Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

“Why have you come?” she asked.

  “Are you well here, Clarissa?” he inquired, his expression intent, and reading her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Things were difficult at first.” And still were, between Dominick and his family. But she thought of the passion that had transpired between them just a half hour ago and answered, “But yes, I am happy.”

  Claxton moved to the center of the carpet. “I don’t know if you were aware, but Blackmer made clear at the time of your marriage that he declined any marriage settlement that Wolverton might offer. At the time, I just thought he was making a show of his pride and trying to prove he wasn’t a fortune hunter.” He looked about the room. “I suppose now I understand why he could afford to make such a dramatic refusal.”

  “Pride, yes. He has a lot of that.” Clarissa remained otherwise silent, not wanting to explain Dominick’s complicated conflict with his family and his refusal to accept the privilege of his family’s wealth.

  “Even so, Wolverton insists on you receiving a settlement equal to that which your sisters received upon their marriages, to include an income-earning property that for now will remain under Wolverton’s stewardship, until such time you decide to transfer that responsibility to your husband or manage those duties yourself.” Claxton removed a thick leather packet from his inside coat pocket and placed it in her hands. “You’ll find the particulars here, as well as any necessary bank letters. They are yours to do with as you wish.”

  Things were different between her and Blackmer now, and as soon as they were alone she intended to share the news of her settlement with her husband. Perhaps he would agree to use the funds to improve Frost End.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. It is so good to see a familiar face, but…you came all the way just to bring me this, when you could have sent a letter or other representative instead? Last month you ceased all official travel, to remain with Sophia as the time of the baby’s birth grows near. And yet you are here.”

  “There is something more,” he answered, his expression grave.

  “Tell me then outright.”

  His gaze moved to the carpet. “Clarissa, the moment I heard the name Blackmer, I thought I recognized it, but I couldn’t place it at the time. Not until after you were gone, and I made some discreet inquiries.”

  Inquiries. Given her husband’s past with the secret service, and his wish to keep the more sensitive details of his role as an agent undiscovered, Clarissa felt immediately wary on his behalf.

  “What sort of inquiries? Is Wolverton aware? Did he send you here?”

  “He knows nothing of this. I feared the revelation of what I discovered and am about to impart to you would take a toll on his health. And please know Haden knows nothing as well, nor Sophia, nor anyone else. This conversation must remain between you and me.”

  He seemed so grave; she didn’t like it.

  “I know all I need to know about Dominick,” she assured him. “For whatever reason, Grandfather trusted him, and so do I.”

  “I have learned something deeply troubling, and I must share what I know with you.”

  “He was married before. I know that.”

  “Just listen to me, Clarissa,” he insisted, with an edge of command to his voice.

  She sighed, anxious. Wishing Blackmer was there. “Go on.”

  “I was wrong about his role in the service, that he was a lowly security agent.”

  “I—I know that too, although he has not shared any of the confidential details.”

  “Well, I will—at least some of them, because you as his wife deserve to know.”

  “This doesn’t feel right without him here.” She glanced at the door, wishing Dominick would return.

  “Once I have my say you are more than welcome to reveal whatever you wish about our conversation to him.”

  She exhaled, exasperated, and nodded. “Go on then.”

  He did not hesitate a moment more. “Clarissa, Blackmer’s assignment to protect Wolverton was a demotion for him of sorts.”

  A demotion? She frowned. The revelation ruffled her own pride for some reason, on behalf of her husband, who instinct told her was highly competent in all things related to his intelligence service.

  “How so?”

  “Blackmer was once a member of a small but very elite company of foreign service agents who acted abroad, under a veil of utmost secrecy, on the direct orders of the Security Council—and the Crown.”

  “You are saying that he was a spy,” she replied. She rubbed her arms and moved to stand closer to the fire, feeling a surge of pride rather than concern. “I surmised as much, but those matters are confidential, and he very much honors his vows of silence. Perhaps, Claxton, as I said before, we shouldn’t even be discussing them here when he is not even in the room.”

  “He was not just a spy.” He stared at her. “The group to which he belonged was a very small and clandestine one, much feared by England’s enemies. But I’m afraid you’re right, and that’s all I can say as far as specifics.”

  “So why are you telling me this, with such a grave look on your face?”

  “Because by nature these men are dangerous, Clarissa. Ruthless, and capable of following any directive without qualm or question.”

  She read between the lines of what he tried to say without actually saying it.

  “You’re telling me he was an assassin?”

  “I’m telling you, he would have carried out any order.” He continued, in a hushed tone, speaking of someone else: the man Dominick had been before they married. A cold and distant stranger, not the man she had come to know. She did not care what he had done in his prior life. He had acted out of duty, and for that she could only respect him more.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the husband she’d made love to on an overlook by the ocean. A husband to whom she had given not only her body but her heart. She couldn’t deny the truth.

  She’d fallen in love with him. Completely. Consumingly.

  “None of this makes any difference to me,” she said.

  If there was more she needed to know, then it must be Blackmer who told her. These were his secrets to share.

  “Because you haven’t heard everything. Clarissa, it’s only right that you know what happened to bring about Blackmer’s fall from grace. Something troubling that I wish we had all known before.”

  She reacted angrily. “So you could foist me on someone else? It’s too late for that. I’m happy with Blackmer. More than happy, so you can just stop right there. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say.”

  “Foist you on someone else?” His eyes narrowed at that, discerning.

  Only then did she realize her misstep. Claxton still believed she and Dominick had carried on an affair and that he was the father of her child.

  She recovered as best she could. “I only meant if you’d known about Blackmer’s past, you would have somehow found someone else to marry me. I wouldn’t want that. As I said before, I’m happy with my husband, so just stop there and don’t say anything else.”

  “My conscience demands that I must,” insisted Claxton. “I’m gravely concerned because I fear this marriage has placed you in a position of danger.”

  She shook her head. “In danger, from Blackmer? That isn’t possible.”

  That afternoon, he had bared his soul to her. He looked forward to the baby’s birth with such joy and wanted to be a father. No. Whatever Claxton thought he had discovered, it meant nothing to her.

  Claxton responded with a degree of emotion he rarely displayed to anyone other than her sister. “It is possible, I’m afraid. You must hear me out and then decide whether to leave here with me tomorrow or to stay. Your sister and everyone else are going to Camellia House to await the birth of the baby. It’s a short distance, so Wolverton is traveling there as well. You can state that as your explanation to leave.”

  “To escape. That’s what you mean
to say.” She gasped, taken back. “And then what?”

  “And then you don’t have to see him ever again.”

  “There is nothing that would make me want to leave him.”

  “His first wife—”

  “Tryphena,” she whispered. “Yes, I know, she died. I also know she was an agent as well.”

  “Someone killed her.”

  Killed. The word meant something very different than “died,” as if by an accident or unfortunate misstep. “Killed” suggested an untimely death. And violence, she feared.

  “Just tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me whatever it is you have to say, so we can be done with this.”

  Claxton’s lips thinned. “The whole matter is shrouded in secrecy, and I can locate no one willing to reveal the truth of the details, but, Clarissa, Blackmer most certainly had something to do with it. They were estranged at the time and, by all accounts, on very poor terms. I could not remain in London knowing you were possibly in danger.”

  “You’re saying that Blackmer killed her.”

  She recoiled, angrier now at Claxton for all but accusing her husband of murder. It wasn’t true. She didn’t believe it for one moment.

  Claxton’s cheeks tightened with tension. “What I’m saying is that you have married a very dangerous man.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Blackmer entered the room, tall, lithe, and silent, his eyes dark with shadows.

  “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, entering a few steps more. “But I do believe I should be included in any closed-door discussions you might have with my wife.”

  Clarissa looked at him, clearly startled by his entrance. Startled. Why?

  “These are private family matters,” Claxton replied haughtily.

  Dominick raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. I thought I was Clarissa’s family.”

  “That remains to be seen,” the duke replied, his voice bearing a distinct edge.

  The muscles along Dominick’s shoulders tensed and his lips parted to let loose a blistering response—

  “Claxton,” Clarissa intervened, with a sharp glance to her brother-in-law. “Blackmer is my husband. He is indeed my family.”

  She looked at Dominick with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, clearly attempting to instill a more conciliatory tone into the conversation. “His Grace brings news that Wolverton’s health improves.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that,” he answered, his sentiment sincere.

  “As am I,” answered Clarissa.

  But something wasn’t right here. He’d interrupted something tense and suspicious that still hung in the air, weighting the mood.

  He pinned his gaze on Claxton. “You left the duchess, in her advanced condition, and traveled four days to deliver news that could have been sent in a letter? And delivered such happy news behind closed doors, no less, ensuring no one in my family overheard?”

  Clarissa crossed the room, coming to stand at his side. She touched his arm. “He’s also delivered the details of my marriage settlement.”

  Blackmer’s gaze fixed on the duke’s. “I already told you, I don’t want Wolverton’s money. Nothing has changed.”

  The duke answered, “You made it clear last time we spoke that you recused yourself from such matters, which is why the bestowals are in Lady Blackmer’s name.”

  Blackmer sensed Clarissa’s torment. For her benefit, he quelled the demands of his pride. “That is an acceptable arrangement for me.”

  Clarissa looked relieved at his words.

  “Thank you.” She squeezed his arm.

  She was trying so hard to keep things friendly between him and the duke, but something had changed in the way she looked at him. He saw wariness in her eyes, and perhaps even fear.

  Blackmer addressed the duke. “Your Grace, your chamber is ready if you would like to rest from your journey before the evening meal. My mother is waiting with Mr. Guthrie, our butler, to show you up.”

  “I would indeed like some time to recover,” Claxton said. He proceeded toward the door and said to Clarissa in a quiet voice, “Haden and I will depart in the morning. You have until then to decide.”

  With that Claxton left the room, to be met by Lady Stade and Mr. Guthrie in the corridor. From where she stood, Dominick heard his father explaining the significance of a wall hanging to Lord Haden.

  Blackmer closed the doors again, committing himself and Clarissa to silence.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to calm a rapidly beating heart. Her eyes were wide and fixed on him.

  “You have until tomorrow to decide what?” Dominick asked.

  “He asked if I would like to return to Camellia House with him and Lord Haden. Sophia and everyone else are going there for the next month to await the baby’s birth.”

  No. His Grace had come here to tell her something. Something that had upset her. There was only one thing it could be. Why drag this miserable conversation out? Why not tear the bandage from the wound quickly, so he could get on with bleeding to death?

  “He told you I killed Tryphena, did he not?”

  Clearly, the bluntly spoken words shocked her. Her lips parted on a gasp, and she blinked away tears. His heartbeat faltered. He had no wish to hurt her. These dark tragedies were not her own, but his.

  “I don’t believe him.” Clarissa touched his forearm, trying to draw it from where it crossed over his chest, as if trying to uncover his heart. “You could never have done such a thing.”

  He couldn’t bear her touch—not when he craved her so much. He jerked away.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” His gaze went flat and his voice, hollow. “Because I did.”

  He didn’t want to see the horror in her eyes. Turning, he threw open the doors and exited into the corridor. Clarissa’s footsteps followed him and she caught his arm.

  “You can’t just say something like that to me and walk away,” she choked out.

  He laughed, low in his throat, an ugly sound. “No, I think that quite does it. There is really nothing more to say.”

  Everyone stopped where they were in the vestibule and stared at them. His mother and father with expressions of concern. The duke only stared, not bothering to conceal his disdain and suspicion.

  “Blackmer,” said Clarissa. “Please come back and talk to me.”

  Talk? He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t tell her what had happened that night. About the blood. About Tryphena’s screams. Of how the instincts that had advanced him to the highest levels of the foreign service had, in one pivotal moment, failed him so shatteringly.

  He glared down at her hand on his arm until she released him and stepped away.

  Stopping only momentarily to claim his coat and gloves, he walked out the front doors of Darthaven, onto the grass and to the stables. There he commanded that his horse be saddled, his temper so dark the stablemen stumbled over each other to do his bidding. At last, he rode.

  He rode away from Darthaven, his mind as numb and dark as the night that fell over the earth. Not knowing where else to go, but knowing he couldn’t go back, he returned to the folly where he had made love to Clarissa, and dismounted. After tying his horse to a column, he collapsed onto a bench and stared out over the sea. In the distance, he saw Darthaven’s windows lit with firelight. His family and their guests would be having dinner now. How awkward the conversation must be, without him there, but not as awkward as if he were.

  He’d known he wasn’t suited for marriage, not after Tryphena had destroyed him. Yet when he’d looked into Clarissa’s blue eyes, he’d started to believe that at last the past could be forgotten. That he could care for someone—love someone—again.

  He should never have brought her here. He should never have married her in the first place. He should have slipped away that first night and forced them to marry her off to Havering or some other trusted family friend.

  He closed his eyes, knowing it was better to let her go. To release her from the darkness that would nev
er let him go. He would grant her a formal separation. Returned to her family, she could have the baby in a place of support and love, and find some measure of happiness that she would never be able to have with him.

  The wind blew colder, and he welcomed its numbing effect. Perhaps he would stay there all night, because tomorrow morning how could he watch her climb into the carriage with Claxton and Haden and leave him forever? He couldn’t. Hours passed, and a deeper cold crept inward from the sea.

  The hell with sleeping there all night, on a cold hard bench. Everyone would be abed by now. No, he wouldn’t go to his chambers. It would be torment to be that close to her. In a residence the size of Darthaven, he could find a room or at least a corner in which to pass the night. He mounted his horse and rode toward the house. He stared at her darkened window, knowing she would be asleep now. And yet something drew his eye to the side, to his window. A movement or a shadow. His heart struck a dark chord, remembering another evening when he’d seen something he could not explain. Tryphena. But of course he had not seen her. Perhaps just like that night, though, the darkness played tricks on him, because as hard as he stared, he perceived nothing more.

  Why did his mind react so suspiciously? No doubt he had seen a servant stoking his fire before bed, or…perhaps Clarissa waiting for his return.

  Inside, he passed through the kitchens, snaring a piece of cold chicken from the larder and devouring it as he strode down the darkened corridor. Seeing the staircase, dimly illuminated by light of a night lantern in the vestibule, he paused. He hadn’t intended to go upstairs, but…there had been that movement in his room. His curious nature…his intuition couldn’t let it go.

  After dropping the bones into the footmen’s trash receptacle, he climbed the stairs. Opening his door, he slipped silently inside. Just as any other night, the maid had left a small fire burning on the grate and laid out his nightshirt. Everything appeared in place. So, yes, perhaps it had only been a servant he’d seen from outside.

  He crossed the carpet, going to the window. Pushing aside the drapery, he scanned the dark landscape and then the space closer to the house.

  His heartbeat staggered to a halt, seeing her.