Spinning from the shock and misery he witnessed in her eyes, Clayton exited to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He ran the cold tap and sluiced water over his face, trying to wash away everything. Douse his lust. Douse his nightmares. His life.
Nothing evaporated. As the water drained away, he stared at his reflection, observing the bleached horror in his expression and his haunted eyes.
Focus on Bellerose. Not the fantasy through the other side of the door.
He straightened and dried off.
That’s what he had to do. He couldn’t live with temptation. He’d send her away. Soon.
How soon?
Focus, Clayton.
Tonight’s dream had been different from the others. Previously, his dreams had been about war and death. The men under his command. This was about...
He scowled, massaging his temples as he tried to remember. “What the hell was it about?”
The letter. And honor, or dishonor. And thieves.
Edward had mentioned a letter. Something Clayton had written to him. But when? And about what? This afternoon he’d thought to find something at the military office, but that had proved futile. What he did find out was that several of his privates had survived.
It had boosted his morale.
He’d thought them all dead, or at least maimed like Private Smith. Carmichael. Tanner. A few others. That was all.
Still, no matter how Clayton looked at it, everything seemed to link back to Edward, his best friend, or so he’d thought. Now there was a letter he had no memory of writing.
He checked his timepiece. Already past eight a.m. He had to get out of there. Clear his head.
But to do that he had to walk through the bedroom. See Maggie. See her pain.
His body tensed at the thought of seeing her. Beautiful, sensual Maggie, who had gifted him herself last eve.
He did not deserve such a gift.
And what now?
Could he walk away from her?
He would not burden her with his façade for life. Marriage was unthinkable and unfair to her. Nor could he cheapen her by making her his mistress.
But could he give her up?
That question Clayton wasn’t sure how to answer—yet.
Muscles coiled tight, and his gaze firmly fixed at the door that lead out into the hallway, Clayton exited the bathroom and quickly grabbed his coat and put on his shoes.
He dared not look at Maggie though he desperately wanted to.
He gave in.
She had her back to him, though he believed her not asleep.
Just then, something caught his eye. A note lay tucked under the door.
Realizing someone must have slipped it beneath the door as they slept, he retrieved it. It was a single sheet of folder paper.
Needing the light, Clayton slipped back into the bathroom, closed the door and switched on the light.
He opened the note.
Meet me at the Dinner Club at 10.00– E.
Edward?
No, he recognized the writing, remembering the many letters he’d received. Not Edward. Elaine.
But why would she contact him now? The past was over.
He went to screw up the note, determined to ignore it, then stilled. Something in him said, Go.
Back in the room, he stepped to the bed, and then hesitated. What the hell was he doing?
Kiss her. He wanted to. Desperately.
Fool!
Clayton grabbed his hat and spied his scarf, then glanced down at the note in his hand and remembered Elaine’s horror when she had first seen him. The note crumpled in his fist and dropped to the floor as he snatched up his scarf and angrily tied it across his face.
Outside the hotel, the brisk morning air did nothing to douse his frustration. The doorman hailed a cab and held the door open.
About to get in, he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder, his gaze skating across the hotel façade to the window of the room he shared with Maggie.
He wanted to go back up there, hold her, kiss her… He imagined being back at Bellerose and waking up with Maggie at his side every morning.
A heavy sigh purged from his lungs. Perhaps…maybe…
“Bloody hell, look at ‘im will ya.”
Clayton snapped back to attention, suddenly aware his scarf had fallen. Several youths stood across the other side of the forecourt, fingers pointing at him, making rude gestures and acting as if they were creatures from the dead.
“Did ya pull a face at the full moon, mister?”
Clayton scrambled into the cab, yanking the door closed behind him. He barked his destination to the driver and sank back in his seat, shoving his scarf across his face. He squeezed his eyes closed. Maybe…would never happen. His scarf was back in place and would stay there.
The journey on this still sleepy Sunday morning with the bells of St Paul’s chiming in the background did not take long.
His eyes opened, but he saw nothing. He didn’t need to view the world that he would soon close himself off from. Nor did he want to be in this taxi weaving over broken roads as it headed toward the Dinner Club.
What he wanted—to be back in bed with Maggie, holding her to him, her sweet, soft body molded to his, to inhale her scent and kiss her and make love to her again—was forbidden. It would never happen again. He wouldn’t let it.
His hands fisted. Damn it. He wanted a fantasy that could never be.
It had been an overwhelming experience and that she had gifted him her virginity had been the most precious of moments and had taken his breath away.
So why the hell had he dropped everything to meet with Elaine?
Because it can never be.
The image of Maggie curled into the bedding, holding it to her returned. Damn it. It should have been him she was holding.
The note from his ex-fiancé had thrown him in more ways than one.
He’d broken their engagement because she needed to be free of him, and yet for months he’d railed inside at the unfairness of it all, cursing his crippling disfigurement to hell and back.
But now as his cab drew up outside their meeting place, Clayton realized he hadn’t actually thought of Elaine for weeks.
Ruminating on that very fact, he paid the driver and stood quietly outside the Grecian styled building with its Doric columns and statuettes lining each side of the marbled steps.
Originally part of a palatial residence, the baronial family had found times financially crippling as family members had died and the estate had been required to pay death duties. In order to meet their financial commitments they’d been forced to sell off the property.
Bought by a rather forward thinking American who’d come to England to discover his heritage, he’d invested in the building, and while called the Dinner Club, with a rather exclusive list of members, it actually served food at all hours.
As the clock in the tower across the road chimed, Clayton reluctantly took the steps to the lobby.
Panic surged as he crossed the threshold and he checked and double-checked that his scarf was securely in place.
Breath choppy, he eyed the few patrons in the lobby going about their business. And ducked his head, drawing his coat collar up. You can do it. Maggie’s voice encouraged him.
Sweet, Maggie.
Just then, the maitre’d spotted him, and offered a welcoming smile, not once offering any hint of shock. “Mr. Abbott.” The robust man held out a hand to him. “It’s been so long.” He shook Clayton’s hand firmly.
“It has. I’ve been ah...at Bellerose.”
“Derbyshire isn’t it?”
Clayton nodded, uncertain of the man’s inspection, but ever the professional, the matire’d continued as if there was nothing untoward, as if the man facing him were no different from any other man on the street.
See, just as Maggie said.
“Nice bit of the countryside never hurt a soul, but I understand. My son, Tommy lost both legs, he did. Didn’t want to go o
ut, hated the world.”
“I’m sorry.” They’d gone off to war happy and full of the spirit of adventure, until reality had set in. Death. Dying. Kill or be killed. But what struck Clayton now was that everyone had a story. A family member wounded, dead, lost—all because of the bloody war.
“All is good now, though. He met a miracle.” The maitre’d leaned into Clayton. “Actually, she’s more like an angel, really. His very own angel. Lesley her name is. Sweetest young woman he could ask for.” He folded his arms across his barrel chest and beamed. “They’re married and already expecting a baby.”
Married! A baby. Clayton’s gut soured, but he tempered his expression. “Give them my congratulations.”
The man wiped a tear away. “It’s just marvelous.”
Married. A baby.
Shit! The sudden realization of his night with Maggie hit him. God he was a fool. He’d been so caught up in lust that he hadn’t considered the consequences.
A baby.
He should have been responsible. Thought of Maggie.
A baby with Maggie. Suddenly the idea didn’t seem scary, but rather wonderful. Exciting.
Now, however, he had to face Elaine.
“I’m meeting Miss Forrester.”
“She’s already here, sir. Over by the bay window.” The maitre’d turned and led the way into the restaurant. He went to walk away, then stopped, turned back to Clayton. “You need to find your own angel, sir.”
His own angel.
“I’m not sure there are enough to go around.”
“Just keep looking, sir. She’s out there.”
Left alone to face Elaine, Clayton realized she hadn’t seen him yet, which was surprising, because the Dinner Club was a place to see and be seen and the table where Elaine sat was spectacularly positioned for both—just as she would have requested.
His mouth pursed, and perspiration erupted again. He didn’t move toward her, but simply stared.
He’d thought she was perfect.
Perfectly groomed.
Perfectly composed.
Perfect to be his wife.
He’d thought he loved her.
She’s not as perfect as Maggie.
Clayton swallowed back his shock at the intrusive thought.
Maggie? His Maggie? His Angel?
Yes. Definitely his Maggie.
Just then, Elaine glanced in his direction and raised a perfectly groomed hand with nails just the right shade of pink and waved at him.
He didn’t move, but stared at her, uncertain what he saw in her eyes, though he refused to look too closely.
Squaring his shoulders he strode across the dining room.
A gasp.
A feminine squeal.
“Bloody hell, is it him. Shame. He used to be…”
Desperate to shut out the voices, he fixed his eyes firmly ahead. His footfall faltered as his foot knocked the side of a chair and his focus snapped.
Dear God.
Pity. Horror. Disgust. He saw it all. Lord Halford with his oh-so-perfect wife, turned from him as his gaze latched onto theirs. He wished it hadn’t, for the pity in their eyes nearly broke him, worse, when the heir presumptive, who had been a good friend from his days at Eaton, lowered his gaze, too.
Clayton’s jaw tightened rigid, his throat closed over as his nails dug into his fists.
He wanted to run. Hide. He wanted…
Finally, the nightmare walk across the dining room ended and he stood in front of Elaine. He took his seat opposite her, keeping his scarf in place.
Elaine pouted her glossy lips. “What? No hello? How are you, or it’s lovely to see you?”
“I don’t remember you really wanting to see me before.”
“It was you who broke off our engagement.”
His mouth quirked at the irony of it. “All rather inconsequential, don’t you think, since we both know it gave you the socially acceptable out you needed.”
“It’s not my fault society is bound up in rules.”
Trust Elaine to blame someone or something else.
The waiter hovered and Clayton ordered a pot of tea. “I’m here because you sent me a note to be here.”
With the waiter gone, Elaine reached out to him, caressing fingertips across his hand.
He felt nothing and tried as delicately as possible to extricate himself from her hold. “What do you want, Elaine?”
Elaine offered a tempered shrug of her couture-clad shoulders. “Simply to catch up.” Her delicately glossed lips pursed into a perfect pout.
Clayton felt nothing. “How did you find me?”
“I heard you were around town. Rumor has it you’re into some nefarious deals these days. I didn’t know you had it in you, darling.”
A low growl thrust from deep down in his chest, but he quickly moderated his reaction. “Really? I can hardly believe you’d want to ‘seek me out’ and whatever rumors you’ve heard are exactly that. Rumors with no truth attached to them.”
But Clayton knew it was never that simple with Elaine. She wanted something from him, of that he was certain. But what? “You were in a dammed hurry to leave the last time we were together.”
“Yes well, all those parties called.”
He snorted his disgust. “The war must have been a social time for you.”
The woman he had wanted to marry and whom he had believed loved him, actually blushed, shifting back in her seat and feathering her fingers along her jaw line. “Don’t be like that, Clayton, darling.”
“Darling? I don’t believe I am your anything these days.”
Their tea was brought and the already stilted conversation between them silenced until the waiter departed, Clayton had a fervent wish it were him departing instead.
“I was hoping...”
“For what?” His tone was curt. Damn it! He should have ignored her note. He took in her couture outfit, knowing it would have cost what some families would earn in a year. He was such a fool. Elaine meant nothing to him now. The woman he’d thought he loved left him decidedly cold.
“I thought that maybe we could...you and I...”
“Could start off where we left off.” Dear God, did she really believe that was possible? He shook his head, derision blatant. “I doubt that. I think you made your point quite clear.”
Her gaze widened and she stared at him, her mouth slightly open.
“Perhaps you have forgotten.” He fingered his scarf and her eyes widened.
His hand dropped from the scarf, his face still in hiding. He sat back in his seat, not taking his eyes off Elaine. “It’s a while since you saw this battle scarred face, but nevertheless, I remember how it revolted you.”
“I’m sorry.”
Gaze lowered, Elaine toyed with her cup. “So many died. So many are injured.”
His epiphany came with blinding clarity. “It would seem you are finding it a bit hard to catch a rich, unbroken husband. Better the dregs from the bottom of the barrel than nothing, I suppose.”
She blushed to her peroxide roots.
His rigid scar twitched. “And you figured you’d hitch up with me again.” He offered a not-too sympathetic shrug. “Go find yourself another candidate, Elaine.”
Desperation rode across her expression as she gripped at his hand. “But we used to...”
“It’s time to move on. Move forward.” The moment he uttered those words he heard Maggie saying them. Remembered how she’d shepherded him into walking. She said it was to strengthen his battered knee, but in truth it was to get him outside again. Get him to live again.
He disengaged her hold on him and shoved his chair back and stood.
Scarf still in place, he nodded to the woman he had once thought was his world. How wrong he’d been. “Have a happy life, Elaine. You deserve it.”
As do I. But it’s impossible.
Chapter Nineteen
Though the clear light of a morning fully risen streamed through the window, Maggie had been awake
for hours.
Sad hours. Long and lonely hours.
And yet she had no remorse.
But Clayton did.
He’d taken from her, and then rejected her. Accused her of wanting more.
It was true. She did.
She loved him, but had kept that from him. Would it have made a difference to his brutal words of rebuff?
No, it was far better that she protect her heart.
And yet, last night had been a revelation in more ways than one. Making love with Clayton had been sublime, and the icing on this particular cake had been the realization she’d had as she’d drifted off to sleep. She was in love with Clayton Abbott. It made everything wonderful…until she’d woken and he’d told her in no uncertain terms he did not want her kisses. Did not want her.
Her fingers crab walked across the bedcovers. They were cold and a blatant announcement he had been gone for some time and had not come back.
Maybe he was in the bathroom, creeping in quietly as she slept.
Hope stirred in her heart.
“Clayton. Are you there?”
But only silence answered.
Tossing back the covers, she climbed from the bed, aware of a sudden chill and rubbed her hands up and down her goosefleshed arms. “Clayton.” She knocked on the bathroom door.
Still no reply.
Spinning away from the closed door, aware of the familiar coil of loss, she scanned the room. His case was still there, plus the pile of invoices they’d searched. Slipping into a bathrobe, she exited the room and peered up the length of the hallway.
Several rooms away, a maid trundled a trolley stacked with clean linen.
“Excuse me. Could you please tell me the time?”
The young woman offered a slight smile, eyeing Maggie clad only in her robe. “Not quite sure, miss, but it’s definitely gone ten as I just finished my break.”
“Ten!” Maggie quickly retreated into the room, pacing across the carpet.
She hadn’t expected promises of everlasting love, or even marriage, but she had wanted him to want her enough to be there in the morning. Obviously he didn’t.
Staring down at the road below, she watched the scurry of people going about their lives.
Their lives.
Saving the Soldier's Heart (The Emerald Quest Book 2) Page 20