Chapter Eighteen

Clarissa unlocked the door to Rayne’s townhouse. When the door opened, she turned back to the carriage and nodded to the coachman. He pulled forward, on his way to deliver her trunks around the back.

If she could not set up her own household, she intended to live alone here. This time, she hadn’t allowed Philippa to change her mind.

She was, in fact, a fallen woman—even if no one but she and Markham knew.

If she wanted to return to Rayne House, she would return to Rayne House. And when Rayne came back, if she wasn’t with child, she would ask to join him on his next adventure.

By then, she would know.

Julia’s scolding had been a revelation, although she’d needed time to fully absorb the blow. Markham had always been so silver-tongued. So glibly cheerful—with his dimples and his winks. How was she to have known what he’d faced, how he’d struggled?

She chewed her lip. She could have tried to think the best of him…the same way he’d seen her in her best light.

Before the folly, anyway.

She’d wanted him to cease his attentions, but she hadn’t anticipated just how wretched his hatred would feel.

And what if there was a child?

She held her stomach. A forced wedding would be the worst possible outcome.

Her lower lip quivered, remembering the frigid impassivity of his gaze.

She took off her gloves as she strode through the entry hall into the morning room. She parted the curtains, but the light only lifted the room from near total darkness to mere gloom.

The house smelled different.

Felt different.

As if she wasn’t the same person who had lived here before.

“Clarissa.”

She swiveled around. Then she screamed.

“Good Lord, Clarissa! It’s your brother, not a ghost.”

“Rayne?” She recognized the voice but not the visage. Her heart thudded against her chest as she approached him. She swept long, messy black locks out of his face, and eyes identical to hers stared back. “Rayne!”

She launched herself at his chest.

Of course, his arms remained frozen at his sides. Because they weren’t the Stanley siblings. The Laithe children did not, under any circumstances, embrace.

Ever.

She clung to him regardless.

The butler appeared, raised his brows, and then silently backed out of the room.

Perhaps they had never embraced, but Rayne remained the only constant in her life. And after she’d shunned Philippa’s counsel and wounded Katherine’s brother, Rayne might be the only one to whom she could turn.

Tentatively, he returned her embrace.

And then, the dam broke.

She wept deep, gulping sobs into his shoulder. Sobs for the childhood they’d never really shared. Sobs for the life she’d trained for that hadn’t happened. Sobs for the love she felt for Markham and hadn’t had the courage to acknowledge.

Oddly enough, Rayne allowed her to cry. He murmured comforting things that made little sense—like the fact that he’d missed her, that he shouldn’t have left her behind.

When she’d wrung herself dry, she pulled back. “I cannot believe you’re here.”

“I am here.” He wiped away her tear with his thumb.

She stepped back.

What had happened to her brother?

He’d always been smooth-skinned, almost to the point of being glossy. And, once he’d aged out of his fascination with amphibians, he’d maintained a cultivate air of refinement—perfect hair, a perfect shave, and a perfect hauteur few among his peers dared challenge.

He’d been silence and reserve, his life a series of balance sheets carefully tallied and always, always tilted in his favor.

Though clean, he now appeared as gruff as a feral dog. She glanced past him to the mirror. She was one to talk. She was a mess, too. Hair black as Rayne’s, spilling from her once-neat twist in wild wisps. Nose red, eyes puffy.

She narrowed her eyes at her brother.

He held up his hands, suddenly wary. “Now, Clarissa.”

He should be wary. Her surprise and relief transformed into fury.

“Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?”

He swallowed. “Clearly, more than I anticipated.”

“How did you think I’d feel?”

“Relieved?” he suggested.

“Relieved you left or relieved you returned?”

He shrugged. “Both?”

“In two years,”—she shoved his chest—“I received two letters. Two!”

“Nineteen months,” he replied. “And mail is notoriously unreliable.”

She folded her arms. “How many letters did you write?”

He flashed a guilty glance. “Two.”

“Rayne, you are the only family I have left in the world.”

“I know.” His gaze softened. “I regret not asking you to come with me, I swear.”

How many times had she wished he’d asked her to leave with him? But if he had, she never would have—she swallowed—fallen in love.

“I did not even know where to write.” She turned away. “Did you even think of me? Did you think of me at all?”

Over her shoulder, he handed her a handkerchief—one of several she had stitched for him as a child. She scowled down at the fabric. Did he, too, think a handkerchief could make everything right? She slanted Rayne a glance.

“If you think this will soften me…”

“It doesn’t? Not even a little?”

She glanced down at the linen. Rayne had kept it. Carried it with him during his travels. That counted for something, she supposed.

“You are probably right.” She dabbed at her eyes. “But do not consider yourself absolved.”

He snorted. “I never believed it would be that easy.”

He moved to the back of the room. When he returned, he was carrying two glasses.

“What is this?”

“Sherry, of course.”

Of course, she’d hoped for cognac.

She tossed back the contents.

He glanced at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Thirsty, are you?”

“Don’t even think about criticizing me, Lord Two-Meager-Letters. And no explanation of where I could write.”

His gaze shuttered. “Your letters wouldn’t have made it to me anyway. I moved around a good deal.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” He grasped her by her hand and led her to a covered settee. “Let’s sit.”

He smiled—and not just any smile. He smiled the smile that had made Diamonds infamous, the one that melted ladies faster than lit candles.

“I’m immune,” she scoffed, but couldn’t help a small smile in return.

“So,” he said, “tell me what I’ve missed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely. I’ll just summarize the last two years—

“Nineteen months.”

“Over a small glass of sherry and be done.”

“How is the estate?”

“Thriving, no thanks to you.”

He exhaled. “I hadn’t heard from the steward.”

“I’m not surprised.” She humphed. “As he passed away not six weeks after you left.”

“Pardon?”

“We were both lucky you hadn’t revoked Bromton’s power of attorney, else I wouldn’t have been able to—”

He paused, sherry halfway to his lips. “Bromton?”

“Bromton,” she repeated with a touch of sarcasm. “You know, the man whose lands border ours? Your confidant, your constant companion, your—”

“Enough,” he said quietly. “You might have had him hire a new steward and be done. There was no need—”

“Did you think I’d allow my inheritance—and yours—to fall to waste?”

“Bromton,” Rayne forced out, “is no longer connected to us.”

“You needn’t remind me of my broken betrothal. However, you promised you would work to mend—”

“You do not need to associate with Bromton,” he said. “Had I known you would seek his counsel, I would definitely have—” He stopped abruptly.

“What? Done a bit of planning before packing off in the dead of the night?” She shook her head. “Be grateful for Bromton’s assistance. Under his direction, a new line of lead has been discovered—one containing silver. The mine is more profitable than ever. Now that you’ve returned, you, of course, may choose your own advisors.” She folded her arms. “I, however, will choose my friends.”

If they were still on speaking terms.

“Bromton,” Rayne said darkly, “is not your friend.”

“He is, as a matter of fact.” Though the marquess had been clear that he thought she’d been foolish where Markham was concerned. “As are Lady Bromton and her delightful little sister.” She paused. “Lady Julia.”

He froze. “Are you telling me you’ve taken to the whole Stanley family? First Bromton, now you? What, exactly, is so compelling about them?”

His voice held a razor’s edge.

Julia may have nearly forgotten about Rayne, but Rayne had not forgotten about Julia. Not that she was in any position to help Rayne sort his affairs.

“What, exactly, do you have against the Stanleys?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Yes,” she said. “None of my concern. Just like your estate. Your travel. Your liaisons with unmarried young women—”

“What did she tell you?” Rayne demanded.

“Rayne.” She softened her voice. “She didn’t need to tell me anything. You returned from Lord Markham’s estate in the dead of the night and by the next day, you were gone, leaving me in an untenable position where Bromton was concerned.”

He stared, dumfounded. “You assured me Bromton hadn’t broken your heart.”

“He hadn’t! My ‘betrothal’ was an understanding between our parents, not a matter of the heart. But that didn’t mean the ton wasn’t fully prepared to snicker at my expense when he returned to London with his new bride.”

“What happened?”

“I befriended the new Lady Bromton, of course.”

“Your overtures to Lady Bromton were in your social interest, yet you speak as if your connection is sincere.”

“Fortunately, she is a dear. As for Lady Julia”—she paused significantly—“for the entire summer after we met, she left the room whenever anyone mentioned your name. I’d rather know what you think of Lady Julia than tell you my opinion.”

He bit back a snort. “My thoughts aren’t fit for gentle ears. What has she said of me?”

Clarissa’s gaze narrowed. “Very little. She’s been otherwise occupied of late. She and Farring’s sister, Lady Horatia, shared a debut ball last Season. They were both declared diamonds of the first water.”

He slanted her a glance.

“Why is it, brother dear, you look as if you’ve swallowed rotted meat?”

“Hunger?”

“What transpired between you and Lady Julia?”

“I failed to act with prudence.”

Clarissa lifted her brows.

“Very well, I acted…rashly.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “You have no idea how maddening that family can be. It’s like the whole estate is cursed. Nothing makes sense while you’re there.”

She snorted. “Actually, I know exactly what you mean.” She pulled a second handkerchief from her pocket and dropped it in his lap.

He unfolded the handkerchief, running his fingers over the M.

“Well,” Clarissa exhaled heavily, “if you’ve a problem with Lady Bromton, and a problem with Lady Julia, you are definitely not going to like what I have to tell you next.”

“Markham? And you?”

She nodded.

He lifted one brow, looking dangerously intent. “Do I need to hurt him? Because believe me, I would love to—”

“No,” she interrupted, spent. “I bear the greater responsibility for any hurt. And by your logic, it’s rather Katherine’s prerogative to hurt me.”

She took back the handkerchief, staring down at the M.

Lapin. She missed him.

“What can I do?” Rayne asked.

What could he do? “Next time you leave, you can take me with you.”

“Yes.”

She traced the outline of the M. “I promise I won’t take up much room.”

“Yes.”

“I know it’s not quite customary to travel with one’s unmarried sister.” She ran light fingers over the small fabric ripples made by her dried tears. “But I think you would appreciate—”

“Clarissa!”

She glanced up.

“I said yes. Twice.”

“You did?” She never believed he would.

“And I am going back. As soon as possible. You’d love the young country. No titles. Little pomp. Women can own property—even married women.”

“Yes, I know.”

She’d gotten exactly what she wished.

So, why wasn’t she elated?

And why did thinking about the new world make her feel so old?

…

Markham stood outside Sharpe’s in the rain. Although rain wasn’t quite the right description. The precipitation wasn’t as much rain as air perspiration—cold sweat that permeated everything in a slow, oozing drench.

He’d walked there, too, which meant he was wet. And tired. And hungry. And the club was closed.

The club was never closed.

Yet, the doors would not open, and there wasn’t any sign of the butler who had served there for, oh, since the beginning of time.

If he hadn’t come to destroy the bet, he wouldn’t really care that the club had closed. What comfort was he going to find in a collection of men, most of whom he didn’t like anyhow?

He wouldn’t miss his time here like he missed his days with Bromton, and Farring, and, yes, even Rayne—the whole card suit. Because their time together hadn’t been about indulgence or distraction.

They’d played cards as if the answers to the great mysteries could be found in every hand. They’d talked about ideas. They’d teased and mocked one another, but their friendship had been based on true comradery, not proximity.

He missed that.

Though not nearly as much as he missed—

He shook his head.

He refused to revisit his heartbreak again.

Clarissa had made her choice. What was done was done. And there was no point in going back over what he’d done wrong. And he’d done pretty much everything wrong.

Rules hadn’t helped.

Perhaps what he’d needed wasn’t restriction but proliferation.

Ideas. Action.

Behind him, a horse squealed.

He turned.

Moultonbury and his pack of pups had arrived.

The horse in question moved sideways and snorted. Atop the horse, Moultonbury struggled. After kicking out of his reins and dismounting inelegantly, he brushed off his trousers and stood tall, as if nothing had happened.

“She’s a thing of beauty, is she not?” Moultonbury asked.

The horse snorted and looked away.

“Smart, too,” Markham replied. “She doesn’t seem to like you.”

Moultonbury lifted his chin. “I’ll bend her to my will.”

Markham shook his head.

“You don’t believe I can?”

“Oh, I believe you can. The sad part is you don’t understand that you shouldn’t. You work with a horse’s nature, not against it, you ass.”

“He calls me an ass, boys, but what he won’t tell you that he decided as much only after I showed him his place. He once offered his sister to me. I declined, unlike his friend Bromton. Then again, perhaps by then, Katherine was more enthusiastic about…smiling.”

The men snickered.

“Do you think that’s wit, gentlemen?” Markham squinted. “Humiliating ladies who aren’t present?”

The snickering quieted.

“And what of him?” Markham indicated Moultonbury. “Why do you think he’s unable to find friends of his own age? Maybe because true gentlemen regard spreading insult and slander as cowardice. I warn you all, character always comes home to roost.”

“I have a lack of character?” Moultonbury smiled slowly. “I did not attach my name to a bet to ruin a lady—to court her, to make her smile, and then reject her.”

Markham audibly inhaled.

Moultonbury shrugged. “You were there at the genesis of the bet—I heard she smiled frequently while you danced—and, though everyone has seen you together, the lady’s brother has returned, and there is no hint of a betrothal. Face it, Markham. You’ve been more brutal to Lady Clarissa than I’d ever be.”

Visions of Moultonbury’s bloodied face flashed before his eyes. He stalked forward, but an arm against his sleeve held him back.

“Moultonbury.” Pritchett spoke with quiet authority. “That’s not how it happened, and you know it. Are the rest of you going to stand there and listen to him lie?”

“Step aside, Pritchett,” Moultonbury sneered. “This is between Markham and me.”

“It’s not,” Pritchett said. “We all witnessed the bet. Lord Markham came to the lady’s rescue. You were the one being vulgar and cruel.”

“Shut it, Pritchett,” Dalton piped up.

“You’re cut from the same cloth as Moultonbury,” Pritchett said to Dalton. He returned his attention to his collected “friends.” “Moultonbury’s a lark, I’ll give you that, but any one of us could be his next victim, because there won’t ever be enough. He will always need to feed his dissatisfaction, smearing others in the name of honor, when we all know he hasn’t any himself.”

Murmurs circled among the men.

“You hear that, Moultonbury?” Markham asked. “That’s the sound of character coming back to roost.”

Markham tipped his hat to Pritchett and turned away.

He’d be back. He’d break into the building and then he’d burn that wretched betting book.

It would be his last act of chivalry before forever setting aside his romantic ideals.

Clarissa would not suffer because of their time together.

Not if he had any say.