But seeing her there, her face outlined in firelight, her eyes bright with embarrassment and pain, her body trembling, he couldn’t make himself deny it again.
He loved her. He had always loved her. Not that acknowledging that changed anything. Claire was still far out of his reach. This time when he had her, when he could touch her or hold her or kiss her at will? That was a beautiful illusion.
With a shake of his head, he focused on what he needed to do rather than the swelling emotions of his foolish heart.
“You wouldn’t know it to look at her now, but when I hired Mrs. Dayton just a year ago, she had just escaped a rather awful life on the street.”
Claire’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What?”
“Yes. She was a lightskirt for years and was trying to get out of that vocation. It turned out she could cook and was an honest sort despite everything she’d gone through. So I hired her. The same is true of the maid, Eliza. It was Mrs. Dayton who suggested her, as she feared the girl would be killed if she wasn’t helped. Oh, and the footman was not a lightskirt, but he did work for my brother until he was badly injured in a failed attempt to rob some nobleman who had a gun.”
His stomach churned when he said those words. They brought back such terrible memories and intense guilt about another man, another robbery gone wrong.
“I thought you hadn’t talked to your brother in five years,” Claire said softly, mercifully tearing him from his thoughts.
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I overheard about it from the nobleman who was bragging about it during a horse auction. I recognized the signs that it was Jack’s gang behind the attack. I immediately arranged the man’s release into my custody and helped him recover from injuries that likely would have killed him. In return, he works for me.”
“Your entire household staff was plucked from the streets,” Claire breathed.
He nodded. “I know what it’s like to try to change and not have a chance. I picked people to work for me who had no references but good hearts. Loyal hearts. But you must see why no one in this home would dare judge you, Claire. Wonder about you, perhaps. But never judge.”
She stared at him, silent for what felt like an eternity. Then she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. “You are so entirely unexpected, War.”
He felt heat rush to his cheeks with her gentle words of praise. They meant more to him than he ever would admit. To cover that, he stepped away. “Now will you come to dinner?”
“I still don’t have clothes,” she said, looking down at herself.
He smiled. “Your clothes will be fine for supper, but I will make some arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m certain Mrs. Dayton or Eliza know of a seamstress. She may not be as fine as the one you and your sister used growing up, but she can make you some gowns.”
He saw her face light up at the idea of gowns. How long had she been without something pretty? At least since she fled Aston, but likely long before that. But then her face fell.
“War, I have no money. I couldn’t have you pay for gowns for me, it wouldn’t be right.”
He arched a brow. “Why don’t you let me decide what is right for me, Claire? Why don’t you let me take care of you?”
She froze, her eyes wide like a wild animal. She shook her head. “That is not easy for me.”
“Yes, I know. But I would like to try nonetheless.” Her lips parted and he saw the argument on her face. He laughed despite himself. “Great God, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever known. Claire, can we have this argument over supper, at least? I’m likely to lose consciousness from starvation if we don’t.”
He held out an arm and she looked at it suspiciously. Then she smiled slightly, a minor surrender that shouldn’t have meant so much to War, but did.
She slid her fingers around his bicep and motioned her head toward the door. “Very well. Lead the way.”
Chapter Eleven
War strode into the kitchen, a smile on his face for his housekeeper and the maid, who stood at the counter making final preparations for supper.
“Good evening, sir,” Mrs. Dayton said with a slight glance his way. “And is Mrs. Aston settled in?”
“As settled as the woman is capable of being,” he chuckled as he grabbed for a slice of cheese from the cutting board and popped it between his lips.
Mrs. Dayton shot him a playfully dark glare then continued to slice bread. “She’s not like us. I can see from the way she holds herself that she has breeding.”
“Yes,” War said.
Mrs. Dayton lifted her gaze back to him, expectation on her face. When he didn’t speak, she huffed out a breath. “Great Lord, you are a quiet one. You have nothing else to tell us about our houseguest?”
War sighed. He had often been accused of being reticent. It was a long held habit to keep his counsel and not say anything more than necessary. Except with Claire. He heard himself talk when he was with her. Everything spilled out naturally.
“Don’t you work for me?” War asked, his tone friendly despite his pointed question.
“You’re saying it ain’t my place.” Mrs. Dayton rolled her eyes. “I suppose t’isn’t. But the woman, lady, will be staying here.”
The maid, Eliza, sent him a side glance. “It would be easier to know a little about her.”
War folded his arms. “She’s been through an ordeal these past few years.”
“Will she expect us to know how to cater to her?” Eliza asked when he offered no more. “’Cause I’ve never done no fancy lady’s hair in my life.”
“No.” War flinched as he thought of how few expectations Claire had at all. Life had yanked them out of her. “Do either of you know a seamstress?”
The women exchanged a look that seemed to be of frustration.
“Agatha Carter does gowns,” Eliza said after a pause. “She used to be Red Carter’s woman ’afore Red got killed on the gallows. She could use the work.”
“Good.” War nodded. “In the meantime, do either of you have a gown Claire could borrow until her new dresses come?”
Eliza looked at him a moment before she said, “I-I have an extra, long as she don’t mind it comes from the likes of me.”
“Eliza is shorter than Mrs. Aston,” Mrs. Dayton added. “Any clothing she kindly shares won’t fit perfectly.”
“It’s better than what she’s wearing now,” War muttered. Though, to be fair, he actually rather enjoyed watching the twitch of Claire’s hips through those trousers that clung to her curves. “I’ll go back in.”
He turned, but Mrs. Dayton’s voice stopped him. “How long will she be here?”
He froze at the question, for it made him think of a future he wasn’t looking forward to. “I don’t know,” he said. “Not long enough.”
Then he stepped from the room and headed back down the hallway toward the small dining room. When he walked through the door, he found that Claire was not at her place at the table where he’d left her a short time ago, but standing at the window, staring out into the small dark garden behind his home.
“Claire?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice and pivoted to face him, her eyes wide. “Great God, I haven’t allowed myself to be surprised like that for years.”
“I didn’t exactly sneak up on you,” he said, offering her a chair at the table again.
She took it. “Yes, but normally I’m much more aware of my surroundings. Tonight I let myself drift off in thought.”
“You sound as though you berate yourself for that,” he said, smiling as Eliza and Mrs. Dayton entered the room with stew and the bread and cheese they had been preparing. He noticed Eliza shoot Claire a quick, curious side glance, but then the two nodded and left the room.
Once they were alone again, Claire shrugged. “I must berate myself for my lack of attention when you entered. You know as well as I that one can�
��t let down one’s guard.”
“Amongst villains and strangers,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps you are beginning to realize I’m not either of those things.”
She fiddled with her glass of wine for a moment, then shrugged. “Honestly, War, I don’t know what you are. I spent years watching you, spinning this romantic tale of your past. But I found out it was nothing like what you truly were.”
He stiffened. “And what was your tale of what I was?”
She shook her head. “A prince who had lost his country. A disinherited nobleman. I told myself such fairytales when it came to you.”
“Fairytales, indeed. And since they seem to all involve me being of titled or noble birth, I imagine the truth that I was a gutter rat truly must have been hard to swallow.” He clenched his fist against the table, trying not to reveal his emotion in his tone or posture.
She leaned toward him. “It isn’t that you were a…a gutter rat, as you put it. It was that you were a thief, a criminal. Even when I was with Aston, I thought of you as a hero. But when I found out the truth, it just made me realize I perhaps couldn’t judge character properly. And now, being here…”
“Being here you think it even more?” he bit out.
“You misunderstand me, War.” Her hands shook as she struggled with her words for a moment. “Wh-what I’m trying to do, rather badly, is apologize for judging you as I did. When I learned you had been a criminal, I was angry, betrayed, even though you had done nothing to me. I judged you for it, despite my own precarious position. But tonight, seeing how you have been a savior for those who needed one, including me…well, I realize I underestimated you by making you some silly prince or empty lord’s son. You are far nobler than any of those could ever hope to be.”
His eyes went wide and he felt color heating his cheeks at her words. “Claire—” he began.
She turned her face and cleared her throat. “When can we see your brother?” she asked, shutting him off from anything he might say to her.
And cutting him off from any of the warmth her initial words had created. When she mentioned Jack, it put a hole in his chest. He fisted his hands on the table, watching her as she began to eat. She was trying to pretend to be unmoved, but her hand was shaking as she lifted her spoon to her lips.
“My brother,” he said, mimicking her action and beginning to eat, even though he didn’t taste his housekeeper’s fine food on his tongue. “With Jack it is complicated.”
“So you have said,” Claire said softly. “And I understand how on some level. You two were close and then that closeness was shattered. Trust that I know that far too well. But I still don’t understand why you’ve been estranged from someone you obviously cared deeply for at one time. Would you elaborate now?”
He set the crust of bread in his hand down and drew in a long breath. “You are asking a great deal, Claire.”
Her expression softened. “Yes, I realize that. I showed up unannounced, unwanted, just two days ago, I all but forced you to help me. And now…now I’m prying into your personal affairs. But you know why I’m doing it, War. I am not torturing you for fun. I need Jack’s help if I’m going to get Francesca back. To obtain his assistance, I feel I must understand him.”
War frowned. She wanted to dig into his most personal and private pain in order to have something to hold against his brother if she needed it. And while he appreciated this reminder of where her head was at, it still stung.
“War,” she continued. “I want to understand you, too.”
He looked at her, searching her face. He was too close to her, too filled with desire and love for her to recognize if she was telling him the truth or not.
He swallowed. “Earlier today, when I told you about life with Jack, what we went through as children, you asked me how and why I escaped our budding criminal enterprise.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Someone died.” He choked on the words and shoved the remnants of his food away. Suddenly the fragrant stew made his stomach churn. “It was my fault. It was Jack’s fault.”
“Oh War,” she whispered.
He turned his face away from her voice. From the comfort and accusation that soft sound made at once.
“Was this someone who worked for Jack?” she encouraged when he was silent too long.
He nodded, still not looking at her but at a fixed point on the wall by the door. The door he wished to flee through and perhaps never come back.
“A boy,” he said. “Hardly more than a boy, anyway. He worked for my brother—he was desperate to make his way up the chain and gain more power and blunt. And then he died like a dog on a street corner.”
“I’m sorry.” For a breath she said nothing else, but then she continued slowly, “But boy or not, he knew the life he was entering, emulating, was dangerous.”
He looked at her now, seeing both the young woman she’d been when he first met her and the jaded one she was now. “Did you, Claire? When you started with Aston, did you have any fucking clue how dangerous a life his was?”
She swallowed hard at his pointed tone. But she didn’t reply, and that was answer enough.
He shook his head. “After his death, I couldn’t stomach that life anymore. So I walked away, despite my brother’s protests. For five years, Jack kept trying to reach out, kept trying to keep our relationship alive. I think he hoped I would come to my senses and come back to him. I didn’t and eventually it broke us apart. I stopped responding to him.”
He heard the crack in his voice that betrayed his feelings on the subject. The pain was immense and there was a reason he never discussed it. It made him weak like he was weak now.
“You broke off the relationship with your brother and yet you are willing to reach out to him now for me?”
He nodded. “For you and your daughter, yes.”
“When?” she asked, circling back around to her initial question that seemed so long ago.
“I have some vague idea of where he is, but I’ll begin reaching out to find him tomorrow,” he promised.
She pushed to her feet and moved toward him. Her gaze never left his face. Finally, she reached his side and slid her hand up his arm, along his cheek.
“War—” she whispered.
“Don’t,” he said, but he couldn’t pull away from the comfort her touch offered. It might be untrue, it might be temporary, but he didn’t care. He wanted it just as he wanted her.
“Why don’t you let me take care of you?” she asked, repeating his words from earlier when they’d been in her chamber.
He swayed into her touch uncontrollably, his body screaming at him to allow her to do just that. To ignore all the warnings that reminded him she was only using him to get to Francesca. To just drown in her regardless of her motives.
His body was too loud. It blocked out any other thoughts or hesitations. He stood up suddenly, forcing her to take a stumbling step back. He caught her around her waist, dragging her against him as he stared down into her wide, bright green eyes.
“In my chamber,” he ground out. “Now.”
War shut the chamber door behind him and then leaned against it, watching Claire across the room rather like a wolf observed his prey. She felt the coiled tension of his desire, mixed with the high emotion of their earlier conversation.
She swallowed hard, suddenly nervous even though they had made love twice before. She looked around her. His chamber was plain but serviceable. There was a large bed that she had no doubt would be comfortable for two and two chairs turned toward his roaring fire.
Two. How often did he entertain ladies when he came to London? Was she just another in a string of faceless beauties who would submit to his dominant will?
“Take off your clothes,” he growled from the door.
She jerked her gaze toward him. His hands were hidden behind his back, almost as if he didn’t trust them. His eyes were wild, focused entirely on her.
“You don’t want to do it for me?” she teased.
“I will rend that shirt in two as well,” he said. “But this time I won’t give you another and you will be forced to parade around naked until new clothing can be acquired.”
Her lip trembled at that declaration. She supposed it was meant as a threat, but it conjured up all kinds of images of being locked in this room, the naked plaything to this man until it suited him to release her. That should have frightened her after her time with Aston, but it somehow didn’t. War was a different man. Being held by him was something to be treasured, never feared.
“Claire,” he said, sharp and pointed.
Her hands lifted to the shirt buttons almost of their own accord and she stripped the fastenings loose as he watched her. Slowly, she parted the fabric and dropped it behind her, baring herself to him from the waist up.
He made a sound of pain and pleasure mixed and pushed off from the door to come toward her just one step. “The trousers too.”
She met his gaze, holding steady even as she fumbled with the clasps that held her pants at her waist. She finally managed to release the buttons and the fabric slid from her hips, down her thighs and around her feet.
He stared at her, now utterly naked, and let out a long shudder.
“Do you know how many times I imagined you like this, Claire?” he whispered. “How many nights this image kept me up, tossing and turning, hard for you?”
She stiffened. “You thought of me?”
He nodded. “Always. From the very beginning.”
She shook her head. “But I came to you, War. I came to you before I ran with Aston and you refused me. Why did you do that if you wanted me?”
“That night,” he growled. “God, how I wanted you that night when you came down to the stables and offered yourself to me. It took everything in me to turn you away.”
She flushed, remembering his stern face as he refused her all those years ago. Remembering how it had only increased the pain she already felt. The pain she’d been hoping to erase with his touch.
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