Never Surrender to a Scoundrel

by Lily Dalton

  “Anything I should be concerned about?” he asked, instantly alert and listening.

  A quiet knock came at the door, and at Dominick’s response, Miss Randolph entered carrying a tea tray with rolls and pastries.

  Clarissa looked at Dominick. “It can wait until we’re at the folly.”

  After saying good morning to Miss Randolph, Clarissa stood and went directly into her dressing closet. He watched her go.

  “Good morning, my lord.” The older woman diverted her eyes. “Since everyone is sleeping so late after the party, they seem to be forgoing breakfast in the dining room, and I thought you might do the same.”

  Clarissa emerged from the closet, still tucking something into her pocket.

  “Actually,” said Blackmer, “we were going for a ride, up to the overlook. We’ll take them with us and enjoy them there.”

  Miss Randolph dutifully transferred several pastries from the plate to the center of a napkin.

  “What about the tea?” asked Miss Randolph.

  “You sit and enjoy a cup with one of those pastries,” encouraged Clarissa. “If I know you, you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “You know me too well, my lady. Enjoy your morning,” the woman replied, pressing the small, still-warm bundle into Clarissa’s hands.

  Dominick and Clarissa went on to the stables and waited for the curricle to be brought out. A cold wind swept across the grass, rippling the edges of her skirts. Dominick rearranged her scarf, so that it covered her throat more fully. She held their breakfast between them, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread filled his nostrils.

  He still wondered what she’d been about to tell him in her room, but he’d wait until they were at the overlook to remind her.

  “It’s a bit gloomier today,” she observed, looking at the sky. She’d chosen to wear gray, which only made her blue eyes appear brighter. A low thrum of excitement coursed through his veins, just from the mere act of standing beside her, of touching her so familiarly. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. He’d never get enough of her.

  “Winter comes early here and seems to last forever. It won’t be long before the first snow.”

  “How terrible,” she teased. “That I shall have to depend on you to keep me warm.”

  He raised a brow as a slow tug of desire tightened his groin. “Perhaps we should have stayed in.”

  He moved so that he stood behind her, his hand affectionately on her stomach, and she rested her hands atop his.

  Suddenly she gave a little gasp and smiled, holding his hands more tightly where they were.

  “What is it?” he inquired, looking downward over her shoulder, where she held his hand more tightly against her.

  “Did you feel it?” she exclaimed.

  “Feel what?”

  “The baby moved. I’m certain of it.”

  “I didn’t. Oh, that’s not fair.” He scowled, but in the next moment he smiled. Enchanted. Thrilled.

  She turned in his arms and rose up on her toes to kiss his lips. “Next time. It will happen often now.”

  “Next time hopefully we won’t be wearing leather gloves. Or clothes.” He grinned.

  The sound of wheels and horses’ hooves on earth interrupted their flirtation, and the curricle rolled into view. The groom dismounted and held the door while Dominick led her to the step.

  But just then a footman emerged from the back of the house, raising a hand and shouting for them. They waited until he made his way across the grass.

  “What is it?” Dominick asked.

  The man wheezed, red-faced from exertion. “It is Lady Blackmer’s maid, Miss Randolph. The upstairs maid just found her collapsed on the floor. I’m told she is ill and in terrible distress.”

  “Poisoned?” Clarissa gasped, perched on the edge of the settee where Miss Randolph lay. Perspiration dappled her maid’s upper lip, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. Fear struck through her. “You are certain?”

  Blackmer stood at the tea tray. He had already poured and tasted the tea. Now he sampled the pastry, touching his tongue to a fragment he had pinched off. He grimaced and spat. “It’s in the pastry. That’s hemlock.”

  Her heart beat frantically, and she grasped the woman’s hands. “Is she going to die?”

  Miss Randolph mumbled, “It tasted strange. I…I spat it out.”

  “Thank God,” muttered Blackmer. “She will be ill for a day or two, but I believe she’ll be all right.”

  “Did you hear that, Miss Randolph?” Clarissa squeezed the woman’s hand. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Yet Blackmer didn’t look relieved. Indeed, as the moments passed, he looked more troubled, more stricken than before.

  “Hell, bloody hell,” he cursed, his face stricken. “When I think of what could have happened. The tray was intended for you.”

  He strode to the door and directed the maid who waited in the corridor to summon the cook, Lord and Lady Stade, and a physician.

  “This is my fault,” said Clarissa, her heart racing. “I should have said something before now about the miniature.”

  “The miniature?” he said, returning to her side.

  “The day you left for Frost End, I found this on my bed.” She pulled the small portrait from her pocket and handed it to him.

  Staring down at the frame in his hand, Blackmer’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes and cursed. “It is not your fault what happened to Miss Randolph but mine. Your torn dress…the letter. That woman I saw.”

  “You didn’t tell me you saw a woman,” she answered, turning toward him.

  “It was foggy, and late. That she should be there seemed so bizarre. So unbelievable.”

  “Is it Tryphena?” cried Clarissa, her eyes bright and afraid. “Could she be alive? Blackmer, if she is, we aren’t married.”

  She wouldn’t be able to bear it if their marriage wasn’t legal.

  “No,” he answered firmly. “That’s not possible. I know, without question, she is dead. I also don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in revenge. I am certain someone wants it against me.”

  She exhaled. She had to believe him.

  “Did she have family? Or perhaps it could be another officer?” She said no more, knowing she could not reveal his connection to the secret service in front of anyone, even the very ill Miss Randolph. “A…lover?”

  “Family, I don’t believe so.” He paced, frowning. “She told me everyone who had ever meant anything to her was dead, unless she wasn’t telling me the truth, which would not surprise me. The other possibilities you mentioned might be possible.”

  “It wasn’t Colin,” she announced firmly.

  “I know that.”

  “What are we going to do?” said Clarissa.

  “Firstly,” he murmured, deep in thought, “I’m getting you far from here, that’s what.”

  She nodded, standing. “Is Frost End livable? Can we go there?”

  “No,” he answered. “There was a fire there, in one of the barns, I feel was intentionally set. That’s what I was going to tell you this morning. Mr. Gilbraith and I were sleeping inside at the time—”

  Clarissa gasped. “You could have died?” She stood from the bed, more frightened now than before.

  Dominick closed his eyes. “Whatever the case, it’s not safe there either. I will stay here, while you go to Camellia House to be with your family, where you and the baby will be safe. I will write Wolverton a letter which you will deliver to him only. There is an agent in the household who’ll know what to do.”

  “An agent in the household?” Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Still protecting him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought he wasn’t in danger any longer.”

  He lifted his hand. “It’s just a precaution. Just as this is precautionary.”

  “Then why aren’t you coming with me?”

  She didn’t want to be separated from him, even to see her family. Just the thought of being parted from
him under such circumstances made her feel unsettled and anxious.

  “Because I’m going to find out who is responsible for this.” Dominick spoke in a calm voice. “And I’m certain whoever is doing this is acting alone.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “I do have some expertise in these matters.” He gave her a pointed look. “That said, I can’t be absolutely certain, but nothing further of concern occurred after you found the portrait?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “I strongly suspect that after they left the miniature here for you, they set off directly to follow me. And now that I’ve returned, don’t you see, this has occurred. This person wants to hurt me, and if you are here, they will hurt you as well to cause me pain.”

  “I don’t want to be separated from you,” Clarissa said firmly.

  “It won’t be for long, I promise,” he said. “I’ll come for you as soon as I know there’s no danger.”

  She knew he would not change his mind. She paced back and forth beside the window. “When must I go?”

  He went to stand behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her. “Tomorrow morning, very early. There’s a regular post chaise scheduled to London then, and I shall arrange for them to stop at the posting inn in Lacenfleet, if not Camellia House’s doorstep. I’d ask my father for use of the carriage but don’t want to make a show of your departure, in the event that all of this is part of something bigger I don’t yet understand. Indeed, don’t mention your leaving to anyone. We’ll do this quietly, so there’s a delay before anyone even realizes you’ve gone.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

  “I’m sworn to secrecy,” Miss Randolph said, moaning. “I shall try to be better by then.”

  Dominick turned toward the bed. “I’m afraid not, Miss Randolph. You’re staying here until you’re fully recovered.”

  “Mistress’s orders,” Clarissa added.

  After the doctor visited and confirmed Dominick’s assessment, the couple spent the afternoon making Miss Randolph comfortable and packing Clarissa’s things. Blackmer quietly investigated the source of the tainted pastries, which he felt certain was in some way related to the scores of additional hands hired from town to assist with the party. All had been vetted for the appropriate recommendations and experience, but still, someone could have misrepresented themselves while the house was in the midst of preparations and gone unnoticed.

  Although Miss Randolph’s condition improved, Clarissa insisted her lady’s maid sleep in the dressing room so she would be close enough to hear if the older woman called out for help or assistance. The servant’s proximity made no difference to Dominick, who coaxed Clarissa into making love, at first discreetly, with many whispers and muffled laughter, and then passionately, until the bed creaked and swayed. The next morning, they were much more quiet and discreet.

  But then it was time to go. Though she still did not want to leave Dominick, she understood why she must go. He drove her in the curricle to Ashington, along with the young footman Philip, whom Dominick had recruited to attend her. After a short wait and several shameless kisses on the street, Dominick assisted Clarissa up into the coach, to join a gray-haired older woman accompanied by a young boy. Philip climbed up to sit on the perch at the back of the carriage, bundled in a heavy coat and scarf.

  Clarissa managed not to cry when the coach pulled away. Blackmer waved from where he stood beside the curricle, looking as morose as she to be separated. When he was out of sight, she did shed tears, but only briefly, because she knew he would find out who was behind the disturbances at Darthaven and join her soon.

  Just then the carriage changed direction and rolled to a stop. A moment later and voices sounded outside and the door opened. A pretty young woman in a straw bonnet and serviceable dress climbed inside, and smiled shyly between Clarissa and the other occupants.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking the seat next to Clarissa and resting her valise on her lap. “Very sorry to cause any delay. It seems I’m always five minutes too late. Thank heavens the driver saw me and stopped.”

  Dominick returned to Darthaven in a sullen mood. He hated to send Clarissa away, but she would be safe at Camellia House with her family. In addition to writing the letter to Wolverton, on the same coach that conveyed his wife, he had dispatched a sealed letter to Mr. O’Connell, Wolverton’s personal valet and protector, informing his former fellow agent of his present concerns.

  Inside, Colin waited in the vestibule.

  “Blackmer, there you are. I was hoping we could talk,” said Colin. He looked at his brother, and much of the tension within him eased. While they hadn’t had a chance to talk out the past and officially reconcile the night before, it had been clear at the party that the conflict between them had all but disappeared. He had his little diplomat Clarissa to thank for that. “Let’s go into the library.”

  Once inside, the brothers looked at one another for a long time, each without words.

  Colin looked at him steadily, his eyes filled with emotion, and after a long moment rubbed his hands over his face. “I had such an eloquent speech planned, and now it has all gone from my mind. I should remember the words easily. I’ve been writing them in my head for years.”

  Dominick smiled. “It’s all right. I don’t need a speech.”

  “I’m sorry, Blackmer.”

  “I am too. And that’s all that matters. Let’s start over. Let’s start new.”

  “All right.” Colin stepped back, letting out a great sigh of relief. “I’ll start by asking what you’ve done with your wife. I saw you leave in the curricle this morning, and you’ve returned without her. Where is she? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

  “Actually, there is.”

  “Does it have to do with that miniature being left in Clarissa’s room and her destroyed dress? Who could have done such a thing?”

  While he could not reveal his past as an agent to Colin, nor the circumstances of Tryphena’s death, he told Colin about the fire and the poisoned pastries and expressed his concern that someone was trying to torment him in some way about his first wife’s death.

  Dominick turned toward the opposite wall, trying to clear his head of emotion. Trying to understand. “I have no idea who is doing these things, whether it’s a servant who developed some attachment to her when we visited Darthaven, or perhaps…perhaps a former lover.”

  “Well, it’s not me.” Colin pressed a hand over his chest, looking earnest.

  “I know that.”

  “Dominick, I want to be honest.”

  “Please do.”

  “But I don’t want to offend you.”

  “You won’t. Tell me anything.”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about the past. Looking back now, I can see that her attentions toward me were very precise and intentional. They weren’t about attraction or desire, but it felt more like something she had to do.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “It’s just an instinct, but I can’t help but feel I was just a convenient ploy for Tryphena to…perhaps to end her marriage to you. Does that make any sense?”

  Memories flowed into his mind, an overwhelming flood. Tryphena had done her best to make him miserable before they separated.

  For so long he’d forbidden himself from thinking of their last day together as man and wife, the day he’d told her to go. She’d said such provoking things and behaved so hatefully. Yet the last moment before she walked out the door to travel to Brighton, he’d thought he’d seen something. He closed his eyes, remembering—

  Her eyes had shone with tears and regret and something else.

  Love?

  Dominick had told himself he was only seeing what he wanted to see. That he’d been wrong. As an agent in the secret service, she had always been competitive, wanting the most prestigious, most dangerous assignments. He’d always harbored in the back of his mind the belief she’d married him to get there and that,
once there, her use for him was done. But if she’d loved him, none of that made sense.

  If she’d loved him, why would she have seduced his brother—if only for a kiss?

  Because if he hated Colin, he wouldn’t stay at Darthaven. He’d return to London, and his life as an agent…and she with him.

  Why would she want him to hate her, to push her away?

  Because if they hated one another, it would be easier for her to betray him.

  To kill him.

  For him to kill her.

  Shock jolted through him. The answer had come out of nowhere, a gift of instincts, of his deepest psyche. Without context, what did it mean?

  “Blackmer, are you all right?” asked Colin, his brows drawn together. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No.” As Dominick had told Clarissa, he didn’t believe in them. “Just thinking.”

  “Speaking of ghosts,” his brother said softly. “Do you know…I thought I saw her yesterday.”

  A slow curl of awareness rippled through Dominick, starting in his stomach and spreading out through his shoulders. “Who?” The word emitted from his lips as a whisper. But already he knew the answer that would come.

  “Tryphena. In Ashington, walking along the street.” Colin rubbed a hand over his forehead, and frowned. “I knew it was impossible. That it couldn’t be her, but I…I even tried to follow her—that is, the woman who looked like her—but when I rounded the corner she was gone.”

  “That’s interesting,” Blackmer said.

  Interesting indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Clarissa glanced out the window and smiled as Camellia House came into view atop the hill overlooking the village of Lacenfleet. In just moments she would see her family. It was the only thing that made leaving Blackmer less painful. She prayed he and everyone else at Darthaven were safe and that he would determine who was behind the disturbing events that had taken place over the previous weeks. She had no doubt he would because she suspected he had been a very formidable agent, before Tryphena’s death had changed his circumstances.

  She turned back to the young woman sitting beside her, who had been such a pleasant companion for the duration of the trip. Miss Joyce had recently lost her position as a companion after the elderly lady with whom she spent her days had passed away. Miss Joyce had originally traveled back to London.