“Cass will protect you,” Clive said. “I have no doubt about it.” He cupped the back of her neck and brought her close to he could kiss her forehead. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He pulled away. “Before Harry jumped to his death, I asked him why he hadn’t gone after Cass. Why did he go after you? If Cass died, Harry would have become Van Dero.”
“What did Harry say?” Irene asked.
Clive frowned. “He said he tried.”
“Harry tried to kill Cass?” she hissed. Anger built within her, all of it directed at her departed cousin.
“Cass will protect you.” Clive tightened his hold on the back of her neck. “Stay away from Alice, all right?”
She nodded again.
“Kiss me before I go.”
“You’re leaving now?” She was beginning to panic. She was glad to see her cousin, but she didn’t want her husband to leave.
“It will only take me a few days to go and return,” he said. “Less if I go by horse, so kiss me.”
Irene refused. If she kissed him, he’d leave.
He smiled as if reading her thoughts. “Must I steal a kiss from my own wife?” He bent his head.
Irene slipped from around his hand and bolted toward the stairs. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She heard Clive chuckle behind her and screamed as she dashed into their bedroom.
His footsteps were heavy in the hall.
Irene had her dress undone by the time he entered their room. She held it up to her bosom.
He closed the door behind him and then swaggered over. His expression reminded her of a pirate, which was appropriate given that he’d come to steal a kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her and said, “Give me your mouth.”
Irene allowed her dress to fall, leaving her in a corset and petticoats.
Clive’s eyes warmed. “A parting gift?”
She threaded her hands through his hair. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll only be gone for a few days.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I’ll miss you as well.” Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her. “I’ll miss you more,” he whispered against her mouth as he pushed her into the bed.
She doubted his words. She’d miss him more. She loved him and she made certain she told him so as they made love one last time before he left.
∫ ∫ ∫
5 5
* * *
Clive looked down at the address Irene had given him and then toward the crumbling house a few yards away. He’d ridden through the night, only stopping at an inn to sleep for a few hours before mounting his horse and going on.
The house belonged to Mr. Walter Parker with his sisters Mildred and Susanna and while the building itself left much to be desired, the gardens and the land were immaculate. Everything seemed healthy and glowed in the heat of the afternoon sun.
He knocked on the door and a young woman answered.
“Hello?”
Clive was momentarily startled by her eyes. They were gray with a black rim. Her hair was black as well. Her lashes long. She had a haunting beauty about her. Was she the maid? She looked him over, clearly took in the wealth of his clothes, but didn’t open the door all the way. Clive could only see her head.
“I’m Lord Fawley. I’ve come to see Mr. Parker.”
“He isn’t here.” She didn’t move to open the door farther. “Come back later.” She began to close it.
Clive put out a hand to stop her. He had no intention of staying long. He wanted to get back to Irene.
His move startled her. Her eyes widened. “Are you the housekeeper?”
“No,” she said. She didn’t offer her name.
Clive narrowed his eyes and thought he should try again. “I am the Marquess of Fawley. My wife, Lady Irene, said she gave you a wheelchair.”
The woman’s face softened at Irene’s name. Then she smiled and opened the door. “You are Lady Irene’s husband?” She wore a faded muslin gown. “She’s likely the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. Is she here?” The woman looked past Clive and around the yard.
“No, I came on an urgent matter,” Clive said. “I would very much like to get back to her quickly.”
She looked at him, and her smile softened even more. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” He made sure his heart rested in the word.
“Come in.” She moved out of the doorway.
“I didn’t get your name,” Clive said once the door was closed.
“Mildred,” she said. “But everyone calls me Miss Milly.”
“Miss Milly then.” He bowed. “Is her father’s wheelchair here?”
“Yes. Come with me.” She started to lead him through the house. It was large inside, but just as rundown as the exterior. The stairs creaked as they went down, so much so that Clive wanted to forbid the woman from climbing them until he could have someone come and fix them.
“The chair was for my father,” she said. “But he died almost a month after Lord Van Dero.” She opened a room in the very back of the basement and there was the wheelchair. A royal cushion sat on it. Clive inspected it with hope turning in his gut, but in the end, there was only a slit, a sewn opening. The book had once been there just as it had been in the throne.
But it wasn’t here.
The last place Clive hadn’t looked was the old man’s tomb. He didn’t want to dig the old duke up, but he might have to in order to get to the book before anyone else did.
He straightened from the chair. “Was there a book in here when you got it?”
Milly frowned. “No, I don’t think so, but feel free to check my father’s rooms.”
They went back up the stairs. Clive closed the basement door behind him and then turned to Milly. “Forgive me for being forward, but my wife would think ill of me if I allowed you to use those stairs again. I’ll send a man to repair them. Until then, please do not take them again.”
Milly blinked and then smiled. “You’re just like her. So generous. I’m glad to know she found a kindred spirit. God bless you, my lord, and thank you.”
Clive was warmed by her words. It was rare he did an act of kindness for anyone who wasn’t close to him. It felt good. No wonder Irene did it so often. Clive looked around the house and wondered what else he could repair. “How are the stairs going to the next floor?”
“Fine. Come. I’ll take you to my father’s room.”
Inside, the room was tidy but very plain. There weren’t many places one could hide a book. When Clive was finished, he turned to Milly to see a child standing at her side. The younger woman had to be Susanna. She looked so much like Milly. She had to be ten.
After being introduced, Clive asked Milly, “Does your mother reside here?”
“No.” Milly said no more about the woman and then they heard the door open. Milly tensed, but then relaxed. “It’s likely my brother. Would you like to ask him for the book?”
Clive nodded and followed her to the drawing room.
A young man rested on an old couch. His head was thrown back. His eyes were closed. His rumpled clothes and mussed black hair were signs of a man who’d had a wild night. “Milly, get me a glass of water, won’t you?”
“Walter, we have company.”
Walter’s eyes opened. They were silver like his sisters’. He looked Clive over and then stood. He attempted to straighten his hair and clothes. “My lord.” He looked about twenty or perhaps a little older than that.
Milly stepped forward. “Lord Fawley, this is my brother, Mr. Walter Parker. Lord Fawley married Lady Irene.”
Walter bowed and then he glanced at Milly nervously. “Congratulations, my lord. Irene is a wonderful woman. I wish I’d known we were having company. I’d have been more… prepared. Forgive the state of the house, my lord. We’re preparing to move.”
“Mo
ve?” Milly asked. Her brows pinched together. “Walt, what have you done?”
“Later, Milly.” His eyes warned her against speaking another word.
Susanna said, “I’ll go get tea.” She left quickly.
Clive wondered just how involved he should get with this family’s problems, but then decided he would remain out of it.
Walter looked at Clive again. He smiled. “The Marquess of Fawley has graced us with his presence. What a pleasure. The boys at the tavern will never believe me when I tell them. I would think a man like you would be enjoying the Season. London.” He said the city’s name with reverence. “I’ve been there once. It was not the most pleasant holiday I’ve taken, but I vowed to try again. In fact, we’ll be moving there soon.”
Milly’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing. Then, in a rush, she excused herself from the room.
Clive watched her go and then turned to Walter. “Are you selling the land?”
Walter nodded. “My father got us into a bit of debt and I only made it worse.” He chuckled at the end. Then he looked around the walls before turning to Clive again. “The land is worth a great fortune. It will sell easily.”
Clive agreed. Only a short drive away from the Van Dero estate, the crumbling home sat on a plot of land others had to be envious of.
His mind began to work. “How long have you been overseeing the land?”
Walter turned his eyes away as he thought. “For about three years.”
“From what I see, you’ve done well.”
“I have, my lord.”
Clive thought some more. “I’d like to survey it this afternoon if you’re available.”
Walter looked puzzled. “For what?”
“I might be interested in making a purchase. Of course, I won’t be here so I’ll need a tenant who knows what he’s doing to oversee it and perhaps, over time, the land can be earned back.”
Walter stared at him, stunned. Then he seemed to recover quickly and grinned. “Thank you, my lord. I can show you the land now if you’d like.”
It would take Clive more time before he could return to Town, but he thought this to be a worthy cause. He could already see Irene’s joy at the thought that he’d helped someone.
“Is that the reason you came?” Walter asked.
“No.” It was only then Clive recalled what he’d come for. “Actually, I’m looking for a book.”
“My grandfather had a library once, but I’m afraid there is barely anything left on the shelves.”
“The book may have been in your father’s wheelchair. I checked the wheelchair, but the tome wasn’t there. It belonged to Van Dero.”
Walter’s brows lifted. “A tome hidden in a wheelchair? No, I can’t say I’ve seen any tomes. I’m sorry.”
Clive nodded. By the state of the house, it was clear the family didn’t have the book. If the book were real, such power would bring a more inferior man wealth.
“Let’s check the house thoroughly,” Walter said. “If it is here, we will find it. Then I can take you to see the land if you’re still interested.”
Clive nodded at the plan. “Where do we start?
∫ ∫ ∫
5 6
* * *
“More tea, Your Grace?” Irene heard Alice whisper to her cousin. Her voice was light yet held a sensuality that could not be denied.
“Thank you,” Cass said plainly. There was no inflection to his voice, but that meant nothing since everyone suspected the two were sharing a bed. Irene didn’t suspect. She’d asked Cass and he’d told her the truth.
Alice had slipped into his room that first night and he’d not turned her away. His logic was, why not? Though unmarried, she was no maiden and no young miss. Neither was she highborn. They could have their fun if that was their desire.
And it was.
Since Cass’ arrival, Alice had made herself indisposed to anyone and everyone except for Cass. With Cass watching Irene, it meant the ladies were nearly joined at the hip as well.
But never alone. Cass was always between them.
Irene couldn’t see them. She was posing for Lucy in their impromptu studio, yet her mind was a thousand miles away. She wondered where Clive was and when he would return. Two days had passed since he’d left. Irene was growing quite envious of all the couples. James and Kent had returned yesterday, both in defeat. Their only hope was Clive.
Alice giggled and then released a breathless laugh, but for what, Irene didn’t know. “Let me get that for you,” Alice whispered. Had Cass spilled something? Had Alice? Where? What was she getting for him? Irene wanted to peek but couldn’t.
Lucy did. Then she rolled her eyes back to the canvas. “Would someone please read?” Lucy had not been herself since yesterday. She’d also begun to distance herself from Alice. A few of the other women had as well. The conversations in the drawing room were growing quieter. Alice was the only person to fill in the noise.
“I’ll start at the top,” Cass said right before he began to read from the paper.
Irene only halfway listened when Cass suddenly stopped.
Then she heard movement and the sound of rushed feet. “Excuse me,” Cass said before he slipped from the room.
Lucy stopped.
Irene turned back to look at the door. Then she looked at the slightly confused Alice. “I think he might be ill.”
Lucy put the brush down. “I’ll find a maid to check on him.” To Irene, she said, “Wait here. I want to finish this section of the portrait before the sun changes angles.” Then she left.
Irene said to Alice,” I should likely see if he’s all right.”
Alice still sat on the couch. “Irene, he’s a man. A man wouldn’t wish a woman to see him at a time where privacy is needed. It will make him feel weak.”
Irene thought Alice was right. She wouldn’t dream of being ill in front of Clive. Still, she stood and began to pace. She needed to move her legs and took advantage of the minutes before Lucy’s return. “I hope he’s all right.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Alice said. “Your cousin is a wonderful man.” There was feeling in those words. “So powerful. Much like your husband. I’m certain you miss him.”
“Yes.” Clive was all she thought about.
Alice’s voice came from right behind her. “I’ve never seen a more handsome couple.”
Irene jumped and turned to look at her. Her heart raced. She hadn’t heard or seen the woman move. “Thank you.”
“I’m so glad he chose you in the end.” Alice folded her hands behind her back. “Lady Olivia would have done nothing but corrupt him further.”
Irene stared into Alice’s gray eyes. “You knew Lady Olivia?”
“No.” Alice chuckled. “I only know what my father told me.” She looked at Irene’s hair. “You know. About the hairpin? How he stole it to give to Lady Olivia?” She reached up and poked the bird, making it shake.
Irene took a step back. “What? No. He didn’t steal it for Olivia.”
Alice looked surprised. “But he did. It was in her possession for years and now, magically, you have it again.” She smiled brightly. “Back where it belongs.”
Irene’s limbs began to tremble. Her mouth felt numb. Had Clive stolen the hairpin for Olivia?
Given everything Irene knew about Olivia’s covetousness… Clive had been all but courting Olivia until…
He’d only approached her for the hairpin. He hadn’t cared about her at all. He hadn’t thought her prettier or better than Olivia. He’d wanted Olivia.
And Olivia had married someone else.
Irene was a consolation prize.
“It was likely all those painters your father hired,” Alice laughed. “The old duke was clever, was he not? Having all those artists pretend to admire you in order for you to gain the attention of the ton.”
“What?” Irene thought she’d be ill.
“You didn’t know,” Alice said. “Surely, you did. I mean, why else would artist
s from the Academy and the Continent seek you out?” Her expression grew sad. “Oh, dear. Please, forget I said anything.” She covered her mouth. “I’m terribly sorry. I thought you knew. I thought… Well, you have the pin again. That is all that matters.”
But it wasn’t. Irene was surrounded by liars.
The hairpin.
She’d mentioned the hairpin to Clive, and he’d warned her to stay away from Alice. That was why he didn’t like her. This was what he hadn’t wanted her to know.
“Excuse me.” Irene left the room. Her vision blurred, but she managed to make it to her room without running into anyone.
Once there, she wept. She cried until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She jumped and met Clive’s concerned eyes. She tried to pull away, but he wrapped an arm around her. The other went to her cheek.
“Are those tears for me?” he asked with a soft smile.
She closed her eyes as pain slashed through her. He had no clue what he’d done to her. He’d shattered the last of her trust. There was no one left.
He wiped at her tears. His voice was low. “There’s no need to cry. I’m here. I missed you, too.” He kissed her and Irene… gave in.
Everyone thought her such a strong woman, but deep inside, she was weak, so very weak where Clive was concerned. Even though he didn’t love her— a fact she was not certain of— she still wanted him. He was good at pretending.
The kiss deepened. His voice was hard. “I missed you so much, wife.”
They laid back, and his body covered hers. Irene continued to cry even as he disrobed her.
Then she felt him cup her face again. All movement stopped. “Irene.” The desire was gone. “Is there something wrong? I suspected a smile upon my return.”
She was being a terrible wife. The rules of Society said she was to put her feelings aside and tend to her husband. Though he didn’t love her, she could at least keep him in her bed. She began to wipe her face quickly. She’d never been a pretty crier. She’d never been pretty at all. “I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”
Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 27