Then he found her lips again, thrusting with his tongue into her open mouth as his hands reached for her hips to clutch her to the growing hardness of his body.
Almost without thinking she rubbed against him, and let the desire stab through her, wild and uncontrollable. She kissed him back then, as roughly as he was kissing her. She bit at his lips, stroked his tongue with her own and dug her fingers into the linen of his shirt, feeling the muscles underneath bunching as they strained to pull her closer. He straddled her, pinning her to the bed. Inside her skirts, her legs had parted, ready to receive him, and he steadied her hips, holding them against his erection so that he could enjoy the way that she rocked against him.
Desire was growing in her and her body grew wet as she arched against him. But the strange friction of bodies in clothes was not enough. She wanted more from him, all of him. He could take what he wanted, whatever he wanted, as long as he ended the torment of expectation.
His hand slipped into the slit in her skirt that gave access to her pocket, and she gave a shuddering gasp, knowing that his hand was even closer to her body, bringing her closer to the relief that she knew was coming.
But then, there was a crackle of parchment, and his fingers closed on the bundle of letters and drew them out. He leaned away from her and unfolded the first, taking only a glance at it before he jumped off the bed away from her, as though contact burned him. He stared down at her in horror. ‘This is what they sent you for? Could they not have just asked? Do they think so little of me that we must play games over this? Will it never end? God help me, haven’t I suffered enough?’ He stared down at the pages in his hand and shook his head, then he stared back at her with eyes empty of emotion. ‘You needn’t have bothered.
Now that I have them, I will deal with the things, then I will return to deal with you.’
Then he turned and stalked from the room.
Chapter Ten
For a moment Daphne fought the urge to run after him, to seize the letters from his hand and destroy them before he read them. For no matter what he had done, did he deserve to see their contents and to know the truth in such detail?
He spoke of suffering. And suddenly, she was acutely aware of how he must have felt to know that his friend and wife were together, doing what they had done.
And if her latest suspicions were correct, and it was the Duke who was guilty of Clare’s death?
Without knowing it, she had fallen in league with the very people she sought to punish. She was helping her cousin’s murderer escape justice. And by raking up the past, she was torturing an innocent man.
She could not imagine the Duchess perpetrating a fraud to protect her husband. The woman seemed decent and acting out of care for the children. But without having met the Duke, it was hard to know the truth about him. He might be a veritable demon, with a wife as innocent of this crime as Clare’s husband had been.
Daphne stood up, still trembling from the rise and fall of the tide of emotions within her. And looked into the mirror on the dresser, to straighten her hair and clothing.
Clare’s mirror.
At one time, it might have given her girlish pleasure to visit the room of her cousin, to see the gowns she had worn, the jewellery box she had spoken of, and to try some of the things on while looking into this same mirror.
But she had seen too much of Clare today. The truth had spoiled the fantasy she’d carried with her all these months. Timothy Colton was right. Clarissa had been vain and spoilt. Her husband was not the homely dullard she had claimed. After meeting him, she found it easier to believe the housekeeper. That whatever had happened on that fateful night, he had once been an ordinary man, pushed beyond his boundaries by his wife’s scandalous behaviour.
But if that was true, than what did it say of Clare’s influence on her?
She closed her eyes and tried to remember how it had been, before her cousin had taken a special interest in her coming out. Her parents had been more co-operative, certainly. They had all but doted on her, and called her the sweetest of daughters. She had been the apple of her father’s eye, and a delight to her brothers, no matter how they had teased her.
But then her mother had decided that she needed to cast off her hoydenish ways and learn to behave like a proper lady of the ton. And she had encouraged the association with Clare, saying that it would give Daphne polish. The family had welcomed the money that Clare offered to outfit her for the Season. For with three brothers to establish, there was very little left when it came time to launch their only daughter. And Daphne had relished the connection for the freedoms it brought.
But after that point, her parents seemed for ever cross with her. They did not like the fact that Clare allowed her to drink champagne, nor that she always seemed to take it in excess, talking too loudly and behaving foolishly. They did not approve of the hours she kept, nor the company, nor the gowns that Clare helped her to choose.
And now she understood why her forays into Vauxhall Gardens after Clare’s death had been the last straw. She had been becoming every bit as bad as they said, and had been too wilful to see the truth.
Daphne put down the brush she had borrowed and hurried out the door, closing and locking it behind her. Then she walked down the hall, trying to keep her pace unhurried, although the calm felt unnatural to her. At any moment, Lord Colton could appear and reveal all. Ahead of her in the hall, the housekeeper was looking carefully at the ground, probably retracing her steps through the afternoon. ‘Mrs Sims. At last.’ She put on a triumphant smile, and held the ring of keys out to the woman, who responded with an even more relieved expression. ‘I found them on the floor near the schoolroom, after you had gone.’
‘And I have been looking all over for them. Thank you, miss, for returning them to me. I would hate for the master to find out how careless I had been.’
Daphne managed a stiff nod and insisted that it was hardly a matter of concern. She suspected, if anyone in the household had reason to fear the master’s reaction to the stolen keys, the blame would not rest on the poor housekeeper.
Tim paced nervously across the rug in the Bellston receiving room, then sat and tapped his foot. The gallop to his neighbour’s house had cooled his desire to deal immediately with the false governess. But it had done nothing to settle his nerves, or to prepare him for the confrontation with Adam. After all this time Tim did not know whether to be angry for what had happened, or hurt by it.
He might be willing to let the evidence of infidelity pass, as he had meant to before Clare had died. What was done could not be undone. But that Adam should use such devious methods to gain the letters was a fresh injury, perhaps more hurtful than the initial betrayal. Tim would have given up the letters freely, if the Duke had wished for them back. Even with the estrangement between them, theft should not have been necessary.
And to involve the children by placing a spy in the nursery? He shook his head in disgust. Adam knew how important the children were to him, and how fragile. That he would toy with them to achieve what he could have got with honesty made Tim’s skin crawl with revulsion.
And shame as well, that the Duke and Duchess should know his reaction to the girl. She must have been reporting to her masters how easily she had ensnared him. Despite the truths he had learned today, he still felt an undercurrent of desire for her. It defied all logic. A sane man should not be wishing to lie back down with her and finish what he had started, even knowing that it was all a sham.
From the doorway there came a nervous throat clearing that he recognised as a habit of his oldest friend. Tim turned to it and rose, offering a formal bow, and muttering, ‘Your Grace.’
Adam strode into the room and answered, ‘Leave off with that nonsense, Tim, and tell me what has brought you here.’ He offered a hand, which Tim chose to ignore, and then said, ‘I suppose it was too much to hope that this was a social visit after all this time.’
‘I think you know what it is about.’
‘In truth, I do not.’ And his friend did look honestly puzzled. ‘It is not that you are not welcome, of course. Sit, please.’ Adam’s gestures were as nervous as his own, as he moved to a chair by the fire. ‘Brandy. No. It is too early of course. Tea? Can I—’
‘I do not mean to stay for long. I came to give you these, since you seem to wish their return.’ He reached into his coat and withdrew the packet, thrusting it at Adam.
The Duke took the letters from him, his puzzlement still in evidence. And he opened them. It was clear that it took only a word or two for him to recognise his own writing, for his pale skin blanched to deathly white, and his grasp loosened, as he let the letters slip to the floor. ‘Oh, dear God. I had forgotten.’
‘Had you, now?’ Tim folded his arms in scepticism.
‘If I’d remembered…if I’d even thought the things still existed…’ He held out his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘I’d have looked for them after she died, when I was in the house. But it did not seem important at the time.’ His eyes dropped from Tim’s and he stooped to gather the papers. Then he threw them into the fire, seizing a poker and jabbing at the things as though he feared that they would leap out of the flames to torment him further. When he was satisfied that they were destroyed, he looked to Tim again. ‘I am sorry that I ever wrote the damn things. I was a hundred kinds of fool back then.’ He stared down at the poker in his hand, his knuckles going white against the metal, and then he threw it against the flagstones of the hearth.
‘If you wanted them back, you had but to ask.’ Tim said it softly, surprised that he could not find more fault with the man, for he knew well what fools men made of themselves once Clare had tangled them in her net.
‘Want them?’ Adam laughed. ‘I had hoped, now that she was gone, that it was well and truly over. And I need never think of that time again. And now, this…’ He looked to Tim again. ‘I am sorry.’
‘The governess found them.’
‘Governess? You have retained a governess?’ Once again, his friend seemed without a clue, and his befuddlement almost made Tim smile. Either he was blameless, or a much better actor then he had been when he’d bedded Clare. It had been easy enough to see the truth then, no matter how Adam tried to hide it.
‘Your wife hired her for me.’
Adam looked alarmed by the idea. ‘She acted without my knowledge or permission. After our last talk on the day of the funeral, you made it clear that you did not want or need my assistance.’ Adam looked ever so slightly hurt by the memory. That argument had been the last coffin nail in their friendship. ‘I told Penny to leave you in peace. But my wife refused to believe that your edict applied to her.’ He gave a kind of helpless shrug, as though to say that his wife was a law unto herself. ‘I have no problem with her visiting you, of course.’
‘You do not?’ Tim shot him another sceptical smile. For when Adam had first married, he had been surprisingly possessive of his new bride.
‘Because I know I have nothing to fear. I would trust Penny with my life. And if she is welcome in your house, than she may visit with my blessing.’ He frowned. ‘But if she comes to meddle in your affairs, I will try to discourage her from troubling you.’
Since it was doubtful that Penny could be discouraged, once she set her mind to a thing, Tim only smiled. ‘She seems to think that I cannot manage without help. And she has told me I must take it, whether I want it or no.’
‘Well, Penny would think that. She is quite preoccupied with the idea of children, now that her book is finished. Since she has none of her own, she is most interested in yours. If she is not increasing soon, I suspect that she will come to your house and teach them herself.’ And Adam smiled fondly at the thought.
‘So you do not think that there was any hidden motive in her sending Miss Collins to search for these?’
‘Penny have a hidden motive?’ And now his friend did laugh. ‘My darling wife is not one to hide her feelings in subtlety and guile. Perhaps my life would be quieter, were it so. Although not as interesting, I am sure. No, Tim. If Penny had wished to see the damn things, she would have marched to your house and demanded you give them to her. Then she would have brought them back to lay at my feet, and given me no end of grief for my foolishness.’
‘She knew of the letters?’
‘I told her of their existence, before your wife died. Clare was threatening me with them. I thought it would be better for Penny to know the whole truth than to be surprised by it later. And then I swore that there would be no more nonsense of that sort, and that she would have no reason to doubt me. And I have been true to my word.’ There was a pride in his voice, and a peace that had been absent in the days when Clare had been alive. ‘If it is any consolation to you, Tim, I am a better man, now that I have Penny. If there were a way to turn back the clock, and live the past over again, it would be different between us.’
Tim sighed. ‘To my eyes, it would have been much the same. Perhaps the identity of her lover would have been different, but Clare would not have changed. And I would now be sitting in another friend’s drawing room, with letters very similar to the ones you destroyed.’
Adam touched his hand to his forehead, as though pained. ‘You are probably right. She would have found some way to torment you. Only her death prevented her from making more trouble than she already had.’ And he looked Tim square in the eye, as if to say what they were both thinking.
Do not punish yourself. We are all glad to see her gone.
Tim swallowed the shame of it. For there was comfort in remembering that, hell though his life might be, it was better without Clarissa than it had been with her. The children were better off without her. And his friend looked happier as well. Marriage had settled Adam, changing him for the better. But would he have fared as well, had Clarissa been there, attempting to insinuate herself into the union?
Adam cleared his throat again. ‘About the letters. I was an idiot. I freely admit it. I cared about them only to the extent that their existence hurt those around me. If there had been any way to spare you this trip?’ He shrugged. ‘But I did not send a girl to your house to hunt after them, if that is what you feared. I’d like to think that, had I wanted them, I could have come to you, called upon our old friendship and asked for them openly.’
Tim felt something loosen in his chest, and a modicum of relief. ‘And I’d have given them to you, of course.’
Adam seemed to relax as well. ‘And now they are gone. Neither of us need worry about the past, for it shall not be repeated, nor mentioned again.’ Adam paused, and then glanced away, as though his next words meant nothing. ‘I don’t suppose, while you are here, that you would be interested in a game of chess? It is rather early in the day for games. And if you are busy…’
Tim replied a little stiffly, ‘I had thought, after what happened to my wife, and the accompanying scandal, that you would not wish to entertain me in your home. You are the law in these parts. And I am…’ He hesitated to say the word aloud.
‘An old friend,’ finished the Duke. ‘A very old friend. Who would have been invited back into my home sooner, had I thought you would come. But now that you are here…’
Tim hesitated. There was still the damn governess to be dealt with. For if Adam had not sent her, then who?
But let the girl suffer, waiting for his arrival. Perhaps if he tarried here, she would have the good sense to run and he might never need to see her again. His reactions to her were too volatile to be predicted or encouraged. And he was tired of being passion’s fool. So he shrugged to his old friend, as nonchalant as Adam had been. ‘A game of chess would not go amiss. The plants will grow, even if I am not there to watch them.’
Adam grinned back at him. ‘I would never know it, the way you shut yourself up in that glasshouse. Come to the study, then. The board is set, and I have nothing so pressing that I cannot set it aside for a game.’
Tim’s smile faded as he walked into the entrance hall of his home.
It had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon, probably because he had got away from the past. Afternoon had turned to evening and dinner with Adam and his wife. It had grown late, and he’d been forced to ride home in darkness. It was good that he knew the old paths as well as he did, for once the sun set, there was little light from the sliver of a moon, and the growing bank of rain clouds that threatened to obscure it.
For a few hours, he’d felt almost like his old self. Then his cheerful mood had begun to fade. For he was home. There, in front of him, were the damn stairs. And, as always, the ghostly image appeared in his mind of Clare broken on the floor before him.
He turned deliberately from it, refusing to be put out of his own home by an unpleasant memory. Perhaps he did not deserve to be happy, as he once had been. But there was little he could do about it. It was foolish to start and stare at nothing, like a coward, or, worse yet, a madman, whenever he crossed his own hall.
He disguised his hesitation in care for his outer wear, tossing the coat and hat over a nearby bench so that a servant could collect it in the morning. He took a moment to brush at his clothes as he steeled his nerves. Then he turned back to the main staircase and felt his will falter as the weight on his spirit increased. The servants’ stairs were just down the hall, ready and waiting for him.
Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess Page 11