The Rebellious Twin (23 page)

He must be careful. She must not think he had any purpose in mind other than to find additional news about her friend. Never should she know she was ruining his sleep at night because he could not stop thinking of her. Never should she know he loved her as he had never loved another woman in his life.

How could he see her and talk to her alone? He thought to pay another visit but immediately realized Mama and the sister would be hovering like vultures, not giving them one moment by themselves. Besides, she would likely plead a headache again and not come down. But perhaps he could contrive to meet her elsewhere. He thought to write a letter, but concluded, too risky. Writing notes to single young ladies was an exercise fraught with peril, especially if her parents found out. But he had to see her. There was only one way, he finally concluded. He was sure she still rode, probably Dublin, and probably, now the weather had warmed, every day, no doubt early. And where would she ride? That was easy — in the exact opposite direction of Hollyridge Manor. In order to avoid me, he thought with irony.

The next morning, Clarinda, riding sedately sidesaddle on Dublin, was traveling along the river path when she saw an approaching horse and rider. Her pulse leaped. Even at a distance one could not help but admire the tall, straight carriage of the rider atop his noble stallion. It had to be none other than Lord Stormont riding Sham.

How awkward. She had taken great pains to avoid him, yet here he was, cantering toward her at a fast clip. Her mind raced, wondering how best to handle what could be a troublesome confrontation. She decided she would nod curtly as he rode by, but not slow Dublin, thus making it clear she had no desire for conversation.

“Ah, Lady Clarinda, what a surprise!” he called as he approached. “How delightful to find you out riding early, and on Dublin, I see.”

To her chagrin, her plan to ignore him was thwarted when Stormont stopped Sham in the middle of the narrow path, thus blocking her attempt to pass him by. She reined Dublin to a halt. “Good morning, m’lord.” With a lofty toss of her head, she continued, “I often ride this early, and on Dublin.”

“To the neglect of Donegal,” he commented.

Her anger spurted. She opened her mouth for a sharp retort but he laughed and raised his hand.

“Forgive me. That slipped out. I confess, this meeting is not accidental. I had a fair idea you’d be out riding this morning. I need to talk to you.”

“What could we possibly say to each other?” Clarinda asked. Dublin chose that moment to do a little dance along the path, so the frosty glance accompanying her words was lost. After she settled the gelding, she declared, “I must return home. Will you kindly clear the path, sir?”

“Return home?” he asked skeptically, “why the urgency?”

She regarded him scornfully. “I must work on my sampler.”

Stormont did not move. Instead, he frowned at her, directing his gaze to her sidesaddle. “Ah, I see we have become a lady now. No more racing full tilt across the field, legs astride.”

Infuriating! “How I ride is none of your concern,” she retorted, making no attempt to conceal her indignation. “Now I must insist — “

“You are not getting by.” Stormont dropped his reins and crossed his arms. “Not until I talk to you. By God, you’re stubborn.” He was silent for a moment, apparently lost in his thoughts, his face a reflection of some inner turmoil that appeared to be raging inside his head. “I have not come here to argue with you,” he finally said, his voice restrained. “Instead, I’ve come to beg a favor.”

Her pique subsided. It was difficult to be angry with a man who’d come begging. “And what might the favor be?” she asked.

“I want to know the truth about Sara Sophia.”

“I told you — “

“No, you did not. Yesterday at tea you were dispensing pap. I read between the lines.” Stormont leaned forward in his saddle. “I shall be honest. I said my friend, Lord Wentridge, had an interest in Sara Sophia, which is true. What I did not say — and would not say because it is no one else’s business — is that Lucius has fallen madly in love with Sara Sophia, and she with him. Their situation is hopeless” — Stormont threw up a hand — “but nonetheless, he is in London pining away for the girl, in a state of — how shall I say? — extreme love sickness?” Stormont looked uncomfortable, but carried on. “The man cannot be consoled. I promised I would find out what I could, for what good it might do. I had thought that perhaps if I brought him news that she was well, and reasonably happy, he might be able to carry on with his life, but because of your little — shall we say, hesitation? — yesterday, I felt compelled to get you aside and ask for the truth.”

So that was it. She felt hideously deflated, realizing he had only sought her out because of his friend. “I shall tell you what I know…”

She proceeded to relate everything she had read in the letter from Sara Sophia, plus what Sara Sophia had not said, but could be read between the lines. “…so as you can see, she’s miserable, and her situation is not likely to improve.”

“Wentridge asked her to run off to Gretna Greene with him,” Stormont commented. “Perhaps she should have.”

“She was tempted, yet her sense of honor compelled her to say no. It’s terribly sad. My heart aches, just thinking about them.”

Stormont nodded his agreement. “Surely a romance doomed from the start.” He heaved a disappointed sigh. “Perhaps I shan’t tell Lucius the truth after all,” he mused aloud.

She nodded grimly. “In this case, it might be better to pretend you don’t know.” With a great show of casualness, she gathered up her reins. “Is that all, sir?” The words had almost stuck in her throat, so miserable was she that their meeting was about to end. She longed to tell him how she missed him, how she dreamed each night of those brief moments she had been in his arms. It was obvious, though, he was not going to give her the opportunity. Not a word of a personal nature had he said. Furthermore, his eyes, though friendly, contained none of the passion she had seen that day he kissed her on the riding path. Naturally they wouldn’t. For reasons she would never understand, he no longer cared. She had better stop torturing herself and accept his indifference. And more, she must show him she, too, did not care. Thank goodness, an aching heart did not show.

Stormont gazed at her with guarded eyes. “That’s all,” he replied. “I am in your debt, and if you hear anything more of Sara Sophia — ?”

“I shall keep you informed.” She knew she could achieve a graceful exit if she tapped Dublin with her riding crop and left this instant. But somehow she could not move. Their gazes locked. Was it her imagination or was there a faint glint of raw hurt deep in those dark eyes?

As if they had a will of their own, almost before she knew what she was saying, the fatal words slipped from her mouth.

“Why did you not come that day?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

Stony faced, Robert continued staring at her. For a moment she thought he might ask, “What day?” but he did not. She should have known he was too blunt, too honest to pretend he didn’t know.

He looked away, looked back, regarded the sky, looked back again. “The words you spoke at Lady Lynbury’s had wings,” he said sardonically. “Have you not learned by now not to speak your mind in front of the servants? Let alone Lady Lynbury who reigns supreme as the purveyor of gossip throughout the countryside.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your remark to Lady Lynbury,” he responded with biting sarcasm. “Perhaps you remember? He laughed wryly. “Not exactly flattering to a man.”

Her mind was reeling. “You mean you think I said something insulting about you?”

“You did say it. Don’t deny it. Servants don’t lie, at least not about something such as this.” With a supposed easy laugh he continued, “But never mind. As you can see, I am not Lucius. My heart is far from broken. As to your question, naturally I was not eager to keep our rendezvous once I heard your opinion of me.” His eyes turned hard and cold as ice. “You had best reconsider, though, before you make such a remark again.”

“I never made any such remark,” she cried, feeling sick in her stomach at his sudden hostile demeanor. “There must be some mistake.”

“You brought it up,” he said harshly. “I haven’t asked for an apology, nor do I expect one. I heard of your remark through two different sources — the servants, and Lady Lynbury herself, who called on me personally.” He laughed bitterly. “You can imagine her distress at having to impart every tiny detail of your visit — your pink velvet spencer, your white silk dress, even your gold necklace with the “C”.” He shot her a twisted smile. “It was you all right. Do not do me the discourtesy of lying to me now.”

“But I — “

“It would appear there’s nothing more to say,” he said coldly, backing Sham away. “You will let me know any news of Sara Sophia despite our differences?”

“Of course,” she replied, matching his coldness with her own.

“Then good day, m’lady.” Stormont touched the reins to Sham and start away.

With rising dismay Clarinda watched the man she loved urge Sham to a trot and disappear down the path toward Hollyridge. But I have not gone to visit Lady Lynbury for ages — long before Lord Stormont arrived. In a state of complete bewilderment she wondered how Lady Lynbury could have told such a lie. But the servants, too? They couldn’t all be lying. Perhaps they had just thought they had seen her. Or perhaps … ?

There is something about the necklace…

She recalled the day she had discovered hers and Rissa’s necklaces had been switched. Rissa had denied all knowledge of how it could have happened, other than it must have been a servant who had switched them. Clarinda had thought it strange at the time, but there was nothing more she could do. Suddenly the undeniable and dreadful fact struck her hard. Of course! There was only one way those necklaces could have been swapped. It was…

Far down the path she saw clouds of dust fill the still morning air as a horse’s great hooves pounded against the earth. Stormont hove into view, approaching fast as light. When he reached her, he reined so hard Sham snorted, reared, pawed at the sky. In a twinkling, Stormont slid off. With powerful strides he approached her, a lethal calmness in his eyes.

“It was Rissa,” he said.

“I can’t believe it, yet who else could have done this but my own sister?” She looked down at him from atop Dublin, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Why didn’t you tell me? If only I had known!”

“Because I was hurt. Because I was a fool.” Stormont leaned his palms against Dublin, one on either side of Clarinda as she sat upon her side saddle. He looked up at her, his face twisted with emotion. “This had to be deliberate. What a hellish thing for her to do.”

“What exactly did she say?” asked Clarinda. She had to know.

“I am loath to repeat it.”

“Please do.”

He smiled wryly. “She said, ‘I could never love a man like Lord Stormont. How I shall dread sharing his bed. He’s — ’”

“But that’s not true!” she blurted, “why, I have often thought — ” Realizing what she’d just said, she felt herself turning red. “Just wait until I confront Rissa!”

“Hush!” Stormont commanded. “We shall discuss Rissa later, but now…”

With a joyous hoot, he wrapped his hard-muscled arms around her knees and drew her from the saddle, held her high, and whirled her around, not placing her on the ground. “So you’ve thought of going to bed with me,” he said lightly, gazing up at her.

“Young ladies do not discuss such subjects,” she answered primly, but with a smile.

“They don’t?” For a moment he buried his head in her skirt. She felt him tremble as he let her slide down an inch or two, close as hand in glove against him. Scandalously close. Mama would definitely not approve. His compelling eyes riveted up at her again, then glanced at Dublin, who was busy nibbling grass from the side of the path. “What do you think, Dublin?” he called. “Does the young lady need to be kissed again? Or — ” still holding her high, he joyously swung her clear around again ” — perhaps your mistress prefers to get back to embroidering her sampler, in which case, I shall not kiss her at all, especially if she’s thinking of the hero. What was his name? Hmm, I seem to have forgotten it.”

Laughing, she gripped his shoulders. “Dublin,” she called, “he knows full well ‘twas Jeffrey.” She tried to think clearly, but it was difficult, what with Robert’s arms wrapping even tighter around her legs and his masculine scent of leather mixed with honey water wafting up at her. “But about Rissa — “

“Forget Rissa. You and I have some making up to do.”

“Put me down.”

“In good time.”

He allowed her to slide down his chest a trifle more, then tightened his grasp again. How solid and sinewy his body felt! I should not be doing this, she thought. Again, she felt her face flush. “We really shouldn’t,” she said, thinking how weak that sounded. She made a feeble attempt to wrench away, but stopped immediately, knowing she had no wish to escape his embrace.

“We really should,” he said. Still holding tight, he let her slide all the way to the ground, with infinite slowness, planting kisses as he went, at her waist — her midriff — between her breasts — the hollow of her neck, her hair. When they were exactly eye level, he whispered, “Or would you really rather go home and embroider your sampler?”

“No.” Her arms slid around his neck.

He regarded her with burning intensity. “Or would you rather think about Jeffrey?”

“No!”

“Well, then.” His lips feather-touched hers with tantalizing persuasion, as if she needed any! A torrent of emotions flowed through her as he pressed his mouth hard to hers. He cared! He wanted her! The dismal, bleak winter months were gone, and with them the terrible hurt she’d felt that he had rejected her. Her emotions whirled and skidded with the wonderful shock of it all.

Suddenly he broke off the kiss and put her away.

“Why are you stopping?” she asked.

“Because I’ll take you right here if we don’t stop,” he said through ragged breathing. He walked to Sham, who though not tethered had not wandered away. “Good boy,” he said, and patted the horse’s rump, quietly, for some moments, as if he were collecting his thoughts. When he looked back at Clarinda, he was in control again. “We have much to discuss.”