Clarissa floated into the breakfast room, rejuvenated despite the few minutes of sleep she had managed to snatch between bouts of splendid lovemaking. Seb was already seated, looking more handsome than he ever had. She had watched him swallow at the sight of her, pleased that the simple, loose knot Agnes had arranged her hair in perfectly displayed its lack of curls. It was a statement. A declaration of love. One it was obvious he appreciated.
Breakfast was the least formal meal in the Penhurst house and guests seated themselves. This morning’s bunch was sparse. Penny sat at the head of the table, Westbridge and the young usurper on one side and Seb sat alone on the other. Supremely conscious of his eyes on her, Clarissa loaded her plate with all the foods she usually deftly avoided. Because he adored her curves, and to her maid’s utter consternation, she had insisted her stays should be looser and more comfortable this morning. It was a good job. Clarissa was famished. In fact, she could not remember a time when she had been this hungry. Confession truly was good for the soul. So was pleasure. Seb had invented a scandalous way of helping her consign his questions for Penny to memory. She had remembered them all much earlier than she let on, prolonging the sweet torture until all rational thought was impossible. She was going to thoroughly enjoy being his wife.
Not that he’d asked.
They had been too busy exploring each other to discuss the inevitable formalities.
Balancing a slice of toast onto the mountain of eggs and bacon on her plate, she took herself to the seat next to Seb.
‘Good morning, my lord. How are you?’
‘Never better, my lady. Yourself?’
‘In fine fettle. The finest, in fact.’ Thanks to his talented mouth and the glorious other parts of his anatomy. His knee came to rest next to hers proprietorially and desire bloomed afresh. Would they be able to sneak away some time this morning? Clarissa certainly hoped so. Making love to Seb was her new favourite form of exercise.
‘Good morning, Lady Clarissa.’
The clipped tones of the Duke of Westbridge reminded her of his existence and reluctantly she tore her eyes away from her handsome lover to politely smile down the table. What on earth had she ever seen in the man? In a ridiculous profusion of lace, the Duke appeared annoyed. She couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to care what about. ‘Good morning, your Grace. And Lady Olivia. You look lovely today.’ Clearly her good mood knew no bounds if she was tossing out compliments so blithely. But then Olivia was no longer competition now that Clarissa had won the real prize.
‘You look...different. What have you done to your hair?’ The younger woman’s smile didn’t touch her eyes.
‘Nothing whatsoever. I left it as nature intended. It’s wonderfully liberating. You should try it.’
‘Alas, my hair is naturally curly.’
She felt Seb’s warm palm smooth up her thigh under the table and swallowed the bubble of laughter that threatened. ‘Lucky you. I have to sleep in uncomfortable rags to get mine to curl. I’ve decided to dispense with them henceforth.’ Alongside her tighter corsets and her virginity. And the ridiculously constricting label of Incomparable. That, too, was part of her past and she was done pretending. Clarissa was going to be herself from now on. ‘Could you pass the jam, Lady Olivia? I have a sudden craving for sweet things.’
The table fell silent as she smothered her toast in a thick, crimson layer of raspberry preserve as if the concept of a young lady indulging in sugar in public were entirely alien. She supposed it was. They all curbed their natural desires and personalities to secure the right husband, a wholly pathetic notion now that she thought about it properly. Thanks to Seb, the blinkers Clarissa had worn for a decade had been totally discarded. There was a whole world outside of the claustrophobic confines of polite society where a woman’s life was dictated by unreasonable expectations.
Frankly, it no longer mattered that she couldn’t speak French or play an instrument, paint or embroider. She was loved rather than admired. Respected for her quick thinking and canny insight. Her new world involved espionage and excitement, passion and laughter. A meaningful sense of purpose. Love. None of those meant she needed to abandon her desire to have a family—only now she would be having a family with a man she adored rather than one who loved the façade she had painstakingly constructed and hidden behind all her adult life. The urge to paint a garish and childish rainbow was overwhelming.
‘Penny, can I borrow your watercolours this morning?’ With Seb off to meet his men this morning, she might as well indulge her whim.
‘I didn’t know you could draw?’ Her friend sounded amused at the uncharacteristic request.
‘I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.’ She might even take a Mrs Radcliffe novel out on the lawn and struggle through it at a snail’s pace. Feeling loved made Clarissa feel invincible.
‘Then perhaps we should take a ride across the estate?’ Never one to miss an opportunity, Lady Olivia pawed at Westbridge’s scrawny arm.
‘Would you care to ride with us, Lady Clarissa?’ The ugly vein next to Westbridge’s eye was pulsing. It almost put her off her jam.
‘No, thank you. But the pair of you should go.’ And ride off into the sunset together towards their inevitably miserable society marriage. With her blessing. ‘I’m sure dear Olivia would prefer having you all to herself, your Grace.’
‘I shall go and change immediately!’ The barnacle practically bolted in case anyone changed their mind, her bird-sized breakfast already forgotten.
Penny was watching her intently, a question in her eyes. ‘If you don’t mind the company Clarissa, I should like to paint, too.’
‘I should love some.’ Although the prospect did dampen her buoyant mood, Seb needed answers and Clarissa needed to find a way of forewarning her friend of the chaos to come without compromising the mission. Seb squeezed her thigh in sympathy, then stood.
‘I shall see you later, ladies.’ His head tilted ever so slightly. ‘Your Grace.’
She watched him leave with a definite spring in his step and grinned into her napkin. ‘I should change also. Excuse me.’ Westbridge clicked his heels like a Russian Prince and strode out as well, clearly fuming. That, too, made her smile.
‘What’s going on?’ Penny darted from the carver chair at the end of the table to the one Seb had just vacated.
‘I’m not sure what you mean?’ The smug, satisfied smile refused to fade and she found herself grinning openly at her friend.
‘Oh, really? The intensely longing gazes? The flirting? The surreptitious touching under the tablecloth! Are you enamoured of Lord Millcroft or is it just another ploy to force Westbridge’s hand?’
‘Westbridge proposed last night.’ A bubble of laughter escaped. ‘I said I needed to consider it—but I’m going to turn him down, Penny. Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Because of Seb?’
‘Yes, because of Seb! I’m in love, Penny. Deliriously, hopelessly head over heels in love with the man.’ Something she should probably tell him at her earliest convenience, too. Last night he had barely given her time to breathe, let alone speak.
‘You scarcely know him.’
‘I know enough.’
Penny’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He has made fast friends with my husband.’ Under normal circumstances a valid note of caution. ‘I would hate for you to make the same mistakes I did.’
‘Oh, Penny...’ The guilt was unbearable. ‘Leave Penhurst. Today. I’ll help you. I’ll buy you a cottage somewhere well away from him, you could change your name...’
‘We have a son, Clarissa. I could never leave my baby behind.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting you did. I’m sure you’d both have a much happier life out of Penhurst’s clutches.’
Penny glanced down at where Clarissa’s hands had gripped both of hers tightly and stared. ‘If only...’
‘Let me help you. I guarantee I can have you out of this house before dinner.’ If Seb could help a harlot escape he would help her friend, she knew that with the same certainty that she knew he loved her. ‘Pack a small bag and...’ She felt Penny’s hands slide out of hers.
‘If I did that, then he would hunt me down. Not for me, but for his heir. He has powerful connections and the law would be on his side. I would spend my whole life in fear, looking over my shoulder. When he caught me, and he would catch me, I’d lose my son for ever.’ Resignation. Acceptance. Another forced sunny smile. ‘Besides, it’s not so bad. Penhurst spends so little time here that I frequently get to forget he exists.’
As one door closed, another always opened. ‘How often is he here?’
* * *
‘Millcroft. A word.’ Seb felt his hackles rise at Westbridge’s summons, but forced a bland expression as he turned around.
‘Your Grace?’ He made damn sure he didn’t incline his head one jot this time and pulled himself to stand at his full height for good measure.
‘In private. A gentleman doesn’t discuss matters of import in the hallway.’ The Duke barged past into the morning room, expecting Seb to follow.
‘Is this going to take long, only the stables are expecting me and I had planned a morning ride myself.’ Folding his arms, he sat on the arm of a convenient sofa and looked bored.
‘I wish to talk about your inappropriate relationship with Lady Clarissa.’
‘That is none of your business.’
‘I’m afraid it is. We are betrothed.’
Impossible. ‘Does she know?’ The flippant tone made the Duke turn bright red with indignation.
‘Of course she knows. I proposed yesterday. The banns are being read at St George’s next Sunday. We agreed to keep the engagement a secret until she could speak to her family in person.’
The bile rose in Seb’s throat. Gem had made no mention of it yesterday or last night as she lay in his arms. The windbag was lying. He had to be lying. ‘If I were you, I would talk to her again.’
‘I have. Just now, as a matter of fact, and she reiterated her joy at becoming my duchess. The Countess of Penhurst will bear witness as she was there and sworn to secrecy.’
The room tilted and for a moment Seb feared he might see his breakfast again. Only stubborn pride covered the pain. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. I shall pass on your felicitations to my fiancée.’
‘I would rather pass them on myself.’ He wouldn’t believe it. She had given him her innocence. Flirted with him this morning. Entrusted him with a secret she hadn’t dared confide to another soul. He loved her. He’d told her. She hadn’t reciprocated the declaration...
‘I’m sure you would. Which brings me to my main point—Clarissa has asked me to inform you that your attentions are no longer required. They served an obvious purpose—’ the Duke smiled in that condescending manner the aristocracy did so well ‘—because your little ruse worked, but frankly she was never going to consider a mere lord now, was she?’
He’s a duke.
How many times had Gem uttered those words? Too many—as if dukes were the be all and end all...but would she be that callous? The nagging voice of experience in his head spoke with bitter memories. People of his lowly status were insignificant and disposable. Shamelessly cast aside when they had served their purpose. ‘What ruse?’
‘Her little plan to make me jealous. She confessed it all a few minutes ago after your outrageous display at the dining table.’ If Westbridge knew that then she had told him. The betrayal was like a knife in the back. ‘Obviously, propriety dictates that such behaviour has to cease immediately. Duchesses need to be beyond reproach. Clarissa understands that and therefore has decided to sever all ties with you.’
He was disposable.
Of course he was.
Like his mother before him Seb had been a means to an end. Entertainment. Callously tossed aside now that he had served his purpose.
Even though he was dying inside, he returned the smug smile. ‘Tell my lady that I was glad I could be of service.’ Blessedly, his legs still worked, allowing him to stand and saunter to the door. They carried him at a respectable pace to the stables, got him astride his horse and made that horse trot sedately out of sight of the house.
Only then did he allow the molten rage at his own stupidity to vent as he kicked his mount into a gallop and howled at the sky, his heart sliced in two.