by Laura Landon
“Do you know what they were?”
“No. Just that he wanted out and the Foreign Office needed someone who could infiltrate Society. Bennett didn’t have my pedigree, plus he didn’t want to leave the field. So Hunt chose me. Who better than the brother of a marquess?”
“Is that why you were at Roseneau’s ball?”
“No. I was there to protect you.”
Claire’s eyes opened in surprise.
“Hunt wanted me there in case something went wrong. I was to make sure you got out safely.” Barnaby hesitated, staring up at the stars. There was a gentle breeze that moved his full-sleeved white lawn shirt. Then he broke the silence and asked, “Were you happy with him, Claire?”
She felt her cheeks warm and lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. “I wasn’t unhappy, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I know you weren’t in love when you married. I just hoped that in time . . .”
Barnaby stopped and Claire gave the only answer she could. “We grew very comfortable with each other.”
“No one could believe it when you agreed to marry Hunt. You were so young and he was so much older.”
“Not that much.”
“Nearly fifteen years.”
Claire laughed. “What you mean is that no one could believe that Hunt agreed to marry me. I was hardly sophisticated enough for someone with Hunt’s reputation. Hardly the one to catch the Marquess of Huntingdon.” She looked into Barn’s eyes and saw a sadness there. “I knew his reputation. Everyone did. I knew about the mistress he kept. The mistress everyone said he’d never give up.”
“Why did you agree to marry him so easily?”
She sighed. “Because Father gave me little choice in the matter. He and Hunt’s father had already drawn up a marriage contract. Oh, Hunt was vehement in his refusal. It’s the only time I was afraid of him. He and his father had a terrible fight. He didn’t want to marry. Especially me. Then something changed his mind.”
Claire stood so she didn’t have to face Barnaby. “I think his father had some hold on him and he blackmailed Hunt into marrying me.”
“To the world, you seemed the happiest of couples. It was all an act, wasn’t it?”
Claire couldn’t bring herself to tell her brother the truth. No matter how much she wanted to expose Hunt to a man who’d always idolized him, she couldn’t bring herself to admit their marriage had been a lie. To admit to her brother how adept they’d both been at playing the charade. But most of all, she was embarrassed that anyone might find out how impossible it had been for Hunt to love her.
“Our marriage wasn’t so bad. We were quite compatible. Over time we even became friends.”
“Bloody hell, what did Father do to you?”
“Only what he thought best.”
“Best for whom?”
Claire smiled, remembering the argument she’d had with her father, begging him not to force the marriage. Knowing how much her betrothed detested the thought of taking her as his bride. Hunt had even threatened to leave England rather than marry her. But none of that mattered.
Her father wouldn’t listen. His angry words still stung. That a woman’s only worth was in the match she made, one that brought the best advantage to her family. And there wasn’t a better advantage, as far as her father was concerned, than for his daughter to marry the Marquess of Huntingdon. So, she’d lived in harmony for seven years with a man who couldn’t love her.
“My marriage to Hunt was best for all concerned.” Claire swiped her damp palms against her skirt. “But that’s not what’s important now, Barn. It’s Alex. What are we going to do?”
Barnaby hesitated, then clasped his hands on her shoulders. She could tell he’d made a decision, and she was glad to let him. She was so tired of shouldering the worry and responsibility alone.
“You’re going to go back to bed and get some rest. I’ll do some checking and see what I can find out. In the meantime, keep looking for the necklace. It’s got to be here somewhere.”
“Barn, if I gave you the necklace, you’d give it to Roseneau to free Alex, wouldn’t you?”
Claire waited for her brother to answer. She needed to hear him say he wouldn’t make the same choice as the major. But his silence lasted too long.
“You wouldn’t let Alex die, would you?”
“No, Claire. I won’t let Alex die. I promise. I won’t let Alex die.”
Claire breathed a deep sigh and let her brother hold her tight for a little while longer before she stepped out of his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. Then she picked up her skirt and made her way back up the path.
“Claire.”
Barnaby’s voice stopped her.
“Be careful of Bennett.”
Claire frowned. “I’m not afraid of him, Barn.”
“You should be,” Claire heard him say, and he was gone.
Sam stood next to the window in a dark third-floor bedroom. He’d watched Lady Huntingdon race down the path and throw herself into her lover’s arms, then sit with him on the stone bench with his arms wrapped around her. He wondered if Hunt knew how often his wife had been unfaithful to him. If perhaps that was the reason he’d taken the necklace. To woo his wife back to his bed. To win her back at any cost.
The thought made him angry. Sam knew something had been bothering Hunt. He’d even hinted that he was going to retire; that he’d already begun training a new agent to take his place. Now he knew why. He was desperate to fix what was wrong with his marriage.
Sam raked his fingers through his hair and watched Hunt’s widow with the man she’d called Barn. From the looks of them in each other’s arms, Sam was afraid nothing could have fixed Hunt’s marriage.
He wondered who he was. How long she’d known him. Certainly long enough for the man to be overly concerned about her welfare. And certainly intimately enough to call her Claire, as he had this afternoon.
Sam fought the strange anger roiling inside him. He refused to give a name to the emotion. What he felt was better off ignored. It was more important to figure out the dichotomy of the woman he watched in the garden.
How could the woman Hunt had described be so different from the woman Sam had gotten to know? She wasn’t shallow. Nor was she interested only in parties and balls and more gowns to add to her wardrobe. She was intelligent, with a keen mind and a strong sense of purpose.
And her purpose was to find the necklace before he did so she and her lover could live the remainder of their days in luxury. Well, he’d be damned if he’d let her.
He stormed across the room and out into the open hallway. He walked with no purpose, yet his footsteps seemed to have aim. He was drawn to Hunt’s study, to the room where a small part of Hunt still lived.
He opened the door to the study and stepped inside. The room still had a masculine scent, the faint smell of cigar, the rich pleasant odor of leather and brandy and burning wood. It was all part and parcel of the man Hunt had been.
Sam walked over to a small table and lifted a crystal decanter. He filled a glass to the top, needing the mind-numbing relief of expensive brandy and dark brooding.
He drank the first glass, then refilled it and walked to a large wing chair in the corner and sat. The room was dark, the blackness burgeoning with silence.
He drank Hunt’s brandy and remembered the man who had saved his life. The man he doubted Hunt’s wife even cared was gone.
Chapter 12
Claire slowly made her way back to the house. How had her life become such an entangled mess? How could she have lived with Hunt for seven years and realized so little about him? How could he have embroiled both her brothers in the same underworld that had killed him?
She made her way across the flagstone terrace. When she reached the house, she opened the door to Hunt’s study and stepped inside, then quietly closed the door behind her. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before
she wound her way around the furniture scattered throughout the room. She was nearly to the door when his voice stopped her.
“Were you searching for the necklace in the garden, my lady?”
Claire’s hands flew to her mouth to muffle the scream that rose to her throat. She spun around and focused her gaze on the shadowed corner of the room.
“I . . .”
She felt him rise more than saw him, felt his presence engulf the room. He walked to the window behind Hunt’s desk and drew back the drapes. Bright moonlight filtered through the room, casting him in black shadows that fell across him like a looming threat.
She saw him clearly then. Saw his towering presence, his broad shoulders accented by the full-sleeved white lawn shirt glowing bright against his bronzed skin. But mostly her gaze was drawn to the foreboding frown that drew his dark, angry brows together. He anchored one hand against the side of the window as if concentrating on something outside, and lifted a glass to his mouth and drank.
“Did you enjoy this pleasant evening?”
“Yes. Quite.”
He took another swallow and turned to face her. “It’s rather late to be wandering out in the dark, don’t you think?”
She saw him set the glass down on the table and take a step toward her. She backed away. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yes. I can understand that. One’s conscience can be very annoying at times.”
Claire wanted to answer his caustic remark, but stopped when he took another step. And another. She kept pace in the opposite direction, not wanting to let him come too close. His nearness was intimidating.
“Do you have that problem often?”
“No.”
Claire needed to separate herself from him. She placed her hand behind her and reached for the door.
“Did Hunt know, do you think?”
She froze with her hand on the knob. “Know what?”
“About you and your lover? Do you think he knew he was sharing his bed with another man?”
The air left her body, her head spinning in circles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
He closed the distance between them in slow, deliberate movements.
She inched away from him but found her back pressed against the door with no place to run.
He leaned closer, the smell of fine brandy on his breath. “Keeping a lover a secret from Hunt was quite a feat. Especially satisfying a lover and a man as—how would you term it? Attentive, perhaps—as Hunt?”
Claire felt her cheeks burn. Her heart thundered in her chest while the blood pounded against her ears. “I don’t have—have never had—a lover.”
“Oh, really?” The major leaned closer, propping his left hand on the door to the side of her head and sliding his left leg between hers. “That’s not what it looked like tonight.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Dear God, he’d seen her with Barnaby. Seen her and thought—
“It’s not what you think.”
“It’s not?”
“No. I wasn’t—”
The firm pads of his fingers brushed down the side of her face and across her lips. “Your bruises are fading.”
“That wasn’t my lover. That was my—”
He cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned his forehead against hers. “Is he the reason you want the necklace? I thought it was for Roseneau. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
“No. Oh . . . No . . .”
He brushed a kiss on her forehead, then another against her cheek.
Claire couldn’t catch her breath. Her skin was on fire. His touch ignited her flesh and burned as if she was standing in a flaming inferno. She couldn’t do this. She had to stop. She turned her head away from him. “Don’t. Please.”
He turned her face back with a finger beneath her chin. “Why? You seemed to enjoy it earlier.”
“No. No, I didn’t. I wasn’t—”
He lowered his head until his face was nestled in the crook of her neck. His mouth touched her skin just beneath her ear. A thousand spikes of fire spiraled to the pit of her stomach.
She placed her hands on his chest, knowing she should push him away. But she couldn’t. She was drawn to him, like a dying man to his last gasp of air. Her palms felt on fire, as if the skin beneath his shirt was alive with heat.
When had the wariness she harbored for him been replaced by a desire so intense her mind no longer functioned? When had the threat he presented been overpowered by a hunger she needed to satisfy? When had her resolve weakened to the point she could not find the strength to keep her desires from consuming her?
He pressed his body closer to her. Every inch he touched burned with a fiery heat. He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head until Claire could feel his breath whispering against her skin. He was going to kiss her. She knew he was. Just as she knew she shouldn’t let him. As she knew she was powerless to stop him.
She looked into his eyes and drowned in the raw emotion she saw. He ground out a harsh sigh before he covered her mouth with his own.
His lips were warm and firm, his touch demanding. He kissed her as if he wanted her, as if he were desperate to possess her. And at the same time as if he’d lost the battle to protect himself from her.
He deepened his kiss, his mouth moving over hers with greater intensity. His lips parted over hers, and his tongue skimmed the seam between her lips until she opened to him.
On a loud moan, he kissed her again. His tongue intensified its assault, then entered her mouth in search of some treasure.
The feel of him against her, inside her, touching her, holding her, caressing her, drove her to a wild frenzy she couldn’t battle. She’d never felt so possessed. Never given herself to another man like she was surrendering herself to this man, the man who’d saved her from the attack, who’d taken care of her afterward. Who’d sat with her night after night and held her when he thought she might die.
Her insides burned from the affect he had on her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight. Her breaths came in violent gasps, and he kissed her again, moving his lips over hers. His kisses were all-consuming, his desperation increasing. And Claire couldn’t have stopped him if her life depended on it.
He cupped her breast, and she arched into him as heat and passion and desire ran rampant. Her legs weakened beneath her; her body flamed where his hands touched her. She knew she should make him stop, but every part of her ached for his touch.
Then, with a movement so sudden it left her reeling, he lifted his mouth from hers and stepped back. He sucked in a harsh breath and dropped his arms from around her, then stared at her with a look that changed from confusion to contempt. An icy-cold emptiness washed over her, and she reached out her hand to steady herself.
Barnaby had been right. Samuel Bennett was even more dangerous than the man Roseneau had sent.
A shiver wracked her body. How could she have been so foolish? Hadn’t she sworn she would never open herself to such heartache again? No matter how often she’d hinted that she wanted to be a wife to Hunt, he’d refused her at every turn. The remorse in Hunt’s eyes had torn at her heart. He didn’t want her, and the guilt she saw was a barrier that kept them apart. Hadn’t she vowed that she would never suffer those same looks of regret from any man ever again?
The desire she felt for him—if desire it was, for surely there couldn’t be any real feelings between them—was a traitorous emotion she vowed she would never give in to again. She could never survive something so painful. Never survive the embarrassment she’d lived with for seven years. Or the ugly truth that even though she was a pretty package with all the ribbons and bows—an enviable pedigree, a pristine reputation, an unbelievable dowry—inside she was unable to be what a man desired in a woman, what a husband needed in his wife. As Hunt had found out on their wedding night and since then had kept secret from the world.
She stumbled to one of the chairs angled before the fireplace
and dropped to the soft cushion. The world around her ceased to exist as she stared into the lifeless grate. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, but it was so hard. His kiss had taken so much from her, had forced her to face regrets she thought she’d never have to confront again.
She clutched her hands together as she tried to regain control. The major’s next words were nearly her undoing.
“Was Hunt aware of your lover before he died? Is that why he was considering retiring?”
Claire darted him a venomous look.
“The man I met in the garden isn’t my lover. He’s my brother.”
His eyebrows arched, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a sinister smile that said he didn’t believe her.
“His name is Barnaby Linscott, Lord Barnaby, second son of my late father, the Marquess of Halverston. He is two years my senior.”
Surprise was evident on his face before his expression turned hard.
“Believe what you want,” she said, making an effort to rise. He stopped her with a look and an intimidating step in her direction.
“Why didn’t you introduce him as such this afternoon when he arrived?”
“I started to, but Barnaby interrupted and kept his identity to himself. I don’t think he trusts you.”
A frown deepened the major’s already formidable expression.
“I sent for Barnaby after the second threat arrived. I didn’t know what else to do. I had no one else to turn to.”
“So he ran off and left you to manage on your own?” The major raked his fingers through his dark hair, pushing the stray strands of coffee-rich hair off his forehead with a none-too-gentle swipe. “Why didn’t he stay here to protect you?”
Claire shook her head. “He wanted to, but I thought Hunt might have hidden the necklace at one of his country estates. I sent Barn to look for it.”
“And you stayed here alone? Even after you’d received more than one threat?”
Claire sighed. “I didn’t take them seriously. Why should I? It was the necklace they wanted, not me.” Claire rubbed her fingers against her temples. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to find out you’ve lived the last seven years with a stranger? A man whose main interests should have been taking care of the estates his father had turned over to him, caring for his tenants, and running a very profitable Huntingdon Shipping?”