Chapter 10
Damnation, what have I done? Jules pounded across the open field toward the manor house.
He was running, and he would keep running until he could forget what had just happened between them, until he could forget her.
He could still taste the lingering sweetness of her mouth on his tongue.
He could still feel her velvet softness on his fingertips.
He should have stayed away from her while the others were gone. But he’d been so confident in his ability to ignore her, or at least be his unpleasant self, to scare her, humiliate her, anything to make her go away.
But he had done no such thing. Instead, he had prepared her a meal, and talked about things he never shared with anyone. And in that talking, she had exposed his weaknesses and worn down his resolve. He had spent years practicing self-control, and he’d lost it with a kiss.
His steps slowed. He felt her presence long before she reached him—a rush of energy that made the very air stir. “Jules, do not be afraid of me.”
He spun to confront her. “I am afraid of nothing, least of all you.” He did not keep the steel from his voice. He wanted to scare her, to do anything that would give him back his resolve.
Her lips formed a word, then she stopped, froze, her eyes widening.
He frowned, then turned and followed her gaze to find Jane, Margaret, Nicholas, Hollister, David, Fin, and two other women staring at them.
Supremely aware of the curious gazes that took in their wet clothing and disheveled appearances, Jules swallowed a curse and said, “We went fishing,” as though the words would explain all, then continued on toward the house.
“Then where are the fish?” Hollister laughed in response.
“Shh,” Margaret admonished, and that was all Jules heard as he moved out of earshot and hopefully out of their sight. As host, he knew it was wrong to abandon Claire, leaving her alone to face the questions his friends would no doubt press upon her, but at the moment he could do nothing else.
He was free of Claire for the moment. But he didn’t feel free.
Her scent was on his shirt, his skin, and he felt as if his hands were still on her body.
He moved quickly toward the manor and the master’s chambers.
At least there he was safe from her, and there he would scrub his skin until no hint of her remained.
But the memory would remain, the memory of the way she looked, the way she felt . . . Damnation, he was hardening again at the thought. Coupling with her was supposed to mean nothing.
Nothing.
He drew a harsh breath as he shut the chamber door behind him. It was up to him to see that it did.
Claire felt her cheeks flame red as eight pairs of eyes inspected her. Jules’s friends, his steward, and most likely the new servants they had hired, inspected her from head to toe.
“Claire,” Jane said, stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you well?”
Claire smiled and nodded. “I went fishing on my own in a boat that leaked. Jules rescued me when it sank.” The shortened version of what had happened brought nods of understanding from the men, but Jane and Margaret continued to study her, searching for what they did not know.
“Are you hurt?” Margaret asked.
Yes. “No,” Claire replied, with a sudden shiver as the dampness of her clothes suddenly pierced her senses.
Margaret held out her arms. “Come.” Claire hesitated, but Margaret stepped forward until she enfolded Claire in her arms.
Claire accepted the woman’s compassion as she buried her face in Margaret’s shoulder. Claire could feel her throat tighten and the warmth of tears in her eyes, but she forced them back. She had to stay strong.
Margaret stroked her hair. “Let us get you back to the manor and out of those wet clothes.”
Claire nodded, allowing the older woman to support her as they walked back toward Jules’s home. She felt the apprehension in the air and knew the others were watching her, waiting to see what she said or did to give them more insight into what had happened at the loch.
Deliberately she recalled the image of Jules gazing down at her after their joining, the way his eyes had filled with pleasure and wonder. That moment gave her strength and once again reminded her of her purpose. She straightened, no longer leaning on Margaret for support.
Jules had run away from her. He had said their coupling would mean nothing to him.
In that he had been wrong. It meant something, to be sure.
If anything, it was a sign she was making progress in her efforts to engage his affections.
Yet she had to keep a rein on her own—she had to separate herself, body and mind, from the man who had awakened the most intense pleasure she had ever known.
She had to stay strong, do what must be done, then walk away without a second glance.
After washing in the basin, Claire needed something to clear her mind and help her forget the moments she had spent in Jules’s arms. Her fingers reached for a paintbrush. She knew she could not risk going to the ballroom with everyone home and awake.
With a sigh, Claire sat on the sagging bed in the center of the room and tipped her head back.
She smiled. Jules had purposely placed her in the most dilapidated, most frightening room in the manor.
But just like the chamber on the opposite side of the house, this room had character and exceptionally good structure.
A little paint, a little love, and the room would be transformed.
It wasn’t until several hours later of painting a garden scene on the wall near her bed that Claire noticed the light had faded to a pinkish gray. Dusk.
Dusk. Had she been hidden away in her chamber this entire time?
Claire hurriedly cleaned her brushes and her fingers, then opened the shutters to air out the room.
As soon as she was certain all was concealed and the astringent fumes of turpentine and paint would blend with the usual scent of mustiness and crumbling plaster, she fled from her room and hurried down the stone stairs, anxious to join the others.
“Milady, Lady MacIntyre, Claire.”
The voice pierced her distraction. She looked up to find David standing in the middle of the hallway, most likely outside his own chamber door.
“Sir David,” she said. “I did not expect to see you.”
He had been leaning against the wall, she realized, waiting for her. He pushed away from the wall to join her. “I simply wanted to make certain you were well after the ordeal.” The intensity of his tone startled her.
“The loch?” Claire stared at him in surprise.
“Nay.” David took her elbow and escorted her down the hallway toward the main stairs. “Jules told me all about it. Are you certain you are well?”
Claire stopped moving as ice infused her veins. Jules told him all about their lovemaking? Her vision blurred, and she reached out for the wall to support her. “He told you?” she whispered. Those stolen moments had been their private world, their bliss.
“Yes.” Concern tightened the corners of his eyes as he studied her face. “It could not have been easy to learn of James Grayson’s murder when we were all anxiously awaiting his arrival.”
His murder. The horror of the man’s demise reverberated through her, as did relief. David was talking about the man’s unfortunate demise, not what had transpired between herself and Jules. She released a stuttering breath.
David mistook her relief for grief. His hand tightened on her elbow. “Do you need to sit down?”
Claire uttered a silent prayer for her good fortune that David had been more intrigued by poor Mr. Grayson’s death than by what she and Jules had been doing down by the loch, or even by the smell of paint lingering in the hallway. “I am feeling much better than a moment ago, I assure you.”
“That is well, because there are other things that need to be discussed.” David’s brown eyes were concerned beneath the dark swath of his brows.
His expression was sincere and intense. He leaned closer, his voice lowered.
“There are things you need to understand about your husband. I think you should hear them now.”
They walked down the stairs. No one was around, not even the two women from the village who had come to clean. And yet, David turned toward the door leading outside. “It is best if we talk out here.”
She allowed him to lead her out into the courtyard.
The sky had turned a pale pink with streaks of burnished red clouds.
Night would be upon them shortly, but David walked her through the knee-high grass to what looked like it had once been a rose garden.
Now all that remained were tall stalks of gray and the occasional age-darkened rosehip.
Claire frowned as they walked along a cobbled path overgrown with weeds. This garden had been beautiful once. Perhaps with some love and attention it could be again. She tucked the thought away and turned to her escort. “What is so important that we had to discuss it out here?”
“Jules has been through many hardships in his life,” David began as he released her arm and stood before her.
“If you are speaking of his time in gaol, I know about that already.”
“’Twas Jane who saved his life, though she was unable to gain his release from gaol.” David’s lips thinned as he studied Claire.
“Who released him?” Claire asked.
“All his friends have wondered the same thing. We had hoped that someone was you,” he asked with an arched brow.
Claire shook her head.
David’s face grew solemn. “I was so certain it was you.”
“It must have been horrible for him, waiting to be freed, wondering if anyone would ever come. I am grateful to whomever did release him,” Claire said as a shiver trailed across the nape of her neck.
“The darkness, the filth, the loss of hope, the pain . . . how had he endured all that for so long and survived?”
“Not many men would have.” David hesitated as though trying to find the right words.
“Jules has suffered greatly, and all of his friends mean to keep any future suffering to a minimum. That is why we are all here with him now, why we will be nearby always.” His voice lowered, his expression hardened.
Claire startled. “Do you think I—”
“If you hurt him, Claire, if you hurt him at all, you will have to answer to us,” David threatened.
The words surprised her, disturbed her. Regardless, she found her voice. “I will hurt him, David,” she admitted. “Over the course of a lifetime, I will do something that will displease him. It’s inevitable.”
His gaze sharpened. “You know what I mean, not the everyday we-are-partners-in-life hurts. The kind of betrayal that leaves a person raw.”
She nodded. She understood that feeling all too well. She knew what it was like to be moving along in one’s life, only to find in the next heartbeat that everything you ever knew was gone.
Claire turned away from David’s probing gaze.
She felt as if she were falling into a deep, dark hole.
She couldn’t reach out, couldn’t catch her breath.
Her heart hammered in her chest at the knowledge that she would hurt Jules in the end.
But she would be wounded as well, knowing she would never again experience the kind of passion she had shared with him earlier.
They would both be raw when all of this was over.
But Jules would survive with the help of his friends.
Claire’s throat tightened. She would have her girls.
“Milady?” David’s voice broke into her thoughts. Claire turned back around and looked up at Jules’s friend, at his long, drawn face, his uncertain expression. “If my words upset you, I apologize. I simply wanted you to know we are here to support him.”
“Thank you, David. I appreciate your honesty.” She forced a bright smile despite the fact that her soul felt as though it was slowly being ripped in half.