Chapter 5 #2
He stood and reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips.
It was a stupidly romantic gesture, but he couldn’t stop himself.
The urge to touch her, taste her, and wrap her in his arms warred with his desperate need to escape before folly overtook him.
Her skin was so soft and warm that it sent his head spinning, and he fled the garden without saying goodbye, hardly noticing where he went as he blundered through the house and out the front door to his waiting carriage. He didn’t dare look back.
Safely ensconced in his carriage, he lowered his head to his hands, grateful for the familiar clatter of wooden wheels over cobblestone.
Without Clarissa’s radiant presence to distract him, his own folly came crashing down.
He’d intended to keep his distance, to make it clear that their marriage would be a practical arrangement and nothing more. Good God, he needed a brandy.
Clarissa was a danger to his sanity, and he needed to keep her away at all costs if he was going to avoid losing his head.
Hadn’t he learned his lesson well enough from Laura?
No. He wasn’t going to think about that.
The memories still hurt too much. It was much better to breathe deeply and clear his mind, steeling his heart against the pain he was determined never to suffer again.
By the time he’d arrived at White’s and settled in, he’d almost mastered himself.
There were many things to be grateful for, after all.
He might be gaining a wife he had no wish for, but his financial woes were at an end.
And he’d drawn a line with Charles at long last. His brother could pay his own debts from here on out.
So he splurged and ordered an 1811 Croizet cognac.
After all, it wasn’t every day a man came into a fortune… or betrothed himself.
He took a deep drink, despite his intention to savor.
The smooth, caramel liquid with hints of vanilla, spice, and almond spread over his tongue and warmed his throat as he swallowed.
He welcomed the way it loosened the tension that never fully left him.
He was almost starting to feel good when the last person he wanted to see came striding over.
“Mind if I join you?” Lord Effingham slid into the chair across from him, ignoring David’s warning glower. “Excellent. I’d like a word.”
The devil would like a word. How droll. What had Lady Clarissa seen in this wretch?
He dressed like a dandy, had the most unctuous voice of any man living, and his round, louche face was nearly always red with drink.
His features might have been handsome if not for the arrogance that oozed from every pore, the cynicism that hardened his blue eyes to ice.
Even the man’s blond curls were an offense against decency, styled in a high pile like those of that ass, Beau Brummell.
“I’m not in the mood for a friendly chat,” David grumbled, taking another long sip of his drink. Good gracious, it was delicious!
“Be that as it may, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” Lord Effingham leaned in conspiratorially. “A little birdie told me you’ve taken an interest in Lady Clarissa. I felt it was my duty to warn you away before it’s too late.”
David didn’t deign to respond. He merely glared at Lord Effingham, hoping he would take the hint.
The man smiled as though he’d answered. “You may not know this, but I’ve been courting Lady Clarissa for some time. I can’t think why she’s avoiding me now, but ladies’ hearts are fickle.”
What an absolute bounder! Lord Effingham has the nerve to blame Lady Clarissa and not his own wandering eye? “Any self-respecting lady would end things after what you did.”
“Oh? And what did I do?” Lord Effingham’s feigned innocence made David want to gag.
“The Countess of Albemarle, or so I’m told.”
His lordship had the gall to grin. “Well, a man is only a man. Am I wrong? And Lady Maude was such a tempting morsel. Any man would stray from the straight and narrow when presented with such a diversion.”
“Untrue.” David was starting to see red. This conversation needed to end.
“Ah yes. I forgot. Your brother said you haven’t been with a woman since the accident that killed your wife and her paramour. A footman, wasn’t he? How humiliating for you.”
At the mention of his wife, something within him snapped. David leapt to his feet, spilling his drink and nearly knocking over the table. “Watch your tongue, cur, or it will be pistols at dawn.” The world would be an infinitely better place without this piece of refuse.
Lord Effingham leaned back and smiled. “Ah. Touched a sore spot, did I? Are you sure little Timothy is even yours?”
Bastard. David’s voice rose. He didn’t care who heard him. “Leave now, or you’re a dead man.”
Lord Effingham raised his hands in a placating gesture that didn’t match the obvious triumph in his expression. “Now, now. I meant no offense. I just wanted to have a friendly conversation about a matter of mutual importance.”
“You had every intention of offending, and it worked. Name the place. I’ll blow a nice hole in that ridiculous waistcoat of yours.” Blood roared in his ears, and he ignored the little voice in the back of his head that reminded him of the consequences if he lost this duel.
Effingham gulped, and his hands shook a bit as he held them higher.
“A misunderstanding, my lord. I was merely trying to tell you something to your benefit. There’s no need for such dramatics.
” His oily voice quavered ever so slightly as he spoke.
It made David’s stomach churn. Not only was the man a fop, but he was also a cowardly one as well.
“Then you don’t accept my challenge, coward?”
“Not when I’m certain it was made in jest.” They were drawing attention now. Quite a few gentlemen had set down their drinks and were staring at the commotion.
The audience brought David back to his senses. What was he doing? He had a son, for heaven’s sake. He couldn’t go dueling this fool. If he lost, who would protect Timothy from Charles’ dissolute neglect?
Loathe as he was to concede anything to this man, Lord Effingham had offered him a way out of his folly. If he had any wisdom at all, he would take it.
“Yes. A jest,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now leave before I lose my sense of humor.”
Lord Effingham pressed his lips together in a thin line and rose. “Very well. Don’t heed my warning, but she’s damaged goods. And I intend to get back what is rightfully mine.” The coward turned and scurried from the room like the rat he was, leaving David to seethe.
The onlookers turned back to their own tables, whispering behind their hands and glancing his way.
David picked up his glass from the floor, set it on the table. Suddenly, a drink at White’s—even a particularly indulgent and delicious one—didn’t seem so soothing after all. He might as well head home and give up on trying to convince himself that everything was going to be all right.
What if Lord Effingham was telling the truth, however unlikely that might have been? What if he had compromised Clarissa? What if she still harbored a tendre for that bastard? What if history repeated itself and he fell for Clarissa only to have his heart broken a second time?
He didn’t want to suspect her, but he hadn’t wanted to suspect Laura either. It could all happen again if he wasn’t careful. He had to shut her out at all costs, no matter how much his damaged heart might yearn to trust again. There was too much at stake.
The tenuous peace he had made with his fate had crumbled to dust, and during the entire ride home he could do nothing but wallow in dread and lingering fury.
As his carriage clattered home, he closed his eyes and envisioned the offending organ turning to granite, bit by bit.
Yes. That was what he needed to be—cold, hard stone.
No more inconvenient flutters of affection.
No more daydreams of Clarissa’s lips. He would not let her in, no matter how hard she tried to win him over.