Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  “So you’ve come back here,” his brother chided. “After all this time. Because you’ve nowhere else to go?”

  “I’ve come to ask for Frost End,” Dominick said, ignoring Colin and speaking directly to his father.

  “Frost End?” said his father, dismayed, as if he’d asked to live in the barn. “Whatever for?”

  Frost End—not Darthaven—was Lord Stade’s ancestral home, a modest domain when compared to the grandeur of the unentailed estate willed to him by Lady Stade’s father—the last Earl of Aveling—whose title had lapsed after he died without an heir to continue his line. As a boy, Dominick had spent several summers there with his grandsire, fishing, running through fields, and tending sheep. He remembered those days as the finest, freest times of his life. It seemed a hopeful place for him and Clarissa to start their lives together.

  He nodded. “It’s been empty for years, I know, and is certainly in need of repair. I’d like to take residence there and work the estate. Draw back the tenants. Make it profitable again.”

  His father stared at him coldly.

  With a kick of his heel, Colin’s mount lumbered forward, coming almost nose to nose with Dominick’s.

  Colin ground out, “You’ve been gone for more than thirteen years. Thirteen long years, brother. Leaving me with no choice but to take your place in all but name. No, I’m not the first son, but I’ve earned a say. Don’t think you can just come back and start making demands.”

  “Frost End is my birthright.” Dominick sidled his horse alongside his brother’s, forcing the other animal to canter aside. “Grandfather intended it for me.”

  “Grandfather didn’t know you’d betray your family.” Colin pointed at him with his gloved hand.

  In a rush, the old anger returned, and Dominick struggled against the urge to knock his brother from his saddle into the dirt.

  “I’ve never betrayed this family. Or you, brother. Can you say the same thing to me?”

  His brother’s eyes hardened.

  “I’d rather burn Frost End down,” Colin muttered, “than see you have it.”

  “You want me back here at Darthaven that badly?” Dominick goaded, and narrowed his eyes. “I missed you too.”

  “Why Frost End and not here?” asked his father, whose lips had taken on a deeper frown. The nostrils of his aristocratic nose flared. “Are we that offensive to you, even after all this time?”

  Dominick held his tongue, refusing to dredge up old disagreements. Old transgressions—namely Colin’s dalliance with Tryphena, which he’d never revealed to his parents because as difficult as things had been between them, he hadn’t wanted to hurt them in that way. He did not need to. Like a dark cloud it hung between him and his brother, tangled up in all the other difficult family memories. On the precipice of this new life with Clarissa and the baby, he preferred to look to the future.

  “It’s important for me to have something that belongs to me. That I prove my worth, in my own way, by my own efforts and no one else’s.”

  “That old man filled your head with nonsense,” said the marquess, his lip curling.

  That old man. His father. Dominick’s grandfather.

  That old man had been Dominick’s hero, and he had challenged him to do more with his life than to live inside the confining box of wealth and privilege. Dominick had done so in the secret service and intended to do so now, just in a different way, building a meaningful life for him and his new family.

  “No, my lord,” he answered steadily. “It isn’t nonsense at all. It’s what I want.”

  His father looked to the ground, as if digesting the words, then into Dominick’s eyes again. “I’ve no obligation to convey Frost End to you, not until I’m cold in the grave.”

  “Frost End is not, and has never been, of consequence to you—yet it means very much to me, and I’m asking you to give it to me now.”

  His father’s gloved hand tightened on the reins, and his lips thinned. “What if I refuse?”

  “Then I leave again, Father,” he answered quietly. “And I don’t come back.”

  The words weren’t intended as an ultimatum. They were just true. He would take Clarissa and they would leave here and he would find another way. He had been gone too long, become too independent. Though Darthaven—and the family who lived there—had been the bedrock of his past and had formed him as a man in so many ways, for that same reason, they could not be his future. He would make his own way, with Frost End or without it.

  “So be it,” Lord Stade answered bitterly. “If you’re so determined to spurn your family and your obligations here, then go, but please know I’ve waited long enough for you to return here. My patience is spent. You may have Frost End, but not without consequences.”

  Consequences. He’d known there would be.

  “Such as?”

  “If you want Frost End now, then you forfeit the rest, any claim to the unentailed fortune you would have received upon my death.”

  Dominick nodded and without hesitation answered, “I’ll agree to that.”

  He’d lived this long without benefit of his family’s largesse. Fortunes were nice to have, but he would take pride in building his own.

  “I will…speak with my advisors, and have the papers drawn.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Dominick answered with all sincerity.

  He meant it. He did not despise his father. He loved him. They just weren’t alike enough to live together. He directed his horse to turn, and he looked out over the ocean again, appreciating the brace of cold air that swept over his skin.

  He heard the sound of a horse’s hooves on stone. A glance over his shoulder found Colin nearer, glaring at him.

  “If that was all you wanted, you could have just written. Why come back at all?”

  Dominick realized their father wasn’t in their presence anymore. He’d turned his mount and had already begun to make his way back to the house.

  “For one thing, I wanted to see you, Colin. We never spoke of what happened with Tryphena. I was too angry then, but it’s important now that I forgive you.”

  “I’m not sorry,” Colin muttered. “So don’t trouble yourself.”

  With a pull of the reins and a jab of his heels, Colin whirled his horse toward the house as well.

  Clarissa awakened to what were now-familiar surroundings, a green-wallpapered room darkened by night. In the distance, ocean waves crashed and grew silent, only to crash again. After having been confined to her bed and this room for more than a week, her body ached and she felt vexingly pathetic, but the overwhelming nausea she’d battled since arriving at Darthaven had at last subsided yesterday, and since then she’d slept. At some point in the afternoon, Miss Randolph had helped her into a hot bath, and after a walk around the room, she’d slept again. Now, with her days and nights out of order, she had fallen wide awake.

  Restless, she climbed down from the bed, enjoying the luxurious softness of the carpet beneath her toes. Her legs were weak from lack of use, but grew stronger with each step. Pulling the heavy drapery away, she peered out the window into the darkness beyond, but saw only a black bank of fog pressing against the pane. Feeling smothered, she released the curtain and turned again toward the room.

  After finding her robe and slippers, she lit a lantern, which she took with her, peeking into the adjacent dressing closet, only ten feet away from where she’d lain for days, but she’d not felt well enough to explore. The lamp illuminated a spacious and expensively appointed room, with a rococo-style dressing table accented with gilt paint and drawer pulls. Oils in ornate frames covered the walls all the way up to the high ceiling, which was thickly framed with carved molding. Her rooms here at Darthaven were far more luxurious than anything she had ever enjoyed at home.

  A rustle of movement in the opposite corner alerted her to Miss Randolph, who slept there on a narrow bed. Behind her stood the door that led to Dominick’s chamber.

  Over the previous days as she’d lain
suffering in bed, he’d visited her numerous times, and urged her to eat and drink and rest. It chafed her vanity sorely that her new husband had seen her in such an unattractive state, when she only wanted him to see her at her best. Just knowing he was on the other side of the door sent a tremor of anticipation through her. The shadows brought to mind memories of the night at the inn when he’d made love to her.

  His kisses had shattered her. His touch had awakened every inch of her body.

  But at present she was angry at him. Furious, actually, and she had to let him know. He’d been an earl all along. It was one shock she shouldn’t have had to suffer, especially not in front of Miss Randolph, his mother, and everyone else.

  She wasn’t a child, plying him with bothersome questions. She was his wife. The person with whom he would share his life, and for that she deserved some measure of respect and consideration. If he wouldn’t give it to her outright, then she would demand it.

  She withdrew again to her room, where Miss Randolph had left a small basin in close proximity to her bed. She scrubbed her skin, cleaned her teeth, and tidied the sleeping braids that encircled her head, then settled a white lace cap atop them.

  Without the lamp, she returned to the dressing closet and passed through, careful not to bump the corner of Miss Randolph’s bed. After turning the handle, she entered Dominick’s room and secured the door behind her. A small fire burned on the andirons, providing enough light to see. She peered toward the bed, the interior of which was concealed by shadows and dark curtains that hung from decorative cornices on the ceiling.

  “Dominick,” she called quietly.

  Silence.

  “My lord,” she added with a touch of impishness. “It is I, Clarissa.”

  She found his bedclothes rumpled and thrown back and her husband gone. Finding the outside corridor dimly lit by wall sconces, she descended into a cavernous entry hall, cluttered with settees, chairs, and carpets and all manner of family artifacts and portraiture. Two footmen dozed on a bench and did not awaken as she passed by.

  Downstairs, she discovered a drawing room with a vaulted ceiling and, next, a dining room that could have seated the House of Lords, each room darkened by night. As for the next room, she noticed that light shone from around the door, which was slightly ajar. Considering those rooms she’d already seen, she deduced this one might be a library. Perhaps Dominick, unable to sleep, had gone there and found a book or newspaper to read. She lifted her hand to knock on the door—

  But then whispers and smothered laughter met her ears, a man’s and a woman’s.

  Silently, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She spied a flash of white linen—a man’s shirt—and recognized Dominick’s shoulders and his dark hair, but also a woman’s pale arms gripping him tight, her long copper hair streaming. The two kissed and grappled, their bodies sliding against the wall.

  Clarissa could only stand paralyzed, stunned by the pain.

  Tears rose to her eyes, and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Had it taken this to realize she had very real feelings for him? To find herself betrayed a second time by a man she’d believed she could trust.

  In the next moment, fury replaced the hurt. She wasn’t just going to leave and pretend that she hadn’t seen them. She was far too outraged for that.

  “Pardon me,” she announced loudly, storming toward them, needing to see Dominick’s face when he realized she was there. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve a few words to say to my husband.”

  The young woman—whoever she was—gave a little shriek, while Dominick stiffened and turned, shielding the woman from Clarissa’s view.

  “What the hell?” he snarled.

  Only it wasn’t Dominick at all, but a man who looked very much like him, only younger.

  Clarissa gasped, going from furious to horrified in one second. Dominick had mentioned a brother. This had to be him. She had wrongly jumped to the worst conclusion and made the worst sort of fool out of herself.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she blurted, her cheeks ablaze. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “I think that’s obvious,” he retorted, his expression furious and strained.

  “I’ll just go back to my room.” She retreated toward the door.

  His eyes narrowed. “You must be wife number two.” And then moved over her in slow appreciation. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

  Behind him the girl struggled to return her clothing into place and in doing so provided glimpses of elbows and tousled hair.

  “Wife number two?” she repeated.

  His eyes widened. “You do know about wife number one, don’t you?”

  How unfriendly of him to phrase things in such a tactless manner. “Of course I do.”

  “But you don’t know everything about her. No, I’m certain you don’t…or else you wouldn’t have married him.”

  “Shut up, Colin. She’s not your plaything.”

  Tension struck through Clarissa’s shoulders at hearing Dominick’s voice behind her. She turned. He stood in the doorway wearing a coat and a thick gray scarf. His cheeks were deeply flushed and his hair tousled, as if he had been outside in the cold. He stared at the man before them, his expression formidable.

  The young woman chose that moment to escape the room, her head low and her face turned aside.

  Despite his lover’s departure, Colin’s gaze did not break from Clarissa. “Thank you, Blackmer, for that heartfelt introduction. Oh, look at you, you must have been outside for hours brooding over the sea, thinking about how miserable you are to be home with your family. You’re chilled to the bone. Come inside by the fire, where it’s warm. Oh, wait—I forgot. You can’t. That would be far too dull and smothering for you, and without the necessary adventure you require. How wrong of me to even suggest that you stay.”

  Dominick leveled a dark gaze on his brother, looking much like an annoyed lion dealing with a bothersome cub. “Obviously, we’ve matters to discuss, you and I, but we aren’t going to do it now. Not like this.” He pointed a finger to the ground between them. “So why don’t you go and sleep off some of that bitterness, not to mention whatever you’ve been drinking, and we will talk in the morning.”

  Dominick’s hand touched the small of Clarissa’s back and he led her out the door.

  “What? Leaving so soon?” Colin glibly called after them. “I had hoped we could all stay up late together and talk about old memories and such. I’m certain Lady Blackmer Number Two would like to hear them all.”

  The footmen wakened and stood, attempting to look aware. Clarissa and Dominick continued on past them toward the staircase.

  “That is your brother, I presume?” Clarissa asked.

  “That, my dear, is an ass,” gritted Dominick in response.

  “I do believe in this circumstance, the ass, my dear prodigal brother, is you,” the other man called in a voice roughened with spite. He leaned his shoulder to the wall and, in an artificially light tone, called, “See you both at breakfast, then?”

  Blackmer led her away. His head thundered with anger, but as they neared the staircase, Clarissa suddenly broke away from him and rushed up several steps above him, her pink dressing gown sweeping behind her, skirts rustling against the marble. Her hand on the banister, she stood glaring at him, her blue eyes bright with accusation and hurt.

  “Clarissa, it’s very late, and you’ve been unwell.” He closed the distance between them, taking the first stair—

  “Don’t,” she said, holding her hand up to halt his advance, to reject his touch.

  He did as she asked. “What is it?”

  “Do I know everything there is to know about Tryphena? Or is there more?” she demanded, glaring at him. “Tell me, Mr. Blackmer…oh, wait, it’s actually Lord Blackmer, isn’t it?”

  Displeasure curled his lip. He disliked the taunting tone of her voice—and her unfortunate choice of repeating Colin’s words, because even if she did not intend to do so, by speaking t
hem she placed herself on his brother’s side. Just as Tryphena had done.

  Clarissa wasn’t Tryphena.

  He knew that. He did. But after nearly a week spent apart while she recovered from her illness, he felt distant from her now, especially when she spoke to him as she did. He glanced over his shoulder to be certain the footmen did not overhear.

  “Go on,” he said darkly. “It’s obvious you have something to say, so say it.”

  She exhaled. “You should have told me everything after we married. I understand that we were strangers and that I have been ill, but most certainly before we arrived here at your family home.”

  Indeed, even after making love, they were strangers still. She was a beautiful, vivacious creature he wanted to claim and touch and seduce until she stopped asking him so many damn questions.

  “I did tell you everything,” he replied, doing his best to keep the edge from his voice. “Everything you needed to know to understand who you’d married when you married me.”

  “Who did I marry?” She ascended several steps, putting more distance between them. She looked so slight in her pale pink dressing gown. Her breasts, high and shapely, rose and fell each time she took a breath. “Tell me please, I don’t think I know.”

  “Not this.” He gestured at the room around them.

  “I don’t care about this.” She waved her hand as well. “I care about us.”

  His heartbeat jumped at her words. He had missed her. To see her standing in front of him, the vibrancy returned to her cheeks, filled him with relief. He wanted to be close to her again. Holding her. In bed with her. Not arguing. Stepping higher, he caught her hand and tugged her off the step, so that she stood beside him in his shadow. She peered up at him warily.

  “I care about us too,” he murmured.

  Lowering his head…holding his breath…he dared to kiss her, softly at first, his lips just grazing hers, testing their pillowy softness. She smelled like soap and peppermint. When she sighed and leaned into him, he opened his mouth and tasted her, his tongue touching hers, sliding against her teeth in languid exploration, instantly lost to desire and wanting more. Her hands curled into the front of his coat.