Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  Her. Whoever she was.

  She stood in the same place as the time before, her cloak rippling in the wind. He turned and ran, throwing the door open and racing down the stairs. Outside, he took the corner, his boots thudding over the ground, his muscles straining.

  She wasn’t there now, but he spied her in the distance, near the trees where she disappeared into the sheltering darkness. He pursued her, but a pale flash caught his eye. Something tumbled across the grass toward him, carried by the wind. He slowed, retrieving a piece of folded parchment.

  He stared down and made out the words on the page as best he could in the dim moonlight.

  They were familiar, long-forgotten words, written in Tryphena’s hand. How could that be? A love letter she’d written to him in the early days of their marriage, in the most passionate terms.

  …a love so strong, even death couldn’t part us.

  Nothing made sense. Who had he seen, and how had they gotten this letter? His past and his present twisted into one. Just as Wolverton had feared his own valiant past as an agent decades ago had brought about a retribution plot by an old adversary and a death sentence for his heirs, Dominick now wondered which enemy—or friend—sought revenge against him.

  He felt sick. He felt…afraid. But not for himself.

  Why now? The answer came to him clearly.

  Because at last he had moved on from the tragedy, or at least so it would appear to an outsider looking in. He had remarried and returned home to start a new life.

  But he wasn’t one to be terrorized by “ghosts” in the night and reminders of his past. If someone wanted to torment him about Tryphena’s death…to hurt him…to demand he forfeit something he loved…

  The only way to truly destroy him would be to—

  His heart seized and his blood ran cold.

  It would be to hurt Clarissa.

  Turning, he strode toward Darthaven, crushing the letter into his coat pocket. Then he ran.

  After entering the house again, he climbed the stairs and raced down the corridor and found Clarissa’s door locked. Heart pounding, he entered his own chamber and cut through the dressing room. Miss Randolph wasn’t there. Perhaps, as he’d suggested to Clarissa, she had taken to sleeping in her own room in the attic.

  Clarissa would be alone.

  Alone and unprotected.

  The goddamn letter. That woman in the night.

  If someone had hurt Clarissa—

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Clarissa awakened to large hands seizing her. She saw only darkness, and the blur of the bed canopy. She cried out, afraid—

  But then saw his face.

  “Blackmer?”

  He held her by the shoulders, breathing hard, as if he’d been running. Releasing her, he tore the covers away. The cool air of the chamber chilled her skin. His hands—so cold!—moved over her, everywhere, too roughly. She gasped, shocked by the touch. It was as if he were searching for something. Searching her neck and breasts and torso for any sign of…what?

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, near tears, her emotions both angry and relieved. “Where have you been all night?”

  After coldly telling her he’d killed his first wife, he’d left without explanation and hadn’t returned. Dinner had been a miserable affair, with Claxton and Colin remaining largely silent and Lord Haden doing his best to entertain them with stories from abroad, while Lord and Lady Stade stared at the door and out the windows. As had she.

  And now here he was, tearing at her clothes—but not in passion. In some sort of desperate rage. Had he gone mad?

  He stilled above her.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He exhaled and closed his eyes as if in relief. “Go to sleep.” Rolling, he collapsed onto his back, his head on the pillow beside hers. He stared up at the canopy. “Go back to sleep.”

  Turning on her shoulder, away from him, she lay rigid and awake, listening to his breath grow calm. But she couldn’t just go to sleep.

  “Did you love her?” she asked. “Blackmer, I need to know.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “Did you mean to kill her?”

  A long pause filled the space between them.

  “No.”

  “Then I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsettled that she could not even imagine the lost woman’s face. “I’m sorry, Blackmer, that she is dead.”

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said. “If she was still here, I wouldn’t have you.”

  She lay awake a long time, torturously aware of him beside her. Eventually she slept. Sometime before dawn she awakened to see him still there, lying atop the coverlet still clothed in his breeches and shirt, his eyes closed and his breathing even.

  Did he sleep? She did not know. She didn’t care. Even angry as she was at him for leaving her without answers, she wanted him there.

  Early the next morning, Clarissa stood on the front steps of Darthaven, bundled against the chill. A pale fog spread across the grounds, obscuring the overlook and the high stone wall that encircled the estate. The side lamps on the carriage glowed orange in the hazy blue light, and the duke’s liveried outrider climbed into his saddle and urged his mount to a place in front of the six horses snorting and stamping in their harnesses.

  “I don’t want to leave you here.” Claxton stood on the step beside her, looking down, his expression stern. “If Sophia knew the situation, she would insist that I bring you home.”

  “Then I appreciate that you at least understand that I am a full-grown woman, and capable of making my own decisions.”

  She’d be lying to herself to say a part of her didn’t want to go with him. To be with Sophia when the baby arrived, to take part in her sister’s joy but also to learn more about what the very near future held in store for her as an expectant mother. But to leave Darthaven now would only weaken an already challenged marriage to Dominick. She had to remain and try to learn the truth of what happened with Tryphena, so she could understand the tragedy of his past that threatened to tear them apart.

  “If you change your mind, send word and I will come posthaste to bring you home.”

  “I am home, Claxton,” she assured him, and herself. “Home is here at Darthaven, or wherever Blackmer may be. Please give everyone my love.”

  At that, he nodded, still looking regretful, and bent to press a brotherly kiss to her cheek. Haden, who had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, ascended, hat in hand, and did the same.

  “Good-bye, Lady Blackmer.” He smiled handsomely.

  “Good-bye, Haden.” Just then a cold gust of wind struck, and she gathered her thick wool shawl more closely around her. Beneath the warm covering, her hand instinctively rested over the baby. “Truly, I can’t believe some beautiful girl hasn’t stolen your heart. I scour every letter from Sophia, always certain that I will see that news.”

  He tapped his hat against his leg. “When the time is right, I suppose.”

  “Sometimes love happens even when the time is not right.” She smiled, despite the heavy weight in her chest.

  “He’s lucky to have you.” Hayden lifted his hat in adieu and descended to the carriage, where Claxton waited. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention—Dominick descending the stairs. After Haden climbed inside, he said something to Claxton she couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, she determined it wasn’t an apology. Her husband stood tall and broad-shouldered, eye to eye with the duke.

  Claxton listened, intent, and responded in a similar fashion, after which time he too climbed onto the folding metal step and, with a final look over his shoulder at Clarissa, disappeared inside. The carriage rolled to a start, and set off through the fog and eventually through the gates.

  Blackmer climbed the stairs to stand beside her. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

  Looking toward the house, she saw Lord and Lady Stade return inside, as did the servants.

  “Because I didn’t,” she answered earnestly.
>
  “Perhaps you should have,” he said in a cold tone.

  “Dominick,” she cried. “Don’t push me away. Not now. Not after yesterday at the folly.”

  “Now that you know about Tryphena, how can you stay?” He grasped her by the arms and backed her against the stone banister. “Tell me, because I don’t understand.”

  She tilted her face, looking up into his eyes. “Because you told me you didn’t intend to kill her, and I believe you. And because I know you would never hurt me or the baby. Dominick, I trust you and I belong here with you—”

  He seized her close, one hand coming up into her hair, and kissed her. She made a sound against his lips and brought her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight, cleaving against him. The wind gusted powerfully, tugging her shawl free to ripple around them.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

  “I’m ready to go to Frost End,” she said, resting her cheek against his chest. “For it just to be you and me, away from all of this, where we can start new.”

  The sound of approaching horse’s hooves brought the doors swinging open and a footman to the stairs. Clarissa tore her attention from Dominick long enough to see a man in a beaver cap and belted wool coat and boots cantering up the drive.

  “Speaking of Frost End,” Dominick murmured as the man dismounted. “With everything that’s happened, I forgot to inform you Mr. Galbraith, one of Father’s land agents, would be here this morning. He’s come to inform us as to the condition of the house and the estate.”

  “I’ll just lay out the drawing so you can follow along as I provide details,” said Mr. Galbraith as he unfolded a large square of parchment.

  Dominick’s gaze swept across the images on the paper, only to rise and find Clarissa at the other side of the table. She peered down, helping Mr. Galbraith spread the drawing flat, oblivious to his attention.

  Mr. Galbraith continued, pointing at the drawing. “The barns…the large one here, and the smaller one just beside it, are in surprisingly sturdy shape. They will require a bit of work on the roofing, and fresh dirt and hay, but that is all to start.”

  “That’s good news,” Dominick said quietly, with another look at Clarissa, who appeared radiant and hopeful. Light from the window bathed her profile, painting her tresses gold.

  “Which brings me to the house itself.” Mr. Galbraith’s voice dipped noticeably, and he winced. “The roof is compromised here, and here, with sagging frame and shingles, which means there has been some degree of intrusion by the weather, various fowl nesting in the rafters, and other creatures.”

  Clarissa threw him a worried glance.

  Mr. Galbraith added, “Before I can recommend occupying the premises, there would need to be repair to the roof and ceilings and the plasterwork. And, of course, everything would need to be painted, and the floors refinished. Draperies, furniture, and whatnot.”

  Dominick inquired, “Given the necessary repairs, how soon do you think until we could take residence?”

  He didn’t have the papers conveying possession yet but wanted to proceed with repairs regardless.

  “Given the approach of winter, it might be spring before all the work can be completed.”

  Clarissa pointed at the drawing. “Could we not make ready the smaller wing of the house and the kitchen, and simply patch the other until springtime arrives?”

  Mr. Galbraith pondered her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “That’s certainly a possibility. I would urge you, my lord, to visit Frost End and see for yourself the conditions I describe, and that way we can discuss which work should take priority.”

  “I could come along as well,” Clarissa offered. “I’d like to see for myself.”

  Mr. Galbraith looked between the two of them. “As the house stands now, it’s not at all hospitable for a lady, and unfortunately there are no suitable lodgings in the village. His Lordship and I would more than likely pass the night in the barn.”

  Dominick saw Clarissa’s disappointment at the prospect of being left behind.

  “I’ve no particular aversions to barns,” she answered with a shrug.

  “No,” Dominick said, though he admired her resolve. “Most emphatically no. I won’t allow it. Most especially not while you’re carrying our child. I could be back in three days.”

  “Perhaps four, sir,” suggested Mr. Galbraith, his tone apologetic.

  Clarissa nodded, and sighed. “Just so you’re back in time for your mother’s ball.”

  That evening they supped in Dominick’s chamber. He looked across the small table at her. She had come en dishabille, her hair pinned up loosely and wearing a tantalizingly sheer dressing gown. Likewise he wore linen trousers and a loose shirt. It seemed all it took for him to be aroused was to be alone with her, and knowing they would pass the next four days apart only inflamed his desire.

  “I’ve asked Miss Randolph to sleep in your room while I’m gone.”

  “In my room?”

  “Yes, and to lock your doors at night.”

  “Why?” Her brows gathered.

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’ve been several strange occurrences that make me believe someone holds a grudge against me about Tryphena and may be trying to…I don’t know, send me some sort of message.”

  Her expression grew serious. “What kind of message?”

  “I’m not sure. But someone has been inside my room and moved things.” He stood and pulled the letter from his desk. “And twice I’ve seen a woman outside my window, wearing a long cloak and hood. Clarissa, I know it wasn’t Tryphena, but in the dark it looked like her. I went to investigate and found his left behind.” He handed her the letter.

  Clarissa read a few words and blushed. “A love letter.”

  “From a long time ago. I don’t know why anyone would have it.”

  Her heart beat faster. “Why would someone do this?”

  “I’ve been trying to decide that. I think perhaps it’s just a servant who may have known her when we were here before and taken the letter from our things, or perhaps even Colin trying to cause trouble. While there is no reason to suspect danger, I’d like you and Miss Randolph to be mindful while I’m gone.”

  “I need to show you something.” Clarissa stood and went into the dressing closet between their rooms. After a moment she emerged holding something pink in her hands, which she lifted up and released so that it could fall open for his viewing. A dress. A destroyed dress, ripped into shreds.

  “What happened to it?” Dominick stood, taking possession of the garment and examining it more closely.

  “I don’t know and neither does Miss Randolph,” she answered quietly, moving to stand beside the fire. “At first we blamed rats, but it was secured inside my trunk and nothing else was disturbed so that explanation doesn’t make sense.”

  “When did this happen?” He set the dress down.

  Clarissa looked into his eyes. “We noticed it yesterday morning. But I’ve been ill, and hadn’t been wearing any of my dresses, so I suppose it could have happened before then, any time after our arrival. I don’t know.”

  “I’m going to speak with Mr. Guthrie in the morning before I go and let him know about the dress. You’ll have a footman in the corridor outside your door at night and to escort you wherever else you may go.”

  She returned to the table and sat. “You needn’t make such a fuss. Nothing else has occurred. As you said, it’s likely just a servant who felt some attachment to her, or Colin acting out in anger.”

  Moving closer, Dominick tilted her face up to look at him. “Just while I’m gone. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to leave you. The thought of someone touching your things…of someone touching you…makes me feel—”

  “Protective?” she said.

  “That’s a nicer word than I’d have used,” he growled, low in his throat.

  She reached up and rested her hands on either side of his hips…and slid them beneath hi
s shirt, over the hard plane of his stomach. In response to the sensual touch, his sex grew large and apparent against the linen of his trousers.

  “I might need persuading.”

  He bent and kissed her, his hand beneath her chin while his tongue thrust deep into her mouth. She tugged at the tie at his waist until the garment fell to his ankles. He closed his eyes, breathless, as both of her hands closed on his member.

  He let out a deep-throated groan. “I can do that.”

  Before dawn the next morning, Clarissa helped Dominick dress. At his insistence, she went no further than the threshold of his chamber.

  “Go back to bed,” he murmured, kissing her one last time before he closed the door.

  She drew away, somehow unsettled to have seen the shadowed outline of a footman standing watch in the corridor outside her room. Only then did she realize Dominick must have slipped away from her at some time in the night to make arrangements for her increased protection.

  Later that afternoon, she returned from a dress fitting in town with Lady Stade and climbed the stairs. Her faithful footman, a burly lad by the name of Philip, following some distance behind. His protection had been so discreet throughout the day that her ladyship hadn’t noticed him. For that Clarissa felt grateful, because she didn’t feel like explaining him when it might be her ladyship’s younger son who made his attendance upon her necessary.

  Miss Randolph met her at the door, and took her hat and gloves.

  “I don’t remember dress fittings ever being this tiring,” Clarissa laughed.

  “It will be the same every day, for a time, I venture, regardless of whatever activities you undertake, and we both know why.”

  “Yes, the baby. Which makes the tiredness no bother at all.”

  “Perhaps tonight, forgo the evening meal with His Lordship’s family. Take your meal here in your room and retire early.”

  “I think I will.”

  Besides, she had no real wish to be in Colin’s presence after hearing how he’d betrayed Dominick.

  Miss Randolph slipped her pelisse from her shoulders and whisked it away to her dressing closet.

  Something out of place caught Clarissa’s eye, at the center of the bed, but the canopy’s shadows did not allow her to discern the specifics. Moving closer, she saw a small frame—and within it a pale face surrounded by dark hair.