Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  “I did tell you. I told you my family and this place don’t define me,” he answered. “And because you are married to me, neither can they define you. Please understand that. We won’t be staying.”

  “You’ve brought someone with you, I see,” came a different voice, female, and as smooth as silk. His mother’s.

  His hand closed firmly on Clarissa’s, he turned to introduce her.

  Lady Stade stood there, dark haired and striking, looking as if time had not touched her in the years since he had last seen her. Indeed, since he had been a boy. The tails of her fox fur cape flew on the wind behind her.

  “Mother,” he said.

  She frowned, as she always did when he or his brother called her that.

  “Lady Stade,” he amended.

  The frown eased.

  “It pleases me to introduce you to Lady Blackmer.”

  “You’ve married again,” she answered in a quiet voice, her countenance expressionless. “What a surprise. Oh, Blackmer, you might have written to let us know.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you,” Clarissa said in a clear if not completely steady voice. Her hand tightened on his, a small vise.

  “And I you, dear.” His mother scrutinized Clarissa, and if he knew anything about his mother, he knew she was analyzing every detail of his new wife, from the embroidery on her cuff to the inflection of her voice to deduce where in the echelon of society her new daughter-in-law belonged and whether she ranked higher than herself.

  “Lady Blackmer,” said the marchioness, taking a step closer. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  Guthrie too stepped forward.

  “Quick!” warned Miss Randolph from the carriage. “She’s falling.”

  “Oh, catch her,” urged his mother, her hand coming to her lips.

  Guthrie and two footmen lunged, but Dominick was closer.

  He turned just in time to catch Clarissa in his arms. He braced his boot against the carriage step, adjusting her against his shoulder, while Miss Randolph reached out to neaten her skirts over her boots.

  A sudden fear struck him that she might be more ill than he believed, and in danger of losing the child. He would never forgive himself, because it had been he who had insisted they travel. Carrying her, he strode past his mother, who gathered her fur against her throat and peered into his face.

  Guthrie shouted at the servants who had gathered. “Make way.”

  “Please summon a physician,” Dominick said to him as he swept by.

  “Yes, my lord, immediately.”

  He climbed the endless rise of stairs to the front doors, which were held open on either side by servants anticipating their passage. Inside, more servants lined the entry hall, having assembled in mere moments to greet him.

  “Thank you, all of you,” he said quietly, moving past them. He received a nearly in-unison reply of nodding heads as well as politely murmured words of greeting and concern for the lady in his arms.

  High above, illuminated by blazing torchères, an immense gallery greeted him, hung with portraits of his ancestors and family, each face a window to the past. And just like that, the past pressed into his nostrils, his mouth and ears, smothering him, seeking to be the air he breathed when he had worked so hard to expel it from the man he was. In that moment it was as if he had never left.

  He looked down into Clarissa’s face, and she became his anchor, reminding him why he had come home and of the man he had to be.

  Two male servants appeared at the base of the staircase with a chair, into which he reluctantly surrendered his wife, and they conveyed her up the stairs.

  “I shall allow you some privacy,” called his mother from below, her voice echoing up. “Come to greet me properly, Blackmer, when you can.”

  He followed them up two floors. Guthrie sped past to lead the way, followed by Miss Randolph.

  Halfway down the corridor, Guthrie pushed open two doors, and they proceeded inside a large bedchamber decorated in hues of green. Two maids who on first glance bore matched features appeared as if from thin air, which did not surprise Dominick. That was how his mother kept house, with an army of perfectly trained servants who moved like silent and invisible spirits from place to place. One turned down the bed, while the other poured water into a basin. As in all of the rooms at Darthaven, the furniture was ages old, yet perfectly polished. However, the curtains and carpet and bedding were of the most current colors and style, so the place smelled not like an old musty castle but fresh, despite the ancient wall hangings and art that covered the walls. He lay Clarissa down on the bed, and Miss Randolph rushed to unbutton her pelisse and loosen her boots.

  With relief, he saw that his wife’s bosom rose and fell with regular breath.

  “What do you need, ma’am?” Guthrie asked Miss Randolph, his eyes politely averted from the young woman in the bed.

  Dominick had always liked Guthrie, a deep-voiced giant of a man who looked at everyone, noble or common, with kind eyes.

  Miss Randolph answered with brisk authority. “A rich beef broth, if you will, and butter and hearty brown bread.”

  Guthrie caught the eye of one of the maids. Wordlessly, she disappeared from the room. The butler then assisted Dominick in removing his greatcoat and passed it off to another maid, who disappeared with it into the corridor.

  Miss Randolph turned to Dominick and urged, “Leave us, my lord. Greet your family, and I shall tend to Her Ladyship and soon enough she will be well enough to join you.” She untied Clarissa’s bonnet and set it aside.

  “You’re certain she’s all right?”

  He was reluctant to leave Clarissa, even though he knew she was in capable hands. It was almost as if now that he was here at Darthaven, he realized the strength of his attachment to her, and feared the moment he left her, she would be torn away. This place had only driven himself and Tryphena farther apart. What if the same thing happened with Clarissa?

  The impulse was too great. Caring not that anyone watched, he leaned beneath the canopy and, taking her hand, pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “Rest,” he murmured.

  Miss Randolph touched his shoulder lightly. “She and the baby will be fine, my lord. I vow the physician, when he arrives, will confirm what I say. Just you wait and see.”

  Her voice held a reverence he’d not heard before. My lord. How could he explain that he would forever prefer “Mr. Blackmer,” as she’d addressed him before?

  “Please summon me when she awakens.”

  With one final look over his shoulder toward Clarissa, he descended the stairs to the first floor and for a moment stood outside the wide-open double doors of the King’s Room, preparing for whatever might await him. Inside, the high wood-paneled walls appeared to waver in the glow of not one fire but two oversized hearths at either end of the long gallery. High windows along the north wall, every other one of them bearing stained glass family insignia, overlooked the ocean.

  There, beside the farthest hearth, sat his mother, her fur cape having been exchanged for a long India shawl, which she wore artfully draped across one shoulder. She always took care with her appearance, and he couldn’t recall ever having seen her wear the same dress more than twice. Several books lay strewn on a settee behind her, and a large needlework frame. At seeing him, she stood and waited for him to approach her.

  “My lady.” He bent to accept her kiss on his cheek. Her fragrance scented the air, expensive and complex. She returned to her seat, while he remained standing.

  He loved his mother, but things had never been warm or affectionate between them. She had always been the beautiful, distant lady who had left his and his brother’s care to nannies and their minding to a cadre of governesses and tutors. His relationship had been much the same with his father, an aloof, sharp-eyed man who existed either behind closed doors with land stewards and advisors or off hunting with titled, wealthy friends.

  Dominick’s life had not been terrible, not by far. He had been raised much like any
son of the aristocracy, with the very clear expectation that he should grow up and behave and look and dress like the rest of them. Yet his grandfather, the elder Lord Stade, who lived on a much smaller estate known as Frost End and who had once been a brave naval officer on the high seas, had shared stories of adventure with him and given him his first inkling there was something more to life than this. After university, Dominick had set off to find it and had never really come back home.

  “Blackmer,” she said in her elegant, cool tone. “Again, what a happy surprise to have you home. You were assigned to Constantinople last we heard. Your duties have at last allowed you to return?”

  “Indeed.” His throat closed on any further explanation. They’d never developed a confiding sort of relationship, and it would be awkward to confess to her now, so soon after arriving, that his dreams had been destroyed—but that in smoldering cinders of loss, he’d found another. How he wished Clarissa was standing beside him now.

  “And you bring us another bride.” Her smile faltered. “Was her father or…guardian also in Constantinople?”

  “We met in London, actually.”

  “You were there for the season?” Her voice thinned.

  “Unexpectedly,” he said. “Briefly.”

  “If we’d known, we might have come down. When was the wedding? You know I don’t read the London papers and would not have seen the announcement.”

  Indeed, Dominick knew she hated to read about the fashionable world in distant London and the lives of her girlhood friends, now grown women, going on without her.

  Lord and Lady Stade did go down to London from time to time, but rarely, because his father complained about the bad air and crowds and despised travel. He had actually glimpsed them two years ago inside the well-heeled society crowd at the Royal Gallery, where he had accompanied Wolverton to view a showing of Dutch masters, but because he was Mr. Kincraig on secret assignment, he could make no effort to speak to them.

  “The wedding took place recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “Last week.”

  His mother’s gaze sharpened. “And she is already enciente?”

  Had she made that assessment herself, or had the news been discreetly conveyed from one of the servants in Clarissa’s bedroom? He would not be surprised.

  “It would seem so.”

  Her expression did not change.

  “Who are the young lady’s relations?” she asked coolly. “Would I know of them?”

  It had vexed his mother and father greatly that he’d married Tryphena without consulting them first and that his wife had never offered anything more than murky explanations of her family’s lineage and whereabouts. Even he, as her husband, had learned not to pry for details about her past, but being that they were both spies, secrets had seemed natural…for a time.

  It was a relief to know exactly who he had married in Clarissa.

  “Lady Blackmer is the Earl of Wolverton’s youngest granddaughter.”

  “The Earl of Wolverton.” The tension in his mother’s features eased. She relaxed and looked at the ceiling, as if trying to recall something. “A man of great power in his day. If I remember correctly, his heir died some years ago. A riding accident.”

  He nodded. “Yes, Lady Blackmer’s father. His son died as well, but with issue, a young son.”

  “You’ve married well then.” She let out a dismissive little laugh. “A marked improvement over your first effort.”

  He agreed—but still, her comment did not sit well with him. Indeed, it sparked his anger. “Tryphena is dead, Mother. There is no need to speak ill of her now.”

  She smiled, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’m just so glad you’ve come home.”

  “Where is His Lordship?” he inquired.

  Likely out with his brother Colin, whom he dreaded seeing more than anyone.

  Her brows gathered and, for a brief second, she bit her lower lip. “His Lordship…well, he was here when the footman announced your arrival.” She drifted to the window and peered out over the ocean. “Now I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  He swallowed down the unexpected slice of hurt that came with her announcement. His father had left upon hearing of his arrival. Yet he supposed His Lordship was justified in holding hard feelings toward him, being that he’d been gone so long.

  “I’ve just prattled on,” said his mother. “You must be exhausted from your journey, and chilled through. Come and sit by the fire, and I’ll ring for tea.”

  She reached for a silver bell on the table beside her.

  “No, Mother. Thank you but don’t.”

  “You’d like to rest until dinner. Of course.”

  “I’d like to find His Lordship. I’ve matters to discuss with him.”

  She nodded, her gaze dimming, as if she already realized what those matters might be. She said quietly, “I shall see you at dinner then.”

  He turned to the door.

  “Dominick,” she called.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Her tone seemed softer now, as did her gaze. “He may have gone to the falcon house. That is usually where he goes when he is—”

  Troubled.

  “…thinking.” She looked down at her hands, which were clasped on her lap.

  Even without her direction, the falcon house was the first place he would have looked. In the entry hall, a servant appeared with his hat and his coat, both immaculately brushed clean. At the stables, he insisted on taking out his own travel-weary horse rather than riding one from Darthaven. A short ride brought him to the falcon house, which was just a small stone shed, where he found the gate locked. Peering through the small window, he saw his father’s falcon on its perch, its feathers dull and sparse with old age, but the marquess was nowhere to be seen.

  His gaze scanning the landscape for another rider, Dominick rode across the sweeping plain over which Darthaven presided, inhaling the briny scent of the ocean and listening to the crash of the waves against the stones. He continued up the incline, which led to a wide plateau upon which stood an ornamental domed folly, its marble columns strikingly white against a small forest of trees.

  From that high perch, he took in the impressive sight of the house, with the sea spread out behind it like a backdrop of dark blue silk.

  Just then he heard the sound of horses’ hooves on the earth behind him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  So you’ve come home,” said his father.

  Only then did Dominick turn his horse around. In the three and a half years that had passed since he’d last seen him, his father had aged. Though sitting in his saddle as elegantly as ever, streaks of gray threaded through his dark hair, and he looked weary and somehow smaller than what Dominick remembered. Dark clouds lumbered across the sky behind him.

  “Home?” said Colin, who sat on a horse beside Lord Stade. “When did Blackmer ever consider Darthaven home?”

  Dominick ignored him.

  “Greetings, my lord,” he answered with a tilt of his hat. “Colin.”

  Strange, but he thought he would feel more anger at seeing his brother now, considering the ugly terms upon which they had last parted, but he felt mostly regret. Once they had been brothers. They had been friends.

  His brother’s eyes did not waver from his own. “Dominick.”

  “What brings you to Darthaven?” his father asked, his gaze wary.

  “I have married again,” answered Dominick.

  His Lordship nodded, his countenance reflecting no change. “We shall meet her at dinner then.”

  “Perhaps not tonight,” said Dominick. “She is ill.”

  Lord Stade’s eyebrows drew together, and Dominick perceived a flash of genuine concern. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “She is with child,” he answered. “And did not make the trip well.”

  “A child, you say? Did you summon the physician?” The rigidity of Lord Stade’s shoulders eased a degree. In his heart Dominick knew he had just made
his father very happy, at least to some degree. The marquess had never made secret his wish for grandchildren—but, more specifically, for his sons to propagate a healthy line of heirs.

  “Yes, my lord. I’m assured she will recover to full health in due time.”

  “You must inform Guthrie if anything more can be done to make her more comfortable.”

  “If she is in such a delicate state of health, perhaps you shouldn’t have come at all,” Colin suggested darkly. “But you weren’t thinking about her, were you? Only yourself, apparently. Still the same old Dominick, I see.”

  “Perhaps that’s true,” he answered calmly, refusing to be goaded. “But we are here.”

  “Why?” his brother demanded, his eyes flashing. “Why come back now after all this time? Not for the purpose of a simple introduction, I venture to guess.”

  “Colin—” warned their father, lifting a staying hand.

  “What?” Colin scowled. “Duty requires him to introduce another wife to us, but nothing else? He is only to travel the world at his whim and marry, hopefully better this time than the last, but not share in any of the responsibilities here at home—”

  His brother dared speak of Tryphena to him in such a manner? Dominick’s anger, which he’d held in check, exploded.

  “Watch your tongue, brother,” he growled. “Else I’ll meet you on the ground.”

  “Dismount then, because I’ll say it again,” Colin spat. “Your first wife was a—”

  “Now.” Dominick unhooked one boot from his stirrup, his thighs and shoulders tensing.

  “Silence!” barked the marquess. The horses, startled, shifted and pranced in place, their harnesses jangling.

  Dominick and his brother eased back into their saddles.

  “Why have you returned, Blackmer?” asked his father gruffly.

  “I’ve left the consular service.”

  “Oh?” his father asked warily. Hopefully. “Permanently?”

  “It seems that way.”