Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  Someone pushed aside the curtain and entered, startlingly taller than anyone she might expect—Dominick, who held his hat in his hand, and his cheeks were flushed as if he’d been riding out-of-doors against the cold wind.

  “There you are,” he said, his expression guarded.

  Without a word, the seamstress discreetly slipped from the room.

  Her husband’s eyes moved to the mirror and took in the sight of her from head to toe, before settling hotly on her breasts. “I need to speak with you. Is that all right?”

  “Of course you may,” Clarissa said, flustered by his sudden appearance. Heat rose up her throat, into her face. She’d never had a man visit her fitting room before, but this was her husband.

  “I came to town to purchase a curricle and two horses, so that we could get around without hiring from the livery or asking favors of my father, but saw the carriage outside and suspected Mother might have brought you here. I may already be too late to—” He flashed a brief yet heart-stopping smile. “—stop the damage.”

  “I’m happy to see you.”

  “Are you?” he answered quietly, moving to stand behind her, so close his heat warmed her back. Her pulse increased, seeing the look in his eyes. His gloved hand ascended the column of her throat and cupped her cheek. The leather, still cold from outside, made her shiver.

  “I am,” she said, turning her cheek into his hand, craving his touch.

  “I didn’t like what happened between us last night.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Tonight will be different, I hope.”

  The intimate tone of his voice made her shiver.

  “I do as well,” she murmured, blushing, knowing what he was really saying was that he intended to make love to her again.

  He bit his lower lip, smiling.

  “Mrs. Waite gave me our wedding announcement from the London paper.”

  “Did she?” His thumb grazed her jaw.

  “Are you the one responsible for its accuracy?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes stared into hers in the reflection of the mirror. “I was still so angry then, but I suppose I had the foresight to understand it might be an important record one day for the child. And for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  His arm, covered by his dark sleeve, came round her, diagonal across the pale curtain of her chemise. His gloved hand spread over her hip, banding her tight against him in a pose of possession. Clarissa’s heart beat faster, seeing his looming reflection, so much larger than hers. His body felt powerful and hard against her back, in thrilling contrast to her feminine softness.

  “I didn’t have a chance this morning to properly apologize,” he murmured into her ear. His damp, warm breath teased her skin, sending a shiver through her. “I was angry with Colin for speaking with you the way he did and for goading me about Tryphena. I shouldn’t have punished you for it, and I won’t again. God, you smell good.” He inhaled deeply, his nose behind her ear. “Your hair. Your beautiful skin.”

  At hearing his words, pleasure rippled through her, a fever heating her skin. “And then I goaded you about keeping secrets and about who you were before. I should not have. I’m sorry. I just want us to trust each other. For everything to be good between us.”

  “Good?” he whispered, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck. Opening his lips, he touched his tongue to the sensitive skin there, inciting a divine sensation that reverberated everywhere. She shivered. His hand spread over her hip, and he shifted against her. Still bound by his trousers, the hard ridge of his sex nestled between her buttocks. “Like this?”

  The intimate tone of his voice thrilled her. Her body came alive. Her already swollen breasts tightened against the fine cambric. Between her legs, she ached, suddenly needful. With a backward tilt of her hips, she pressed against him, praying he wouldn’t stop. He seized her closer, pressing an impassioned kiss on her neck.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Like that.”

  The velvet drape slipped to the floor. Voices came near, women talking about gold plaiting to be used as decoration on a spencer. Clarissa held her breath, but Dominick did not flinch or break away, he only stared into the mirror, his gaze burning into her eyes, looking handsome and dangerous.

  The voices grew distant again. His hand skimmed up over her rib cage to spread over her breast, caging her there.

  “Trust this, Clarissa.”

  Through the thin fabric, his thumb stroked her nipple and she arched, her hands spreading against his thighs, in ecstasy, gripping him there.

  “I will,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”

  He turned her around and, with a low growl, his mouth claimed hers, his hand coming up to brace her chin. Backing her against the wall, his thigh came between her legs, muscular and intimate, causing her to gasp. In one magical stroke his hands skimmed downward over her breasts and waist and hips to seize upward beneath her bare buttocks, his splayed hands lifting her firmly against him. She moaned.

  “I want to make love to you,” he murmured, kissing her neck.

  “Here?” she said shakily, tilting her head back in surrender.

  “Now.” His voice reverberated deep in his chest.

  She wasn’t certain how they would manage without discovery, but at the moment she didn’t care. “All right, but we should hurry, I think.”

  With a hard kiss to her lips, he broke away, leaving her dazed against the wall. A chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat, and for a moment he closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his gloved hand before dropping it away to reveal a grin.

  “I was rather counting on you to say no.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” she answered, her cheeks flushed.

  “I know that,” he answered, adjusting his coat. “You surprise me.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” His gaze slid over her, hotly appreciative. Bending low, he snared the drape and, straightening, settled it over her shoulders. Using it as a snare, he fisted his hands in both ends and pulled her closer for another thrilling kiss. “But I shall leave you now, oh…so…reluctantly…so we don’t cause a scandal. I just wanted to confirm with Mrs. Waite that I will settle the account for the dresses.”

  Another kiss, and he moved to the door.

  “Actually, your mother has offered them as a welcome gift.”

  He paused midstep.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.” He came closer. “I hope you understand. Being that I’ve made such a stand for independence and self-sufficiency for the past fifteen years of my life, accepting such expensive gifts from her would be a contradiction and would not come without expectations in return. I will pay for your gowns.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Stade, entering the room just then, followed by Mrs. Waite and two assistants bearing patterns and fabric, which they set out on the table. “Mrs. Waite is very expensive—”

  “I can afford the dresses, thank you,” he answered tersely, clearly offended at the suggestion he could not. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but I have my own money that I have earned.”

  “—and there’s one gown we’ve insisted on having done up exceedingly fast so Lady Blackmer will have it in time for the ball I’m throwing next Thursday in your honor.”

  “It’s satisfying to know one is being listened to,” he muttered, his dark eyes flaring.

  Clarissa stepped behind the partition and dressed quickly with the help of an assistant, all the while listening to their voices on the other side.

  “Don’t be so dour, Blackmer. Consider the dresses a welcome gift to my new daughter. My dressmaking bill has always been paid by the estate.”

  “We both appreciate the gesture, but try to understand and respect my wishes. Mrs. Waite, do you understand, all of Lady Blackmer’s accounts will be settled by me.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the modiste answered.

  Clarissa again emerged
into their midst, buttoning the front of her pelisse.

  Lady Stade said in a cool tone, “You know very well Mrs. Waite is going to do whatever I ask once you leave.”

  “I insist that she not.”

  The modiste efficiently gathered the slips of paper upon which Clarissa’s measurements had been recorded and quit the room along with her assistants, leaving them to an awkward silence.

  Lady Stade lifted her chin. “Thank you, Blackmer, for thoroughly embarrassing me.”

  He turned, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her. “It is you who placed me in a situation where I was forced to respond.”

  “Is it so wrong that we want you to come home? That we want you to stay?”

  “You want me to submit. This is no different than His Lordship’s present tactic to delay his attorneys’ progress in the conveyance documents for Frost End, so we’ll be forced to stay.” Dominick leveled a look on his mother. “And I’m sorry, did you say something about a ball?”

  “Indeed, to be held next Thursday.” Lady Stade lifted a swath of yellow silk and held it underneath her face, looking in the mirror as if judging its cast upon her skin. Frowning, she returned it to the table, clearly not finding it to her liking.

  He replied testily. “You should have asked first.”

  “Where else would you be?” Her ladyship widened her eyes in dismay.

  “At Frost End. I must travel there and assess the work that must be done before Lady Blackmer and I can take residence.”

  “Frost End. I hate even the mention of that place. I wish that old house would fall down! Why must you be so stubborn?” his mother said, her voice choked. She fished a handkerchief from her valise and pressed it to her eyes. “We were having such a lovely day until you arrived.”

  Clarissa hated conflict. And now Dominick had made his mother cry.

  “Blackmer,” Clarissa said softly. “Can’t you let it go, just this once?”

  He stared at her a long moment, his jaw tight and his expression regretful. “And to think I thought you understood.”

  “Wait—”

  Returning his hat to his head, he nodded to them both. “Good day to you both.”

  He swept from the room.

  Clarissa felt torn in two. She looked at Lady Stade. “I’ve got to go after him.”

  Lady Stade nodded, her eyes sad. “Do as you must.”

  Clarissa quickly tied her bonnet and rushed to the street where she found him already atop his dark horse, looking impressive in his saddle. She stood at the edge of the pavement, where he drew alongside, his expression grave and intent.

  She reached up for his arm. “I want to understand. Please help me understand.”

  Reaching down, he lifted her up onto the horse, perching her on the saddle before him before tugging the reins and turning the animal around. Customers watched from the windows, as did Lady Stade and Mrs. Waite. As they rode away, he pressed his lips to the side of her temple, and she wrapped her hand around his elbow.

  Two streets more, and he pulled alongside a livery stable where a simple black curricle waited, harnessed to two horses. He helped her across to the seat and dismounted before tying his mount to the back and climbing inside to take up the reins.

  Moments later, they had left the streets of town and entered the countryside. They rode in silence, but the silence did not feel awkward. Indeed, they sat very close to one another on the bench, their hips and legs and shoulders touching, and he glanced at her often as they traveled down the road.

  The air was chilly, but not uncomfortable with a blanket across her lap. Eventually they arrived at Darthaven, but instead of going to the house, he veered off in another direction, until he stopped the curricle on an overlook beside the ocean. Darthaven could be seen in the distance through a small stand of trees.

  It was then she saw the lichen-covered stonework folly, nearly concealed, its rotunda suspended on six sturdy Grecian columns.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said. “And this is as good a place as any.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It’s charming.” After climbing down from the carriage, Clarissa walked toward it.

  Dominick followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw he carried a carriage blanket—and a bottle of wine. “Where did you get that?”

  “The carriage maker gave it to me as thanks for purchasing the curricle. I’m certain it’s terrible.” He grinned.

  “Well, I for one am willing to give it a try.”

  She circled the folly. He set down the blanket and bottle and followed.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she said, looking out over the ocean.

  “It’s my favorite place. I could always come here and forget everything else for a while, and just enjoy the beauty every direction I looked.”

  Taking her hand, he led her just inside the folly and picked up the blanket to spread it over the flagstones, interspersed with tufts of grass, and they lowered themselves to sit. He removed his gloves and, with his penknife, pried the cork off the wine. After lifting the bottle to his lips, he offered it to her.

  “Not so terrible,” he said. “More like berries than wine.”

  She removed her gloves as well and, taking the bottle, drank.

  “But much better than expected,” she answered softly, licking the sweet liquid from her lips. “Just like marriage to you has been. We do have a real marriage, don’t we, Blackmer?”

  “It’s what I want.” He stared at her evenly, in a way that made her heart skip more than one beat. Indeed, it seemed to stop altogether.

  “I’m glad to hear you say it. But I want to know you better. To understand your misgivings toward your family. They aren’t perfect, but neither are they ogres. They want you here. Why can’t you stay, if just for a while?”

  Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands together. “My father blames it on my grandfather. His father. For filling my head with what he calls nonsense. The old man and I had so much in common. More than my father and I ever did. He had so many stories from when he was a younger man, of life in the Navy and visits to foreign lands. He inspired my wish for a life of adventure.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful man.”

  “He was. But the instinct has always been there, inside me. As much as I love Darthaven, as a boy it smothered me. The rules and the walls and the lessons.”

  She touched his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live your own life. I admire you for that.”

  He looked at her lips and smiled. “Once I left for university, I never really came back, which infuriated my father, who expected me to return home and show an interest in ledgers and estate finances. For a time, I took work as a common sailor on several sailing vessels and visited the places my grandfather had told me about. I loved it. Being free. Going wherever I wished, with no one knowing who I was—until one day a diplomat whose son I’d gone to school with recognized me in a market in St. Domingo and recruited me into a different kind of adventure, one in the secret service.”

  “So that’s how it happened. I wondered but didn’t wish to pry.”

  “It was an exciting life while it lasted, but eventually I did feel it was time to come home and to make amends. I brought Tryphena here to introduce her to my family and suggested settling down and starting a family, which to me meant an end to our days as agents. To my surprise, she hated the idea and insisted we return to London, but I thought I could change her mind. Her personality changed then, with her behaving terribly, doing anything to provoke my parents, which only angered me and made me more determined that we would stay. The more time I spent with my father, discussing plans…the more time she spent with Colin.”

  “More time with Colin,” Clarissa repeated, looking deeper into his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I think you know.”

  “They carried on an affair.”

  He nodded. “To what extent, I don’t know. But I caught them together, in a linen close
t, kissing. Their clothing out of place.”

  The revelation stunned her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was too. And caught completely unaware. I knew she was unhappy but always believed she loved me, and very passionately at that. Sometimes, it seemed, to the point of obsession. Her betrayal made no sense to me. It still doesn’t.”

  “And Colin’s?” she asked incredulously.

  “Just as is now, he was angry then that I’d stayed away so long.”

  “But to betray his brother in such a way.”

  “It’s why I left and I haven’t come back. Until now, and only to ask for Frost End.”

  “You never told your parents.”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s my brother. It would have destroyed them. And because Tryphena begged me to leave this place and return to London with her, where we reconciled…for a time.”

  She closed her hand over his, squeezing. “Now I understand.”

  Far below them, the ocean’s waves curled and crashed.

  “You don’t ever talk about the baby,” he said quietly. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to make you feel awkward.”

  “Why would it?” He again reached for her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles. “When I have accepted him—or her—as mine.”

  “Do you truly mean that?”

  “To my soul.” He pressed her hand to his chest.

  Clarissa nodded, unable to speak for the emotion tightening her throat. “I suppose it’s just so difficult for me to believe, that I should be so lucky. Another man would not feel the same.”

  “I want children. I would welcome a child into this marriage regardless of the situation. He or she is innocent and blameless and worthy of being loved without condition. But there’s something more I must tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  He picked up a stone and tossed it a short distance away. “I may not be able to father more children.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Tryphena and I were never able to conceive. When we returned to London after leaving Darthaven, we saw a physician about it, who pronounced her barren.” He shook his head. “Yet the realities did not support that diagnosis, and I came to believe the problem was mine.”