The Mysterious Lord Millcroft

by Virginia Heath

  To torment him, Clarissa smoothed her palm down his abdomen and felt the taut line of muscles bunch beneath her fingers, then gave in to the temptation of touching him lower. His eyes closed and he sucked in a breath as she openly explored the length and shape with her fingertips with such deliberate slowness that his control soon snapped. On a growl, he rolled her to lie beneath him and plundered her mouth, his own hands doing some exploring of their own, smoothing over her body possessively.

  When his lips closed around her nipple it was she who growled in appreciation, her body writhing on the mattress as he took his time to worship both breasts while her nails raked his back and scalp to anchor him in place. Her legs fell open and her hips bucked when he touched her sex, welcoming the strange intrusion and the new sensations it elicited, yet needed more. So much more.

  Instinct made her position her body beneath his, made her hook her legs around his. Her body cradled his naturally, her hips rising to signal she was ready. Wordlessly, Seb gazed down into her eyes and began to gently edge inside, his arms braced and big body taut with the effort it took to give her the time she needed to become accustomed to his intrusion. Then he stilled, his expression pained. ‘This bit might hurt at first. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Clarissa grabbed his hips and lunged hers towards him, biting her lip against the slight discomfort and then marvelling at the intimacy of being wholly possessed by him. Only when he was certain the pain had passed did he begin to move and a whole new world of pleasure opened up. One that her body was apparently beyond ready for because it was wildly out of her control. Instinctually, her pelvis tilted to meet each thrust, her body tightening around his as all rational thoughts evaporated.

  Open-mouthed kisses.

  Needy sighs.

  Nerve endings dancing with the strength of their passion. Nothing in the universe existed except him. She chanted his name over and over again like a mantra. Tears pricked at her eyes at the intensity of the emotion which seemed to fill her heart and clog her throat, merging with the physical and the carnal until Clarissa thought she would die from the joy of it all. The wonder.

  Then he spoke. Just three simple words.

  ‘I love you.’

  Words she had never dared hope for, but which gave her battered soul absolution. And the brittle universe in which only they existed shattered into a million brilliant and blinding stars.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  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-siz
ed 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.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Seb failed to materialise for luncheon as he had promised. Clarissa tried not to be concerned. After the smuggling ship had offloaded last night she supposed the mission was at its most critical stage. Plans would need to be put in place. Reinforcements and the proper authorities would have to be summoned. Instead she helped herself to extra potatoes and did her best to appear interested in Westbridge’s conversation. Annoyingly, he was seated beside her. More annoyingly the other Duke, the one she ferociously hated, was sat the other side. Feigning civility to the man who had beaten Seb and ruined his childhood was proving to be more difficult with each passing minute. Each time he spoke, the urge to stab him in the forehead with her fork was overwhelming. In fact, the urge to stab a few of the so-called gentlemen seated at this table with a fork was overwhelming.

  Penny was subdued. They’d had a long and frank discussion about the state of her marriage and the perils of marrying the wrong man, and whilst her friend was
still convinced Seb was the wrong man, discussing her own troubles, so long bottled up, had stirred up emotions that up to now had been private. As Clarissa had long suspected, Penhurst’s cruelty was physical as well as mental and he was not averse to beating her if she spoke out of turn or displeased him. Which she apparently did without trying.

  The viscount’s infidelities were more than an open secret. They were another stick to beat his wife with. The monster revelled in telling his wife all the sordid details of his affairs, comparing her body to the harlots he preferred as he forced himself on her. Those debasing violations, Penny had assured her, weeping, happened less and less, and she would still not hear of leaving him because of her son. That baby and the long stretches of her husband’s absence were Penny’s salvation. His visits home a nightmare. All bar one of the dates Seb had given her married with the days Penhurst had graced his wife with his presence and subjected her to his abuse.

  Clarissa hoped he hanged and was more resolved than ever to help free her friend from the life she had never deserved. It was an extreme solution, but a fitting one for Penhurst. He caught her looking at him and raised his glass, already drinking wine in the middle of the day.

  ‘Do you have any idea when Millcroft will be back?’ It was the third time he had enquired in the space of an hour. Penhurst’s interest bothered her.

  ‘Soon, I am sure.’

  ‘I hope so, for I have something to... Ah! Talk of the Devil and the Devil shall appear.’

  Seb strode in and little bubbles of excitement popped in her belly as she waited for him to glance at her in the same heated way he had over breakfast. He didn’t look at her. ‘I’m sorry I’m late—but it is a lovely day and I lost track of time.’ He snapped open the napkin as he sat in a chair next to Penhurst at the opposite end of the long table.