She said nothing; just bit her lip and lowered her gaze.
It was the same as always; she closed herself off to him, the doors between them slamming shut and locking. His discomfort was suddenly suffocating. He jerked around, wanting her gone from his sight. “Leave me,” he said curtly, and stalked to the sideboard, prepared to drink every drop of liquor he could find.
“Julian, I—”
“Go!” he bellowed, and heard the rustle of her satin skirts, her ragged breathing as she moved to the door.
“Claudia!” he said sharply. He glanced over his shoulder, watched her head bow as if she prayed for strength before she turned to face him.
“One more thing.” God, Kettering, don’t do this. He was a fool, a goddamned fool, he thought as he glared at her stricken face, on the verge of laying his heart bare to her. “You have misjudged me from the beginning. That night I called on you before Phillip died …”—he saw the hurt flash in her eyes—“I did not mean to imply that you were not good enough for Phillip. I meant to convey that he was not good enough for you.”
She gasped in disbelief, her hand fluttering to her throat.
“When the rumors began to circulate that he meant to offer for you, I could not bear to think that you, of all people, the one bright light in the whole bloody ton, would innocently marry a drunkard facing ruin. I could not bear to ever see you unhappy, and frankly, I could not bear to see another man have you. If you intend to crucify me all our days, at least do it for the right reason.” He paused, summoning every ounce of his courage. “I … I loved you. I loved you from the moment I saw you at the Wilmington Ball and every moment of these last two years. There never were any paramours, Claudia. There never was anyone but you.”
Her other hand covered the one at her throat, and Julian wondered if she meant to be ill. Whatever she thought, he stopped there, acutely aware that she stared at him as if he had lost his bloody mind. Perhaps he had, at long last. His little confession now seemed absurdly insipid, and embarrassed, he turned back to the sideboard. “There is nothing more, no more startling revelations,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I am quite recovered from it now.”
“Julian …”
The soft whisper of his name sounded exactly as he had heard it in so many dreams. But it was too late. “Leave me!” he said roughly, and closed his eyes. After what seemed like minutes, he heard the door shut softly. He picked up the bottle of wine and walked unsteadily to the table, falling heavily into a chair. And there he remained for several hours, attempting to drown the image of her that bobbed about in his mind’s eye.
If Claudia had had a bottle of wine at her disposal, she, too, would have attempted to drown herself. As it was, she was pacing her rooms wildly, unable to believe—to accept—how very wrong she might have been. Was she truly such a fool? She pressed her fists against her temples, trying to stave off the piercing headache that descended on her the moment she left the dining room.
How could she possibly have been so bloody stupid? Disgust filled her—disgust with herself, for so boldly advising Sophie to defy him without fully knowing the facts, even after Julian had tried to tell her. She had let her indignation guide her and was as ashamed as she was mortified—oh, Lord, the note she had slipped into Sophie’s valise, urging her to follow love! Claudia choked on a sob, sickened by her impetuosity.
But what truly made her heart ache was that she had, apparently, misinterpreted his call two long years ago.
So convinced she knew his character, she had twisted his words around, inventing her own story to fit what she believed of him. He had meant to help her. But no, she could not see that then, would not listen to a Rake who made her heart soar with longing. She had believed the worst of him for two years more, wanting to blame him for Phillip’s death. It had been easier that way, easier to believe Julian had led Phillip to his demise than to believe the worst of Phillip.
But she had known.
She could no longer deny that she had known of Phillip’s increasing debilitation, or that he was losing sight of himself and his position in society. She had known that behind the smiles he reserved for her, the gifts he gave her, the whispers of steadfast esteem, something wasn’t quite right. And she had stubbornly insisted it was Julian’s fault.
It was easy to blame Julian for everything. His reprimand for a girl’s foolish kiss, his slight at the wedding ball seven years ago—what on earth had made her think a man of his stature would have been infatuated with a seventeen-year-old girl? But it was a fantasy she had built, one she had carried forward, allowing it to color everything around her. Her adolescent crush and subsequent hurt had influenced her long after it should have. How it mortified her now to know she had been so shallow as to judge him on the basis of those meaningless, innocent encounters! It was exactly the sort of thing she fought every day—the blind acceptance of who and what women are supposed to be, based on outdated, stereotypical, uninformed thinking.
She paused in her pacing to press the heel of her hands into her eyes. She had never been more contemptible than she was at this moment … and he had loved her! The little things Julian had done over the last weeks, things that had seemed meaningless, but spoke volumes, now assailed her. The way he touched her wrist, her temple, her waist. The way he possessively took his hand in hers when they attended Sunday services. His constant smile, his indulgence of her every wish. When the sun comes up I think of you, when it sets I think of you, and every moment in between, it seems.
With an anguished cry, Claudia squeezed her eyes tightly shut and felt the hot tears slide from the corners of her eyes. She had deigned him indifferent when he had shown tolerance of an impossible situation, of her thrashing about, of trying to find her own way in this marriage. He had given her the freedom to do it her way, deferring to her wishes.
Why was everything so bloody complicated?
She dropped her hands, stared blindly into space. Was it true? Had she really been so ridiculous? Had he never been unfaithful? She was not a wife to him, not really. Even on those increasingly rare occasions he would come to her bed, she turned her heart away from him, allowing him her body, but not her soul. Cringing, Claudia sank onto a chair feeling sick with regret. She had done everything she could to push him away, to shove him into some corner. How could she blame him for seeking his satisfaction elsewhere? The most absurd thing of all was that she wanted to share his bed! Mother of God, how she wanted to share his bed … but pride, her foolish, useless pride, had gotten in her way.
A bitter laugh lodged in Claudia’s throat—the irony of it was that she thought she was being so strong, so independent, striking a victory for women everywhere when all she had done was shove a marriage already teetering to the brink of collapse.
How exactly did she repair the awful rift between them now?
She wasn’t confident at all that it could be repaired.
She slept fitfully as doubts about everything she had ever known grew to monstrous proportions. It was almost noon before she descended to the breakfast room. Tinley informed her that Julian had left very early, shortly after dawn. “Did he say where he was going?” she asked.
Tinley pondered that. “Don’t believe so, ma’am,” he said, and a footman carefully shook his head behind Tinley to confirm it.
After what she had done to him and Sophie, he undoubtedly wanted to go as far away from her as he could get, had probably sought refuge among the Rogues. Which was why she was surprised to see Arthur Christian shortly after the luncheon hour.
Tinley brought him into the sunroom where she was, and Claudia could tell from the expression on his face that he had been expecting Julian. She paused in the course of her correspondence and rose to greet him. “Arthur.”
“Claudia, how splendid to find you well. I, ah … is Julian about?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid he has gone out,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I rather think we’ll have to resort to drawi
ng pictures for Tinley, so that he’ll know precisely who among us is about and who is not.”
Arthur chuckled. “Yes, well, I shouldn’t want to bother you. I’ll just leave a card—”
“Umm … Arthur?” she said hastily, “might I ask you something?”
“Of course!”
Claudia blanched, appalled at what she thought to ask. No, no, she couldn’t ask a man that.
“Something on your mind?”
“I beg your pardon, never mind,” she said, and quickly resumed her seat, busying herself with her letters.
Regarding her curiously, Arthur walked farther into the room. “Go on, I won’t laugh,” he promised her, and flashed a charming smile.
Well then, it was now or never, because she could never find the courage again. She had to ask—she had to know if there was any hope of sorting it all out. Unable to look Arthur in the eye, she shuffled her papers, sucked in her breath, and blurted, “When … when you and Julian go out at night, where do you go?” There. It was out.
Arthur made a small sound of surprise. The papers stilled in her hand and she unthinkingly closed her eyes, afraid of what he might say. He cleared his throat. “I … we typically visit a club. White’s, usually. The Tam O’Shanter, although we have not enjoyed it so much since Phillip … that is to say, we prefer White’s.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes and stared straight ahead. “Just the club? Nothing more?”
Another hesitation. “What exactly are you asking?”
“Do you go to Madame Farantino’s?” she blurted, wincing.
Arthur made a choking sound. “Dear God, Claudia, that is hardly the sort of thing—”
She swung her gaze to him. “Please, Arthur,” she implored him. “I … I really must know.”
That seemed to take him aback. He stared at her for a moment, rubbing his jaw between finger and thumb. “Julian has not been inside the establishment in more months than I can remember,” he said flatly.
The floor felt as if it was sinking beneath her. “Is there … is there any place else?” she asked anxiously.
Arthur frowned. “Claudia, listen to me. Julian Dane is so hopelessly besotted with his wife that he hasn’t so much as glanced at a barmaid. There is only you.”
There never were any paramours, Claudia. There never was anyone but you.
Her heart fluttered oddly in her chest, and she slumped against the chair, staring blindly at the correspondence. How badly she had misjudged him!
“I beg your pardon, I thought that would please you,” Arthur said coolly.
“Oh, but it does,” she murmured. “You’ve no idea.”
“Yes. Well, then. If you would be so kind as to tell the chap I’ve been round, I would greatly appreciate it,” he said, and quickly quit the room.
Claudia didn’t hear him—the silent scream of her deep regret was roaring too loudly in her ears.
Eighteen
SOPHIE WAS RUNNING AWAY—just as soon as she figured out where she was going and how to escape Miss Brillhart.
Miserable, she sat in a window seat of the main drawing room on the ground floor, her forehead pressed against the cool glass. It was a dreary day, raining since the early morning hours, perfectly befitting of her mood. It had been three days since Julian abandoned her here, three days without a word.
Sophie glanced at the crumpled note Claudia had slipped into her valise. She opened it and read it once more.
Never despair! Follow your heart, no matter how difficult it may seem, and love will prevail.
Always, C.
How could she help but despair? William was no doubt wondering what had happened to her, and dear heavens, she had not seen him in three whole days! She missed him terribly—if she didn’t return to London soon, he might forget all about her. Somehow, someway, she had to get to London before that happened.
But how? She couldn’t ride alone—she had never been terribly good with a horse, and she was certain the mount must be changed along the way. How on earth would she accomplish that? There was the chaise. Julian had left it, and the stable master said someone would come for it in a day or two. She had considered the idea of hiding inside—but surely someone would notice her before they reached London and would take her to Julian straightaway.
There had to be a way!
A movement caught her eye as she sat brooding; in the distance was a lone horseman, riding hard up the oak-lined drive. As he drew closer, Sophie’s heart started—it was William! He had come for her! Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, and her spirits suddenly soaring, she flung herself from the window seat, burst from the drawing room, and ran down the corridor to the front entry, reaching the massive oak doors well before the footman. She rushed eagerly onto the circle of marble that marked the mansion’s entry and watched the rider approach.
He came to an abrupt halt, threw himself off the mount, and stalked toward her, his face grim.
“William!” she cried.
He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her into his chest, crushing her mouth beneath his in a bruising welcome. Oblivious to the servants gathering in the door behind them, Sophie squealed with delight when he finally released her.
William scowled at her. “Why did you not send a note? I’ve been sick with worry! I had to learn what had happened to you from that fool Tinley!”
Sophie’s grin broadened. “Oh, William, I would have, but I could not! Julian … he saw us, and he was so very angry. He forced me to come here right away and before I could send word.” She smiled up at him, noticed the cut on his lip, and gingerly touched a finger to it. “What happened?”
He pushed her hand away; his gaze shifted over her shoulder. “Who is here with you?”
“No one. Miss Brillhart, the housekeeper. She was our governess—”
“Where is she?” he interrupted.
“I … I don’t know—”
William pierced her with a dark look as he clasped her shoulder and gave her a little shake. “Sophie, think! I must speak with you—take me somewhere we can be private.”
Of course! Sophie glanced nervously over her shoulder; the footmen were eyeing William curiously. Two parlor maids behind them were whispering furiously, and one cast a disapproving look at William. “This way,” she muttered, and clutching his hand, ran around the side of the house to a door that led into a small sunroom at the end of the east wing.
Once inside, Sophie started for the door leading to the main corridor, but William grabbed her from behind and jerked her into his chest, almost knocking the breath from her as he nuzzled her neck. “You know what he has done, don’t you? He has announced to the world that he will not sanction your happiness. He has humiliated us, Sophie, in front of all of England,” he muttered, and bit her earlobe. Sophie shrieked softly, but William seemed not to hear her.
“There is only one thing left for us to do, only one way for us to be together,” he said against her skin. His breath excited her; she leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed, exposing more of her flesh to him. “You know what we must do, don’t you, Sophie?”
“Mmm what?”
William suddenly turned her around to face him. “I’ve missed you terribly,” he said, and thrust his hips forward. Sophie gasped with surprise and titillation. William caught the back of her head, covered her mouth with his and devoured her hungrily. Sophie felt herself melting into a molten pool of desire.
Without warning, he abruptly lifted his head, leaving her dizzy. “I can’t live without you, my sweet, for I swear I’ll perish! There is only one way for us,” he murmured between a rain of kisses to her face. “You know what it is.” When she didn’t immediately respond, his fingers curled painfully into her shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me, Sophie, not after I have ridden like a madman to fetch you. You know what we must do!”
“But … but I don’t,” she whispered hoarsely.
William suddenly let go of her. “Think, Sophie! Kettering will never give h
is consent … but you can.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“You’ll be one and twenty shortly.…”
Her heart climbed to her throat. “William, I can’t, not without—”
“I thought you loved me,” he said flatly, and shaking his head, turned away. “You lied to me.”
“No! No, William, I do love you!” she said desperately. “But I cannot defy Julian in such a way!”
“I see. You would defy me, but not him? I mean nothing to you!”
“Please don’t say that,” she cried, feeling suddenly weak with confusion and frustration. “I love you, William! But I don’t know what to do!”
He whirled around, grabbed her arm. “Come to Gretna Green with me. Now. Right away. We don’t need his permission! You are of age; if you sign this,” he said, pulling a folded paper from his coat, “there is nothing he can do! If you love me, Sophie, you will marry me now. I swear to God he will come to accept it much quicker if the deed is already done!”
Stunned, she stared at the papers he held. It was enticing and exciting to think she could marry William now, without delay. Yet something in her warned that to do so—to elope—would be disastrous. Julian would kill her. “I … I don’t know,” she said uncertainly.
In a flurry of black, William was suddenly on his knees before her, his hands clutching the side of her skirts as he pressed his face into her gown. “Please, Sophie! I love you! I cannot live without you, don’t you understand? I shall do something desperate, I swear to God I shall if I am forced to live without you even one more day!”
Sophie’s heart took wing of her senses. Tears slipped from her eyes as she bent over his head. “Oh, William,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes, I will do it!”
“Hurry, love,” he urged her, coming to his feet. “Don’t speak to anyone. Just run and gather a few things. Be quick. If they know what you are about, they will try and stop you. I will wait for you outside. Hurry!”
He shoved her forward.
Sophie slipped into the corridor, almost colliding with Miss Brillhart. The housekeeper was deathly pale. “Lady Sophie? Who is the gentleman caller?” she asked, looking anxiously at the door Sophie had just come through.
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