by Laura Landon
“Stop it!”
With long, angry strides he took himself to the other side of the room and turned his back on her.
Claire waited, praying he’d realize how wrong he was. Praying he’d say the words that would take away the bitterness she heard in his accusations. She waited for him to realize she wasn’t capable of doing something so horrendous. But he said nothing. He only braced his hands against the fireplace mantel and hung his head between his outstretched arms.
For a long time he stared into the cold, lifeless embers of a fire long gone out. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deadly, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. “Why me?”
Hundreds of painful needle points pierced her heart. A lump formed in her throat, and even though she tried, she couldn’t speak.
“Why did you deny your husband for seven years, then not even six months after his death give yourself to me?”
Claire knew what it felt like to have her heart ripped from her breast. She was still alive, yet she knew a part of her had died.
For seven years she’d thought she’d lived her worst nightmare. Thought nothing could be worse than knowing the man who’d vowed before God to love and cherish her didn’t want her. But that hadn’t been the worst. She knew that now.
Her worst nightmare was watching the man she’d come to care for—no, love—stare at her as if she were the most vile, disgusting creature on earth. It was having the man to whom she’d just given her body accuse her of being such a scheming manipulator that she’d denied her husband his right to an heir. It was having the man to whom she’d given her heart think she could do something so abhorrent. That was the worst.
And a large part of the heart she’d exposed to him crumbled and broke, making it impossible to tell him the truth . . . that her husband had been too repulsed by her to touch her. She could save herself that disgrace, at least.
“Why you?” Claire said, her voice sounding unnatural to her ears. “Who better?”
She took two steps into the center of the room and faced him squarely. “Who better to expose my secret to than Hunt’s best friend? Who better to trust with the knowledge that I’d never let my husband bed me than the one person I knew would never divulge my secret?
“Just imagine the scandal my virginity would have caused once it was discovered the Marquess of Huntingdon had not been man enough to force his wife to fulfill her wifely obligations. Imagine the laughingstock Hunt would have become if I would have let just anyone bed me and my virginity became common knowledge.”
She paced the room, clasping and unclasping her hands. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She had to keep moving or she would fall apart. “I consider choosing you as my first lover a magnanimous act in protecting Hunt’s memory. Hunt would have been grateful for your participation, Major.”
She saw him stiffen as the impact of her words registered. His jaw clenched, and the narrow glare of his eyes contained more bitterness than she believed could be leveled at any one person.
“Think of bedding me as doing Hunt a favor. Of saving your fellow comrade-in-arms from being posthumously disgraced.” The room spun around her, and she reached out to steady herself against the corner of her small writing desk. “Can you imagine the laugh Society would have had at his expense, knowing the manly Marquess of Huntingdon could have had any woman in England—except his wife?”
Claire managed a laugh even though the blood thundered in her head with such violence she could barely breathe. A painful weight pressed against her heart. And through his hate-filled glare, she tried to pretend the look of horror and disgust she saw on the major’s face wasn’t killing her inch by painful inch. But it was. “Now, get out!” she demanded. “And leave me alone!”
Claire turned away from the look of revulsion on his face. She waited to hear him storm from the room. When he didn’t, she repeated her demand. “Get out! Now!”
She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from running down her cheeks. When he didn’t move, she prayed she’d hear him tell her he knew her words had been lies. That he knew her well enough—cared for her enough—to know she would never have turned Hunt from her bed. That he knew Hunt would never have let her. That there must be another reason.
But if he did, he didn’t get a chance to utter those thoughts. Her door flew open and Barnaby stepped into the room.
“What the hell is going on, Claire? I heard the yelling from my room.”
Claire gave the major a final look, then turned her gaze to the confused look on Barnaby’s face. From the furious look on the major’s.
Barnaby was right. The major wasn’t capable of giving her what she so desperately needed. She’d been a fool to think he could.
“Claire?” When she didn’t answer him, Barnaby turned to Sam. “Bennett?”
Claire knew her brother expected the major to explain what his sister obviously wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. Knew her secret was safe now for eternity.
Just as she knew the most wonderful night of her life, the night she’d anticipated for more than seven years, was now a night she wanted to forget had ever happened. All her beautiful memories had been destroyed.
“Linscott,” she heard the major issue to her brother, “get everyone up. I want them in Hunt’s study in fifteen minutes.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I want that room stripped from floor to ceiling. I want every picture off the walls and every book off the shelves. Now!”
The major didn’t give Barnaby time to answer. His hard, angry footsteps stormed from the room. She clutched her hands tight around her middle.
“Claire?”
She felt Barn step up behind her, but she couldn’t turn around to look him in the eyes.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
Claire felt Barn’s hands grip her shoulders, then turn her gently until she faced him. She forced herself not to shrink from his discerning gaze, but kept her back rigid and her chin high.
Barn dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back to look at her. Claire knew the moment he realized how desperately she was hurting.
“Ah, Claire. I warned you.”
“Yes, you did.”
Claire smiled a bittersweet smile, then turned away from her brother and walked to the window. The sun was up now. It was a beautiful day.
“Have Watkins get everyone up and send them to Hunt’s study. We don’t have much time left.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll be down in a minute to help. We have to be there in case he finds the necklace. It’s the only way to save Alex.”
Claire held her breath while Barnaby hesitated. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him and she was alone.
She stood as long as her legs would hold her, then sank to the floor beneath the window and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want anyone to witness the silent, complete demise of a heart in agony. It was not something she wished to share with anyone.
Chapter 25
Claire worked alongside the servants, removing armload after armload of heavy books from the shelves and placing them on the floor. The astronomical number of volumes Hunt had accumulated was amazing. But even though some of them were rare editions, priceless in monetary worth, they were worthless when valued against Alex’s life. Which was why Claire watched every move the major made. If the necklace was here, she had to make sure she found it.
She glanced across the room to where he was busy stripping everything from the walls. He was without a jacket or waistcoat, and the sleeves of his white lawn shirt were rolled midway up his muscled forearms. He was the most powerfully masculine male she’d ever seen. As well as the most dangerously angry.
He’d said very little to anyone since she’d entered the room, and had been careful not to cast even one glance in her direction. He was quite successful at keeping his attention centered on the mo
numental task before him. She was glad. She wasn’t sure she could stand up under his condemning scrutiny any longer.
Barnaby worked with him, taking everything the major handed him and helping lift the objects that were too heavy for one person. Even the draperies from the windows lay in heaps on the floor. The major’s energy seemed boundless, but she knew it was raw fury that drove him.
In the scant hour since Sam had come downstairs, he’d accomplished as much as half a dozen men. He worked as if the hounds of hell were biting at his heels. As if he could burn off the frustration and anger that ate at him.
Claire knew such an effort was impossible. Hard work wouldn’t make anything go away. It wouldn’t take back the cruel words they’d both said. It wouldn’t make what they’d shared good again.
Each pass she made with another armload of books forced her to walk closer to him. She tried not to let her gaze linger too long where he stood on the ladder, but found it impossible. Her eyes were naturally drawn to his powerful physique. To his dominating presence. And each time she caught a glimpse of the fury on his face, she died a little more inside.
More than once she had to swallow past the painful lump in her throat, then berate herself because she’d allowed herself to reach for a future she should have known was impossible.
“Watkins. Remove the books from this wall next,” the major ordered in curt, precise terms. He pointed to the shelves closest to where he stood. Two servants rushed to move a second ladder to the spot he indicated, then Timothy, one of the footmen, quickly climbed the rungs.
She walked to the ladder where Timothy stood at the highest shelves and was forced to look up. From just beyond Timothy’s shoulder, the major’s gaze locked with hers. Her heart slammed against her ribs when she recognized the unyielding hardness in his eyes. He was still struggling to come to terms with what he thought she’d done. She could see it. He was still fighting emotions he was unable to control. Every shred of anger and bitterness she saw on his face was directed toward her.
Oh, she’d expected the questions. Expected to have to explain how she could still be a virgin after seven years of marriage. But she hadn’t expected the accusations. Hadn’t expected him to believe she was at fault for her failed marriage. That was the harshest blow of all. His words still left her heart aching.
Didn’t you once, in all that time, allow him to come to your bed?
She tore her gaze away from him and took the books from the footman’s outstretched hands. It was too late to wish for things that could never be. Nor did she have the luxury of changing the events of her life so things would be different. She would concentrate on something else. On finding the necklace and saving Alex.
The major evidently thought the necklace and papers were hidden here somewhere or he wouldn’t be going to such lengths to empty this room. And if they were, both she and Barnaby were here to make sure they got the necklace to exchange for Alex’s freedom.
Claire set her armload of books on the floor and went back for more. Then more. Then more. Until one wall was done and the other nearly finished.
“Claire, why don’t you sit down for a while?”
Claire turned to see Barnaby behind her. His features were strained, and there was a genuine look of concern in his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Even the major—”
Barnaby cut off the rest of his sentence when she flashed him a hostile look.
“You need to rest. Why don’t you go to your room for a while?”
“We need to be here in case he finds the necklace. We can’t let him have it, Barn. He won’t give it to Roseneau. He’ll let Alex die.”
Barn wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. There was nothing unusual in such a show of affection from Barn. Of her two brothers, he was the most like her. The closest to her. The one who understood her best. He was also the one from whom she’d had to work hardest to keep the problems in her marriage secret.
“We have a few hours yet, Claire. We’re not out of time, and we have a small army watching Roseneau. The minute he makes a move, we’ll know it.”
Claire leaned against Barnaby and welcomed his embrace. It made her feel safe for at least a little while. But she knew it was a false sense of security that wouldn’t last. “Do you think it’s here?” she said, her cheek against his chest. “Do you think there’s a chance Hunt has a safe concealed somewhere in the walls?”
“If there is, Bennett will find it. Even if he has to bring the room down around him.”
Barnaby pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose, then held her at arm’s length. “Get some rest, Claire. You need it.”
“I’ll be fine once we have Alex home.”
Barnaby looked uncomfortable. “That may not be possible, Claire. You know that.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. “No, Barn. Not you, too.” She pushed herself away from him and looked into his face for an answer to the alarming fear growing inside her. “Surely you wouldn’t let the major keep it? It’s our only chance to save Alex.”
Claire knew her voice was louder than it should be, and when she looked around, several servants were staring at her. So was the major.
Barnaby led her farther away from everyone, then turned her toward him. “There are a lot of lives at stake, Claire. Alex’s is only one.”
“No!”
Claire pulled out of Barnaby’s arms. She looked at him and for the first time saw a man no different than the major. How had she missed it all this time?
“You don’t care what happens to him, do you?” she said, not caring that her words would hurt him. “You don’t care that he may die.”
“You know that’s not true, Claire.”
“Yes, it is, or you’d know we don’t have any choice but to give the necklace to Roseneau.”
“Claire, I—”
“Linscott! I need your help.”
The major’s voice cut through the tension in the room like a saber on the battlefield. Everyone in the room turned their gazes to him. Including Claire.
She stared at him, struggling to find any softness, any compassion. Any hint of the man she’d lain with last night. A man who would choose Alex’s life over the lives of strangers. She found none. He was as far removed from her as he’d ever been. As if he’d shut her out and locked the door. She clenched her fists and held his gaze, making him look away first.
“It’ll be all right,” Barnaby whispered. “I won’t let anything happen to Alex.”
“Linscott! Now!”
Barnaby gave her hand a squeeze, then went back to where the major stood. The shelves were empty, and after talking to the major, Barnaby ordered everyone to leave. When the room was cleared of the servants, the major walked to the center of the room and studied each empty wall. Claire stood frozen in place. When his penetrating gaze stopped on her, she struggled not to show any weakness but failed when the floor felt as if shifted beneath her.
“Linscott, get your sister to a chair before we have to pick her up from the floor.”
Barnaby rushed to help Claire to the nearest seat, a green-and-burgundy floral sofa someone had moved away from the wall. The major jerked his gaze away from her as if the sight of her was more than he could bear.
He positioned the ladder on the far side of the room, then grabbed a wooden mallet from the floor and climbed the ladder set up before the empty shelves. When he reached the top, he drew back his arm and let it gently fall back against the wall with a thud.
Claire sat on the edge of the settee, her nerves stretched to the breaking point as she watched the major tap the mallet against the wall. The sound was solid, hard, the dull thud the sound of a hammer hitting a barrel filled with dirt.
For many long, agonizing minutes, the pounding continued. Claire stared as if riveted to the major’s arm reaching out and striking the wall. His muscles bulged beneath his shirt, and the further he stretched, the more the material strained over his sho
ulders.
She remembered the feel of his flesh beneath her hands last night. How his muscles rippled at her touch. How his skin gleamed with perspiration from their frantic lovemaking. She shook her head as the pounding continued. But the visions of him lying on top of her, of his weight pressed against her, of his heat thrust inside her refused to go away.
It seemed to last forever, the pounding. But finally he finished one wall. Barnaby moved the ladder to the other side of the room, and the major climbed the rungs. A strand of hair fell across his brow, and her fingers ached to reach out like she’d done last night to brush it back. The inside of her palms itched to touch his face and feel the biting stubble against her tender flesh. Her lips ached to be kissed like she’d been last night. To feel his mouth against hers, his lips open atop hers, his tongue delving inside to mate with hers.
With each thud of the mallet, her heart thundered harder inside her breast. The steady pounding related every detail about him she couldn’t live without . . . his strength, his gentleness, his unflagging honor, his loyalty.
Each time the thuds stopped so he could move the ladder, her heart jolted as if it couldn’t beat without his urging. And when he continued, her mind ticked off in rhythm all the memories she cherished . . . the night he’d saved her from Roseneau’s henchman, afterward when he’d cradled her in his lap and called her back when he thought she was dying, when he’d held her hand, and carried her to her bed when she was too weak to walk, and forced her to eat when food was the last thing she thought her body could handle.
She remembered the hours they’d talked, the night they’d walked in the garden, the days spent in each other’s company, and . . .
Claire understood why the major’s rejection hurt more than Hunt’s rejection had. She’d taken Hunt as her husband, but she’d never truly loved him. As Hunt had never truly loved her. But she loved Sam.
If only she didn’t. If only she could have been satisfied with kissing him that first time, then never again. If only she could have been content with the way he held her and not ached for something more. But she hadn’t been.