Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  He spoke the words without passion. She could only assume he’d had enough talking and wanted her to leave. The night air chilled her skin, and she wrapped her arms around her waist for warmth. She felt rebuffed by him. Stung. Her husband, the man with whom she would spend the rest of her days, did not have the slightest interest in spending a moment more in her company.

  She knew she ought to calmly say “Very well then, I bid you good night,” and quit the room, but she feared with a certainty that if she opened her mouth and attempted to utter a single syllable, her voice would falter and reveal the confused tumult of her emotions.

  Not because she cared for him. Of course she didn’t. Clearly he did not care for her.

  They’d been thrown together, and no amount of wishful thinking or good intentions would create a spark between them, when such a spark was never intended to be. She blinked away tears. Foolish tears! As if he had hurt her, but he hadn’t.

  It had just been a long day, and a long night before that, and she’d made a terrible mess of everything, and she hated Quinn. And perhaps still loved him. And she was lonely. So very lonely and frightened of what the future held.

  So instead she nodded jerkily, her chin outthrust, and turned on her slippered foot to escape into the dark dressing closet, taking care to close the first and the second door firmly behind her. Miss Randolph reclined in her sleeping gown and robe on the chaise with her book open and steepled across her forehead, snoring, which was just as well because Clarissa could not face the woman’s questions or her pity.

  She doused the lamps and, in darkness, with only the scant light from behind the fire grate to see, crawled into bed and lay on unfamiliar sheets, her mind tangled with thoughts of… Mr. Blackmer.

  Suddenly the door swung open and a shadow moved toward her, stealthily and swift, with only the faint white swath across his hips visible in the night. She recognized Blackmer instantly, and desire ignited inside her. He crouched above her, breathing hard, his skin still damp and the tight flex of muscles in his shoulders darkly illuminated. The scent of the soap from his bath filled her nostrils. Her pulse raced, her heart near exploding.

  “You,” he growled deep in his throat, “are my preference.”

  A second later, he kissed her hard, pressing his thumb against the side of her jaw, commanding her lips to part while his tongue boldly entered and teased. She gasped for breath, stunned into half senselessness…and surrendered, her mouth opening fully to accept each deep, possessing stroke.

  He gave a husky groan. His large hands caught hers by the wrists, pinning her to the mattress. She squirmed beneath him—but with no intent to escape.

  Moments before he had dismissed her coldly and made her feel invisible and unwanted, and yet in this moment he revealed his true feelings, ones he’d tried to conceal. She knew without a doubt that her husband desired her. Something about that made her weak, and—

  His mouth moved to her cheek…her neck, leaving her skin hot and awakened wherever his lips touched. Sensations she’d never experienced spiraled up from inside her, delicious and achingly sweet, awakening a need in her body and rendering her unexpectedly wild.

  God help her, she didn’t understand, but she wanted him as well. The moment he released her hands she moaned and seized his shoulders, sliding her hands upward over his neck, finding unexpected appreciation in the powerful contraction and flux of his muscles beneath her palms. He exhaled, filling her mouth with his breath, and sucked her bottom lip—

  Only to groan and twist away.

  No. She reached, her hands trailing over his shoulders and his arms, desperately wanting more. More of his kiss, and his warm, firm skin. And yes, for him to ravish her so she would forget—

  Then nothing.

  The bed creaked, relieved of his weight. She heard his sharp exhalation of breath—a laugh, perhaps?

  “Good night then, Mrs. Blackmer,” he murmured.

  Silence filled the room.

  “Good night,” she answered breathlessly.

  He crossed the room, disappearing into the dressing closet, gone the way he had come. She heard the door close.

  After a long moment of silence, Miss Randolph’s voice came from the direction of the chaise. “Well, that was rather thrilling.”

  Clarissa sat straight up in the bed. How mortifying. Her husband had kissed her so senseless, she’d forgotten Miss Randolph was even there. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “Indeed,” answered Clarissa, sinking back onto the pillows and flinging her arms wide. She could not recall ever having experienced anything so exhilarating. No, not even with Lord Quinn—

  Her hand rested upon something soft and damp.

  Mr. Blackmer’s towel.

  Two days later, the carriage bounced and rattled, the road having turned into an abomination some four hours ago, so much so that it felt to Clarissa as if her bones were no longer in their proper sockets.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Blackmer?” Miss Randolph peered at her wearily. “Should I ask the driver to slow our pace?”

  “No, Miss Randolph, I am well, and would rather arrive at the inn sooner than later.”

  “I as well, madam. I as well.”

  Fortunately, her condition thus far had not caused her to suffer any morning or motion sickness, unlike Sophia, whose first weeks enciente had been spent with her head bent over a pail.

  The air had grown progressively chillier, and though there was no need for warming pans or blankets yet, she and Miss Randolph wore wool dresses beneath lined pelisses instead of muslin. There was nothing to do to pass the time except grit one’s teeth and anticipate the next sudden jolt.

  Just then a dark blur streaked past the window. She leaned to peer out, her gloved hand on the cool glass. It was Mr. Blackmer, of course, atop the horse he had won in a card game the night before. He looked very fine in the saddle, his cheeks ruddy with vigor and health, despite having passed the night in the common room as the inn had been able to provide only one room to their party.

  Miss Randolph watched her from across the carriage, clear-eyed as an eagle. Clarissa stiffened, realizing the obviousness of her actions, and drew away.

  “Why, just look at the sky,” she said, peering out and upward. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

  “Hmmm. Rain. Yes, my dear.”

  Miss Randolph smiled, clearly not fooled by Clarissa’s claim of interest in the weather, though it did look like rain.

  Why she felt the need to hide her newfound fascination with Dominick from the older woman, she could not precisely explain even to herself. Miss Randolph had already made it clear she wished for them to be happy together. Indeed, this morning her maid had vehemently insisted that if accommodations were limited at the next inn, as they had been the night before, Clarissa must insist her new husband share her bed while she, the servant, would make do with whatever else.

  Clarissa knew Miss Randolph was right. She should concern herself with her husband’s rest and comfort. They should learn to care for one another. That could only occur as they spent more time together. Which was why she felt so exceedingly relieved that after that first night in the inn, there had been no more passionate exchanges, no visits to each other’s rooms…no bone-melting kisses. Yes, relieved. Their relationship would take more than a day or two to build, and she wanted to proceed more slowly, so there would be no disappointments for either one of them and no regrets.

  She suspected Mr. Blackmer felt the same because he had ignored her almost completely since. Things weren’t unfriendly between them, not by far. They had exchanged pleasantries each morning and each night, and had even shared a meal together, where they’d conversed about nothing much of substance. Which all suited her just as well, because the quiet between them had given her the time she’d needed to ponder and dissect and, yes, accept the events that had occurred in London.

  The carriage sprang sideways, creaking and rattling.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Miss Randolph, pitc
hing backward into the seat. She snatched for her book and spectacles, which in that moment became airborne.

  Clarissa seized hold of the iron door handle and planted her boots against the floor. The carriage bounced and leveled and continued on, as did the train of her thoughts.

  If she’d feared she could never feel for another man after Lord Quinn’s betrayal, Dominick’s kiss had proven that false. For that she could only be grateful to her new husband for helping her understand the capabilities of her heart. Each time she remembered the first night as he’d crouched over her in her bed—

  The smell of him…the taste of his mouth and skin…

  She closed her eyes.

  —her blood went instantly hot, as if from a fever. Every time he appeared at the bottom of the inn stairs, looking up at her, or striding across a muddy courtyard, her heart leapt with interest.

  Only one thing troubled her. Just four days ago, that same heart had leapt with interest for Lord Quinn. There was something very uncomfortable about acknowledging that.

  At last, when she believed she could endure no more carriage-bound purgatory, they arrived at an inn, which she hoped would be the final lodging on their journey before arriving at Mr. Blackmer’s home.

  The wind blew so hard, the carriage rocked. Having glanced at the timepiece that hung from the simple chatelaine at the front of her pelisse more times than she would care to acknowledge, she’d anticipated the stop and had gathered her things and waited, hat on and redingote buttoned. The building’s stone façade looked much like the one the night before, but gone were the green fields and trees that had softened the landscape. Here, stone and hardscrabble earth spread as far as her eye could see, overshadowed by dark gray skies and the scent of ocean brine intermingled with impending rain.

  Her husband did not open the door, but rather the footman, which she noted only because Mr. Blackmer’s face had always been the first she saw each time they disembarked for a meal, a roadside pause, or to pass the night. It surprised her how disappointed she felt not to see him. She descended and, followed by Miss Randolph, both women crossed the narrow courtyard against the wind, followed by the footman, who carried their belongings.

  Just then she glimpsed Blackmer’s tall figure, his broad shoulders and his flapping coattails as he disappeared inside the front door. She noted then what she’d noted countless times since the day of their wedding. Mr. Blackmer was quite simply magnificent, in a way Mr. Kincraig had never been. It was in the way he moved with such purpose, his eyes piercing and so perceptive to everything around him. When he spoke to people, they paid attention. He could indeed be imposing, but not in an arrogant way. Rather, he quietly impressed.

  A moment later she passed through the same door just in time to hear an elderly man in a dapper suit, whom she supposed to be the innkeeper, say, “My sincerest apologies, sir, but we have only the one room. Your lady’s maid there is welcome to sleep in the storeroom, which is secure and private, and there is a fine pallet. I believe she would find it most comfortable.”

  Miss Randolph’s lips thinned. Clarissa knew her servant had always taken excessive pride in being employed by the Earl of Wolverton and had her standards. Still, the woman closed her eyes and exhaled before nodding in assent. “I would sleep on the floor in the corridor if it meant not getting back in that carriage.”

  Her maid gestured to the footman to deposit their valises onto the floor beside her, which he did before returning outside.

  However, Dominick frowned, his cheeks darkly flushed from his ride in the elements. Yet dark hollows showed beneath his eyes, evidence of his exhaustion. His hat, now removed, revealed a windswept head of shining dark hair. Clarissa’s fingertips throbbed, remembering its thick yet silken texture.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But one room simply will not do. Is there another inn nearby that we might make before nightfall?”

  Clarissa’s mood fell. Like Miss Randolph, she had no wish to return to the carriage and that terrible road, especially not when the night grew dark and cold and the skies threatened rain.

  The innkeeper shook his head sympathetically. “Another hour’s travel, at least, and of course there is no way to guarantee empty rooms. My apologies, sir, the week has brought a constant stream of carriages, with so many leaving London at the close of the season.”

  Clarissa exhaled. An hour? The man may as well have said twelve.

  “Please no,” Miss Randolph murmured beneath her breath.

  They were all road weary and exhausted. Another inn would not do. Clarissa and her exhausted husband would simply pass the night together in the available room.

  “Mr. Blackmer, one room will suffice,” Clarissa said, stepping nearer to his side.

  Speaking the words sent an unexpected thrill fluttering through her. She’d just invited her husband to share her bed. They were both too tired for anything but sleep, but the idea of lying beside him both terrified and excited her. But it would be these sorts of circumstances that would serve to bring them closer together, and that wasn’t a terrible thing, being that tomorrow he would introduce her to his family as his wife.

  Yet at her words Dominick looked sharply toward her—a distancing and almost angry glance.

  “It’s too far to the next inn,” Clarissa said firmly. “No one wants to travel on.”

  “Does it seem strange to you that I would like to sleep in a bed tonight?” he retorted.

  Her cheeks burned that he would make it so obvious in a public place, before onlookers, that as man and wife they did not make a practice of sharing a bed.

  Just then, a man bundled in a coat, hat, and scarf barreled inside, and with him came a gust of frigid air and a spattering of rain. Water drizzled off the brim of his hat and streamed in thick rivulets from his coat onto the wooden floor.

  Clarissa shivered as the cold crept beneath her skirt and up her stocking-clad legs.

  “The sky is coming down now,” the man exclaimed with a smile, shaking his sleeves.

  A maid let out a sharp rebuke and rushed toward him with a rag, with which she proceeded to sop up the mess as he trundled past.

  Mr. Blackmer muttered a low curse and closed his eyes, as if trying to rein in his temper.

  Clarissa stepped closer to him and spoke in a low tone. “There is a bed, and there is no reason why we shouldn’t both sleep there. As I said, one room will suffice.”

  He answered with a curt nod and exhaled through his nose.

  With a glance to the innkeeper, he said, “We’ll take the room.”

  Clarissa nodded, satisfied that her husband saw things as rationally as she did. She waited for instruction from the innkeeper.

  Dominick, however, took a few steps toward the crowded common room, which was filled with gray tallow smoke and the scent of burned food. His jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed, revealing his dark mood. A sudden blast of thunder shook the walls and windows.

  “Sleep well. I will see you in the morning,” he said to her, his eyes not even meeting her gaze.

  Returning his dusty, wide-brimmed hat to his head, he turned as if to proceed to the door.

  The innkeeper looked at Clarissa in bewilderment but then discreetly averted his attention. A surge of embarrassment shot through her at having been so publicly rejected. Yes, she and Dominick had kept their distance for the previous two days, but why should he now reject her offer of a comfortable place to sleep, when he wanted it so badly? Did he find the idea of passing the night with her so abhorrent?

  Remembering the passion with which he had kissed her that first night in the dark, she knew he did not. You are my preference, he had said in such a seductive tone.

  Moving quickly, she placed herself squarely in her husband’s path.

  “Mr. Blackmer, don’t be stubborn. It is cold out there and only getting colder. We’ve traveled all day, you on horseback. Miss Randolph has already said she is agreeable to sleeping downstairs. There is no reason why you should not share the room with
me.” She spoke in an even tone, because she wouldn’t stoop to beg. “After all, I am your wife.”

  “Only on paper,” he muttered so low that only she could hear. The brim of his hat threw a dark shadow across his face.

  The words felt like a slap, despite her knowing them to be true.

  “Which makes it seem very real, doesn’t it?” she answered. “At least it does to me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dominick stared at her a long moment. “You ought not to keep that girl waiting any longer.”

  A weary-faced servant girl in a white apron and lace cap stood at the landing, a glowing lantern in one hand and Clarissa’s valise in the other. “This way, madam.”

  With a sideways turn of his boot, he angled past her and, after pushing through the door, disappeared into the night. Rainfall and thunder muted his footsteps until the door slammed closed. The innkeeper rummaged in a cabinet, pretending not to have observed their tense exchange.

  Clarissa’s heart beat like thunder in her ears. Though exhausted, her husband had summarily refused her offer of a comfortable place to pass the night, preferring the dark, wet, and cold to her company. She rejected the hurt in her heart that accompanied his words and her dismay at being so soundly rejected. Things had not been unpleasant between them, so why had he responded so severely? There had to be a reason.

  “Miss Randolph,” she said, turning back. “You might as well come upstairs with—”

  But Miss Randolph was already on the far side of the common room, disappearing toward the kitchens.

  Clarissa followed the inn’s servant girl upstairs and politely declined all offers of assistance, evening victuals in her room, or a bath, instead asking to be left alone. Once the girl was gone, Clarissa stood in the quiet of the room, shunning the warmth of the fire, listening to the storm rumble and surge outside.

  She tried to put herself into Dominick’s mind, to imagine what he must be thinking and why he insisted on staying away.

  How did he feel toward her? Did he dislike her personality? Did he find her unattractive? Perhaps…perhaps because she carried another man’s child?