Chapter Seventeen
“I do not understand why you insisted we meet here,” Rebecca hissed, as she gave an uneasy glance around the dining room to ensure that no one in the vicinity was eavesdropping. “’Tis far too risky. What if someone comes in and recognizes me? My father believes I am spending the afternoon at the dressmaker’s. He will have apoplexy if he discovers I am out with you, unchaperoned.”
Richard took another bite of his beef, then put down his knife and fork. “This establishment is too far away from the fashionable shopping district to be frequented by anyone of your acquaintance.”
“I can believe that,” Rebecca snapped, pushing away her uneaten plate of food. “The floor is filthy, the table linen stained. I shudder to think what sorts of vermin reside in the kitchen. How can you so eagerly ingest this slop?”
“It’s delicious,” Richard said. He cut another large chunk of rare roast beef and stuffed it in his mouth with an exaggerated motion, attacking his food with all the gusto of a starving man.
Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. Her revulsion brought a small smile to the squire’s lips, the only bit of sunshine in this otherwise gray, rainy day when the weather matched his mood exactly. He was becoming tired of London, bored with Rebecca, and impatient to enact his long-awaited revenge against Claire and her noble husband.
“We should have arranged to meet somewhere more secluded, more private,” Rebecca whined. Her hand slid across the table, and her nimble fingers began stroking the flesh of his exposed wrist. “I do not have to return home for two hours. ’Tis not too late for us to take a slow carriage ride around the park, with the shades drawn.”
The look on her face told him if their chairs were closer together, she would most likely be reaching under the table to grab hold of his cock. Richard shuddered. Rebecca’s invitation left him strangely disinterested. She had become far too predictable. It was almost as if he knew what she would say before she even opened her mouth. He took another bite of his meal and, not for the first time, wished she were not so necessary to his plans.
“Your eagerness delights me, but we must be careful.” As he uttered the lie, Richard struggled to sound as reasonable and gentlemanly as possible.
He knew the value of being charming. Though she was pathetically obvious in her eagerness to please him, Rebecca possessed a vicious temper. Now was not the time to risk igniting it. Not when he was finally so close to achieving his revenge.
Rebecca made a sound that was not quite a sob. “There was a time, not too long ago, when you would have been the one insisting we take that carriage drive,” she accused.
Though he managed to keep the bulk of his annoyance hidden, the squire’s eyes made an insulting appraisal of his companion. “Stop pouting, dearest. It contorts your face into a most unattractive expression.”
All pretense of upset vanished instantly. Rebecca’s eyes blazed. “I want to leave. Immediately.”
“Then do so. I shall not prevent it.”
“Fine! The moment you make the arrangements for a hackney, I will depart,” Rebecca said, interjecting ice into her voice.
Tension crackled in the air and all the pent-up frustration inside Richard rushed forward. Oh, how he wanted to follow through with her demand and send her fleeing into the streets! He was heartily sick of Rebecca Manning. She was spoiled, selfish, and vain. To his mind, she was in sore need of a sound thrashing, and he was just the man to do it.
They fell silent when the waiter approached with a second bottle of wine the squire had ordered earlier. “Just leave it on the table,” he instructed.
Richard topped off their goblets. Rebecca shook her head, turning up her nose as though the liquid were putrid. “I don’t want any wine. Tell the waiter to take it away.”
The squire studied her for a moment, his head to one side, feigning interest in her obvious distress. His regard caused her anger to gradually soften, and Richard decided he needed to tell her what he required of her before it reemerged.
“Would you like me to order something else for you to drink? Or eat?” It took considerable effort to put an edge of concern in his voice.
“No.” She continued to sulk, and he continued to act as though he gave a damn about it, even though his patience was wearing thin. Soon, the effort succeeded. Rebecca blinked hard. One hand fluttered up to her throat. “Your moods are a constant puzzlement to me, Richard. I do not understand why you insist on treating me so deplorably.”
Bloody hell, now she wanted to talk about his moods! The squire tapped his fingertips rhythmically on the tabletop, the only outward sign betraying his inner agitation. Rebecca was too absorbed in her own emotions to notice.
He pushed his plate away, suddenly losing his appetite; then lifted his goblet and took a big swallow of his wine. “Forgive me if I have distressed you in any way.” The words nearly stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. “Though I have struggled to ignore it, I am still a bit annoyed over your failure last night to deliver Lady Fairhurst to me as you promised.”
Rebecca shot him a furious look. “I have already explained that it was not my fault!”
Richard’s body tensed. He was tired of excuses and tired of failure. He wanted, needed, to have Claire in his power. He had imagined over and over in his mind how he would taunt her, frighten her, play his all-time favorite game of cat-and-mouse with her, until her breathing was hoarse and thick and she begged him for mercy.
He wanted her shaken to her very foundations. He wanted her filled with regret that she had not seized the chance to become his wife when she had the opportunity. He wanted her to pay for cutting his pride to shreds, for slighting his attentions, for refusing to acknowledge that he was the one man who deserved to be her lord and master.
“You told me that your father prevented you from leading Lady Fairhurst to our little meeting spot at Vauxhall,” the squire stated, bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Rebecca insisted. “He has taken note of your interest in me and that, in turn, has made him more overbearing and possessive.”
Richard’s mouth twisted into an odd smile. Rebecca’s father must be dealt with, and he suspected it would appeal to her nature to have her father brought down a peg or two. “Then we must devise a plan to overcome this annoying obstacle.”
“It won’t be easy. He watches over me like a hawk.”
“Ahh, a challenge.” He sat back in his chair, eyeing her. “Something which we both exceed in overcoming.”
“At times.” She regarded him steadily. “Though I have been thinking that all of this seems to be far more trouble than it is worth. It might be best to drop it for now.”
“No!”
Rebecca drew in a deep breath. “I do not understand why you are so obsessed with Lady Fairhurst.”
Richard frowned. Her shortsighted jealousy was becoming tedious. “I was doing this for you, dearest. Although if you prefer to leave the happy couple alone, to let them bask in the attention and adoration of the ton, we shall drop the matter entirely. I suppose by now there are a few people who have forgotten that Fairhurst was to be your husband.”
Rebecca absorbed his words in silence, and then spoke. “It would be fitting to see them both brought low.”
“Yes, it would.” Richard reached into his pocket and produced a cheroot. He leaned forward and lit it from the candle on the table, then feeling Rebecca’s disapproving stare belatedly asked, “Do you mind, dearest?”
“I suppose not.”
He inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke, then smiled most charmingly. “We need to review the next few days of society events and decide which will be the best occasion to carry out our little surprise for the viscount and his bride.”
Rebecca frowned. “There are so many different parties. How can we possibly determine which of them Lord and Lady Fairhurst will attend?”
“Perhaps there is a servant in their household who could be enticed to aid us? For a fee, naturally,” Richard suggested.
“I’m afraid we shall find no help from that quarter. Nearly all of Fairhurst’s servants have been with the family for generations. They are a disgustingly loyal group.”
The squire stared at her, thunderstruck. The only way Rebecca could possibly know that was if she had already tried—and failed—to bribe one of the servants to spy on Fairhurst.
Fascinating. Perhaps there was more to Rebecca than he originally thought.
“Then it might be best to decide which events we shall attend,” Richard said. “The viscount and his wife are bound to appear at one or more of them.”
They spent the next twenty minutes discussing the ton’s social calender. It was assumed that either one or both of them would be included on the guest list for each of these parties, though Richard was not as certain of this as Rebecca.
Talking about afternoon picnics, musical evenings, and masquerade balls was hardly a stimulating topic, yet the squire felt a rush of excitement when he contemplated how he would crush this noble couple. Rebecca’s attention, however, began to wander.
Regretfully, Richard realized further enticement would be necessary, especially when Rebecca ignored his question about Lady Brookstone’s ball for the third time and flashed another of her insufferable sultry smiles his way.
Insatiable slut. It seemed that these days her mind was perpetually in the gutter. Richard was not interested in bedding her, but it might be necessary in order to gain her cooperation. To make his task more palatable, he would use Rebecca’s body shamelessly while Claire occupied his mind and fired his blood with lust.
“The sooner we are finished with this business, the sooner we can take a carriage ride in the park.” Richard spoke in a husky whisper designed to tease her desire. “With the window shades drawn.”
She peered at him through her lashes, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips. “Will there be enough time?”
He traced her jaw with his finger and skimmed it down her neck. “Do you doubt I can make you come before the coach completes a full circuit of the park?”
Rebecca smiled weakly up at him. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind, and your delicious body, to doing,” she replied in a deep, passion-roughened voice.
He took hold of her hand and smoothed his thumb over her palm. “I can. And I will. Because there is no other woman except you who can bring me such incredible pleasure.”
The words were hollow, but Rebecca was too flushed with sexual excitement and triumph to notice.
But later, when he imagined it was Claire who straddled him so wantonly as he gripped her naked buttocks and pounded himself furiously inside her gloved warmth, so damn deep and tight, it was the squire who felt flush with triumph.
“Are you quite comfortable, Aunt Agnes?” Claire asked her elderly relative. “I told one of the footmen to pack a lap blanket in the carriage in case you felt a bit of a chill.”
“I am managing,” Great-Aunt Agnes replied in a sour humor, as she tugged the ribbon under her chin, checking the security of her bonnet. “Though I don’t understand why you chose to take the barouche. I don’t like open carriages. There’s no privacy, no protection from the elements, and the constantly blowing breeze can ruin a perfectly fine hat.”
Claire sighed. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth the effort to try and please her great-aunt. “I thought you would enjoy the warm, fresh air and sunshine,” Claire answered, wishing she had taken her husband’s advice and used the family coach instead.
Great-Aunt Agnes’s brows knit together in confusion. “You said you were taking me to a picnic.”
“We are.”
“Then why did you bring this carriage? Honestly, child, just how much fresh air and sunshine can a body tolerate?”
Claire forced a smile. It was either that or scream in frustration.
“If you prefer, I shall send John Coachman back to the house the moment he delivers us to Lord Castleman’s manor,” Jasper offered. “Then, Aunt Agnes, you will be assured of riding home from the picnic in comfort.”
Great-Aunt Agnes smiled broadly. “That is very considerate of you, Fairhurst.” She gave a little sigh and lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I would be more comfortable in a closed carriage, though I would certainly not want you to go to any trouble on my account.”
“’Tis no bother,” Jasper replied.
It was difficult for Claire to keep a straight face. Her great-aunt enjoyed nothing more than having everyone dance to her tune, and it seemed as though her husband had fallen neatly into that trap.
She was about to lean over and tell him he had just been manipulated by an expert, when she noticed the faintest of smiles touch Jasper’s lips. Their eyes met, and he gave her a look of amused understanding. Apparently, Jasper knew more about elderly women than she realized.
“When we arrive at the picnic, you must allow my brother to be your escort, Aunt Agnes,” Jasper said. “He can introduce you to the most interesting guests.”
Jason, who was seated beside the older woman in the carriage, quickly agreed. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Oh, now don’t be foolish,” Great-Aunt Agnes protested, but Claire could see her aunt was tickled pink at the very notion of having a handsome young man at her beck and call for a few hours. “Mr. Barrington doesn’t want to be saddled with an old woman like me. He will want to spend his time with the younger set, specifically the young women.”
“Oh, my dear lady, bite your tongue.” Jason placed the back of his hand against his forehead with an exaggerated, dramatic motion and sighed heavily.
Everyone laughed. Jason waited until they grew silent before continuing. “I confess, my motives for wanting your company are purely selfish. I am counting on you to protect me, Aunt Agnes. Though I have done everything in my power to prevent it, whenever I attend a society gathering, young, unmarried women tend to flirt shamelessly with me.”
“Or fawn over you,” Jasper interjected.
“Of course they do,” Great-Aunt Agnes said primly. “You are a very handsome young gentleman.” Her keen gaze flicked between the brothers. “Actually, both of you are exceptionally handsome. It is nothing short of extraordinary to see the amazing resemblance you share. Claire, why did no one mention to me that your husband had an identical twin brother?”
“I suppose it just slipped everyone’s mind,” Claire replied vaguely.
Great-Aunt Agnes made a scornful sound. “I don’t see how it could.” She continued her study of the two brothers. “It must be odd to share your face with another individual, even if that person is your own flesh and blood. Tell me, has anyone ever mistaken one of you for the other?”
Claire noticed the brothers exchange a brief glance. The usual undercurrent of tension that always seemed to surround them was barely perceptible this afternoon, and Claire hoped that meant they had come to some sort of truce.
“Personally, I think the resemblance has faded over the years,” Jason remarked.
“Oh, not at all,” Great-Aunt Agnes insisted. “Why, you could easily exchange identities and fool any number of individuals. Even those who claim to know you best.”
A small gasp escaped Claire’s lips. Great-Aunt Agnes’s seemingly innocent inquires were coming perilously close to uncovering the truth. “I think Jasper and Jason have long outgrown such childish pranks,” Claire said with a forced smile.
“Nonsense. Men never tire of acting like imbeciles. ’Tis part of their nature.” Great-Aunt Agnes spoke with her usual authority, reminding them all that the deep lines of age etched over her plump features in no way impaired her sharp tongue.
Fortunately, they were saved from further comments and questions about Jasper and Jason when Great-Aunt Agnes suddenly lapsed into a fit of coughing. Once recovered, she spoke passionately about how her feeble lungs could not possibly tolerate so much fresh air.
It was sunny and warm when they arrived at Lord Castleman’s estate, which was situated just beyond the boundaries of London. With a little encouragement, Great-Aunt Agnes was persuaded to stay for the afternoon’s festivities. Though touted as a picnic, there was nothing about the elegant affair that even marginally resembled the rustic outings most people experienced when eating out-of-doors.
On the vast expanse of manicured lawns behind the manor house, long, damask-covered tables were laid out in the shade of the tower oak trees. There were endless platters of artfully arranged food, both savory and sweet, and guests were encouraged to help themselves. Smaller tables were set out at intervals around the edges of the grounds, some in the shade, others in partial sun.
Musicians were clustered on the terrace, servants in full dress livery hustled to and from the main house carrying trays of food and drink. Great-Aunt Agnes immediately commandeered a sunny table for herself, and, as promised, Jason became her willing errand boy. He made a mad dash for the food, returning with a filled plate and two prominent matrons who were anxious to meet her.
Deciding she had endured more than enough of her great-aunt’s company, Claire struck off on her own, after insisting that Jasper join a group of his male companions. Promising to meet later to eat lunch, the couple separated.
At first Claire was content to wander along the terraced gardens, following a flagstone path that curved around a row of close-clipped hedges. She exchanged polite nods with the other guests as she walked by, but Claire was glad no one stopped to engage her in conversation.
She had been introduced to so many people since coming out in society, it was nearly impossible to remember everyone’s name. Their real names. In a fit of wicked humor, Claire had assigned many of society’s fashionable elite some sort of nickname, and she strongly doubted they would find the humor in her addressing them as Lord Sour Breath or Lady Busybody.
Claire soon came upon a section of formal gardens. The area had been set with various straight paths leading to a marble fountain, complete with a statue of the Goddess Venus, at the center. Flower beds bursting with color and blooms lined the many paths, their sweet scents permeating the air.
Charmed with her discovery, Claire followed one of the paths up to the fountain, removed her glove, and thrust her hand into the cool, trickling water. It felt wonderfully wet and refreshing. After assuring herself that no one was close enough to see, Claire removed the other glove and cooled both hands.
For one wild moment, she was tempted to splash her face, but dignity prevailed. Reluctantly, she dried her hands with her handkerchief, pulled on her gloves, and then circled around the fountain to the path on the other side. She turned the corner of the high, neat box hedges and instantly tensed as a curious sensation sank into her. It was not precisely fear, but more the instinctive internal warning of danger.
She was being watched.
Though the afternoon was bright with sunshine, Claire felt an icy shadow curl around her. Something, or rather someone, was causing an uncustomary anxiety to gnaw at her. It was all mixed up with an odd feeling of unease, the persistent and nagging feeling that she was being keenly observed—by someone hiding in the shadows.
Claire shaded her eyes and carefully surveyed the crush of guests. Everyone seemed to be having a delightful time. The music played softly in the background as people strolled along the paths and lawns, conversed in small groups, clustered around the elegant linen-covered tables, and sampled the array of food. Footmen circulated with wine and spirits for the gentlemen and fresh lemonade for the ladies.
Yet this feeling of discomfort held Claire immobile, chilling her flesh. Her heart was beating very fast.
“You seem upset. Is anything wrong, Claire?”
Startled, she glanced up at her husband’s clouded expression. “’Tis nothing.” She experienced a sudden flash of guilt. Claire had no wish to ruin his enjoyment of the afternoon, especially when there was nothing of substance to report, for she was experiencing only a feeling of unease.
Lord Fairhurst came forward and took her hand in his. “Claire, tell me.”
He uttered the words in a voice of fierce possessiveness. She smiled slightly, amazed at how it made her feel protected and safe, knowing he cared about her welfare so much.
“I know this will sound foolish, but if you insist.” A movement caught her eye and Claire turned her head, but the couple to her far left was engaged in an earnest conversation, seemingly oblivious to everything around them. Claire sighed, almost sorry she had broached the subject.
“I have the persistent feeling that someone is watching me, rather intently. Yet when I look about to identify them, no one appears to be taking any notice of me.”
Jasper’s brows rose fractionally. “Of course people are watching you. Staring, in fact. You are the most stunningly beautiful woman at the party.”
Claire smiled, despite the queasy feelings that still invaded her stomach. “I am hardly the most attractive female in attendance, though I thank you for the compliment.”
“It was sincerely given.” Jasper gazed at her reflectively for a long interval. “Is Dorchester here? Has he approached you?”
“I have not seen him, but he could easily be one of the many guests.”
Jasper frowned. “If you are feeling uncomfortable, we shall leave at once.”
“And listen to Aunt Agnes prattle on about how she had to ride in the barouche for over an hour, only to be forced to abandon the picnic before she had eaten a proper luncheon and was introduced to everyone of importance?” Claire rolled her eyes meaningfully. “I think not.”
“Good point. The last thing your aunt needs is more ammunition for her complaints.”
“Precisely.” Claire gave herself a mental shake. “Forgive me, Jasper. I’m just being silly. ’Tis a lovely affair and a glorious afternoon. You should return to your friends and enjoy yourself.”
Jasper’s nostrils flared. “You are the most levelheaded female I have ever known. If you are feeling uncomfortable, there must be a reason.”
“Perhaps I am still rattled over the incident at the theater.”
“Perhaps.” Though Jasper had agreed with her, he hardly looked convinced. “I think the best course is for me to remain by your side until we return home.”
“Won’t the other guests think that odd for a husband and wife to be so long in each other’s company?”
“Hang it. Your safety and peace of mind are far more important than anything this misguided lot thinks.”
Claire allowed herself a small smile. Though Jasper had yet to verbally declare his love for her, she was well satisfied with how their relationship was progressing. More and more, his selfless acts of caring demonstrated that she was an important and valuable part of his life and that he was committed to doing whatever was necessary to make her content.
And although he might not be able to fully understand or accept it, Claire knew, as she strolled through Lord Castleman’s fragrant gardens clutching her husband’s arm, that she and Jasper were linked together in an unbreakable bond.
Knowing that gave her the strength to smile and converse with the other guests as though everything was perfectly fine, even though she still felt the unease of unknown hostile eyes watching her every move.