such a reputation as a rake.
 
That semblance of genuine admiration must be invaluable—or perhaps it
is
genuine.
 
Perhaps he really does love women in their wide range of manifestations.

But, such thoughts were taking her in directions she had resolved to avoid—at least until she had real evidence that he sought his pleasures elsewhere.
 
So, shoving such notions aside, she returned her attention to her meal and applied herself to making short work of it.

Even as she did so, she realized that despite her fatigue, she was looking forward to seeing him tonight.
 
She hoped he would come to her early…

She lay in bed that night, tossed into a quandary by his absence.
 

Did he already sate himself with his beautiful,
demi-monde
lover in London this morning?
came the nasty voice she had grappled with earlier in the day.
 
But, though his absence raised the question, it was nothing close to being proof of anything.
 

And besides, what kind of person would she be to assume the worst when, in fact, he might just be acting out of consideration?
 
He had seen how tired she was and had been very concerned.
 
That she might be too weary to enjoy his attentions seemed a natural enough conclusion.

No,
she decided.
 
There is still no real reason to suspect his fidelity.
 
But even as she thought it, she sighed.
 
How could she have come to this?
 
Examining everything he did and did not do, trying to determine his possible guilt or innocence.
 
When had she become so obsessed and so petty?
 
Part of her just wished he would come out and tell her he had set up an establishment for a mistress and planned to visit her regularly.
 
Then, she would know the worst and would be able to deal with it.

Who knew?
 
She might even be able to forgive him in a few years.
 
Her chest felt heavy with despondency, but she resolved to at least try and get some sleep.
 
She had just curled herself into the covers, when she heard a quiet click.
 

He entered the room, silent as an illusion, and she blinked, at first wondering if she
had
conjured him up out of her own wishful thinking.
 
She gave him a tentative smile.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake,” he whispered.
 
“You were so tired, earlier, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Her smile widened, and she opened her arms to him, feeling the thrill of excitement as he loomed above her.
 
She feasted on the broadness of his body, outlined by the white of his shirt in the darkness, before he lowered himself into her embrace.

She curled her arms around his neck, bringing him close against her.
 
They kissed, and she felt the familiar frisson of rising excitement.
 
His tongue entered her mouth tenderly and she groaned as he caressed her hair with one hand.
 

She gulped deep breaths of air while she helped him remove her nightdress with trembling hands.
 

He leaned forward once more, one of his hands massaging her breast, teasing her nipple into a hard nub, while the other traced a tingling trail of heat across her abdomen, before moving lower.
 
She gasped at the exquisite torture, losing herself to the building sensations.
 
His skilled fingers toyed with her, drawing the diffuse warmth of her mounting arousal to a focused point of intense pleasure.

He continued to play with her, bringing her close to the edge, before retreating slightly, until she wanted to scream with the need for release.
 
His other hand curled under her buttocks, caressing them to a heightened rhythm, even as his mouth began on the path his hands had followed moments before, the beginnings of stubble rasping against her breasts as he licked the hardened peak.
 

Her fingers tangled in his hair, then slipped across his shoulders as she writhed under his skilled attentions.
 

His mouth trailed across her abdomen before supplanting his hands and urging her to an explosive culmination.
 
Her breath came in short, loud gasps as her fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt, convulsively tightening to the throbbing rhythm that suffused her.

Afterwards, she closed her eyes and slipped into soft, sated darkness.

Tina woke with only her doubts to keep her company.
 
Last night, they had been submerged by her relief at his arrival, and the encompassing pleasure of their subsequent lovemaking.
 
But there again, she deceived herself, for they had not made love to each other—he had serviced her, then left her to sleep without taking his own pleasure.
 

And now, in the solitary, gray light of morning, she wondered why he would do such a thing—unless he had already sated himself elsewhere.
 
In London, for instance.
 

Much though Tina tried to push aside the thought, it wouldn’t leave her alone.
 
She stole into the breakfast room early and loaded up a plate of food, before going to the study.
 
Clarendon would probably not be up as yet—and when he did rise, she had asked that he be told she was still a little weary from her previous day’s walk but saw no reason why they should both forgo a morning ride.

With any luck, then, she would not be seeing him for several hours yet.
 

She knew she would have to confront him.
 
But, she also knew that flinging accusations at him would do neither of them any good.
 
And so, she hoped that with a little extra time to compose herself, she would have reached the point where she could be calm and reasonable when they had their discussion.

She needed to find a tactful way to bring her doubts into the open, for it had reached the point where it didn’t matter that there were all sorts of perfectly reasonable explanations.
 
Her mind would not let go of the notion that he had tired of her and moved on to someone of more skill and polish than she was likely to ever possess.

She shook her head as if to banish the thoughts, then let herself into the study.
 
Plunking down her plate of food, she sat at the desk and found the packet of bank statements Clarendon had mentioned the previous night.

She glanced through them, more as a way of occupying her gaze than out of a desire to read them.
 

But, one of the entries caught her attention and she frowned, other thoughts shoved aside by incredulity, as the implications of what she read dawned on her.
 
You wanted conclusive evidence,
she thought, but still her mind couldn’t absorb it properly.

Surely he wouldn’t have been
this
obvious about it.
 

She shook her head, mired in disbelief, in spite of the evidence before her eyes.
 
For here was the record of a large sum withdrawn, the transaction dated yesterday morning.

While she didn’t know how much it would cost to lease a townhouse and set up a woman in comfort, surely this sum would cover that expense—and considerably more.
 
She released a breath, then dropped the paper, unable to bear looking at the numbers any longer.

The air in the room clogged her throat, suffocating her.
 
She had to get outside—and even as she thought it, she was already on her way to the French doors.

She let herself out, rushing across the lawns with no clear idea of where she was going.
 
She was not far from the forest when a voice penetrated her haze.

“Tina!
 
What is it, for God’s sake?
 
What’s wrong?”
 

Edmund.
 
She slowed, turning to face him as he came towards her from the topiary garden.
 

“I kept calling out to you, but you didn’t seem to hear.
 
What’s happened?”

Tina shook her head, unable to discuss these latest discoveries of hers—not yet.
 
Instead, she let out a hard sigh and glanced at him.
 
She started to look away again, but something in his expression made her examine him more closely.
 
His bruised eyes and pallor hinted at a sleepless night, as did his rumpled clothing and shadowed jaw.

“What’s wrong, Edmund?”